#the “maybe neither of them is wrong but the relationship couldn’t last because they just weren't compatible so they have to split”

[grandfangarbagechan]

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Spencer Reid

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Summary: Spencer and reader are both BAU agents in a secret relationship and a charity gala has reader tired of hiding.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Trying something different with the first person perspective here! bc of that I did have to use y/n twice so sorry for that lol. This is later seasons but pre-prison Spencer, so he’s a little more sure of himself and in return more dominant without being fully there. I promise I’m working on a few sub!spencer fics right now but I stumbled across this old fic of mine while going through my past works and I was dying to rework it because I wasn’t happy with what it was before lol.

TW: jealousy, angst, kissing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, afab reader, use of “girl” in reference to reader.

Rating: R, 18+ only please!

——

We’d already been here for three hours and I was growing weary watching Spencer make awkward conversation with every person at this charity gala. There were hundreds of people neither of us knew in this room, but bureaucratic duty required the both of us to make small talk with everyone no matter the department. Heaven knows Spencer didn’t have any intention beyond professional with these people, and I certainly didn’t either as it came with the territory of being BAU agents, but somehow I couldn’t help but find the jealous side of me rearing its ugly head with every attractive colleague that looked his way.

I’d kept my distance, allowing him the space he needed to not seem too attached. I knew how important it was that everyone assumed we were both single, interpersonal relationships between agents aren’t exactly looked highly upon here. Still, watching him talk the ear off of another woman had that familiar blossom of insecurity blooming in my chest. No matter how clueless he was, I knew just how many women and men in our professional vicinity would risk a lot to be with Spencer, and they figured that maybe given the right set of circumstances, perhaps they’d have the opportunity. He never gave them that privilege of course, even though we weren’t public with our relationship, we knew what we were, and he never betrayed that trust.

Still, as he was approached by a particularly tall, gorgeous redhead I found myself growing more and more jealous. He said something and she laughed a little too hard, laying her right hand on his bicep and tossing her hair over her shoulder with the other, and the green eyed monster returned, fiercer than ever. A tear slipped down my cheek as I watched, but I quickly wiped it away, fighting to keep my composure.

When he finally broke away from her, I made my way through the sea of elegantly dressed attendees, whispering his name to catch his attention. He turned to me, features softening as he registered my features.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, concern lacing his tone.

“I’m not feeling well, I’m going to head home.” I told him, forcing a reassuring smile so as not to worry him.

“Would you like me to come with?” He whispered, brushing his hand against my arm, just as the redhead had done to him. Such a simple, loving gesture, and the thought of someone who was not me doing it to him made my blood boil. I shook my head, giving him one last look of reassurance before gathering the top of the skirt of my overly detailed gown in my hands and making my way out of the ballroom and ordering an uber.

When I got back to his apartment, I kicked my heels off haphazardly the second the door locked behind me before stumbling to his bedroom. I don’t know why I’d come back to his apartment, I should’ve gone to mine, but I didn’t want to. I was sick of the hiding, the secrecy. I wanted him. I wanted to live with him. I wanted to be with him.

I reached around to the zipper on the back of my dress, roughly pulling it down halfway before it got caught, the expensive fabric bunching under the hardware. I pulled as hard as I could, desperate to get out of the increasingly suffocating garment, but my attempts seemed in vain as the zipper stayed put.

All the emotions I’d been holding in throughout the night boiled to the surface, showing themselves in the form of hot, frustrated tears. I collapsed face first onto the bed, letting the plush bedding consume me as I folded my arms beneath my cheek, feeling the wetness gather against my skin. I let it all out, quiet sobs wracking my body as I groveled in my jealousy, the physical pain of the restrictive fabric only doubling my emotions.

I didn’t know how long I’d been laying there, but his hand on my shoulder broke me out of the jealousy fueled haze I’d been locked in.

“Y/n? Why didn’t you go home? What’s wrong?” His voice sounded fuzzy as I quickly stood to face him, wiping away my tears.

“I don’t want to go back there Spencer, I want here to be home. I’m not home if I’m not with you. I’m so sick of hiding. I want to be yours.” I blurted, too overwhelmed to think about what I was confessing.

“You are mine.” He whispered.

“I don’t believe you.” I responded.

“There’s no one else y/n, you know that.” He continued, but it did little to calm me.

“All those women at the gala, touching you, flirting with you. I don’t want to have to sit back and watch it anymore. I die a little every time I see it.”

“Y/n, you know I don’t-“

“I know! You don’t enjoy any of it, I get that, but they do! They want you, Spencer, and I can’t bare the thought of losing you to one of them.” I confessed, tears welling in my eyes again.

“That won’t happen.” He said, a kind of sureness in his tone.

“How do I know that?” I asked.

“Because you’re the only one I want. You’re the only one that understands me for who I really am. I don’t care about them, not the way I care about you. I’ve never cared about anyone as much as I care about you.”

“I love you, y/n.” It rolled off his tongue as if they were the truest words he’d ever spoken, and as he placed his hands on my hips I practically melted under his touch.

“I love you too.” I breathed, looking up at him doe-eyed, lip quivering as I held back the tears of contentment fighting to escape my waterline.

“I’m yours.” He whispered, pulling me into him before crashing his lips to mine. I turned to putty in his hands, hanging on his every touch as he pulled away and spun me around, large hand resting on my exposed shoulder as the other worked carefully to untangle my zipper, finally allowing the fabric of the gown to fall from my frame.

His lips met my neck, sucking hungrily against my blushed skin and I brought my hand to rest in his brunette curls, holding him steadily against me. He pressed his hips flush against my lower back, his member growing hard as he marked my neck, drawing his swollen lips over the purple patches forming across the sensitive skin of my neck.

I whimpered as he nipped at my pulse point, nimble fingers undoing my bra before letting it join my gown on the floor, immediately cradling my breasts in his soft grip. I rolled my hips back against him, earning a deep groan as my free hand moved to palm him through his fitted slacks.

“Let me prove how devoted I am to you.” He breathed, spinning me back around before laying me slowly onto the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching as he removed his suit jacket, then undid the buttons of his dress shirt one by one, maintaining eye contact as he undid his belt and dropped his pants and underwear, leaving him bare for me to take in.

He knelt at the edge of the bed, taking my ankles in his grip before parting my legs, placing a soft kiss to the small dip on the inside of my ankle. He looked up at me, his gaze never leaving my face as I watched him plant wet kiss after wet kiss up the expanse of my leg before repeating the action on the other, the intimate act arousing me more and more by the second.

When he finally reached my left upper thigh, he lingered, drawing his tongue over the apex of my thigh to my panties, licking a flat stripe over the soaked panel of fabric, drawing a panting moan from my throat. He locked eyes with me, placing a kiss over my clit before taking the waistband between his teeth and letting it slap back against my hip, earning a whimper from me.

He gripped either side of my hips, taking my underwear in hand before pulling them slowly down my legs and discarding them across the room.

I watched transfixed as he kissed his way up my body, leaving soft magenta marks blooming like peonies over my damp skin, paying special attention to my breasts.

“You’re perfect.” He mumbled, tongue tracing around my nipple as I blushed at his words.

“I want to devour every inch of you.” He continued, taking the stiff peak gently between his teeth and tugging, sending a delicious mix of pain and pleasure to every nerve ending in my chest.

“Then do it.” I gasped, relaxing back into the bed. He hummed against me, flicking his tongue over my breast as his other hand slid between my thighs, cupping my cunt. He dipped his index finger to part my folds, already swollen and sticky and dripping with need. I wanted him, and although this certainly was not the first time we’d had sex, I was finally going to have him, all of him.

“So wet…” He trailed off, dragging his mouth up the expanse of my neck before drawing me into a kiss, deep and warm and full of a fire I’d never felt from him before. It’s like his confession had set something free in him, torn down a wall or two, uncaged the animal of desire within him.

“All for you.” I whimpered, pulling him down into another kiss.

He pressed two fingers in slow, pressured circles against my swollen clit, his full lips swallowing every last one of my needy moans and whimpers. Any other night I would’ve reveled in it, secretly loved the slow burn of his teasing, but I was far too emotional for that tonight, and I couldn’t put up with not having him inside of me anymore.

“I need you.” I whined, rutting my hips up into him.

“What do you want me to do, my love?” He asked. I huffed, knowing the game he was playing.

“Please Spence, I need you inside of me. Fuck me, show me what I mean to you.” I practically moaned as he continued rubbing harsh circles against my clit.

“That’s my girl, always so eager.” He praised, snaking his hands around the back of my thighs and lifting to wrap my legs around his hips.

He rubbed himself slowly through my folds, properly coating his cock with my slick before aligning the head at my slit, ready and inviting him in. He pushed slowly into me, a low groan slipping from his clenched jaw as he savored every inch of my wet heat and I met him with a tight embrace, gasping at the way he filled me.

I’d never felt so connected before, like I could feel him in every fiber of my being and as he was seated fully inside of me I felt whole, like we were made for each other.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss before he pulled almost completely out, pausing before pushing back in, my wetness making it almost embarrassingly easy. He angled his hips upward, knowing how quickly I’d crumble beneath him with the repeated brush of his cock against that soft spot inside of me.

He looked down at me, a certain warmth spreading over his dilated pupils as he halted his hips and opened his kiss-swollen lips to speak.

“It’s only you. Forever.” He purred, pushing the stray hair from my face before kissing my temple and pistoning his hips forward, punctuating his words with a deep thrust.

Each roll of his hips against mine had my muscles contracting, pulling him closer in every way, never wanting this to end. His rhythm remained steady as he picked up his pace, driving the pressure building inside of me ever closer to bursting.

I snaked one of my hands into his hair, gripping tight as the other found his bicep, matching my grip. I needed to hold him, to feel him, to know that having him here like this wasn’t all a dream. His groans and pants filled the thickening air, like a melody in my ear, mingling with my own and the almost feral “mine” that ripped from his throat on a particularly hard thrust had me crying out for him, clawing at his arm as he repeated the intensity.

I was close, so close and as I felt his cock twitch inside of me I knew he was too. I locked my ankles around his hips, holding him inside of me as he rolled his hips quickly, head dropping onto my shoulder. The continued stimulation of that spot, the sweet spot inside of me only he could hit became too much, bringing stars to my eyes as I cried out his name, euphoria so strong I couldn’t feel my legs as I dug my nails so hard into his arm that I had surely drawn blood.

“I’m yours.” He groaned, hips faltering as he filled me, my cunt still pulsing around him with every spurt of warm cum.

Everything after that was a blur of being held in his arms, whispered I love you’s, and gentle caresses.

“We’ll go to HR as soon as possible, I don’t care what paperwork they want us to fill out or how much shit we’ll get from Morgan, I want everyone at that gala tonight to know that I love you.” He broke the silence, his words a final cementing comfort.

No more hiding, no more sneaking around, no more secrets. Only the two of us.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden

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[nadvs]

imperfect strangers (one-shot)

pairing zach maclaren x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary after a painful break-up, you and zach go no contact, agreeing it’s best to cut yourselves out of each other’s lives. when he cracks and texts you a month later that he’ll be at your college for a game, you lie to yourself that seeing him can’t be that bad of an idea.

» masterlist

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Zach has been dreading tomorrow’s game. And it’s only because it’s at your college.

He keeps going back and forth on if he should break the promise he made to you and himself that he wouldn’t contact you.

He blames the fatigue from a strenuous practice. It’s what muddles his mind and makes him give in.

You two agreed that cutting all ties was best. But he’s just reaching out to an old friend that he might run into. That’s what he tells himself.

You’re sitting in a lecture when Zach’s name flashes on your phone. Your heart leaps at the notification and you hate that it does that.

You were supposed to delete his number, but it felt wrong. He wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your best friend.

Removing him from your life wrecked you, so little things like keeping his contact information and the promise ring he gave you the day of your high school graduation feel like acts of rebellion against the hardest decision you’ve ever made.

Zach: Hey. How are you? I’m playing at your school tomorrow. Just wondering if you’ll be watching :)

You reread his text a few times. You know he has a game here tomorrow. You’ve been following his soccer season even though you know you shouldn’t.

On the screen, you see the last messages you exchanged, a little over a month ago.

Zach: Wish you nothing but the best. You deserve it.

You replied: you, too.

The night of your break-up was agony. Your video call lasted three hours.

Zach’s eyes were glossy, matching yours. His dark honey hair was tousled and sticking in every direction after he raked his hand through it over and over in frustration.

Your dorm rooms slowly got darker as night fell, neither of you bothering to turn on a light. It was a cruel reminder that you’re not even a timezone apart. Your schools have only four hours between them and you couldn’t manage to make a one-year relationship work over the distance.

Hurtful words were exchanged. You accused him of neglecting your relationship. He told you his extra efforts in school and soccer didn’t mean you weren’t a priority. He said you were giving up on him. You retaliated that you were working harder to stay together than he was.

Somehow, things still ended civilly. You agreed that the distance was too much of a big, ugly, unavoidable wedge driving you apart.

You’re convinced that ending on good terms hurts more than ending on bad terms. It would be easier to hate him.

Your fingers hover over your screen, wondering what you should say. If you should say anything. You realize this means he didn’t delete your number, either. Maybe he’s been holding onto hope, too.

You decide to reply, trying to act casual and in good spirits.

You: I’ll try to make it! Just don’t be mad that I’m cheering for the home team :)

He’s grateful you texted back. He misses you so much that it hurts.

Getting better has been a slow climb for Zach. You two lasted a couple of months of long distance before calls slowly shortened and texts became infrequent. It was too hard juggling everything.

Now, he’s putting his all into school and soccer. It’s all he has left.

When dark clouds roll in on the day of the game, you think about how Zach never liked the rain and you hate that you’re doomed to remember these insignificant things about someone you’re not supposed to be in love with anymore.

You decide not to go to the game. It’ll be too hard watching him play like you used to.

But eventually, you lie to yourself that it’ll be fine and your feet are dragging you to the stadium on campus, your umbrella blocking the raindrops. You join the roaring crowd, sitting in the bleachers.

You always sat behind the opponents’ net. At every one of his matches. Zach is a striker and whenever he’d score a goal, he’d be right in your eyeline.

He would find you in the crowd when he scored, beaming at you before his team swallowed him in a group hug.

But that’s where you sat when Zach was your boyfriend. And he’s not anymore. So you find an empty seat on the side, close to the middle of the field.

You spot him immediately. He’s running down the field, his cheeks flushed.

The same boy who nervously asked you out the second day of senior year. The same boy you gave your first kiss to. The same boy who called you the moment he found out he was granted a full-ride scholarship. Now slowly becoming a stranger.

This is too hard. You need to leave.

But then you watch Zach gain possession of the ball and he’s running fast and suddenly, he collides with a player on the opposing team, sliding in one of the mud puddles scattered across the field.

The crowd erupts in a mournful whine, reacting to what was surely a painful impact.

You’re on your feet, rigid, heart racing as you watch him in the distance. He’s not getting up. Why isn’t he getting up?

You wedge your way out of the aisle and rush to the bottom of the bleachers, hands gripping the cold, wet barricade at the same level as the field.

A medic runs out onto the pitch but when he reaches Zach, he’s slowly standing up on his own. But then he leans over, hands on his knees, shaking his head.

The medic beckons Zach to put an arm around his shoulders and leads him off the field while the referee holds up a yellow card against the other player.

Zach’s hamstring is throbbing in pain as he limps through the wet grass, his cleats heavy, but when he sees you standing at the front of the stands, everything feels better.

He thought you wouldn’t attend. His lips quirk up in a smile. Your stomach twists.

Zach’s coach is trying to get his attention once he reaches the sideline, but he mumbles something to him and disconnects from the medic and closes the distance between you two, his steps short and quick.

“You came,” he says, blue eyes travelling over your face. It’s only been a month but he swears, it feels like it’s been years since he’s seen you.

The bright stadium lights are emphasizing every plane and feature of his handsome face. His hair is soaked and plastered to his skin, his uniform muddy.

“You okay?” you ask over the loud chattering crowd surrounding you.

No. He’s far from okay.

“Survived worse,” he says with that smirk that is so typically Zach.

“MacLaren!” his coach calls.

“I’ll find you later?” he asks. Your eyebrows lower in confusion. You know he typically goes straight back to his school after a game with his team. But you just meekly nod.

The game ends in a tie. Zach texts you that he’ll meet you outside in front and takes a rushed, hot shower in the locker room.

You’re standing under a streetlamp outside of the stadium, spectators pooling out of wide doors. The rain is simply spitting now, your umbrella closed in your hand.

When you watch Zach pace towards you, all cleaned up after a shower, a big duffel bag over his shoulder, you’re so happy you came. Even though it hurts, it also feels so good to see him.

“You’re walking totally fine,” you say when he approaches you. “Did you fake it?”

He loves how you make a joke right away because that’s what you would do when you were together and it’s nice to feel like you are.

Zach laughs and pulls you in for a hug and you hate how the smell of his shampoo makes an uncomfortable nostalgia rush through you.

But this is who Zach is. He’s always been warm and affectionate and cheerful.

He notices how tense you are in his arms and pulls back quickly. Maybe giving into the impulse to hold you was a bad idea.

“A yellow was ridiculous, right?” he asks. “That deserved a red.”

You gaze up at him now that he’s so close to you and try not to get enamored.

“How bad is it?” you say, glancing down at his leg. The concern in your eyes makes his whole body feel like it’s been wrung out.

“Just a sprain,” he says. “Didn’t pull anything.”

“Good,” you say, nodding. “How long are you out for?”

This feels like a conversation you’d have when you were together. Next, you’d ask if he needs a massage and that would always lead to making love, but that’s not happening this time.

“Next game isn’t until Wednesday, so I might be fine,” Zach answers. You know all about his team’s schedule, even their standings, but you don’t tell him.

A tense silence settles between you now that the small talk has been used up.

“So, this is no contact?” you ask.

Now that the break-up has been acknowledged out loud, Zach is disappointed. He liked having his head in the clouds and pretending like you’re still his.

“You texted back,” he teases, his eyes glinting in their usual playful way.

“Back,” you emphasize, pointing to him, finally cracking a smile. “You started it.”

“We can be friends, right?” Zach says. “It’s weird not talking to you.”

Being friends hurts. You both agreed to that. But he’s here already and things feel so good with him, so you ignore your instincts.

“Sure,” you simply say. Your short response throws him off.

“Nice campus,” he says.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I was gonna give you a tour when...” When he visited as your boyfriend. You never made it that far.

It was unlike Zach, the way he started to flake on promises to visit or call. You gave him grace, but you eventually reached your limit.

“You can give me a tour now,” he says, pushing the conversation into easier territory. He always had a knack for that.

“You sure you can walk?” you ask. He misses that tone of voice of yours. When you’re worried about him.

“Come on,” he says with an exaggerated scoff. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of baby.”

In reality, he always loved being babied by you.

“When are you guys heading back?” you ask. You already noticed the massive branded bus you assume he arrived on parked in the stadium lot.

“I drove up by myself, actually,” he tells you. “I’m gonna go see my family later.”

Your college is only half an hour away from your shared hometown. You nod and turn, silently beckoning him to walk with you.

“How are they?” you ask.

Zach shrugs, looking down. He’s always been close to his family and they always loved you, so telling them you broke up was almost as hard as the break-up itself.

“Mad at me,” he admits. “I told them it was mutual, but…”

“Yeah, your mom texted me,” you say.

“She did? What’d she say?” He sounds surprised.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you if she didn’t tell you herself.”

His mom’s message went into just how perfectly you fit into their lives, how upsetting it is that Zach let you go, how happy you make her son. You didn’t have the heart to tell her you don’t make him happy anymore.

You remember so clearly how she ended the message. I hope this is just a temporary bump in the road.

“Come on, tell me,” he urges with a joking tone.

“Zach,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry - I, um - we shouldn’t get into this, right?”

His smile fades. With a deep breath, he nods and looks at the ground again.

“Right,” he says.

Like always, Zach gently complies. You naturally took on a more dominant role in your relationship, leading while he happily followed, even during intimacy. It’s what you bring out in each other and falling back into your roles feels effortless.

“How much time do you have?” you ask, checking your phone to see that it’s merely minutes past six.

“Couple of hours,” he tells you. “You hungry?”

You know if you tell him you’re not, he’ll feel bad dragging you to a restaurant.

“There’s a place I think you’d like,” you say.

You’re soon sitting across from each other at an on-campus eatery, talking to each other like friends, covering safe topics like classes and dorm life.

It’s not exactly easy, but you were together for so long that holding a conversation with Zach is second nature.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” he finally asks, pointing to your plastic-wrapped sandwich. He’s almost done with his food, while you haven’t taken a bite.

“Later. I’m not hungry.”

“What?” Zach watches you from his side of the table, heart thrumming at the adorable way you shrug.

“You wouldn’t have gotten food if you knew I wasn’t going to eat.”

“Oh, my God,” he laughs.

“You know I’m right.”

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

You both awkwardly straighten in your seats, bodies firming as far apart as possible. Your knees pull together. He rubs the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” Zach’s voice is low, eyes focused on the table. The term of endearment he used to always use for you just slipped out.

You feel stupid for thinking this would be okay. It’s way too hard to pretend like you don’t love him. You collect your bag and umbrella off the table.

“I should go. It was good to see you,” you mumble.

“You’re leaving?” Zach asks, a slight whine to his tone.

“This was a bad idea,” you say, avoiding eye contact, words quiet and rushed. “You should go see your family.”

You rush out of the building into the dark evening, the cold air pressing against your skin, hot tears welling in your eyes.

Zach’s leg is aching as he jogs behind you, but he’d do anything for you just talk to him, at least look at him one more time.

“Wait,” you hear. “Please.” The desperation in his voice is what gets you to slow down, letting him close the rest of the distance.

You’re standing on a pathway between a building and a courtyard, chewing on your lip, grateful nobody else seems to be around.

When Zach catches up to you, his chin dips as he studies your face, raising his hands inches away from your cheeks just to promptly lower them.

Your eyes are just as wet as they were the night you broke up.

“What?” you mutter.

“I’m sorry I called you that,” he says, breaths shallow. “Old habit.”

“We said no contact,” you tell him. You swallow hard. “We should have stuck to it.”

“Are you mad at me for texting you?” His stare is deep and so painfully sorry.

You’ve been on the receiving end of this look so many times. He was always on the sensitive side, needing reassurance that you weren’t upset with him.

Despite everything, you’re not mad. Your heart is broken, but you’re not mad.

“No,“ you say, “But we can’t be friends, okay? After what we… I just can’t.”

“So, nothing?” he says. “We’re just nothing now?”

“It’s what we agreed on,” you respond resolutely. “Just because this is easy for you doesn’t mean it is for me.”

“You think this is easy for me?” Zach puts a hand over his heart. You scoff at this, looking down, gently wiping under your bottom lashes. “It’s not.”

He puts his hands on his hips, grimacing.

“Why’d we break up?” he asks, voice thin.

“Zach,” you breathe. Just like that, the wound you’ve been working on patching up splits open again.

“I love you,” he says, hot tears building in the corners of his eyes.

“You can’t do this,” you say. The fact that you don’t say you love him back breaks him. “Do you not remember how bad it was?”

“We made each other so happy,” he retaliates.

“We weren’t even a couple by the end,” you say. “You got too busy for me, remember?”

“Don’t,” Zach mumbles. “I wasn’t too busy for you. You stopped trying.”

“We’ll just talk in circles,” you sigh, frustration bubbling inside you. You had this talk so many times. “I don’t have another three-hour conversation in me.”

He still has bad dreams about that night.

“See?” he says with a frustrated shrug. “You gave up.”

“You used to act lucky that you had me,” you say, your temper flaring. “Then I became a chore. Would you fight for me if I made you feel like a chore?”

“I’d fight for you no matter what,” he says.

“You’re not listening to me.” At this point, he’s being selfish by talking this to death. It’ll end the same way.

“As soon as it got hard, you left,” he says.

“As soon as it got hard? I tried for two months, Zach. You were so busy and got so distant and-”

“That didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you,” he counters. “There’s so much pressure on me with soccer and my scholarship.”

“I know and I tried to be there for you but I only added to that pressure,” you say. “Keeping up a relationship was too much work.”

“No, babe, I-” He winces. “Sorry. Just… Don’t you remember how good we used to be? How the summer was?”

You try not to think about it. The summer before college was perfect. You spent all your time together. You gave each other your virginities. You were sure you’d be together forever.

“I remember saying we’d find time for each other no matter what,” you mutter.

Guilt floods him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Zach says.

“I know you are.”

He apologized so many times and nothing changed. He said he’d drive up to visit you. He never did. He told you he’d call you. Then he bailed more than half the time. That wasn’t the man you knew. You could feel him falling out of love with you.

“I thought we could get through the hard times,” he says. There’s that unrealistic idealism of his. You shake your head.

“My best wasn’t enough for us, Zach,” you say.

“Yeah, neither was mine, apparently.”

You nod, throat aching from your tears.

“Go see your family. They miss you. And don’t tell them we saw each other,” you suggest. “It’ll just give them false hope.”

Zach both loves and hates that the last thing you say before you walk away is something protective and considerate about his family. But your kindness is one of the many things he fell in love with you for, so it’s no surprise.

An hour later, you’re curled up on your bed, watching a comfort show with the lights off when you hear a knock on your door.

Zach’s heart is pounding in his ears. He still has your address from when he sent you flowers as a sorry for flaking on a video call you two had planned back when you were still together.

All he did since you left him standing by the courtyard is sit in his car and think and cry. He feels like an idiot for ever making you feel like a chore.

When you pause your show, turn on the lights and swing open the door, your body goes cold. His eyes are red and puffy from crying.

“Did you stop loving me?” he asks. “I need to know.”

You take his hand and pull him into your room so that your neighbors don’t hear your private heartbreak.

The door shuts behind you and you stand across from him, trying to let go of his hand, but he doesn’t let you, his cool palm pressed against your fingers.

“Did you?” Zach urges.

You glare up at him, cheeks burning from how many tears you wiped away.

“No,” you admit.

“Then why aren’t we together?” he pleads. “You just have to remember why you love me.”

You let him continue to hold your hand. The contact feels so good.

“I never forgot,” you say.

“Then tell me,” he urges. “Tell me why.”

“I…” You look down.

“You want me to go first?” he says. “I love you because you bring out the best in me. I love how when we joke around, we annoy the people around us and you never care.”

You huff a chuckle. Too many times to count, you’d send each other into a fit of laughter, leaving your friends or families confused over what was so funny.

“You went to every single one of my home games in high school,” he continues, “even though I know you hated it.”

“I liked it,” you counter. He smirks. You always had such a big heart.

“Try for me. Please,” he says. “We’ll make it this time.”

You’re silent and it scares him. You could be seconds away from telling him to leave.

“This is why I love you,” you say. “You’re so optimistic that it’s irritating.”

Zach laughs, still holding onto your hand.

“What else?” he asks lowly.

“You’re funny and sweet and…” you say through tears. “When you care about someone, you care so hard. That’s why…”

You loosen your hand out of his grip. His heart feels like it’s been wrung out.

“That’s why it hurt so much when you didn’t make time for us. It felt like you stopped caring. Like you stopped loving me and you didn’t know how to tell me.”

“I never stopped loving you, babe, I swear,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to deal with everything.”

Zach didn’t anticipate how hard keeping up with classes and practices and games would be, especially with the weight of his scholarship looming over him. He failed making you a priority. He knows that.

“It was hard and it only got harder when we broke up,” he says a little quieter.

You frown and Zach cups your face with his hands. His thumbs slowly rub over your cheeks as his gaze penetrates you.

“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad,” he says, words rushed. “I just want you to know you were never a chore. You were the best thing in my life. I messed up.”

The way your lashes flutter as you blink away tears makes what’s left of his heart crumble.

“What’ll it take?” he asks. “I’ll drive up here every weekend. We’ll talk on the phone every night. I’ll text you all day and I promise I won’t flake.”

“That’s crazy,” you say with a soft laugh.

Although he’s the more passive of you two, he’s determined that he’ll make it with you. He can’t picture a world where you’re not his and he’s not yours.

“I’ll do it.” You meet Zach’s eyes and you can tell that he wholly, sincerely means it.

“That’s not what I need,” you tell him with a small smile. The love in your gaze is exactly why you always felt like home to him. “I just need the you who kept promises and made time for me. When we were together, you were present. Like this.”

“Anything you need,” he says eagerly, head bobbing with quick nods, making you giggle. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You revel in how his long thumbs drag over your skin, gazing at you through desperate eyes. Being so close to him causes a gentle heat to trickle through your body.

“You can do more than that,” you reply. He smiles and exhales sharply in excitement, leaning down to kiss you passionately.

Zach’s stomach tightens the second he feels the softness of your lips and the taste of your tongue. He slowly dips to kiss your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of you that he has smelled so many times.

His hands trail down your waist and over the curve of your hips, pulling you as close to him as possible, gripping just tight enough not to hurt you.

You always loved this about him. He makes you feel so cherished.

Your hands are in Zach’s hair as his hot mouth smacks on your skin. His body curves against yours perfectly, a piece completing the puzzle you missed being a part of for so long.

You can feel him growing hard against you and you lower a hand to rub him over his jeans, making him groan against your neck.

“Already?” you tease in a whisper. He chuckles, missing your touch and your voice and how hot it is when you taunt him.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Zach groans. You smile. He hardly ever swears, usually reserving it just for moments like these.

His fingers dip below the hem of your shirt, his skin warm against yours. He feels you nod, granting him permission.

As soon as he pulls your top off of you, he groans in delight when he sees that you’re braless. As he leans down to kiss you again, you push his jacket down his shoulders. He promptly and impatiently tugs it off, followed by his shirt, earning a laugh from you for his enthusiasm.

You gently push him backwards, straggling to your bed together. Zach lies down, desperately reaching for you as he watches you lean down over him.

You straddle him, kissing him deeply, his arms wrapping around you tightly as your bare chests press together.

His love for you consumes him, driving him to pull back and kiss you all over, puckering his lips over your cheeks and your nose and your forehead.

“Babe,” you laugh.

“I’m so sorry I made you so sad,” Zach says between kisses. “I’m so sorry I let you walk away.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say as he continues to pepper soft kisses over your skin. “We’re never fighting again, okay?”

“Never.” You always say this after a fight. It never sticks, but you both love pretending it will.

You thought you were destined to experience these shared quirks through memories only. But now Zach’s here in your dorm room, panting beneath you, holding you like he might die if you pull away.

You feel him buck his hips forward, his hands squeezing your waist. You press your forehead against his, biting your lip.

“You want me, hmm?” you purr, the power you have over him filling you with excitement.

“I need you,” he whines. His breath is warm against your cheek. “So bad.”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, rolling your hips. The sensation of you grinding on him is so perfect. He couldn’t ever feel another girl like this and he wouldn’t want to.

“I wanna taste you,” Zach says. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“Take my pants off.” You shift to kiss him, smiling against his lips as he pushes your bottoms and panties down with eager hands.

You kick off your clothes and shuffle to hover over his face, your naked core inches away from his mouth.

Zach’s hands hook around your thighs, beckoning you to lower your hips, hungry for you. You inhale sharply once you feel his hot tongue press against your folds.

He knows you well, knows where to lick and suck to earn moans from you. You look down at him, his eyes closed as he laps at you, fingers dug into your flesh.

“That’s so good,” you say. “You’re so good with your mouth.” The praise makes him suck even harder. You tremble as you slowly roll your hips on his face.

“I love how you taste,” Zach says, muffled. “I can’t live without you.”

You throw your head back, pleasure flooding your body at the sensations and his words. You put a hand in his hair, lightly tugging as he works his mouth with slow, hard movements.

You start to breathe harder, tension coiling in your stomach.

“Can we…” he asks. He’s starving to feel you from the inside. You look down to meet his striking, needy eyes. You know exactly what he wants.

“You wanna be inside me?”

“Please, yes, yes.”

“You’re so cute when you’re desperate,” you coo. He nearly rolls his eyes from the pleasure of hearing you talk like this again.

You put him out of his misery when you pull his pants and briefs off of him. You sit on your knees above him, taking his length in your hand and earning a groan from him.

“Where’d you hurt your leg today?” you ask, stroking him up and down. “Want me to massage it?”

“I just want you to ride me, babe, please,” Zach shudders.

“Don’t you want me to take care of you?” Your eyes are locked on his as you caress him, rolling your wrist.

“You are,” he says, whimpering at this point. “Please let me feel you. I miss you.”

Your body remembers Zach’s perfectly. As you sink onto him, sitting up, every muscle in your body loosens. He dips his head back, lips parting, jaw sharp.

“Shit,” he groans as you squeeze him in your soft heat. “You’re perfect.” His hands run over your thighs, your hips, your waist. He pulls you down so he can kiss you again.

“So big,” you whisper, noses nudging together as you rock slowly.

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says, his voice gently shaking. “Even if you don’t want me.”

“Zach,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. He’s crying again. “I’ll always want you.”

You drag a thumb under his eye, cleaning away a warm tear. He nods, looking at you with a sorrowful gaze.

“Do you promise?” he asks.

“I promise,” you say. “My sweet boy.” He trembles at your words. You kiss him again, your pace starting to quicken, the pressure of him inside you so nice.

Zach swallows hard, forcing himself to believe you. Breaking up shattered him. He can’t go through it again.

“Hey,” he says against your lips.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna marry you one day.” You’ve loosely talked about the future before, but he has never said these words to you out loud. Your heart numbs.

“Do you promise?” you whisper with a smile. The coil in your core tightens again, making your breath shake.

“I promise.” Zach feels you clenching around him and he can’t stop himself. His muscles tense and he tightens his jaw as he feels himself reach his peak.

“There you go,” you praise as he shudders beneath you. The drunk look on his face is what makes you climax, joining him in his euphoria.

He’s heaving beneath you, your skin taut and warm and sticking together. You shift to rest your head on his shoulder and he finds your hand immediately, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your fingertips.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you say, your heart burning.

Zach holds your hand inches away from his face, a finger tracing down one of yours.

“Do you still have it?” he asks, afraid of your answer. You look at your ring finger, where you used to wear his promise ring.

“I couldn’t get rid of it if I wanted to,” you say. He shifts to meet your gaze, his eyes still glossy. “It’s in my dresser.”

“Will you wear it again?”

“Of course,” you say. “And I’ll get one for you, too.”

The thought of having a constant reminder of your love for him on his hand makes his stomach flip. His dimples cave into his cheeks as he beams at you.

“How’d I play today?” he murmurs. Zach would always ask your opinion on how he did after a game. Tonight’s no different.

“Amazing,” you say. “I… I’ve actually been following your team. I know we said no contact, but…”

Zach’s elated that you cared enough to follow his progress.

“I’ve been checking every social media account you have every day,” he admits.

You giggle and he hugs you tightly, burrowing his nose into your hair. Suddenly, the memory of your argument outside rushes back into your mind.

“Wait, did you go home?” you ask.

“No, I just… sat in my car,” he tells you.

“What? Zach,” you say, voice heavy. “Aren’t you going to see your family?”

“I never told them I’d be in town,” he confesses. You shift to look at him again. “I knew that when we saw each other, we’d… realize we should be together. And I knew I’d only want to spend the night with you. I’m sorry - I only didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

Zach’s undying faith in your relationship melts you. Even after a messy break-up and a month apart, he believed in you two making it.

You nod, pinching his cheek, making him smile again.

“We could go now, if you want,” you offer. “They’d be so happy to see that we’re back together.”

Hearing you confirm it out loud makes Zach’s heart leap.

“Next time,” he says, squeezing you tight. “Right now, it’s just you and me. And eventually, we’ll be sleeping in the same bed every night and there won’t be any distance at all.”

You can’t wait. Neither can he.

(continuation blurb)

author’s note: i started this blog with the intention to write for rafe only but my friend showed me the zach maclaren light and for that @juniebugg i owe you my life 🫡

[luvismenu]

09 — miss your touch ✎ ,, index

nsfw warnings: kissing.

note: she's not pregnant you guys dw 😭

wc: 3.4k

a week.

it's been a week since you've seen jungkook.

there were a few texts from him, asking if you were okay, but nothing beyond that. you answered with short replies; a yes or a no. sometimes, you asked how he was, and he'd say he's okay. but there’s a clear shift now, an invisible line drawn between you two.

a line you’d already crossed once but now seem to be retreating behind. back to where you started; strangers who just happened to share something.

you might’ve overreacted.

the thought stings, but yeah, maybe you did. he wasn’t even that late. you believe him when he said he had to deal with something. that something being a female, it’s not like he hid it. still, for reasons you can’t explain, just thinking about it makes you roll your eyes.

but he came straight to you after that.

and you know jungkook doesn’t lie. at least, that’s what you’ve learned about him in these two months.

two months.

it’s been two months, and yet here you are, acting as if he’s yours.

he isn’t.

and that’s good. you don’t want a relationship. you never did. relationships are nothing but unnecessary stress or drama. or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

you can’t let jungkook fall into the “relationship” category. but calling him your casual fuck buddy feels off, because you’re both closer than that now. thinking of him as just a friend, though... that feels wrong. unnatural, even.

it’s so complicated.

it shouldn’t be. but it is.

sometimes, it feels like he doesn’t care. you wish he’d show more emotions, something more than his usual calm, nonchalant demeanor.

it feels like you’re the only one overthinking this while he’s just... fine. unaffected.

why do i feel like a wreck? is it just me? you wonder.

you don't wanna miss his touch.

you don't wanna miss him.

but you miss him more than you want to admit.

and now, you don’t even know how to approach him. things feel so awkward. you’re not sure how to cross that line you’ve suddenly drawn.

a week without seeing him feels like forever. especially when, for the past two months, he’s been part of your every day. whether it was texts or calls, he was there.

which is why you’re here. at the business expo everyone’s been working so hard for.

you don’t know much about it, just the bare minimum yoongi mentioned. apparently, other majors can attend as long as they say they’re interested in learning something.

as if. you would never attend something like this.

but for him? for jungkook?

you’re here anyway.

jungkook feels like a wreck.

he misses you.

a lot.

but at the same time, he thinks he needed that break. from everything. a week isn’t much, but it gave him enough space to clear his head.

iseul tried to contact him again. he blocked her number.

then she tried to approach him in person. he blocked her out of his life too.

he knows she’s probably furious, and maybe even hurt, but he couldn’t let her keep dragging him into the same cycle. not anymore.

“jungkook, i’m sorry, honey, i didn’t mean to snap at you that day—” she said, her voice was soft, almost pleading.

but he cut her off, firm and final, his words heavy but deliberate.

“i think it’s for the best if we move on now.”

he couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth, but for once, he didn’t regret them. saying it felt like a weight had been lifted, one he’d been carrying far too long.

it wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

now, though?

all he can think about is you.

you told him you were fine now. the conversations between you two since then have been brief, surface level, and awkward. it feels like a wall has been built, and though neither of you acknowledges it, it’s there.

jungkook wishes you’d talk to him soon, break through whatever tension is lingering.

when you told him to leave that day, he froze for a moment. it stung, but he understood. if you needed space, he’d give it to you. the last thing he wanted was to make things harder for you when you were already unwell.

but he feels awful.

all he did was add to your stress, and now the guilt is eating at him. he’s ready to do anything—absolutely anything—to make things right with you, to hear you say you forgive him.

yet, it feels strange.

why does he feel this way about you?

whatever this is between you, it was supposed to be no strings attached. that was the deal. you both made it clear from the beginning. but somewhere along the line, things shifted. you’re not just a hookup to him anymore. you’re so much more than that, though he’s not sure how to define it.

he wonders if he should set boundaries, remind himself of what this arrangement is supposed to be. but it’s hard—impossible, even. every time you’re together, he’s drawn to you. it’s like you’ve got this pull on him, and he doesn’t even want to resist it.

he doesn’t wanna miss your touch.

and right now?

right now, he just misses you. everything about you.

“jungkook, is that you?” a voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. jungkook turns, searching for the source of the familiar voice.

“ah, it is you!”

his lips twitch into a smile when he spots the person approaching him.

“jin hyung,” he says, a little surprised to see him.

jin strides up to him, pulling him into a firm hug and patting his back.

“took you long enough to show up,” jungkook says as they pull apart, raising a brow.

jin lets out a dramatic sigh. “had to deal with things, you know how it is,” he says, waving a hand before flashing a grin. “but hey, i’m here now, aren’t i?”

“yeah, you are,” jungkook replies, shaking his head lightly, though the smile on his face betrays the faint scolding in his tone.

“oh, come on,” jin says, feigning offense. “is that it? is that all the welcome i get? give me a proper one! i am one of the guests tonight, after all.”

his grin grows wider, and jungkook can’t help but chuckle at his hyung’s playful energy.

where is jungkook?

you're in the auditorium, surrounded by bustling booths, neatly arranged tables, and groups of students passionately discussing their projects. you didn’t realize business majors went all out for an expo like this.

you feel like yelling his name at the top of your lungs. you've been walking around, searching through a sea of unfamiliar faces, but you can’t find him anywhere.

“uh, hey,” you say, tapping a guy’s shoulder, interrupting his conversation.

woah, this guy has really broad shoulders.

he turns around, and you’re momentarily taken aback. the man is tall, dressed in a suit that looks like it was tailored for him, glasses framing his handsome face, and hair styled perfectly.

“yes?” he asks, polite but slightly curious.

you hesitate, then decide to go for it. “do you know where i can find jungkook? i mean, jeon jungkook? he’s supposed to be here somewhere,” you say, unsure if he even knows who jungkook is. but you’re desperate now.

his lips curl into a small smile. “why, of course. i was just speaking with him a few minutes ago. he excused himself to use the restroom, so he should be back shortly.”

“thank you,” you reply quickly, already preparing to make your way toward the direction of the restrooms. maybe, just maybe, you’ll bump into him as he’s walking back.

“are you one of his friends?” the man asks suddenly, stopping you from taking a step forward.

you glance at him, unsure how to respond. “uh... yes, kinda. sure,” you say awkwardly. you catch the faint arch of his brow, as if your answer only piqued his curiosity more.

why didn’t i just say yes? you mentally scold yourself, feeling ridiculous.

clearing your throat, you quickly excuse yourself.

"excuse me,” you mumble before turning and walking away, hoping the restroom isn’t far and jungkook will finally appear.

you walk through the rows of booths, still scanning the area for any sign of jungkook. the loud chatter of students and the hum of discussions fill the air, but all you can focus on is the thought of finding him.

as you near the restrooms, you catch a glimpse of a familiar figure standing by the entrance, hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture relaxed yet somehow tense.

it’s him.

your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help the small sigh of relief that escapes you. he looks as good as ever, effortlessly drawing your eyes to him. he’s wearing a sharp black suit that fits him perfectly, making him look every bit as important as you’re sure he is. he must be a key figure in this expo, you think.

all you know is that he’s supposed to give some kind of presentation. that’s it. nothing more. you didn’t bother to find out the details because, honestly, none of it matters to you.

all you want right now is to see him.

you walk towards him, taking slow steps, unsure how to act. you haven't seen him in what feels like forever, and all that awkward tension you’ve been trying to ignore creeps back up.

when he notices you, his eyes widen for just a second before a small smile breaks across his face. it’s a smile you haven’t seen in a while.

“hey,” he greets you.

you nod, trying to keep your cool despite the rush of emotions. “hi,” you say, feeling your heart race. you look at him, searching his face for any clue about how he’s been, but you can't tell much.

“i didn’t think you’d show up,” he admits, his gaze flickering over you. “thought you were gonna skip it.”

“just wanted to see what this is all about.” you say, trying to sound casual

he chuckles softly, his eyesglancing down. “didn’t expect you to be interested in this stuff.”

“well, i’m not,” you say, feeling the need to explain yourself. “but i wanted to see you. jungkook.”

there’s a brief moment of silence as his expression shifts, and you can’t tell if he’s surprised or if he’s just been waiting for you to say something. his eyes meet yours, and there’s an intensity there that makes you second guess every word you just said.

“i’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he says quietly, stepping a little closer. “i know things have been... off. and honestly—”

loud chatter in the background interrupts him, making both of you exchange a quick glance before he speaks up again.

“follow me.”

you follow him without thinking. the sound of people fading away as you walk through the crowd. he leads you to what feels like an empty lecture hall, making sure to lock the door behind you. you stand there, waiting for him to speak, the quiet now heavy between you two.

“i know things have been different recently,” he starts again, his voice soft. “and i honestly don’t know why...” he sighs. “but i want to apologize for that day. i’m really sorry.”

you swallow, trying to steady yourself. “i forgive you,” you say, your voice steady, but there's still an uncertainty in your chest.

“really?” he looks at you, his gaze searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“yeah,” you nod, “i was just sick and i guess i overreacted a little, i’m sorry for that.”

he shakes his head quickly. “you didn’t. you didn’t overreact.”

a quiet but heavy silence fills the space between you both.

“so, uh, cool event,” you say, trying to break the tension.

“don’t act like you care,” jungkook smiles, the familiar smirk finally making its way onto his face.

you smile too, shrugging lightly. “yeah, i don’t.”

there’s another brief silence. you’re not sure what to say next, the awkwardness still lingering in the air. what if he’s going to end things? what if he’s had enough? what if.

“jungkook, i—”

his lips are on yours before you can even finish your sentence. the kiss catches you off guard, but his arms wrap tightly around your waist, pulling you in, and any hesitation melts away. his warmth seeps into you, grounding you in the moment as his lips move against yours with a desperate sort of tenderness.

you don’t pull back. instead, you let yourself fall into it, let him guide you. the kiss deepens, and with it, the questions and uncertainties that had been weighing you down dissolve, replaced by the overwhelming feeling of him. here, now, with you.

when you finally pull back, your chest heaves as you gasp for air. your mind is racing, your heart pounding in your chest. you don’t know how to respond. a part of you wants to spill everything; how much you’ve missed him, how unbearable the distance has been, how empty you’ve felt without his touch. but the words catch in your throat, like they're stuck somewhere.

“i’m sorry, i…” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. his hands don’t leave your waist, holding you close as if afraid you might slip away. “i missed you.”

those three words hit harder than you expect, stirring something deep inside you. warmth spreads through your chest, a quiet comfort you didn’t realize you’d been craving.

it’s simple, almost too simple, but it feels like it’s enough. like it’s the answer to everything that’s been weighing on your heart; the confusion, the space, the silence between you two. suddenly, none of it matters.

“you missed me?” you ask softly, your voice trembling just slightly. it’s as if you need to hear him say it again, to be sure you’re not imagining it.

he nods, his eyes locked on yours. his voice is gentle. “yeah, i did.”

you stare at each other for a moment, the air between you thick with many unspoken feelings. then, without thinking, you lean in, closing the distance as your lips find his. your arms wrapping around his neck as if pulling him closer could erase all the time you spent apart. he responds immediately, his lips pressing against yours with equal fervor, like he’s been waiting for this.

your right leg slides up instinctively, brushing against his hip, and he understands your silent request. his hands move to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he lifts you effortlessly. your legs wrap around his waist, and his strong hands shift to cup your ass, holding you securely against him. the closeness sends a rush of heat through you, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

the kiss deepens, his tongue teasing against your lips until you part them, granting him access. his tongue brushes against yours, slow and deliberate, sending a wave of warmth straight to your core. you hum softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating between you, and his grip on you tightens.

he places you on the nearby desk, his lips never leaving yours. his hands grip your waist, keeping you steady. your fingers slide down to his chest, gently gripping his shirt as if holding on for balance. he pulls back for a brief moment, giving you both a chance to catch your breath.

without hesitation, he shrugs off his blazer, carelessly tossing it to the floor. the sound of it hitting the ground barely registers as his hands return to you, cupping your face with a tenderness that contrasts the heat between you. his lips find yours again, urgent yet soft, and you let him take control, your hands moving to cup his face too.

your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer, and you can feel his soft bulge pressing against you. the sensation is enough to make your breath hitch, and you instinctively tilt your hips toward him, craving more of the pressure.

he pulls back slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he murmurs, “you drive me crazy.”

oh fuck.

“what—” you start to ask, but the sound of knocking interrupts you.

both of your heads snap toward the door, your bodies tense.

“jungkook!? you in there?” a familiar voice calls out, loud and clear.

jungkook immediately recognizes it and clears his throat, trying to steady his voice. “yes! jin hyung, i’m here.”

“i’m about to give my speech, so you better be there asap!” jin’s voice is full of its usual dramatic flair. “i came all the way here for this moment, and i don’t want you to miss my glory.”

you hear his footsteps retreating, his words lingering in the air.

jungkook exhales, his head leaning slightly forward until it rests against your forehead. his hands remain on your waist, his touch warm, grounding you in a moment that feels anything but steady. he mumbles under his breath, almost as if he’s scolding himself. “of all the times…”

your heart races, and your mind spins in circles. what does he mean by you drive him crazy? the weight of those words presses down on you, heavy and confusing.

“jungkook,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “i think you should go.”

he lifts his head to look at you, his brows furrowing slightly. the regret in his eyes is unmistakable.

maybe i shouldn’t have said that. he thinks as he takes a small step back, creating a gap between you that suddenly feels too wide.

“are you going to stay?” he asks cautiously, his voice softer now.

you open your mouth to answer but hesitate. you don’t know what to say. this was never part of your plan. all you wanted was to see him, to tell him you were sorry too. but now, standing here with him, everything feels so much more complicated.

“___,” he says your name gently, snapping you out of your daze. your gaze meets his, and he blinks at you, his expression searching.

“i know things have changed between us, and—”

“what do you mean? we’re fine, though,” you cut him off quickly, the words spilling out as if saying them will make them true.

he lets out a heavy sigh, “are we?”

the question catches you off guard. your frown deepens as uncertainty settles in your chest.

are we?

your silence answers for you, and he notices. he always notices.

“it’s okay,” he says softly, almost like he’s trying to soothe you. “i don’t know how to deal with it either.” he pauses, his voice quieter. “i don’t know what we are right now.”

what are we?

the words echo in your mind, and you hate how much they hurt. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you never wanted it to turn into this mess.

“i think…” you start, and his eyes are on you immediately, waiting, hoping you’ll say something that will make this all easier.

“...i should go.”

you don’t miss the way his shoulders drop just slightly, the smallest sign of defeat. you hesitate for a moment before sliding off the desk, your movements stiff and uncertain.

you gulp, forcing yourself to meet his gaze one last time. “good luck with your presentation,” you say softly. you linger for a second, watching him, hoping he’ll say something to stop you. but all he does is nod, his response quiet and unreadable.

with a deep breath, you turn around and walk toward the door. every step feels heavier than the last.

behind you, jungkook exhales a long, weary sigh, running a hand through his hair.

did i mess it up? he wonders, his chest tightening with something he doesn’t know how to name.

a/n: um haha.... jin with glasses yay!! 🏃🏻‍♀️

📜 series taglist: @deepikhaprakash @rjooniesdimples @wombatkitten127 @hoseokteardrop

📜 permanent taglist: @lovieku @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @onlyforyoukook @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @genevieveeeee @kookoo-kachoo @junecat18 @iheartchanelle @internetrando64 @jkvias @134340-kr @mar-lo-pap @fluttershypoo @kyuupii @https-mei @elinaki92 @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @jaykay-world @jmscaffeine @libra04 @beigerin @nikidream24 @svnbangtansworld @mimi1097

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It Was Smiling Down - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: Ryan Butcher I'd die for you. If Eric Kripke EVER does you dirty he will have to answer to me personally. Title from San Francisco by the Mowgli's.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary/Warnings: A Ryan pov Chapter! Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, slightly angst, pre-established relationship

Ryan Butcher doesn’t really trust people. As a whole, they haven’t proven themselves to be that trustworthy. They mostly lie to him, or hurt him, or yell at him things that haunt him when he can’t sleep. Things about how he hurts people, when he doesn’t mean to. 

He never means to hurt anyone. It makes him feel heavy and sad and sick, and then the sizzle of flesh or crunch of bones has to be added to his nightmares, along with all the other faces that he did something bad to. Mom said hurting people was bad, and that we should treat others with kindness.

Dad said it didn’t matter. Dad said that people were like toys for them—the stronger, the better, the gods—to play with. That if Ryan broke one or two spines, or smashed four or five people into buildings, or punched a dozen people’s faces into their bodies, it didn’t really matter. The toy box was infinite, so they’d find a replacement. Dad said that humans couldn’t stop reproducing like cockroaches, so killing a few, or a lot, was if anything a favor to the universe.

Ryan had told Her that once. Not what his Dad had said—the mention of Dad always made Her face look sad, and Ben’s face look angry—but that cockroaches reproduced a lot. She’d been visiting him and Ben during training—all of them sitting on the floor, Ryan cross legged and Her leaning against Ben’s body—and Ryan had said it for a reason he couldn’t now remember.

She’d paused, frowning at her sandwich, then looked up at Ryan with a soft, curious gaze. “Do they? I mean, all bugs reproduce quickly for survival purposes, but I don’t think cockroaches are that remarkable at it.”

“I, I don’t know.” Ryan had mumbled, his eyes dropping to the mat. He didn’t want Her to be disappointed in him, even if she’d never been before. “I just heard it somewhere, I guess.”

“Huh.” She’d shrugged, reaching over Ben’s body to grab one of his fries that he always told Ryan tasted like fucking Styrofoam, but still brought every time she ate lunch with them. “Maybe I’m wrong-“

“No.” Ryan’s head had shaken nervously, because if Ben had taught him anything it was that She was almost never wrong. “I, I must have gotten it mixed up, I don’t know what animal reproduces the most-“ 

“Seahorses.”

Ryan had looked back up to Her, to see her grinning at him. All teeth and a warm affection that made the twisting feeling in Ryan’s gut fade. “Seahorses?” 

She’d nodded, humming an affirmation. “Up to 2,000 babies at a time.” Then She’d twisted around to look at Ben, her face growing just a little brighter than it had been before as Ryan saw their eyes meet. “And the men give birth to them, Benjamin.”

Ben had scowled. “How the fuck is that my problem-“

She’d pouted at him, and Ryan had seen them do this a million times before. She poked him, and he poked back, and neither of them ever really meant it, and it would go and go until one of them—probably Ben, Ryan had seen Her talk circles around their whole weird little family all at once with breaking or faltering—gave in and shut the other up.

“Would you give birth to my seahorse babies, my love?”

“I’m not giving birth to fucking shit-“

“But would you-“

“No.” Ben had grunted, rolling his eyes. “Because men don’t give fucking birth-“

“Seahorse men do. Seahorse men get pregnant, and then give birth. Which is usually how that process goes, but in seahorse societies it’s considered masculine. The men give birth because they love their partners and don’t want them to be in pain-“

Ryan didn’t think that last part was true, but there was usually a point in these arguments where She started to tug at Ben’s shirt with a soft, teasing smile, and said words that didn’t need to be true, because they were almost always her winning blow. This hadn’t been any different, because She’d cut herself off with a small yelp as Ben pulled her further into his lap, leaning down to kiss her.

Ryan had found somewhere else to look for a few minutes. He’d gotten good at that, at reading when he had to pretend that his two trusted adults weren’t maybe seconds from having sex on the floor. They never did, and it didn’t really bother Ryan—they both smiled twice as much when they were done, and Ryan had seen a lot worse than the way they always seemed to be eating each other’s faces—but he still had to wait it out.

When it was preceded by one of their fake arguments, it usually lasted a little longer. The kissing would stop, and they’d just look at each for a minute or two until She turned back to Ryan and Ben’s arms locked around her stomach.

That was Ryan’s favorite part of this. How She’d keep talking to him with a wide, happy expression that Butcher had called Her ditzy fuckin Soldier Boy smile, and Ben would just look at Her.

Ryan really liked how Ben looked at Her. It was an expression of something soft and powerful that he’d only ever seen on Ben’s face, only ever directed at her. It was relaxed and adoring, but still solemn and firm in the only way Ben seemed to know how to be. Like She might be the only thing that Ben knew was real, and he wasn’t bothered by that at all.

It wasn’t like Dad had looked at Stormfront. That had been meaner. Like they were always in a fight—not one of Her and Ben’s play fights, which were more like a cat and a dog swatting at each other before the dog flopped over, and the cat climbed on top of it, but instead a violent, bloody war—and were trying to see who’d snap first. Dad had looked at Stormfront like he was waiting for her to stab him, but wasn’t sure she would.

Ben looked at Her like he’d handed her the knife to carve into his body, and She’d made a face and thrown it away. 

Ryan hadn’t really ever seen Butcher look at Mom, but he hoped it had been a little like that. It was what Mom had deserved, even if Butcher could be a cock fuck bitch with his head tonguing his own ass, in Ben’s words.

But Butcher was getting better. He’d apologized for saying Ryan had hurt Mom—he hadn’t meant to, he never meant to, and he still had nightmares where Mom’s guts were spilling out of her body, and she looked right through Ryan like he was a ghost—and mostly didn’t talk to Ryan about Dad anymore.

Nobody really liked to talk to Ryan about Dad. Ryan knew She would, if he asked, but he didn’t want to ask. He’d never forget what Butcher had shown him—about Mom and Dad and Her—or how, for the first two months Ryan had lived with everyone, She’d been gone because of Dad. Because of Ryan. 

Not your fucking fault, kid. She’d kill me if I let you blame yourself for your pussy fuck dad’s actions.

That was why Ryan talked to Ben about it. He didn’t coddle or lie or sweeten the truth, he just grunted words that—when Ben said them—always seemed to be the inherent truth. Dad wasn’t Ryan’s fault, and Ryan was getting stronger, and it was okay that Ryan got afraid because it he wasn’t a pathetic fucking dickless pussy about it.

Ryan asked Ben if it was okay to hurt people, and Ben told him if they fucking deserve it, but only if they deserve it, and Ryan decided that sounded right. And She said most people didn’t deserve to be hurt, and very few things were truly unforgivable, so Ryan could try to figure out what things were really wrong, and then hurt the people that really deserved it.

Dad deserved it. When Ryan wasn’t afraid of Dad, he was angry at him. 

“Do you get angry?” He’d mumbled over a breakfast in Her and Ben’s apartment, and She’d hummed, tilting her head.

“I do. We all do. Anger is our brains telling us that something is unfair, and a lot of this isn’t really fair. So yeah, I get angry.”

Ryan had nodded slowly, turning to Ben as he approached the table from the kitchen. “Ben, do you-“ 

“Course I fucking get angry.” Ben had dumped three large pancakes onto Ryan’s plate, then two larger ones onto Her’s, then a smaller one onto his own, and ignored Her glare as he dropped into his seat. “This whole goddamn thing-“

She’d cleared her throat, eyes narrowed at Ben. “Benjamin.”

“What-“

She’d given a pointed look to his plate, then back to him. “You need to eat as well.”

“I’ll be fine, Sunshine, you and the kid need more than I do-“

She’d cut one of Her pancakes in half, moving the bigger piece to Ben’s plate, and he’d scowled. They’d both been silent, glaring at each other for almost a minute, and then Ben had grunted. She’d leaned back into her chair with a smug grin, and everything had moved on.

Neither of them had been mad, though. Ryan had thought that glaring and frowning was only about hatred, but when She and Ben glowered at each other it seemed to be more of a standoff. An act or show or contest of affection that neither of them ever seemed to be upset about losing.

They were never really mad at each other at all. Ryan had seen them yell at and taunt and mock each other, but there always seemed to be something under it that sounded like I love you. I’m allowed to call you a dumb dumb or pain in the ass, because I love you and we both know I don’t mean it, because I’m “fighting” with you, but I’m also holding onto you like you’re a buoy in the storm.

Ryan wanted to love someone like that. He wanted someone to love him like that. Because Ben never seemed to really think she was mad at him, even when she called him a cunt or idiot or asshole. Ryan himself didn’t think she was ever really mad at Ben, because he’d watch Her hit Ben’s arm with a fake pout or glare, but she’d never flinch or cower away from him. She was always touching Ben, and she was never afraid of him. Ben had hurt people, Ben was just as dangerous as Ryan was, but She only touched and looked at him like he’d fallen from heaven for her to have. She always kept her hand in Ben’s, or her body in his arms, or their legs pressed together. And she always looked for him. And She always seemed to be happier when she was talking to and looking at Ben, with just his presence never failing to make her smile.

And Ben loved Her. It seemed like love in movies Ryan had watched with Mom, or that he’d read about in books he’d found tucked in corners of Butcher’s apartment. But real. Ryan didn’t think Ben was capable of being really, truly mad at Her, and she seemed to know it. Ben would roll his eyes at Her, and grumble that she was brat, or glare at her in a way that would be dangerous if it wasn’t at Her. Whenever Ben glared at Her it was so painfully fake Ryan wondered if Butcher had been lying when he’d told Ryan not to mention love around those two twats, they ain’t aware that they’re fuckin obsessed with each other yet after She’d returned, because Ben didn’t seem capable looking at Her with anything but love painted over his features.

They certainly knew now. Everyone knew, because every third sentence out of Ben’s mouth was another declaration of love for Her. Every single thing Ben did seemed to be something for Her. Ryan would eat dinner with them, and he’d see Ben pass Her a fistful of stolen chocolate under the table. He’d watch a movie with them, and She’d would be holding Ben’s arms against Her, and Ben would kiss her in the dark and snort at her jokes and get Her and Ryan snacks whenever either of them so much as mentioned the word hungry. He’d train with Ben, and ask a question about punching, and Ben would grumble about how She said you could punch people and be a pacifist, like Muhammad Ali, and she was always fucking right about that shit. And She was a genius. And a better person than every other fucking pussy on the planet, so they should both fucking listen to her. 

Ben carried Her in his arms wherever she let him, and She never stopped smiling at him, and Ryan had decided that if he ever loved someone—far in the future, when Dad was just a faint, reoccurring nightmare—he’d love them like Ben loved Her.

Ryan would never be like Homelander, because he’d never lock up or hurt people he loved. Ryan would be like Ben. And that felt easier, because Ben never demanded that Ryan follow in his steps. He was just there, and trustworthy, and Ryan wanted to be strong like him. He wanted to protect people and do things for them. He wanted to never speak or think of his Dad again, because really their family was Ben and Her, a stained hole that didn’t really matter and Ben wouldn’t let hurt them, and Ryan. It was Butcher forgiving Ryan, because he was trying, and She said the most important thing anyone could do was try to be better. 

He was really trying to be better. Ryan didn’t really trust people, but he trusted Her and Ben when they said that this wasn’t his fault. He believed them when they told him what he knew, that Ryan really didn’t mean to hurt people.

And Ryan hoped that, after Homelander was dead, he’d get to have a life where they kept smiling at each other—and him—and Ryan never was made to hurt someone again.

End Note: Catch Ben in his Dad era, coming to a No Love Lost chapter near you (in all seriousness I hope you guys liked the extra pov! An outside perspective on how down bad they both are was very fun to write)

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Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd

[whimsicalpolitical]

"i’m.. i’m trying. i really am."

for matty 🙏🤍

love you so much!

thank you, love!! i love you

you’re surprised he’s still sleeping.

normally, matty wakes up restless, sheets tangled around his legs, his brows knitted like he’s deep in some half-formed dream he can't quite shake. but this morning, he’s still, his face buried in the pillow, hair a mess of curls splayed in every direction. his ringed fingers peek out from under the duvet, twitching slightly like he’s reaching for something. or someone.

you balance the mug of coffee in your hand, steam curling up and dispersing into the cold air of his room. the floorboards creak slightly under your weight, and his nose wrinkles at the sound, his eyes fluttering open just a crack.

he sees the coffee first. the his gaze trails up to meet yours.

“erm, thanks,” he rasps, his voice rough with the remnants of last night’s whiskey and sleep. he pushes himself up, shoulders tight, lips parting like he wants to say more.

you tilt your head, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “what? surprised to see me?”

his brows pinch together, eyes flicking away like he’s ashamed to look at you too long. “didn’t think you’d still wanna be around after…” he swallows, his fingers curling around the coffee mug, knuckles pale. “y’know, me being a right fuckin’ mess.”

you take a breath, trying to steady yourself. “yeah, well, that mess is my boyfriend. or at least, I thought he was.”

he flinches like the word stings. “i didn’t mean to—”

“ghost me for a week?” you snap, folding your arms. “george had to fucking call me because you were too pissed to get yourself home.”

you don’t let him answer, “and you couldn’t even text me anything, could’ve just told me to fuck off or something.

he exhales slowly, setting the coffee down on the nightstand with a dull thud. he rubs a hand over his face. “i would never want you to fuck off. i wanted to. i fucking wanted to call. i just.. couldn’t.”

“why?” Your voice cracks, and you hate how small it sounds. “why couldn’t you, matty?”

his jaw works like he’s chewing on the words, trying to spit them out without choking. finally, he mutters, “because i didn’t want you to realize you’re dating a twat and decide to run for the hills.”

your eyes widen, disbelief knotting in your stomach. “you think that’s your call to make?”

he looks at you then, really looks at you, his eyes glassy and raw. “it’s not fair to you,” he says quietly. “you deserve better. i’m shit at this—at relationships. i thought maybe if i gave you a bit of space, you’d figure out you don’t need someone who falls apart every other week.”

“that’s bollocks, matty. you don’t get to decide how much of your ‘mess’ I can handle. that’s my choice. and right now, i’m standing here, aren’t i?”

he presses his lips together, his fingers gripping the edge of the duvet like he’s holding on for dear life.

“i fucked up.”

“yeah, you did,” you say, your voice softening despite yourself. “but disappearing on me doesn’t protect me from anything. it just makes me feel like i don’t matter.”

“you matter more than anyone. that’s the problem.” he breathes in deeply, “christ, i’ve never felt this way about anyone and i am fucking scared, alright? i don’t want to fuck up.”

“maybe stop trying to protect me from yourself. i’m here because i want to be. even when you’re a mess.”

he lets out a shaky laugh, the sound bitter and fragile. “you’re too good for me.”

you ease down onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. for a second, neither of you says anything. the silence hangs heavy, fragile as glass, like one wrong move could shatter it all. you glance down at his hand, the rings glinting faintly in the morning light, his fingers twitching like they’re unsure of what to do.

slowly, you reach out, and his hand finds yours—tentative, trembling slightly. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, tracing the lines of your skin like he’s memorizing them, afraid he might forget.

he clears his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m— i’m trying. i really am.”

“i know,” you squeeze his hand gently, grounding him.

his eyes flicker up to meet yours, and for a moment, you see all the raw, unfiltered parts of him—the fear, the guilt, the hope. he bites his bottom lip, his brows furrowing like he’s struggling to find the right words.

“i just… i really am scared,” he admits, his voice breaking. “Scared I’m gonna fuck this up even more. scared I’ll hurt you.”

“matty, being scared is fine. but shutting me out? that’s what hurts.”

he swallows hard, his grip on your hand tightening. “i don’t wanna do that anymore. i promise.”

you nod, the anger you’d felt earlier softening into something more fragile. “then let me in. even when you’re a mess. even when it’s ugly.”

“alright,” he breathes out shakily, “i’m sorry. you didn’t deserve that.”

You pull his hand into your lap, running your thumb over the cool metal of his rings. “it’s okay, as long as you won’t do that anymore.”

“i won’t.”

he watches you for a second longer, eyes dark and full of something heavy and unspoken. then his hand moves, sliding to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. before you can say anything, he tugs you forward, not roughly, just enough to pull you into him, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“m’sorry,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, his voice cracking. “god, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to shut you out. didn’t mean to hurt you.”

you feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his body so close it’s like he’s trying to mold himself to you. you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, your hand coming up to rest against his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“hey,” you whisper, “it’s alright.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his brows drawn together, eyes glassy. “it’s not, though. you shouldn’t have to deal with my bullshit.”

you shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “i want to deal with your bullshit, matty. that’s what this is, yeah? i’m here for all of it. the good, the bad, the messy.”

his lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile of his own. “even when i’m a self-sabotaging twat?”

you huff a laugh, brushing your thumb against his jaw. “especially then.”

his eyes soften, and for a moment, he just looks at you like he’s trying to figure out how he got so lucky. then he dips his head, his nose bumping yours, lips brushing so lightly it’s barely a kiss.

“i don’t deserve you,” he murmurs.

“stop saying that,” you reply, your lips ghosting over his cheek. “you’ve got me, haven’t you?”

he sighs, his forehead resting against yours. “yeah. and i don’t wanna fuck that up again.”

“then don’t,” you whisper. “just… be here. with me.”

his hand tightens on the back of your neck, pulling you in until your lips meet his. the kiss is slow, almost hesitant at first, like he’s afraid he might break you. but then you press closer, your fingers sliding up into his curls, and he melts into you, the tension in his shoulders finally unraveling.

when you pull back, he’s breathing a little harder, his eyes searching yours. “so… what do you wanna do today?” his voice is low, cautious, like he doesn’t want to break whatever fragile peace you’ve just found.

you smile, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “just stay here. stay in bed all day. with you.”

his lips quirk into a half-smile, the kind that makes his dimples appear. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you nod, tugging him back down onto the bed with you. “nothing else matters today. just this.”

he lets out a soft, relieved laugh, pulling you against his chest. his arms wrap around you, one hand still resting at the nape of your neck, like he’s afraid to let go. you press your ear to his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“that sounds perfect,” he whispers, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your hair. “hot cocoa and bed rotting. very on-brand.”

you laugh softly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “as long as you don’t ghost me halfway through the day.”

his smile falters just a bit, but he shakes his head, eyes steady on yours. “promise. i’m not going anywhere.”

you smile, finally feeling the knot in your chest loosen. “good. then i guess you’re stuck with me.”

he grins, leaning down to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[lowkeychenle]

Late Nights [LMH]

Description: Mark's busy schedule only gives him time to come over late at night, but it's safe to say neither of you are complaining by the time you fall asleep.

Genre: Fluff/Smut (Shower sex for the win, but anyway, unedited and maybe not my best work but I just wrote this today in the last hour haha sorry in advance)

Content Warnings: Explicit unprotected sex (don't do this LOL)

Word Count: 1,801

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

Juliet's Masterlist

It’s well past midnight by the time the door to your apartment opens. After several months of making your relationship official, you’re used to this—to Mark coming to see you late at night because that’s when he finally gets out of practice.

He always tells you not to wait up for him, but you do anyway.

The sight of his silhouette in your peripheral vision has you turning in his direction. He runs his fingers through his freshly-dyed blond hair, a sigh escaping his lips as he walks toward you. Sitting on the edge of your bed, he gives you the slightest hint of a smile, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You’re awake.”

“You say that like sleeping without you is easy.” You reach over and intertwine your fingers. “How was practice?”

“It was alright,” he says. “Something was wrong with me today, I think. I couldn’t get any of the moves down.”

“How dare you have an off day, Mark Lee?” You narrow your eyes playfully at him, and he chuckles.

“Donghyuck is gonna kick my ass if I keep ditching him for you.” Mark rubs his thumb along your palm. “You’re much more fun than he is.”

“I think you could take him.” You sit up, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

“I was gonna hop in the shower real quick. Care to join me?” He quirks an eyebrow at you, and immediately, you know you’re putty in his hands. You nod, allowing him to pull you toward the bathroom. He flicks the light on, shrouding you both in fluorescent lighting.

Flinching at the sudden change, he lets out a tiny groan. You take a moment to appreciate him, the way his messy hair still somehow looks effortless on the top of his head, the too-large T-shirt nearly swallowing him whole. Two braids rest on either side of his face. They must’ve filmed something today if they styled him like this. You love it, though. It suits him well.

You help him take them out, starting the water. After months, he has yet to figure out how to work your shower. You’re sure, in reality, that he just wants you to do it for him. He’d never admit it out loud.

As soon as the shower’s ready, his hands are already sliding beneath your shirt. He moves sluggishly, as if his practice took a lot out of him today. Instead of teasing him about it, you allow him to remove your clothes before working on his own. Although, you’re not entirely sure getting clean is his goal when you two step beneath the steaming stream of water. Your back is pressed against chilled tile before you have the chance to register the drastic change in temperature.

He grips your waist, dropping his head on your shoulder. Pressing a kiss there, he takes a deep breath. You rest your head back on the wall, allowing him to do whatever it is he wants. It’s late, and you’re exhausted, but, unfortunately, this is really the only alone time you and Mark are allowed together.

In the morning, he’ll be gone by eight.

“Are you tired?” he whispers, fingertips tracing along the curve of your ass.

You grasp his hair, gently tugging him back so you can look into his eyes. Shaking your head, you lean forward and brace yourself for the electricity that comes with his touch. “Never too tired for you.”

Just as you suspect, his lips send a shiver down your spine. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel him beginning to harden against your stomach. Without another thought, you deepen the kiss, whimpering when his tongue enters your mouth.

“You’ll be the death of me one day, you know that?” he mutters, gathering your hands in his and pinning them above your head. “I missed you today.”

“Only today?” you tease him.

“Every second of every day,” he responds, touch dancing from your hip and dipping dangerously close to where you need him.

You’re already squirming, pushing yourself toward him in a feeble attempt to spur him forward. He slides one finger along your entrance.

“You’re always so ready for me.” His voice rumbles through your skin, sending another bout of warmth between your legs.

Knowing he’s about to give in, you close your eyes, rest your head against the tile, and widen your stance to allow him better access. Two of his fingers slide in with ease, and the sound that leaves your mouth echoes off the walls.

“I love you,” he whispers. “You look so beautiful like this.”

As much as you’re dying to touch him, his grip on your wrists is firm. You don’t want to test him tonight, not when he’s looking at you like you’re everything he’s ever wished for. He keeps a steady pace, eyes analyzing your face.

“I wish I could be inside you like this all the time.” He sets his forehead against yours, the deep brown of his eyes whirling with all the emotions he doesn’t get to show to you during the day.

“Need more,” you say, rolling your hips to aid his pace.

“Are you sure you’re ready for me?” he asks, thumb brushing your clit.

Your body jolts in response, craving him in every way possible.

“You don’t want to finish like this first?”

You shake your head. “Mark.”

He hums in response, gently removing his fingers from you. His gaze catches yours as he slides them between his lips instead, a low moan emanating as he sucks your arousal from them.

“God, you taste good.”

You don’t have to say another word. He releases your wrists and grips your waist instead, hoisting you upward. You latch your legs around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair. He slams his lips against yours, your mouths melding together in a harmony you’ve only ever been able to accomplish with him.

The kiss is messy, teeth clashing despite somewhat slower movements. He reaches down to grab his cock, sliding it along your entrance. A whine escapes you, but he swallows it with ease. Steam wafts around the two of you, the water mostly hitting Mark’s back. If he wasn’t pressed so closely to you, you’d be shivering.

“Are you sure?” He dips down to kiss your neck, tongue leaving a trail of saliva along your thundering pulse.

“Positive.”

He shifts a bit before you feel his tip. Your breath catches in your throat as he slowly slides in, stretching you to your limit just like he did every other time. Arching your back, you dig your nails into his shoulders. 

Your name tumbles from his lips, and his eyes roll back before he clenches them shut. Without wasting a moment, he starts moving, breathing ragged as he takes you slowly. His eyebrows furrow. You can’t help the moans leaving you every time he sheathes himself inside completely.

Both of you are usually partial to dirty talking, but today, he seems to just want to relish in the feeling and sounds he pulls from you.

He hits a spot inside of you that has you calling out louder and holding on tighter than before. Tonight, he grunts with each thrust, occasionally allowing your name to mingle with the steam.

His cock feels heavenly inside of you, rubbing and sliding against your walls as if he were made just for you. The slow pace drives you crazy, near making you beg for me. Like he can read your mind, his hand trails between the two of you and rubs circles on your clit.

The bubble in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten, and you try to stop yourself from getting lost in the pleasure. Everything about his movements is precise. He does it the way he knows you like it, having learned your body and what gets you off since you began dating.

The second you catch the dark, lustful look in his eyes, the bubble bursts. You swear your vision blurs as your hips slam toward his. Unintentionally, you scratch down his biceps to ground yourself, leaving angry red marks in your wake.

His thrusts pick up as he chases his high. Once his breathing picks up, you know he’s only moments away from following your lead. You kiss him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip and tugging it.

His voice cracks mid-whine as he presses himself as deep as he can get. He curses, spilling inside you. You remain in this position for a moment, both of you breathing heavily as he showers your face and shoulders with kisses.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groans.

“Says you.” You let out a breathless laugh, tracing the marks on his arms. “I guess it’ll be long sleeves for you this week.”

“Worth it.” He grins and pulls out of you. Setting you back on your feet, he pulls you underneath the stream of water. “I guess we should actually shower now, huh?”

The rest of it is spent with you helping him wash, and you even spend a little bit of time massaging his shoulders. He stares at you lovingly, head tilted with a slight smile playing on his lips.

“You’re everything, you know that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I do. You didn’t have to stay up and wait for me. Hell, you didn’t even have to let me come over tonight. My schedule sucks, and I’m sorry about that, but I can’t help but love the way you’re okay with adapting to it.” He plants a kiss on your forehead. “No matter what you think, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You allow his words to sink in. They said a bout of heat to your cheeks, surely turning you red. He intertwines your fingers together.

“I’m keeping you up,” Mark murmurs. “Let’s get out and go to bed.”

He kisses you one last time before turning the water off and grabbing a towel for you. As soon as you’re dry, neither of you bother to put clothes on. He climbs into your bed with you. Like it’s a reflex, he pulls you to his chest and kisses the top of your head.

Sure, you didn’t have to let him come over and you definitely didn’t have to stay up waiting for him, but these moments with him are your favorite. They’re the ones you will always remember, even when his schedule starts to slow down and he’s free to spend more of his time with you.

He falls asleep with your head on his chest, his heart thumping steadily and soft snores escaping him. You smile, realizing you’d never trade these late nights for anything.

[radiant-reid]

The Right Person

request:

things spencer would say to his ex who’s his ex but not really his ex bc their hearts always belong to the other but is actually his ex bc they called it quits but just bc it’s over doesn’t mean it’s really over cuz he’s just: last slide

Summary: Right person, wrong time... at least until there's a part two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (angst, sort of)

Content Warning: a tiny spicy moment

Word Count: 3.3k

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Spencer has always jumped into things too quickly. It's the cocktail of being a romantic, coming from a broken home, failing with most social relationships, and the desperate need for a family.

So when Y/n came along, all smiles and beauty, he moved too fast. Fell is probably a more accurate verb. He fell in love so quickly without any logic that he couldn't help proposing a year in and marrying her six months later.

She offered him support and unconditional love. And for the first time in a tough five years in the FBI, he felt like the world wasn't completely terrible.

The whirlwind relationship would have been much better if taken slowly. It might have even worked out. With their fast pace, neither of them could keep up and after four years, trying to make it work wasn't worth it. The therapy, fights, and long periods without speaking wasted time and drained them both emotionally.

It was like fire. Hot and heavy or warm and comforting, but they were destined for a burn.

Sure, they loved each other more than anything, and they would forever argue that they're soulmates and the timing was at fault.

When Beatrice was nine months old, it was clear things wouldn't, so for her sake, Spencer moved out, the fighting stopped, and they could be friends.

For three months, they've been doing well with their co-parenting routine. Since Spencer had spent so much time away during their marriage, Y/n didn't have to get over the feeling of loss.

Maybe some of that could be accounted for by the fact it still felt like they were dating, the magnetism between them still volatile.

It's Saturday when Y/n's baking in the kitchen. She's yet to enquire about selling it, probably because they're yet to properly get divorced. Somehow, it doesn't feel weird for her to live in their marital home. She ignores how little it feels like they're broken up, especially when she's eagerly anticipating him coming home back from a case. He's not even coming to see her, but she's changed out of her pajamas and put makeup on.

"Guess who?" A voice says while the matching fingers block her vision.

If she didn't know that voice like the back of her hand, she would have freaked out. "You're so close to losing your key, Spencer Walter Reid."

He pulls his hands away, resting his back against the bench with his body facing her. "Boring answer. I would have accepted sexy ex or the smartest man alive." He says, smiling his perfect wide smile.

He looks good, a golden glow still surrounding him, and his shirt fits him tightly around his muscles. She's allowed to say that as his eventual ex-wife, right? It's more of a compliment to herself for attracting attractive, intelligent men. That's how she justifies it anyway.

"Who's been inflating your ego, loser?" She teases.

Repartee of their level is something no one else could ever offer him, and he cringes when other people try. "Jealous?" He asks.

Yes, she is. She'd love to shower him with compliments. Tell him about how nice his hair looks a little bit longer, how he should wear more light blue because it really is his color, how good he smells, and some less innocent things as well. The jealousy boils in her at the thought of someone else doing that. Still, she resists.

"That someone else has to vacate the bathroom for hours each day so you can do your hair? No." She lies. It's a lie on all levels.

Unimportantly, he doesn't spend that long in the bathroom, and he's about the furthest thing from a narcissist there is, but deeply, she would jump at the opportunity to be locked out of the bathroom while he spends far too long in the shower and be greeted with the gorgeous sight of a towel wrapped around his hips and his chest showing.

"Okay." He lets it go, and it annoys her that he won't believe the time. "Can I have some cookie dough?"

"Say please." She directs.

He pouts too much like Beatrice. "Please." He complies before opening her mouth.

She frowns, unsure if he seriously wants her to hand-feed him cookie dough. The answer is yes because he doesn't shut his mouth and tell her it's a joke. She scoops some up, putting her fingers into his mouth. He doesn't let them sneak out without wrapping his lips. It's suggestive, and it doesn't disgust her.

"You'll get salmonella." She tells him when he finally lets her fingers out of his mouth. She tries not to blush like mad while she wipes her fingers on a kitchen towel.

"You'll have to look after me then," Spencer says, justifying it. "As the person who gave it to me."

She shakes her head. "Gross."

"Why are you baking on a Saturday?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at her. He's suspicious whenever things change in her behavior, more so than anyone else's.

"I'm anticipating being busy tomorrow." She answers ambiguously.

It was on purpose, but the goal wasn't to make him curious and ask more questions. She just wasn't jumping at the opportunity to hear his opinion on her love life.

Unfortunately, his curiosity peaked when she started speaking. "Why?" She mumbles out an answer that he doesn't catch. "Come on, don't be shy."

"I'm going on a date." She says finally, avoiding looking at him.

That knocks him off guard, the smile slipping from his face as he steps back. Quickly, he forces himself to say something recoverable to hide the hurt and shock he's feeling at the unexpected news. "Does he know you're married?"

He knows he has no right to be upset about it. Not only are they not exclusive, but they're, in no way, romantically involved. It's why there's no bite in his words, nothing vicious in his tone.

It hits him harder with every passing second. Her statement is something he never expected, and questioning why that is while standing in the middle of their kitchen with her in a beautiful new top, yeah, it's gut-wrenching.

She holds up her bare left hand, shed of a wedding ring. "He doesn't, no."

"What's his name?" Spencer asks next. There are a million questions on his mind, but he keeps the conversation casual.

"Bradley."

She feels guilty for it, unsure if it's cheating guilt or mom guilt, and she's forced to constantly remind herself that it's okay, she's allowed to say yes when she gets asked out and be swept away by someone else.

His next move, to her, seems predictable. Whenever he's looking for more information, he stays quiet, waiting for her to feel awkward enough to elaborate. Even though she used to read him like an open book, she can't see that he's processing, replaying their worst moments-the moments that led them here- in his head.

She keeps talking, annoyed that his old trick is working when really she's just breaking his heart more. "He's a defense attorney, but he accidentally took my coffee the other day."

Spencer resists the urge to scoff because 'accidentally.' He's seen Morgan use the move a hundred times: pretend to mix up the coffees, apologize, and seal the deal by asking if he can make it up to her. "Switching teams, I see." He interrupts, predominantly so that he doesn't have to hear anything else. "And a new top." He mentions. Again, a tactic to get her to stop talking. "What color is it? It would look really nice as a feature wallpaper."

He does that, too, only complimenting things adjacent to her. Talking about fucking interior design instead of just saying she looks nice pushes her buttons, and she knows where his are.

"Yeah, I was wearing a jacket in a similar color, so I'm hoping it's a subliminal message." She admits. "Plus he's tall and very attractive.”

Spencer wants to scream something along the lines of 'I'm 6'1, I have three PhDs, you've told me I'm handsome after you held my hair up while I puked after drinking far too much, and I'm so goddamn in love with you,' but he can barely admit the last fact to himself.

"So he's got brown curly hair and sparkling brown eyes?" Spencer teases her, and she rolls her eyes. That dumb eidetic memory would never let him forget the descriptors she'd given him, and his cocky attitude would never stop mentioning it. "It's not your fault you have a type. Scientifically-"

"Shh." She requests, pressing her finger to his lips.

Without thinking about it, like it was second nature, Spencer purses his lips and kisses her skin. After letting it linger for a moment, she takes it away and turns back to what she's doing.

Again, he draws her attention back to him, cupping the cheek furthest away from him and turning her face to look at him. Once she is, eyes locked on his, he holds her other cheek. He steps forward so that he's so close to her that her breath gets trapped in her throat.

Those fingers on her skin make her feel things she shouldn't be feeling, and her heart starts to thump in her chest when she sneaks a glance at those beautiful veins. Maybe her skin is hot or maybe his fingers are just cold but the contrast sends shivers all over her. It's hard not to think about all the times they've been inside her or how they look wrapped around his cock as he lines himself up with her sex.

"Y/n, if he lays a hand on you, I swear to god." He says threateningly, and it would worry her if she didn't know him so well and if it wasn't so hot.

"You don't believe in god." She calls him out, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

"I can find anyone, anywhere." She can't debate that. "And if he lays a hand on you, I'll kill him or put him in jail for the rest of his life. Your choice."

He's acting like he's doing her a favor, letting her decide how he'll hurt someone who hurts her. It's an odd declaration to be making, contradictory to every bit of his sweet nature, and she doesn't hate it.

"What if I ask- beg for it?" She questions him.

"Oh, I'm not worried about that." He's really not.

He would do immoral things that would make him lose his job and even go to jail if someone hurt her, but the deep feelings he's disgusting as an overprotective bravado against someone assaulting her is really just because he can't stand the thought of someone else being with her.

He's not worried about it sexually. She might be anticipating not being home for the night, but she's not the type to ask a first date to get rough with her. What's got him on edge is her being someone else's emotionally. They might be telling everyone they're not together, but if her heart belongs to someone else, there's no chance of him getting her back, and that's all he wants.

His lips are so close that she could kiss him, but the magnetism makes it challenging to resist. She yearns for the feeling of warm lips against hers, more specifically, the pretty pink ones she's peeking at.

They've had slips before. It's been three weeks since their last one. Every time, she swears she won't do it again, but she's ready to tear his clothes off and fuck him in the kitchen.

She's daring him to make that dangerous leap, and he's about to.

The cries of a woken-up one-year-old through the baby monitor snap them back into a harsh reality before their lips can touch. They both wonder if it's horrid that they forgot why he's there. Spencer lingers for a moment with her face in his hands before he breaks away from her painfully.

"I'll go." He says, leaving her standing there stunned with cheeks hot and a pounding heart.

She has a moment to recover, but it's not enough, and soon Spencer's back in the room with the sweetest baby in his arms. She's giggling, clinging to her dad, who she loves dearly. If Y/n didn't love Beatrice wholeheartedly, she'd be jealous she wasn't enough for Spencer to spend time with. But she can't be. Not when Bea has the greatest dad in the entire world, and she deserves every inch of his love.

"Kiss momma." Spencer directs, holding her up to Y/n's cheek.

She plants a kiss that's mostly saliva on her mom, and despite how messy it is, it makes Y/n grin. "How'd you sleep, baby?" She asks, knowing they'll be no reply. Her vocabulary is limited to three words: mom, dad, and love.

"Not so well last night," Spencer answers like it was intended for him.

He sits on a bar stool at the kitchen island, sitting Bea in his lap. "Spencer," Y/n warns, glaring at him.

"Your mom's mad at me." He stage-whispers to Bea. "I never know why."

"Should we start with lying to a child?" She wonders, but it's playful, not insulting. "Add in some pesky comments."

Spencer pouts, holding Bea up so she can see it and copy her father. "Oh, she loves them." He assures her. "And I love you. So much."

Y/n smiles in adoration. He might be difficult to be in love with, but he's the best dad ever. Spencer catches her staring, it's pretty obvious when the bowl of cookie dough sits abandoned on the counter.

"You look so similar." She says, trying to prevent the awkward since and slightly too romantic looks.

"Need another one to look like you?" He jokes, or maybe it's an offer. She can't really tell.

She scoffs, shaking her head. "I'm alright, thanks."

"But she's so perfect." He coos, her entire hand holding his pinky finger. "How could you not want another one?"

She chuckles at his baby fever. It is practically impossible to not want another child when theirs is so incredible, but they're only masochistic towards each other.

"Don't go getting random girls pregnant, Spencer." She jokingly advises him.

“I’m only ever going to get one girl pregnant.” He tells her.

He’s messy. In fact, they’re messy together, and he can’t keep his dick in his pants, but it’s not a problem he has with anyone else.

"That's possibly very nice." She says, frowning as she tries to figure him out.

"You're lucky." He rephrases.

She laughs, shaking her head. "You're lucky I don't kick you out now."

"Whoa, I get it." He teases. "It's someone's time to get lucky, hang a sock on the door and all that."

"I highly doubt you got any in college." She reminds him.

"Or now." He adds.

It should be weird. Who casually discusses sex with an ex?

"Yeah, I noticed one of your hands seems stronger than the other." She quips, although there's no discernable difference. They're both equally delicious.

"Mm, reminds me, I need more lotion." He mentions, playing along with the joke. "Vanilla, right?"

She fake-gags. "That's literally disgusting." She chides. "Do not go and get the same lotion I have to jack off."

He shrugs casually. "It's a free country."

"You're disturbing." She reiterates, reminding herself he said it to get her flustered.

"Don't flirt with me like that, or I might start thinking you like me." He warns, fluttering his eyelids at her.

She does feel like she's falling in love all over again with him when it's all flirting and comfortable.

"You'd be begging if I was flirting." She assures him, and it's true. Spencer begs like no one else.

"Alright, I think that's time to go." He decides, clicking his tongue and looking at Bea again. "Your mom's too into me for her own good."

That is hitting the nail on the head. She's into him and she always will be, but it's not wise, and it compromises her self-respect time and time again.

He gets up, bouncing Bea on his hip and walking around the bench. She leans forward to kiss her happy baby before playing with her soft hair. "Just admit you lost, Spencer." She tells him.

A little grin lights up his features as he refuses to comply with her directions. "I never lose." Oh, except for his one true chance at happiness and a family with the most remarkable woman in the world.

"Those beautiful big brains." She coos, moving her hand to his hair to part his curls properly.

"I'm sure yours are equally, if not more, beautiful." He says, once again making her stomach slip with the eye contact. "Smaller of course."

She scoffs out a laugh. "Bye." She says. "Her bag's in the hall."

"When do you want her back?" Spencer asks, holding the baby up so her cheeks can be kissed an obscene amount of time.

Their custody arrangement is nonexistent. With Spencer's hectic schedule and their good relationship, there's never been a need to make it official. Bea's always his priority when he's in the District, and that keeps Y/n happy.

Not fully happy. She'd like to see Bea, and her dad, every day, and she's too far from that with the latter Reid to ever be completely satisfied with her life. Months later, she's still convincing herself she can one day not look at him and wish for something unrealistic.

"Whenever." She says. They start walking towards the front door, slowly, both lingering and dragging it out. "If you need to go, you can bring her back."

"If you're in the middle of a date?" He wonders cheekily, grabbing Bea's bag from the floor.

She glares at him, not finished with her sentence. "Otherwise, I'll text you."

"Call." He insists. "We're not texting people."

"Fine." She agrees, swinging open the door. She takes Bea into her arms, giving her a tight hug. "Love you, sweet baby."

"Mom, love," Bea mumbles back, placing her hands on Y/n's cheeks.

Spencer gets the sinking feeling in his chest that he always gets leaving, but it's worse when he's taking Bea, who's Y/n's entire world. It makes him feel nauseating amounts of guilt. How can he be okay with putting her through the loneliness of a house that big being empty?

He smiles at her as he takes Bea back. "Thank you."

She not sure what for and she doesn't have a chance to ask before he's walking out the door, strapping Bea in her car seat. She waves at her mom, looking as happy as always.

Spencer stops before he gets in his seat. "Y/n?"

"Yeah?" She asks, straightening up her posture.

She's hoping he'll say what she wants to hear, although she doesn't know what that is. A Spencer fact would keep things simple, but saying something about how they can get back on track, that she shouldn't go out tonight, would ruin their carefully stacked house of cards.

"He's a lucky guy." He says, and it kills him to know that it used to be him taking her out, watching her grin from across the table, making her laugh until she's begging him to stop, driving home with his hand on her thigh, watching her take off her makeup and become more beautiful, and ending up cuddling in bed, their baby just a room over.

And he can't ever have that again, not with her, and he can't fathom it with someone else.

Y/n goes back inside once he's driven away, hoping for once, after he leaves, that she can not think about him.

It doesn't work. As always, she's stuck thinking about Spencer.

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[demxters]

—LOVING YOU IS A LOSING GAME

frat!jake seresin x f!reader

dagger squad college!au

summary: jake's attempt to see his girl the week before finals backfires on him leading them to their first fight and an outcome neither of them saw coming.

wc: 3.8k

warning(s): 18+, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname ace), angst galore, swearing, mentions of alcohol and weed, drunk driving (don't do it), bad parental relationships, academic pressure

part of the loving you universe || also find it on ao3 here

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!

Finals sucked. Balancing studying and your social life sucked. Balancing studying, your social life, and your relationship sucked. This was the third week you’ve had to drive Jake away and you hated it. In the beginning he was understanding, giving you a kiss to your forehead when you asked him to leave. Or dropping by the apartment with some take out because he knew you weren’t taking care of yourself. He’d even send the occasional Don’t forget to hydrate! text, to which he would get nothing more than a thumbs up in response. 

He got it, really he did. He understood how much your studies meant to you. You made it very clear at the beginning of your relationship that you weren’t going to drop everything for him. And he respected that. Hell, he admired you for it. He definitely didn’t have the guts to do it.  But it’s been three weeks of him trying to chase you down. Three weeks of quick hugs in passing and good night and good morning texts. Jake missed you. He missed you so fucking much and it seemed like you’ve barely given him a second thought. 

Jake knew he was being irrational. Of course you missed him. You wouldn’t have promised him to go out to lunch today if you didn’t. Yet here he was sitting alone at your favorite diner, reaching the top of the hour, and you still hadn’t shown up. His leg is bouncing up and down impatiently and the apples of his cheeks are red in embarrassment. An older couple a few booths away eye him with pitiful looks and not so silently whisper to each other, Poor boy got stood up. 

He checks his phone for the fifth time in the last three minutes to find no texts or calls from you. Jake desperately tries again, clicking on your contact and sending a distressed Where are you??? He barely waits another minute until he’s calling you once more. 

“Hey, this is Ace, sorry I missed your call. Please leave a message–Jake, stop tickling me! Leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon.”

“Unless you're a guy. In that case lose this number! She’s taken!” 

“Jake!” 

He sighs longingly at the sound of the dial tone, remembering the day you two recorded that message. Jake hadn’t seen you in so long. You felt like a lifetime ago. He missed his girl so much that his chest hurt. He’s frustrated beyond comprehension. Before he can even take a second to think about what he’s doing, he slams a wad of dollar bills onto the table, storms out of the diner, and hops into his truck like a man on a mission. 

Jake reaches your apartment in record time. Looking back on it now, he probably should’ve just called Nat, Bob, or Mickey. They would know where you were. Though in his defense, he took your radio silence as a sign that something was wrong. Maybe you were hurt or in trouble and couldn’t reach your phone. In this day and age, anything seemed possible. Could you blame him for being paranoid? 

Hastily making his way to the second floor, he barely blinks an eye until he makes it to the front of your apartment door. The faded gold 86 number plaque is staring him straight in the face and he can barely remember the last time he saw it. Out of respect for you, in case he really was overthinking things, he knocks on the door once. Twice. Three times. 

When he still doesn’t get a response, his heart begins to race, breathing heavy. He fumbles with his keys, fingers trembling as he tries to find the bright pink Hello Kitty replica key to your apartment. So it’s easy to find in emergencies, you had reasoned with him. He thought you were teasing him in the moment, but right now he has never been more thankful for your sharp thinking. 

He jams the key into the knob, turning it counterclockwise a little too strongly, and bursts through the door by his shoulders. 

“Ace?” He hollers into the quiet apartment. 

Jake looks around for any signs that you were there, only to be met with a spick and span living room and kitchen. Curse your stress cleaning intuition. He practically runs down the hall to your room. He sees nothing but your door and the yellow light illuminating from beneath. 

He’s barely thinking as he barrels into your room. He all but falls to the floor as you bolt up from your desk chair at the sight of him. 

“Jake?” You exclaim, rushing over to where he has fallen onto your floor. 

You grab him by the elbows, gently pulling him up. He groans into your touch, just now realizing how much he missed the feeling of your skin on his. Jake has to bite his tongue to stop the moan that wants to leave his lips. 

“Jesus, Ace, you scared me,” he breathes, steadying himself in your hold. Standing back up on his feet, he releases his hold on your arms and brings them up to your face. “You okay?” 

You nod as he continues to look you up and down with concern shining in his eyes. It makes you laugh lightly when he squishes your cheeks just a little more. “I’m fine, are you okay? I think I almost gave you a heart attack…” 

Jake opens his mouth to speak when a slightly staticy sounding voice cuts him off. 

“Hey, Ace? I think I’ll just call you later, yeah?” 

Jake’s heart drops to his stomach at the sound, and not in the way it did when you kissed him for the first time. This feeling was something less comforting and much more painful. It made him want to throw up on your linoleum floor. 

“Yeah, yeah Connor, I’ll call you back later,” you say, rushing back to your desk where your phone was lying face up on an open FaceTime call. You don’t even wait for him to say goodbye as you end the call. 

A burning heat crawls its way up Jake’s features. He’s sure his cheeks are probably inflamed in dark red. Who the hell was Connor and how the hell did you have time for him and not for your own boyfriend? 

“Jake?” You call out, breaking him from the fury that begins to build up in his chest. 

He doesn’t want to be that guy. He will not be that guy. He trusts you and he knows you would never do that to him. That still doesn’t stop the hurt that floods his senses. 

His mouth is open before he can even process the rest. “Do you know what today is?” 

You look at him with wide eyes and your lips quirked downward. “Saturday?” 

He hums. “Yeah, the Saturday we were supposed to have lunch at–” He pauses, giving you the benefit of the doubt. Hoping that you hadn’t forgotten and were just running late. But you don’t jump in and that makes his heart hurt even more. You just continue to look at him questioningly in a way that he would’ve found adorable in any other circumstance. “Rosie’s,” He finishes for you. “We were supposed to have lunch at Rosie’s.” 

“Rosie’s, shit!” You come rushing back towards him, grabbing his hands. You caress the back of his hands with your thumbs and you can only hope that he could feel how sorry you are; how horrible you feel for forgetting about your date. “I’m so, so sorry, Jake. I just caught up with…” 

“Connor,” he deadpans. “Yeah, I know.” 

He doesn’t meet your eye, and you pout at his clear irritation. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. I can do next Saturday? We could do Rosie’s then walk down the coast by The Hard Deck.” 

Jake doesn’t mean to, but he scoffs–much too harshly for your taste. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m afraid my girlfriend won’t be available again. Or worse, she might even forget.” 

You drop his hands, stepping back with obvious hurt in your eyes. “I’m sorry, what else do you want me to say?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe that you’ll try harder to make some time for me? I haven’t heard from you in days! Hell, I haven’t seen you in weeks! Yet, somehow, you have the time of day to call this Connor dude, on the day we’re supposed to see each other!” 

You’re pacing the floor with your own anger bubbling up inside you. You clench your fist before pointing at him with your other hand. “It is not my fault that finals are right around the corner! I have been studying my ass off night and day. Which you obviously wouldn’t understand.” You take a deep breath. “As for Connor, we were just studying together! Something that I can’t do with you!” 

“Cheap hit, Ace.” It was a known fact that he wasn’t the best at academics, but you knew better than anyone how hard he was trying, making your words hurt more than he cared to admit. Jake exhales deeply from his mouth, attempting to calm his beating heart so he doesn’t say something he doesn’t mean. “Finals aren’t until another week! All I’m asking for is a day. Just one day.” 

“It’s not just finals, Jake,” you groan. “Not to me, you know that.” The two of you have been going in circles for the last fifteen minutes. You get where Jake is coming from, really you do. But you also need him to understand you. He knew going into this how important your studies were to you. One day could jeopardize your entire study schedule. 

“I know. But is it so bad for me to want to spend some time with my girlfriend? I mean, we haven’t gone on a proper date in months. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time we had an actual conversation!” 

You turn to him with narrowed eyes, furiously shutting your physics book. “So now I’m the bad guy? It’s my fault that we can’t hang out?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Jake frustratingly runs his hands through his already messy blond hair. He doesn’t know what to do with the overwhelming flood of emotions passing over him. 

You’re sat on the edge of your bed now, too worked up from all your pacing. “You know, I just don’t get you, Seresin. I’ve asked if you wanted to sit in with me. You’ve denied me every time.”

The sound of his last name falling from your lips feels like salt in an open wound. He hasn’t heard you call him that in ages. He knows he’s in deep shit now, but his pride won’t let him admit it. “Sweetheart, it’s not my fault that I don’t find Plato and standard deviation appealing, ” he sasses. 

“So, what? You’d rather I go out and party all night because, ‘Hey! It’s just finals!’” You throw your hands up in anguish as you deepen your voice in a clearly mocking tone of his voice. 

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you even hear yourself right now, Ace? You need to take a break! I’m trying to look out for you. It’s not healthy to be cooped up inside like this all day.” 

“Well, I’m sorry I have other priorities that don’t involve you, Jake,” you sigh. 

“And yet, you don’t have a problem making Connor one of them,” he sneers. 

“He’s helping me study!” 

“I offered to help you study, but instead you told me to sit back because you could do it yourself.” He swallows harshly, feeling the reality of your admission sink in. 

If it hadn’t been for the tension between the two of you, you would’ve been able to bite your tongue and let the moment pass. However, you were so high strung at the moment that you let your temper get the best of you. “Well, it’s not my fault that I can’t just charm my professors and tutors into giving me a pass. Unlike some people, I have actually put in the work.” The moment the words leave your lips, you regret it. Jake’s shoulders fall and you see the way he visibly deflates and shrinks into himself. You desperately want to take it back, but you did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you felt guilty. 

A moment of silence passes between you both. The only sound to be heard is the heavy breathing that escapes you both. 

Amidst the silence, Jake stifles the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes by running a hand down his face. Of all the people to insult his intelligence, you were the last person he ever expected to do so. Not once, even before you started dating, had you said anything about how he struggled with school. Sure, you got frustrated with him, but you of all people knew how much work he put into his studies. Unlike everyone else, you were able to see him as something more than the dumb blond frat boy people joked that he was. When everyone else would claim to be teasing Jake about his studies, you were always the first to stand up for him. Saying, Jake Seresin is capable of more than you know!, making him feel validated and more confident in himself. Now, your words felt like a slap to the face and for the first time, he found himself questioning everything you’ve said about him. 

He should’ve known the honeymoon phase wouldn’t last forever. Everything was going so well, he didn’t have any reason to think things would go downhill so fast. Of course, Jake was too overconfident about your infatuation with him. He shouldn’t have assumed that you were as in love with him as he was with you. That was his first mistake. 

“You know what? I really thought you were different,” he says softly. 

“Jake–” Take it back! The voice in your head shouts. Take it back, you idiot! But the apology, the words of affirmation, the reassurances–they all get stuck in the back of your throat like molasses. 

“I guess I was wrong about you, Ace.” 

You furiously shake your head. You didn’t mean it, you swear you didn’t mean it. In the heat of the moment, you let your emotions get the best of you. You knew it wasn’t an excuse, but you needed him to know that you would never mean what you said. 

You thought the world of Jake Seresin. He is smart and he has so much potential. He was better than you at physics and knew all the parts to an F/A-18 Super Hornet. He could calculate distance, time, and speed, like it was nobody's business. He impressed you in so many ways and you were so proud of him and how much he has improved. Deep down, you knew he was right too. This wasn’t healthy. You should’ve tried harder to make time for him after everything he has done for you. But the shame of the hurt you’ve caused, the shame of what you did prevented you from saying it. 

“You know what? You can have all the time you need with Connor because I’m done.” 

You push yourself to a stand with teary eyes. “Done? Jake, what are you saying?” It was like a nightmare come true, hearing the words you’ve feared to hear since the moment you called it official. But it was probably inevitable, right? You always bring yourself to your own demise. You’re not sure what hurt you more–Jake’s words or the fact that you weren’t so surprised to hear him say it? It was almost like you were waiting for this day to come, knowing Jake Seresin was just too good to be true. 

His heart is fighting against itself. One part of him is begging him to stay and work this out with you. The other is too hurt to even look at you right now. In the end, he ends up listening to the side of him he didn’t even think existed until now: the side that didn’t want him to be with you. “I don’t know. I think I need some time.” 

You nod, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need, Jake.” 

He sighs before turning on his heel and grabbing the door knob. 

“Wait,” your voice cracks. “I love you.” 

Jake swings the door open and leaves. It takes everything in him to not turn around and gather you up in his arms right then and there. For the first time, he doesn’t say it back. 

__________

You don’t see him for a week after that. You’re so distraught that you throw your entire study schedule out the window. This was all your fault. You know it is, there was no denying it. All Jake wanted was to be with you and you couldn’t give him that. You were so obsessed with the fact that everyone expected you to get perfect grades each semester, that you didn’t even notice you driving away one of the most important people in your life who didn’t care about any of that. That loved you with or without the academic achievements. The only person who cared more about your wellbeing than your stupid grade point average. 

The truth is, you were scared. Things with Jake have been going so good that the fear of something bursting into your little bubble and setting it all aflame only continued to intensify. 

Because you don’t deserve good things unless you earn it, your mother had warned. Because you can’t be loved unless you’re perfect, your father berated you. 

And you are far from perfect, you know that. You also knew that Jake wasn’t your parents. But no matter how many times you told yourself your parents were wrong, their words continued to seep in every single time Jake reminded you that love shouldn’t be conditional. 

So you did what you did best, you studied. You strived for perfection. You hoped that Jake could see that you were worth sticking around for. 

He left and in the end, it just confirmed that nothing you do could guarantee anyone to stay. 

You ended up failing your finals. They don’t hurt your overall grade too much, only bringing them down one letter grade from your solid A’s. 

You don’t tell anyone about the fight you had with Jake. You don’t want to burden them with anything else. Everyone was busy. Nat was happy with Javy and Bob and Mickey were busy planning their San Diego Comic Con trip. You hadn’t talked to Bradley and you assumed that Jake had already told him everything. You hadn’t even texted Reuben about joining him for trivia night at a nearby bar. 

But you do text Jake. You don’t know if he’s read any of them or not, but you text him anyway. You told him that you failed. You told him that you weren’t planning on going home for the summer because you didn’t want to face your parents. You told him you missed him and that you hoped this isn’t the end. But most importantly, you told him that you loved him and that if you could take it all back you would. 

You so desperately wanted to knock on his door and apologize for what you said. To continue apologizing until he knew it in his heart and soul that you didn’t mean a damn thing. You’d imagine how it would go. He would open the door and you would quite literally pour your heart out to him. Then you’d throw your arms around him and tell him you love him before kissing him senseless. 

You imagine that he’d smile against your lips, an action that you loved so much. He’d pull away and tell you that he forgives you. He would hold you close and tell you that he still loves you. 

However, you weren’t naive. He probably hated you now and you wouldn’t blame him if he actually did because you hate yourself too. 

Heartbroken and intoxicated to the bone is how you find yourself after another unanswered text to Jake. You remember him telling you to let loose and take a break so that is exactly what you did. 

The frat house is loud. You’re not sure what’s more surprising, the fact that you showed up to a frat party without telling any of your friends or that you’ve had more alcohol than the amount of water you’ve had in a day. 

Everyone knew about Delta Chi’s rivalry with Alpha Sig, so you didn’t have to worry about running into anyone you knew here. 

You had lost count of how many drinks you’ve had three cups ago and you’re a bit impressed with your own resilience considering how much you hate the smell of alcohol, let alone the taste of it. You find yourself wishing that Jake were here to see you taking a break. That way you could prove to him that you were capable of doing things for him too. 

The Alpha Sig house is packed to the brim with people. Everyone’s faces are a blur as you stumble your way through the crowded rooms and hallways, following the smells of sweat and weed to take you where you want to go. 

You end up making your way to the patio and meeting some Alpha Sigs and sorority girls who were planning on driving into the city to hang out at a bar instead. They shockingly invite you to tag along and your inebriated self happily accepts. 

You find yourself forgetting all about Jake, grades, and your shitty parents. You were just a girl in college who stopped giving a fuck and decided to have some fun. As you continue to giggle with some of the girls in the backseat of a car you don’t even remember getting into, for a moment, you see yourself with Nat, Javy, Bradley, Mickey, Reuben, and Bob. You hear Bradley’s dad jokes and Natasha’s giggles. Mickey and Reuben’s obnoxious singing and Bob’s own laughter follows. Then you see the guy sitting beside you with his arm around you. It takes you a second to recognize that his eyes aren’t your favorite shade of green. Hell, they weren’t green at all. 

Your world comes crashing down in an instant. You’re not with your friends and you’re not with Jake. You don’t even know where and who you are with. You just know that you want to go home, that you want to be with Jake. 

Before you can even think about begging the person in the driver’s seat to stop the car, you hear a scream then suddenly, your vision goes dark. 

a/n: in my defense, i haven't done a good angsty fic in awhile*immediately goes into hiding* pls don’t hate me….. and again, as always the inbox is always open and thank you all for reading!!

a/n 2: also ty @intrepidacious for giving me their first fight idea it was a big help!!

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[sleepyhutcherson]

Hi! I have a sweet fluffy and very angsty Mike Schmidt idea, if you'd like it??

Okay, so what if Mike and the reader dated for a good while in highschool? Like, they were childhood best friends, tried dating in highschool, but ultimately decided that it was a classic case of "right person, wrong time"? Like, they genuinely love each other, but when they were teenagers, they just couldn't do it.. I hope that made sense?

Know It’s For The Better

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

word count: 3.1k words

contains: child bestfriends to lovers to strangers (sorta), “right person, wrong time”, angst, use of y/n, reader works at a cafe, they’re genuinely so in love w each other but it’s just never the right time.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting this anon!! this was so fun to write xx peep the ‘normal people�� and phoebe bridgers references in this. btw maybe this could do a part two but idk.

You lived a quiet—boring, surely—but cosy life at twenty two. You lived alone in a lousy, small flat that you were growing to like more and more everyday as you started shaping it more around your liking. You worked at a small cafe that paid you pretty well, with hours that worked just right for you. You were comfortable at your job, your co-workers were all friendly with each other, you couldn’t complain about your life, even if it was dull.

On your day off your boss had asked you to come in, you agreed but frankly you were a little pissed that you were working on your day off. The cold weather today drew customers away so in a way you couldn’t really complain. You were at the counter, a book in hand that you would occasionally peek up from to glance at the weather from the window. It amused you how only yesterday the sun was shining brightly and now today the sky was threatening to pour, the wind blowing harshly through the trees.

You return your attention to your book, having to re read the passage again. Just then, the bells hanging above the door chime, announcing someone’s arrival. You perk up, closing your book and setting it aside.

You complained about your life lacking entertainment only weeks ago, wishing for some kind of shocker to just happen.

You, however, did not mean for that “shocker” to be Mike Schmidt.

For a second all you can do is stare at him, trying to figure out if you were hallucinating. It was such a rush seeing him—your breath caught, your brows knitted as you tried to make out if it was really him. The last time you saw him he was about eighteen, grasping onto you as he sobbed, precious words being said between you two. But, irritatingly enough, you think you could recognise him anywhere, even after all this time, from merely his appearance, to his hazel eyes you remember getting caught up in, to the familiar black coat he wears even now.

Mike reacts about the same, his eyes widening, the light inside the cafe reflecting on them just perfectly. You almost get trapped into them again.

“Mike,” you breathe out after some time. His name sounds so strange coming out of your mouth.

“Hey,” he replies, tone uncertain. Your eyes trail up to the curls that rest carefully on his head, and you smile. You used to practically beg Mike not to cut his hair, loving the curls that formed whenever he kept it just a little longer than usual. Now he kept them, messily, but still enough to lure your eyes. "How…how are you?" He manages to ask.

Your hands rest on the cool counter in front of you, you can see the way Mike’s eyes land on your hands, longing for touch. “I’m doing good. How have you been?”

“Good.” A simple reply. This all felt weird, seeing each other again after your failed relationship, one neither of you have really moved on from.

Silence. A long, painful silence.

“So, are you going to order something?” You ask, smiling the way you would smile at any other customer because a part of you just wanted to believe he was just another customer. “My boss will scold me if he sees I’m only talking with the only customer we’ve had all day.”

“Right,” Mike looks up at the menu, although he really only came for black coffee. When he looks back at you, his mouth opens, and closes, like he’s debating on what he’s going to say. “I don’t know if you’re busy later but do you want to…catch up? If you’re free, of course.”

You had nothing else to do and you didn’t really have it in you to reject him. “Yeah, okay. I get off in two hours.”

Mike shyly smiles, trying not to be too obvious your agreement meant a lot. “Sounds good,” he says, and then remembers Abby has a school project she’s supposed to work on at home today. “Shit, is it alright if we meet at my place? Abby has this project she needs to work on for school…unless you want to reschedule…”

You can’t help but smile when he mentions Abby, the last time you saw her she was still a baby—about three years old, to be exact. Mike was taking care of her practically full time, you helped with her as much as you could, both of you being constantly mistaken as her parents.

“That’s fine,” you say. He thanks you, throwing in an apology for the inconvenience that you wave off. He writes down his address on a napkin before leaving, not even ordering that black coffee that had drawn him to the small cafe in the first place.

—

The blue front door makes you question if you have the right address. Compared to every other house in the dull neighbourhood, Mike’s house appeared to be the only one with a colourful door—that is if this was Mike’s place.

You’re proven correct when the front door swings open and Abby, who you recognise almost immediately despite her being much older than the last time you saw her. She smiles widely, but it’s obvious she doesn’t recognise you.

“Hello…” you say, awkwardly. You’re not even sure what to tell her when she asks who you are—a friend of Mike’s? It just sounded odd. You’re saved when Mike appears behind Abby.

“Y/N,” he seems pleased to see you. In fact, Mike is pleased to see you. Honestly, he wasn’t sure you would actually stop by. “Oh—Abby, this is who I was telling you about.” Mike says, and you recognise that gentle, almost innocent tone he always used with Abby.

“Hi,” she greets with a smile, standing by Mike’s side. “Mike hasn’t shut up about you—“ she’s interrupted when Mike looks at her with a more stern expression. “Oh, sorry!” She apologises, giggling—she knew well what she was doing.

“Why don’t you go and continue your project, yeah?” Mike suggests, paying no attention to you anymore, his focus entirely on Abby right now.

“Okay.” Abby agrees, which surprises Mike a little. She says a quick “goodbye” to you before running off to her bedroom.

Mike then looks back at you, cheeks slightly flustered. Don’t ever tell Abby anything ever again he makes a mental note of that. “Come in?”

You don’t know what exactly you expected walking into Mike’s home but you feel somewhat pleased seeing Abby’s drawings displayed everywhere in the house, stuffed animals — a dolphin, two bears, a rabbit, a duck, and even a fox — neatly sitting next to each other on the sofa. The house has such a childlike atmosphere to it that you couldn’t help but smile.

“Do you want something to drink?” Mike asks, looking for something in the fridge.

“Sure, thanks.” You reply, your eyes still ogling Mike’s home.

Surely a lot of the decor had to be Abby’s idea, there was so much colour everywhere; from the pillows, the carpet, a crocheted blanket on the sofa, the little toy figures that were placed on the TV stand. It had to be Abby’s touch, the only colours you ever saw on Mike were dull shades of greys and blues.

You’re pulled away by the sound of Mike setting down two glasses of some kind of soft drink on the table. “Abby’s a talented artist,” you say, sitting down at the table, across from Mike.

A small chuckle escapes Mike’s lips. “Yeah,” he agrees, taking a long sip of his drink as he stares at the drawing you were fixated on. “She’s got a real chance at being someone great in life.”

You both don’t say anything for a minute. Mike dreads the silence that falls between the two of you, trying to think of something to say to fill it.

“She’s grown a ton,” you then say. Seeing Abby brought you back so many memories—the good ones, for there were so many of those with Mike. “Remember that time we took her to the park and she kept trying to eat flowers?” You laugh at the memory, one you haven’t thought about in a while.

Mike smiles upon hearing your laugh. “Yeah. She loves flowers, I mean, of course she doesn’t try to eat them anymore but she’s pretty skilled at painting them.”

“She’s doing good then?” You ask.

Mike nods, his hands wrapped around his glass. “Yeah. She’s doing great. Her birthday’s coming up so she won’t shut up about that.” He says teasingly.

“Oh, how old is she turning?” You ask.

“Eight,” he answers, running his finger around the rim of the glass. He couldn’t sit still being around you, his heart racing, but he tried not to acknowledge it.

“That makes me feel old,” you joke, which actually gets a genuine laugh from Mike.

“Then what does that make me?” He teases, a wide smile on his face that makes your heart flutter. Mike was only one year older than you making him twenty three.

You don’t reply and then it hits you, Mike is twenty three, he’s not eighteen anymore. Of course you knew that, you just never really realised just how long it’s been, how much you’ve missed. It’s been five years since you last saw to him—five birthdays you missed, Abby’s and his.

The atmosphere changes then. A depressing realisation hitting you. Mike wasn’t anyone to you anymore. He was once someone to you, not just your boyfriend but your childhood best friend. But now? He could easily be a stranger.

You take a sip of your drink then, and you can feel Mike’s eyes on you. You could always tell when Mike was staring at you, there was something so different about the way his eyes felt on you compared to anyone else’s.

There’s another dreadful silence then. You force yourself to look at the way the bubbles in your drink rise, the way the ice cubes crash into each other.

“Did you feel ashamed seeing me today after how things ended?” Your head snaps up once hearing Mike’s question. You don’t know what to even think—what to even say! He’s got you in a spot, and now you wonder, did you?

No. You didn’t. You really didn’t. You longed for him for so long, for the memories you shared, the pretty words that were exchanged—the many promises that were said.

“No,” you reply, your hands wrapped around the chill glass, still staring at it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “I just…it was difficult seeing you.”

Mike nods even if you can’t see him. “I know,” he replies, and then; “it was hard for me, too.” He says a little more quietly.

You realise how unfair everything is, how you and Mike are being pulled together again all of the sudden after all these years—after it never worked for you two. There was always something pulling you apart when you were dating, a sudden intervening, but you both always tried to make it work. Until, of course, both of you saw it best to end things, that perhaps there was a reason why you were being pulled apart.

The last time you saw Mike he was eighteen, trying to find a job to help provide for Abby, and mourning the sudden absence of his father. It wasn’t a good time for him.

A guilt washes over you because you deserted him the time he needed you most. “I’m so sorry,” you say, finally building up the courage to meet his eyes. Honestly, he had no idea what exactly you were apologising for.

His brows pinch together slightly, his eyes fixed on yours with such focus even if you’re avoiding his. “You don’t have anything to apologise for,” he says, “we both agreed it was…best to end things.” Which was true, the breakup was mutual, one both of you agreed to despite how much it pained both of you.

“I shouldn’t have left you though,” your eyes are sad and Mike can’t bear the way they look.

Mike smiles sadly, reaching across for you hands. They’re cold from the glass, the contact from his hands immediately warming yours up. You don’t pull away from his touch, the sudden touch startles you but you soon relax at the familiarity.

“Maybe it was for the better.” Your heart breaks at his words, the memories that linger within them. The memory of Mike kissing your tears away, whispering “it’s for the better” between each kiss that last time you saw him.

Your eyes shut, and you let your head fall not wanting Mike to see you struggle fighting back tears. The sudden sound of his chair screeching against the tile making your eyes flutter open, and soon Mike is kneeling beside you, looking up at you with his soft, doleful eyes.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone rather soothing. He tries to meet your eyes but you look away from his knowing that if you do you’ll probably break. “Look at me, baby.” You relent, being manipulated to meet his eyes hearing the intimate nickname.

And for a moment you both just stare into each other’s eyes, Mike’s mouth opening slightly, being enamoured by the sight of you alone. He could live like this—staring up at you, if he could he thinks he would agree to stay like this forever, with you being his only sight.

He stands up and pulls you up with him, his hands resting on your waist holding you still. Holding you tightly, scared to lose you again. “I’ve thought about you everyday since,” he admits in a whisper. You feel a pang of guilt.

“Mike,” you sigh, your hands grasping onto his dark blue zip up tightly, your knuckles turning white.

He doesn’t say anything. His hands move up slowly from your waist, to your arms, to your shoulders, to your neck and finally up to cup your face. It’s such an intense moment, both of you overwhelmed with the touch.

Mike fears that this could be the last time he touches you, he doesn’t know where this will go but with the reputation you both have he isn’t sure this will end well. You know it, too. You know that the universe has spawned Mike back into your life the very moment you’re far too busy for a relationship. You don’t want to address it, you don’t even want to recognise it yourself so you say nothing.

But you both know deep down.

His hands feel warm against your skin, they’re callous but perfect against your cheeks. “I’m here,” you say, “so kiss me.” It comes out more desperate than you would like, but it doesn’t matter, you were desperate, craving what could be a last kiss.

Mike doesn’t hesitate, of course. He pulls you in, gradually, looking at you briefly before he closes his eyes to push his lips against yours. Your body weakens, your heart beating quickly in your chest as the kiss deepens. He makes sure to take his time like he did the last time, kissing you ever so passionately. He wants you to know that in this moment he has everything. That the one thing he has ever lacked in life has finally come back to him even if only briefly.

You can tell that he’s giving you all the control—punishing you to be the one to have to pull away first because if it were up to Mike he would scoop you in and keep you here like this forever if he could. If you’d let him.

Pulling away from the longing, awaited kiss leaves you hungry still. A pathetic moan escapes Mike’s lips when you pull away, as if you’ve just put a dagger through his already maimed heart. You clutch onto his shirt now, looking at his eyes that are growing bigger, sadder.

“No tears this time,” you say, more to yourself, but when you say it a single tear rolls down your cheek. You let out a chuckle, Mike smiles a little too sad for your liking, wiping the tear away with his thumb. But you can feel that threatening knot in your throat. You bury your face into Mike’s chest, his hand going to the back of your head, softly stroking your hair.

You cry into his chest, grasping desperately onto his shirt. Both of you had a strong feeling this would be the last time you would see each other for a while. You sob into his chest, staining his grey shirt with your tears. You were mourning someone who was alive. You felt your body warm up with anger, not at anyone specifically, but because this would always be your ending, the time just never right.

Mike forces himself to look up at the ceiling, forcing back tears. He continues to stroke your hair, letting you cry into his shirt. When you’ve calmed down, he kisses the top of your head before pulling you back to look at you once more.

“We’ll be okay,” he hears himself say.

You nod, wanting to believe him, but by the look on his face he doesn’t seem to believe himself. “Okay,” you say, “I’ll go.”

His hands still cradle your face carefully. “And I’ll stay.” He whispers, a tear escaping.

You grasp his face, a little less gentle than he’s been with you. You pull him closer to you, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. And then another. And another. And several more. When you’re done you take notice of his curls again, you move up to tangle them in between your fingers, tugging at them just slightly. It makes Mike smile.

“I keep them for you now,” he mumbles. “I know how much you used to love them.”

“I still do.” You whisper, tugging at them one last time before letting them go. You move towards the front door which isn't too far from the dining table and Mike follows.

He grabs your arm before you can open the front door. He turns you to face him, his hands moving up to cradle your face, planting a long, delicate kiss on your forehead. A goodbye kiss. A promising kiss that this doesn’t have to be the last. A kiss that speaks more than he does, telling you he’s always here for you to come back to him. He’ll wait.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Even If We Stay Here

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!50squadSWAT!reader

Summary: Luca isn't himself, and when you find out why, you remind him that you're always there, even if it's just as a friend.

Warnings: discussion of cheating, angst, fluff, little makeout sesh in the station

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

A knock on Luca’s window draws his attention back to the present. He’d been staring at the block wall before him, lost in thought about everything that had changed in the last week. Looking to his left, he smiles and hopes that Street is in a talkative mood rather than his usual curiosity.

“You good?” Street asks as Luca opens the door. Luca nods once, then sighs when Street launches into a story about the real-life Call of Duty simulation happening the following weekend.

Luca enters the station without his usual excitement levels. It’s been a long week, and when his team takes his lethargy as just that, he is more than happy to avoid talking about what is really bothering him. 20 Squad has strong opinions on his relationships, and his past experience makes him hesitate to tell them anything. So, Luca takes his heart, usually worn gladly on his sleeve, and tucks it away behind a fake smile and faux happiness. It's no big deal, he reminds himself, they don’t need to know.

“Good morning,” you greet as you enter SWAT HQ, only sparing a glance at 20 Squad as you walk by.

“Morning,” they call in reply.

You notice Luca’s lack of reply but turn away before you get a good look at the smile on his face. Though you’re on different teams, you know Luca well, and it’s clear that something is wrong. You assume he’ll tell his team and be back to himself in no time.

20 Squad returns from a call later in the afternoon, and Luca’s smile is strained, and it’s failing. Whatever front he’s putting up for his team, they’re buying it. Maybe they’re too tired to notice he isn’t himself, but you refuse to let him deal with whatever this is by himself. Luca is too good for this world as far as you’re concerned, and if you have to be the one to show him that, you’re ready to.

“Luca!” you call before he can reach the locker room. “Could you help me with something really quick? I asked Rocker but he said you’d explain it better.”

Luca nods and breaks away from his team, and his smile falls as his brows rise. Something twists inside you and threatens to tell your secrets. You’ve had feelings for Luca since joining 50 Squad. You buried them because they were inappropriate and unlikely to ever be reciprocated. Yet, as you stand before Luca and suspect the look in his eyes is heartbreak, your heart begs your mind to hug him and let him know he’s not alone.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly. “You haven’t seemed quite like yourself today.”

Luca shrugs and says, “Just tired.”

You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Luca,” you begin.

He watches you for a moment, then shifts on his feet. “Look, I have to do the paperwork for that raid, uh, maybe I can help you later?”

Luca has never hesitated to help you, and his sudden need to get away from you concerns you. You can’t see it, but he’s battling the same internal feelings as you. Even after everything that has happened, Luca wants to be close to you and tell you how he feels, but it is neither the time nor the place. He’s not sure you’re the person he’ll ever have the time he wants with.

You hiss as the skin across your knuckles pulls painfully. Shaking your hand as you step back from the punching bag, you exhale sharply. You’re the only SWAT officer in the building; everyone else went home about an hour ago, but you couldn’t bear the thought of going home to the quiet, not with your mind racing. So, you took to the punching bag, and eventually took the gloves off to hit the heavy bag without protection.

Blood runs between your fingers, and you press your other hand against the bag. You could have told Luca something earlier, anything to keep him from walking away and leaving thinking he couldn’t talk to you about it. You refuse to lose Luca as a friend, even if you can never have him in the way you want.

It’s late, so you make your way to the locker room to bandage your split knuckles and change so you can go home. When you step inside, you stop. Everyone didn’t go home, after all.

Luca looks up, then immediately turns his watery eyes away from you. He rubs his thumb against his jaw before asking, “Why are you still here?”

“I could ask you the same,” you reply, sitting beside him. “Seems like we both needed the quiet.”

Luca nods but doesn’t speak again. His elbows are on his thighs, and he stares at the point where the lockers meet the floor. Sitting up beside him, you resist the urge to lay your hand on his back.

“Are you really okay?” you ask. His back muscles shift as he inhales, and you whisper, “Please don’t lie and say yes.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Luca,” you respond firmly. “It does matter; you matter. If you don’t want to talk to me, at least tell your team, someone who can-“

“They won’t understand,” he interjects, turning his head to look at you. You hold eye contact with him until he clicks his tongue and says, “Remember Liv, that girl I started seeing a few months ago?”

You nod, pressing your tongue against to teeth to stay quiet. When Luca came in after the first date, smiling and happy, it felt like part of your heart shattered.

“She cheated,” Luca adds, pulling you harshly from your thoughts. “I found out and confronted her earlier this week.”

“Luca, I’m so sorry.”

Luca shrugs. “I just don’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything. She cheated, she lost you, and that is all on her.”

“Maybe.”

“No, Luca, seriously, you didn’t do anything wrong. If she said you did, she was trying to justify her actions because there isn’t a bit of blame on you for her making the conscious decision to cheat on you. You’re amazing, Luca, and she couldn’t see that. It’s on her.”

“I didn’t spend enough time with her, she said.”

You take a deep breath, wondering what you could say to make him see that he is not at fault. “You don’t spend much time with me either, but I still care about you.”

“Hondo and the guys, they don’t understand. They think I just date because I don’t want to be alone, then move in with someone, breakup, and crash at their place. I want more than that, more than simple company.”

“I get it, Luca. And you deserve more than that.”

Luca laughs, but it’s a devastating sound. “Not what my track record shows. She cheated on me with a banker, though, so at least I know it wasn’t a badge bunny-type deal.”

You don’t think about your words before you say, “You were dating women who weren’t good enough for you, Luca, that doesn’t say anything about you as a partner.” You close your eyes when you realize what you said. “Sorry.”

“I’m not infallible.”

No going back now. “Maybe not but you’re incredibly easy to love.”

The room seems to freeze, your words hanging in the air. You half expect Luca to let him down gently, pray that he won’t just leave without a word.

“You- you’ve never said anything,” he mutters, sitting up straighter.

You shrug, picking at invisible lint on your pants. “Why would I invite rejection from someone who has my life in their hands at least once a week?”

After several seconds of tense silence, unaware that Luca’s eyes are still on you, you say, “Maybe I should go.”

“I felt the same,” he whispers. “Feel the same.”

Looking up quickly, you’re face to face with Luca. He smiles, and you grin at the sight of his genuine smile.

“Bet you’re glad you didn’t move in with Liv,” you tease.

Luca shakes his head, then takes your chin between his finger and thumb.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask.

“Why would I invite rejection from someone who has my life in their hands?” Luca repeats.

“You can talk to me,” you tell him. “Even if this doesn’t go anywhere, if we stay friends and teammates, I’m here for you.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

Your smile drops as your brows furrow, and Luca leans in to add, “We can’t stay here after all of this.”

Luca closes the distance, and your eyes flutter closed as you kiss him. You raise a hand to his chest, moving closer to him as you fall deeper into love with Dominique Luca.

“That’s why you should have told me sooner,” Luca murmurs as he pulls back.

You shove his chest gently and argue, “You could have said something.”

Luca’s eyes widen suddenly as he asks, “What happened?”

He takes your bloody hand in his before you can question what he means.

“Oh, I was just dealing with some stuff,” you answer as he reaches for a towel. “Now I wish I’d known to envision Liv’s face.”

Luca chuckles as he bandages your hand, then pulls you to stand with him. He kisses you again, and with your face between his hands, your heart placed safely in them, you know he’s right. You’ll never be able to go back to being friends after this.

[sorchathered]

Sweet Home Texas pt. 2

A/N- hey yall just a little something I wrote while I was traveling today, I don’t know how often I’ll get to update after this with the move rapidly approaching but I had some free time. :)

Pairing- Jake “hangman” Seresin x Oc Ella Mcree

Warnings- angst, language

“I can’t do it anymore.” She said with a heaving sob as she crumbled in on herself, arms wrapped tightly around her middle as if she were holding herself together.

“I’ve been with him for almost 20 years, I don’t know any other way of life but this is…this isn’t a life anymore! Happy moments are almost non-existent, I can’t even remember the last time he prioritized me before his job or his friends, hell I don’t think we’ve even been on a date in at least a year. We are constantly biting each other’s heads off, everything I do seems to be wrong or met with a condescending look. I’m not a child! I’m a 35 year old woman with a thriving career! Just because he has some kind of god complex as a pilot doesn’t give him the right to treat me like I’m stupid. I don’t want to be mean, and I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t think I can be married to him anymore. Love shouldn’t feel like this, love shouldn’t hurt like this. If the end goal is to be together for 50 + years and hate every minute of it then I don’t want it. I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Jake but I won’t do this anymore.”

Jane Wyatt had been seeing Ella and Jake Seresin for couples therapy for nearly 6 months now, and in that time their relationship had shown no growth. Jake dug his heels in and fought Ella at every corner, he knew he worked too much and probably could have put more time into them but he maintained that she knew this was his dream and he was trying to make it to the top. One day things would be easier, she just had to wait it out.

Ella felt like she was dying on the vine, she had put her life on hold for Jake for so long and now that she was thriving in her career and fast tracking it to become the cfo of a major company in San Diego suddenly Jake couldn’t handle it. Having her at home barefoot and pregnant had never been a part of their plan, they both knew it but he felt like he was losing control and took it out on her. Accusations of cheating when she worked late hours, nitpicking everything she did, he didn’t mean to make her feel small but something in his subconscious just wouldn’t let it go. The house was burning from the inside out and he was refusing to throw water on the fire, they’d burn down together and stay married and maybe one day they’d crawl their way out of it.

Jane watched the scene unfolding in front of her, Ella falling apart and Jake white knuckling the chair across from her, jaw clenched so tightly it felt like his teeth might crack. She knew what the diagnosis was and it was one of the worst parts of her job.

Being a couples counselor was not for the weak, and she knew that at one point the two people in front of her had been head over heels in love. But this wasn’t the same couple from twenty years ago, and it wasn’t helping either of them to stay on a sinking ship.

“I’m sorry to you both, you’ve spent over half your lives together and I know this is not how either of you saw it going. My professional opinion? It’s time to take a step away from each other, whether that be for a few months or in dissolving your marriage can’t be determined yet, only time can answer that. But neither of you are good for each other right now, and my opinion is unchanged. You need to let each other go and find out who you are without each other. It’s the only way to move forward.”

Jake was out of his seat and out the door before she even finished, Ella crying out for him as he made his way to the elevators and out to his truck. He finally let himself break when he was alone, he knew it took two people to build a life but he had pushed her to this point. He knew she’d been unhappy and he had done nothing to stop it, nothing to change it, just expected her to push through like they always had. He didn’t know who he was without her, he’d never even kissed another woman before her; how was he supposed to just move on? The thought made him feel physically sick. He couldn’t go home, so he called his wingman, Javy Machado to admit defeat and ask for a place to stay.

That was nearly four years ago, Jake replayed that awful afternoon over in his mind in bed after he’d seen you at the bar tonight, you’d looked damn good. Still all fire and sharp wit, and it reminded him just how far apart you’d grown in the time since then. He had hoped if he gave you space to grow and learned the tools he needed to work on himself that the universe would bring you back together, but it hadn’t. That is until you walked in tonight. Circumstances be damned, he wasn’t signing those damn papers. He’d let this go on too long, he was going to romance you and show you just how good things could be, if you’d found someone else well that poor sap would have to go because the two of you were endgame and he knew it. Now he just had to convince you. Easier said than done.

🏷️ Tagging- @attapullman @bobgasm @roosterforme @mynameismckenziemae @seitmai @jessicab1991 @djs8891 @buckysteveloki-me @dontletthemtakeyoualive @crazy-ravioli @dizzybee03 @sarahsmi13s @sunsetsimpsblog @auroralightsthesky @bradshawssugarbaby

[avocado-writing]

Omggg i hear your requests are open again??? Yayyy so excited so excited. I’ve been thinking ab smth angsty with Crowley where the reader has serious abandonment issues and Crowley accidentally triggers them. I would love it to be angsty but fluffy at the end bc I don’t want Crol to be sad :(

Tysm and i hope you have a fucking great week💕✨

notes: a phenomenal meme, thank you. I hope reader seems in character enough for abandonment issues!

pairing: crowley x reader

rating: T

He’s gone, and you’re worried it’s forever.

He’s had to go and do some work. Some demon work. When the two of you properly began getting together he had to tell you about his true nature; you were surprised and secretly a bit thrilled because, well, how many people have a demon in love with them? It made you feel very special indeed. And Crowley does love you so very deeply, you’ve never had a love like it before. Which made it sting all the worse when he had to go.

You were bickering about him leaving. He had to go to bloody Spain to perform some sort of temptation, and he knew you couldn’t get the time off work to come with him. You were begging him to stay, he was insisting he couldn’t, and as neither of you could see the other’s point of view voices began to get raised. It ended with him leaving you in your flat, slamming the door behind him in frustration.

You’ve not seen him for a week. It’s been driving you mad. He’s gone, hasn’t he? He’s gone forever. Just like every other person who’s walked into your life with claims that they love you only to disappear when things got difficult. You are unloveable, you are not worthy of anyone’s time. You do not deserve to experience anything other than heartbreak.

When he comes home he knows he’ll need to apologise. It doesn’t come easily to Crowley, admitting that he’s wrong, but he’ll find a way to force it out of himself for your sake. He shouldn’t have left how he did. It was unkind. Petty. A relationship shouldn’t be about trying to get the last word in an argument, and he feels very small indeed.

He knocks at the door to your flat and, when it isn’t answered, he miracles the lock open and walks in. Maybe he can get started on dinner. Maybe coming home to the smell of cooking and him being all grovelly will make things better.

This plan is stopped in its tracks when he finds you curled up in a blanket on the sofa. You look terrible. Tired, miserable, and ever so small. You take one look at him and recoil.

“What do you –”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley says. It’s not forced or uncomfortable as it usually is when he’s made to apologise, but sincere. An apology is not a plaster, though, and you still look raw and wounded as he sits on the opposite end of the couch. You wince as he reaches out to touch you.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” is all the explanation that you can muster.

“Oh, darling. I’m…” he wracks his brain for something that’s a suitable apology, but can come up with nothing better than another “I’m sorry.”

Tears begin to fall down your cheeks and you seem furious at them, wiping them away with the edge of your blanket, but still unable to get them to stop.

“I thought you were done with me. That you hated me.”

“Come here,” says Crowley, bundling you in his arms and pulling you onto his lap. You cry a little, at him, at yourself, at being so stupid. “I don’t hate you. I’d never hate you. I think it’s impossible, actually. I was just being a twat. I’ll even do the dance if you want me to.”

You laugh into his shirt and he’s relieved.

“No, keep that dance for Aziraphale. I think he’d be annoyed if he found out you did it for me.”

You look into his eyes, and he moves his sunglasses up so he can meet your gaze properly.

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper, voice trembling a little.

“I won’t. I swear.”

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @foolishprincipalitee @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @this--is--music @ilyatan @lxsm2 @clarina04@wtfhasmy-lifecometo @mrgatotortuga@wereallbrokenangels @night-affiliate @kimqueenofhell @chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t @am-i-obsessed---maybe @bakerstreethound

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Pick up the phone, I know I’m drunk again. And you know my intentions ‘cause it’s 2am - Ancient History by Set It Off

Hello, could you make one of Spencer x reader, please?

Hello love, hope you like it!

Ancient History

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - After you and Spencer break up, you just can’t seem to stay away from each other. But casual sex with the person you love will only do more harm than good, so you have to decide if you have a future together or if your relationship is fated to be ancient history.

CW - mentions of 15x6 Date Night, breakups, mentions of casual sex but no my graphic, drinking, angst, make ups.

WC - 2.6k

Spencer Reid had never been good at separating the intimate from his emotions. 

Maybe it was due to him being well into his twenties the first time he slept with a woman. Or perhaps it was just the fact that his heart was too big for his own good. 

Whatever the reason, he’d never been one for casual sex. He didn’t do hook ups or one night stands. He needed to have some kind of emotional connection with a woman before he could fall into bed with them. 

And it wasn’t exactly as though that had changed, things were just…complicated. 

It had taken months of dating before you and Spencer took your relationship to that level, but once you did it was difficult to keep your hands off of each other. 

Spencer had felt connected to you in ways he’d never felt with anyone else before you’d even slept together for the first time. And after, the link had grown so intrinsic it was likely to never break. 

He felt as though he was just as in tune with you as he was himself, like your souls were entwined on some kind of cosmic level even his impressive brain couldn’t fathom. 

But after you’d had to witness him standing in his doorway kissing a hit woman who had kidnapped his mother and had him locked up, your three year relationship came to an abrupt end. 

He’d tried to reason with you, to explain he’d been doing it to save a family and no other reason. But you’d seen the way he’d kissed her, the way he gripped her so tightly as though he was afraid she may crumble to dust. The way he looked completely dumbfounded afterwards, like Cat’s kiss had erased every single one of his brain cells. 

There was no denying that kind of chemistry, try as he might. You’d tried to let it go but every time you closed your eyes you saw him and Cat together. And so for your own sanity you had to walk away. 

But you never could shake the memories that rain inside. And neither could Spencer.

He missed everything about you but it quickly became clear to him that he desperately yearned for you and your body. 

Spencer had never had a sexual relationship last so long, or in fact any relationship, but he felt as though he was dying without your touch. 

Once the storm had settled the two of you met up for coffee and somehow you’d ended your meeting with a mutual understanding. 

You didn’t trust Spencer the way you used to but you both agreed you missed the intimacy. And so the two of you made an arrangement that meant you still got to keep the physical aspect of your relationship without the strings and commitment. 

And maybe if Spencer wasn’t so in love with you he wouldn’t have agreed to it. But if he could only have one part of you then so be it. It would have to be enough. 

He pretended it was right but deep down he knew how wrong it was. But every time you called he answered. And when he called, you did the same in return. 

Spencer tried to stem his loneliness with alcohol, hoping maybe it would take away some of the desperation he felt just to be near you. But more often than not it didn’t work and he would find himself pacing the street with his phone to his ear. 

Pick up the phone, I know I’m drunk again, but please pick up the phone. 

And of course you always did, and you always knew his tensions at two am. 

Maybe you were under thinking part-time thrills, not focusing on the bigger picture because you would both get swept up in the pleasure. 

It was hard to think logically when Spencer had you pinned to the bed under the weight of his body, yet making you feel lighter than air with his touch. 

He knew how to drive you wild and you knew how to make him smile. Your bodies moved together in such an impossibly perfect rhythm, like a choreographed dance, the moves for which were embedded deep inside your souls. 

It was too hard to quit something that just felt this right. Even if Spencer did inadvertently leave a small fragment of his heart behind in your bed each time. 

A storm was surely advancing, but Spencer ignored it. Instead he would get drunk and call you at two am and end up between your sheets. 

Every time it became more difficult to drag himself away from you. When the haze of pleasure wore off and he had to prize himself out of your bed it often felt like those sheets were holding him captive. 

But he would get dressed and take his leave as you whispered from the bed, see you next time. 

It was all fun and games until inevitably you would both get hurt. You played with fire because you loved the way it burned. But there was no use patching up a sinking ship, sometimes you just had to know when to admit defeat. 

And so Spencer stopped drinking, stopped allowing his lowered inhibitions from picking at the phone again. But then you showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night and his resolve melted. 

It chipped pieces of him away each time one of you had to leave after spending the night together. He started to feel used, like all he was good for was sex and it caused indentations on his heart from where it continuously took beatings. 

Deep down he’d hoped if he kept this up then things would go back to how they used to be, that you’d forgive him, learn to trust him again. 

Perhaps that made him naive, idealistic to believe just because he couldn’t separate the intimate from the emotional that you couldn’t either. 

After a while it all just felt like a vicious, self-destructive cycle and he had to break it. As much as he loved you, as much as he’d thought getting to be with you in any capacity was worth it, it hurt too much. It would end up taking too much from him and he’d never recover.

He would never be able to begin to heal while the two of you were still playing this game. Spencer needed you to be his ancient history. 

But once again you showered up on his doorstep in the middle of the night and he let you in. He didn’t argue when you started to kiss him or when you began removing his clothes. 

He put up no fight when you led him to his bedroom and you both climbed on the bed. He was completely complicit in the activities that followed. 

But once it was over and you almost immediately freed yourself from between his sheets and started dressing, Spencer’s heart took the final blow it could handle. 

He sat up in bed, pulling the sheets over himself to shield his naked body and watched as you got back in your clothes. And the words seemed to come tumbling out of his mouth before he’d realised he was going to vocalise them. 

“This is the last time we do this. This has to be the last time.” He hated the pain in his voice, the way he sounded like a small, frightened child. 

You pulled your t-shirt over your head and slowly turned to face him. 

“What? Why?” You frowned at him. “Why would you say that?” 

Did you really not know? Surely you knew him well enough to see the hurt in his eyes every time you walked away from him. It didn’t take a profiler to see how much agony this caused him. 

“This is breaking me, Y/N.” He shook his head. “Every time we do this it hurts me more than the last. I can’t keep watching you leave when all I want is for you to stay.” 

“Spencer,” you sighed almost as though you were frustrated. “It’s just sex.”

“It can never be just sex with the woman I love, the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.” He swung his legs out of the bed and hurriedly pulled his boxers on before standing up. 

“Spence, come on. It doesn’t need to be complicated.” You rolled your eyes. 

“You know who I really am and it’s not this.” He folded his arms over his bare chest. “I know I hurt you and I’m sorry for that. And maybe there is some sick part of me that enjoyed that kiss with Cat. Maybe there always has been some twisted part of my brain that’s never been able to let her go. She's come so close to outsmarting me time and time again and perhaps I like that in a weird way. But you also know that I love you with every beat of my heart. And you seem to know how to break it so well.” 

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to look at you the same.” You confessed. “The second the endorphins wear off and I’m just laying here next to you, it all comes flooding back to me. All I can see when I look at you is that damn kiss.” 

“I think what we’re doing…it’s more damaging than anything. It fools me into believing that we can have more again. And if all we’re ever going to have is sex then I have to end it. It’s not enough for me Y/N. It would hurt less to have nothing from you than only have one small part of you.” His arms fell back to his sides and he turned away from you, feeling the tears burning his eyes. 

For a moment or two the room descended into an all consuming silence. Spencer fought against his tears, not wanting you to see how much pain this was causing him. He didn’t feel like he deserved to be hurt, not after what he’d done to you. 

You knew as well as he did that this was a foolish idea. Truthfully it hurt you just as much every time you had to leave him. Getting to be close to him filled your heart with joy but as soon it was over the pain set in again. 

You wished you could find a way to forgive him for making out with Cat, wished you could foresee a day when you wouldn’t still feel so betrayed by it. 

Logically you knew he’d only done what he did to save a family but you also knew on some level he’d enjoyed the excuse to kiss her. 

And maybe if it had been anyone other than the woman responsible for putting him in prison and kidnapping his mother it could have been easier to reconcile. But the hardest part of it all for you to wrap your head around was how he could do such a thing with a woman who had effectively ruined his life over and over again. 

It said more about his morals than anything. He said he’d done it because he thought it was the only way to get what he needed out of her but you both knew there were other ways. And you were sure you’d never be able to forgive him for it. 

After a while you exhaled heavily, knowing he was right as much as you didn’t want to admit it. In the long run this was only going to hurt more than just letting each other go. 

“I guess I should go then.” Your voice wobbled a little as you spoke. 

“I think it’s for the best.” He agreed without turning to look at you. 

You collected the rest of your things in silence and he didn’t once glance at you as you did so. Even when you left the room and headed to the front door, Spencer forced himself not to look, not to speak. He was this close to begging you to stay. 

But he said nothing. 

And maybe you were destined to be his ancient history. 

Except the thing about history was that it had a habit of repeating itself. 

Several months of radio silence on both your parts followed that night until you’d bumped into each other at a local bookstore. 

The hurt was still there but it had lessened and actually you found seeing one another again was a breath of fresh air. 

You agreed to meet again for coffee the following week. 

Over subsequent meetings a beautiful friendship blossomed between you. You were able to hang out without falling into bed with one another and although there was still some residual pain, being friends worked out nicely for you both. 

But then one day you woke up and all the trust you’d lost in Spencer seemed to have returned; all the feelings you’d had about that kiss with Cat seemingly vanished. 

Maybe all you’d needed was time to process it and move past it. And the more you thought about it the more trivial it all seemed. 

You loved Spencer, even now you loved him just as much if not more than you had. Letting one stupid mistake get in the way of what could be the best thing that ever happened to you now felt so idiotic. 

It had really been second nature when after having lunch together and you walked outside to say your goodbyes, you’d leaned in and kissed him. 

When you pulled back Spencer averted his gaze, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step backwards. 

“Y/N…” he whispered your name under his breath. “Don’t…please don’t.” 

“I don’t even know what came over me.” You suddenly felt awash with discomfort. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I love being your friend.” He looked back at you, chewing on his lip. “But it’s still hard sometimes. We can’t fall back into that old pattern, it’s too painful.” 

“I…I…” you stumbled over your words. “Spence?” 

“Yeah?” He swallowed.

“I don’t wanna be your friend.” You shrugged. “And I don’t wanna just sleep with you. I want it all, Spence. I want what we had.” 

His eyes conveyed his sadness and he inhaled sharply through his nose. 

“So do I.” He nodded. “But I hurt you and you can’t forgive me for that, I get it.”

“See that’s the thing,” you stepped closer to him. “I think I have forgiven you.”

His face contorted into confusion as he scrutinised you curiously. He ruminated on your words, you could all but see the cogs turning in his head. 

He didn’t seem to believe you and you didn’t blame him for that. You stepped even closer and removed his hands from his pockets, holding them in your own. 

“Y/N,” his voice and his hands both trembled. “Please don’t say that unless you mean it. I can’t go through the pain of losing you again.” 

“I do mean it, Spencer. I’m not mad anymore, and I know I can trust you with my life.” You gave his hands a soft squeeze. 

“I…I’m so sorry for the thing with Cat. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” You offered him a smile. “I love you, Spence. Some dumb kiss is not a good enough reason for us not to be together.” 

“I love you too. S-so much.” He stuttered, tears misting his vision. 

“Good.” You laughed lightly, leaning in and capturing his lips once again. 

He removed his hands from yours so he could wrap his arms around you, holding you close to him where you belonged. 

He knew he’d never do anything to risk losing you again. You were his present and you were his future; not his ancient history. 

[pipsqueakparker]

hey, how y’all doing, i been thinking about blitzø and fizz again 😌 (over the past 2 years I’ve rekindled 2 really important friendships after major falling outs - it lends to a lot of my blitzfizz feelings..)

what if it’s actually almost too easy for them to fall back into how they were before the fire? 15 years is a long time, the fire was a huge trauma for them both… but are they really that different? at their core? especially when they’re with each other? they’re both surprised by it, too.

but one day they decided to watch some bullshit on voxflix & they’re huddled together on the couch in fizz & oz’s huge fucking lounge, watching this huge fucking tv, and it’s all a little bizarre because the last time they watched something together they were huddled over a phone screen, tucked away from prying eyes (ie Cash) somewhere in the back of the tent. now they’re in their 30s, sharing a luxuriously soft blanket that probably cost more than their circus tent, but fizz’s head just naturally falls onto Blitz’s shoulder just like it did when they were 16 - and everything fell away except for the teenage versions of themselves just happy to be together again.

fizz has never been touchy save for with very few people, and that really only got worse with time and fame and Mammon - the first time blitz casually put his arm around him, he expected to feel like crawling out of his skin, but the gesture was so warm and so familiar and so comfortable he immediately sank right into blitz’s side.

they had a rhythm to their friendship, they could reach other with a single look - they had to, growing up there was so much they couldn’t say out loud, but they both understood. the looks are the same, even if they don’t know the specifics anymore. fizz recognizes the lines under blitz’s eyes, the slightly downturned corner of his mouth, the way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes - these were once tells of a fight with Cash, bad news about Mama Buckzo, or some other bullshit that Blitz didn’t deserve. it’s the same for fizz, blitz still knows when he’s uncomfortable by the way his tail winds around his ankles, knows he needs a distraction by the way his voice wavers. neither of them even notice how much they’ve pavlov’d themselves to the others needs until blitz starts complaining about something - fizz isn’t even fully listening, but he hears the shift in blitz’s tone, and he immediately wraps his arms around blitz, his tail winding around blitz’s own, and it stops blitz mid-sentence.

“what are you doing?”

“..hugging you.”

“why”

“… it sounded like you needed it?”

and ofc, he did. fizz always knew. fizz would always know.

and their moments alone are probably the easiest because they could just pretend they’re young again, pre-fire, pre-fall out, pre-everything going wrong.

and blitz can hold fizz close and pretend that this was how things worked out actually, that he never caused the fire and they did get to keep growing up together, and this was the future they deserved.

and fizz would soak up the casual affection & attention - not that he didn’t get enough from ozzie, not that he feels like he’s missing anything from his relationship with ozzie… but blitz was everything to him once, the first person to ever hold him like this, the first person to know him. no matter what, blitz was the first friend fizz ever had and the first man fizz ever loved. and it’s so easy to remember what it was like when they were together. and maybe half of the thrill was that they were sneaking around and trying to be subtle,

but the other half was that blitz understood fizz on such a deep & intimate level it felt like no one would ever understand him that way again.

and honestly no one has. because blitz doesn’t have expectations, he never did. fizz was never a commodity to him. and he knows ozzie doesn’t see him that way, but it’s hard not to feel it. it’s hard not to think about whether he’s actually worthy of ozzie’s love & time - but he never felt that way with blitz. there was no question, they were on equal footing from the beginning, just two traumatized circus kids. and it’s just nice to just be.

anyway i hope them becoming friends again is as healing as it can be for them.

also in my personal hc, fizz is very open about all of this with ozzie, and ozzie does his best to understand - they don’t play any jealousy games.

[megamett44-lover]

Chris Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: Based off “Never Say Never” by The Fray

Warnings/Notes: She/her pronouns, profanity, online bullying

Requested? No! (I have been re-watching The Vampire Diaries and forgot how good the soundtrack is. So prepare for more fics based off of songs<3)

Don’t Let Me Go

“Some things we don't talk about

Rather do without and just hold the smile”

Chris and I had a…complicated relationship, to say the least. Growing up together, he had become my best friend, my safe place. The only one I trusted completely with my heart. I guess that was my first mistake.

As we grew older, so did my feelings. They grew into something I couldn’t ever understand. I had thought my feelings had been one sided, but I was wrong. Both of us scared to lose our friendship, neither of us said anything.

“Falling in and out of love

Ashamed and proud of, together all the while”

It was Sophomore year when we had both confessed our feeling for each other. Both delirious at 3:00am, watching some stupid comedy, when his hand slipped into mine under the blanket we shared. Looking up to be met with his blue eyes boring into mine, he smiled.

“I love you, Y/n.” He had whispered softly.

Something we had often said to each other, somehow felt different; this statement from him had the weight of his whole heart on the line. And with all of the courage in my body, I threw my heart into the deep end with his, not caring where it would take us.

“And I love you, Chris.” I whispered, watching his eyes for any glimmer of doubt. Instead, I found the childlike innocence of pure, true love. The kind’ve look someone only has once in their lifetime; first to love, and to be loved.

From then on, we were one. Maybe to our own fault. When we were good, things were great. But…when things were bad, they were awful. Loving each other too much to the point of not loving each other at all; it had become too much.

“You can never say never

While we don't know when

But time and time again

Younger now, than we were before”

“I never want to see you again.” I said through the tears burning my eyes.

“Never say that again, Y/n L/n.” Chris said. “I don’t care if you’re not mine, I will always be yours. No matter what, I can promise you that.”

I was silent, my heart aching from the pain of crying. My knees threatening to buckle from beneath me at any moment, to fall back into Chris’ arms because as much as I hated to admit it, I had felt the same for him, no matter what I said.

But I stood strong, and watched as he walked toward my front door. Before closing it behind him, he turned to look at me one last time.

“My heart is yours, Y/n.” Chris said softly. “It always has been, and always will be.”

“Picture, you're the queen of everything

Far as the eye can see, under your command”

At 19, I had moved with Chris and his brothers to L.A. to pursue a YouTube channel of my own. Having pretty much overnight success, I felt as if I was on top of the world. I had truly made something of myself.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” Chris said, wrapping me in his arms. “You deserve it all, and I will be there with you every step of the way.”

Pulling back from his embrace, I looked into his eyes; the same eyes that looked back at me when we were just 16, confessing our teenage crushes. Now older, they resembled the pride he had, the admiration he held for me; the love we had shared for years, only growing stronger.

“I will be your guardian

When all is crumbling, I'll steady your hand”

“God why did he chose her?”

“She’s just using him for her own gain lmao”

“Idk I think it’s kinda sweet that Chris is doing some charity work”

Reading the comments of Chris’ most recent Instagram post announcing our relationship, had my eyes watering. I was no stranger to the hate, I had been dealing with it since I was featured in one of the Triplets YouTube videos. The speculation that I might be dating one of them, the hate had spread all over my social medias; but this time was ten times worse.

With the confirmation of our love, the internet responded with hate. Burying my face into my knees, I let the tears flow freely, something I had never done. I knew it was pointless to cry, but I couldn’t help it; everyone has their breaking points, and this one was mine.

“Y/n! I’m back from the st-” Chris stops at the sight of me crying on his bedroom floor. “Oh, baby what’s wrong?” He asks, putting a finger under my chin so I revealed my face to him.

“It’s stupid.” I said, wiping my eyes. “Really, I’m fine, just stressed.”

Chris looked at me quizzically before eyeing the phone beside me, Instagram comments still open.

“Oh Y/n,” He said, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. He grabbed my phone, scanning the comments himself, scoffing to himself. “I hope you aren’t actually taking these to heart.”

He picked me up, holding me in his arms. “You, Y/n L/n, are the most beautiful girl in the world, with the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard. You are everything to me, no matter what anyone says or thinks. I love you so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. So don’t let that bullshit get to you, because that’s all it is, bullshit.”

By this point I’m laughing, my arms wrapped around his neck. “You done?” I asked.

“Do you believe me?” Chris asked. “Because if not, I’m gonna be forced to keep reminding you how much I love you.”

“We're growing apart…”

Navigating our relationship since we had gone public had been hard. With all the retaliation from his fans pouring in, it became hard for me to listen to Chris, opposed to the thousands of others who wanted to see our relationship to break.

“Chris,” I say, standing in the doorway of his room. “I think we need to take a break.”

Looking up from his phone, his eyes wide. He approaches me. “What, why?” He asks, bewildered.

I sigh, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. “I just…I need time.” I whisper. “This is all so much, it’s taking a toll on me.”

I look up to see a tears in Chris’ eyes. Placing a hand on my cheek, he pulls me closer. “I never want to hurt you.” He says. “Take all the time you need, I’ll be right here waiting, whenever you’re ready.”

“…but we pull it together

Pull it together, together again”

A month later, and I wish I could’ve said I was doing better. Truthfully, I felt as though I was missing a piece of myself, my other half, my best friend.

Typing out a simple: “I need you.” and hitting send was probably one of the best decisions I had ever made in my entire life. In 5 minutes flat, there was a rapid knocking on my door.

Opening the door, I see Chris, soaking wet from the rain that was beating down on my house. Throwing myself outside into his arms, I couldn’t care less about the rain; I was home.

“Don’t let me go.” I whisper.

“Don’t let me go.” He whispered back, holding me tightly.