#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]

[blainesebastian]

ex-something

word count: 11,109 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: Just because you and Nick are broken up doesn’t mean that you’re over one another. notes: really appreciate the overwhelmingly positive response on my first nick x reader post :) hope this is just as enjoyable! i have a masterlist! notes 2: gifs from this gif pack

You get it—relationships change, that’s true with anything. You’ve had friendships that have evaporated into thin air or have fused together thanks to one night, boyfriends who promise they’d hand you the moon but couldn’t even show up when you needed them. You’re also different, you’re not the same person from year to year, nor day to day. Small, minute shifts sometimes make the greatest ripple effects. It’s good to see how something can adapt, how you can realize one thing and decide on another. 

Maybe you should have realized that you and Nick were never going to work—a thought that’s ugly that sprouts in your mind like a weed. Like ivy twisting around your ribcage and squeezing. You know him like the back of your hand, have been part of the same circles for so long—the orbiting around one another felt inevitable. 

So maybe the disintegration was too. 

Nick’s come a long way since you’ve known him in opening up, both of you bringing so much baggage to the table that you could no longer see the surface. Everyone has their own weight to carry, their own shit to get through, but it felt like…what you were carrying was no longer heavy when he was around. You both shared things, secrets in the dark, things you felt like couldn’t be shared with anyone else. While that should have caused the bond between you to strengthen, it created cracks and fragments that were sharp enough to cut the skin. 

Nick has trouble trusting that people won’t leave him, and you have trouble trusting that something will last the way it’s supposed to. As awful as it sounds, you never thought you and Nick would be together long-term. It’s not about him, but about yourself—about not deserving something good, about losing someone you were never supposed to have in the first place. 

When you began to pull away, creating distance and space, Nick overcompensated by yanking harder. He leaves you before you can leave him. The break-up, though surprising, is…somehow amicable, even though the devastation of it ending was clear on both your faces. Like a roadmap of a decimated city, the skyline crumbling into itself. 

The sudden destruction is so ugly that neither of you can look away. There’s regret almost instantly, that much is obvious, and yet neither of you speak up to change anything. You just…part ways, Nick leaving first.

You let him go, you allow him to push you and keep that chasm of space, because it was never meant to work out, right? 

“He’s in love with you, babe,” Jenna tells you one night over her house. “That’s never gonna change.” 

“Guess not enough.” You mumble—but you’re not innocent. You didn’t chase after him. 

“Well I never said he was smart,” Jenna teases, attempting to lighten the mood, and a smile twitches the corners of your mouth but you can’t reply. You shake your head, running a hand over the side of your face before lying back on her bed. 

But Nick is smart. He’s smart, and calculated, and even though he sometimes thinks with his fists, he knows the consequences of actions before he makes them. He knows exactly what choice he’s made and why he’s done it. 

Which is one of the reasons you can’t bring yourself to tell him he’s wrong. 

—

You miss Nick like you never knew you could. It’s one of those cliché things that you don’t understand what’s missing until it’s gone. There’s an absence that feels like a force, that sits on your chest, that makes it hard to breathe. An ache that begins behind your ribs and pulses outward. You miss things that aren’t altogether obvious—things you never knew you thought about until they pop-tap-pop like morse code in your mind. 

You miss his hands, the way they felt on your body, his fingers brushing through your hair or lingering along your hip. The squeeze on your knee or the gentle pattern of circles along your spine. You miss his mouth, the way the corner quirked up when he found something ridiculous, the way it felt on your own, his lips on your cheek, your shoulder, between your legs. You miss the way your bodies felt lined up, curled up in bed to sleep or slotting together during sex. You miss the sounds he used to make. You miss the gentle crinkle of his nose before he laughed, you miss that too; the laughing. 

But most of all you miss the way he stood by you, protected you, cared about you, a driving power that’d run anyone else over if you needed something. You miss the way he made you feel loved, actual love—something real and tangible and consistent. Something you didn’t know you deserved. 

It’s too late to take back what you’ve done and you lay awake at night, sometimes, wondering what would have happened if you would have tried to talk to him instead of letting your thoughts get the best of you. 

—

Just because you and Nick are broken up doesn’t mean that you’re over one another. 

—

Jenna drags you to Anna’s party—literally, she has to drag you. 

“Enough moping,” She sing-songs. “Time to put on your tightest dress and your best lipstick and have a fucking good time.” 

You roll your eyes but…she’s not wrong. So you follow her lead. Little black dress, comfortable shoes, red lipstick. It brings out the color of your eyes, it matches with the tiny, ruby, heart-shaped earrings you’re wearing and it draws people to look at your lips. But most of all? It makes you feel good. Your mother has always had a saying, to ‘dress your best when you feel your worst’, and you suppose that’s what you’re doing. 

Surviving. 

And sometimes? That’s more than okay. 

“Wish this party wasn’t here, though.” You comment, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you enter the lavish home of Anna. Anna who is probably salivating at the concept that Nick’s single again. You’re sure he’s here tonight, you don’t need to ask Jenna to know. You smooth your fingers along your dress, adjusting your small purse so it sits on your hip. 

You and Jenna wouldn’t exactly call Anna a friend…a frenemy, maybe? Maybe not. But Jenna smiles over her shoulder, “Shouldn’t let her expensive booze go to waste, should we?” 

You let out a soft laugh—you suppose that’s true. 

The night swirls forward with a lot of dancing, a messy game of darts, and almost too many shots. You roll your hips to the beat of the music, a grin on your face as Jenna bounces in time to the base, her hands finding yours and squeezing before giving you a twirl. It’s in that spin that you see him, leaning against the back of the couch on the outskirts, watching you. 

Or maybe that’s a trick of the light, or the hazy alcohol licking your common sense. Either way, you don’t look back over your shoulder towards him, you can’t. You wish that Jenna doesn’t call over the music that she needs water, because your knees suddenly feel like jello at the concept of staying on this makeshift dance floor alone. So you don’t. 

You make your way through the crowd to follow her, lingering, and hate yourself for your eyes being pulled from the task at hand…towards Nick. 

He looks gorgeous tonight, but you suppose that’s not a surprise. Jeans, a white t-shirt, an oversized jacket. It’s pretty textbook and yet it’s enough to practically sway you off kilter. Without being close to him, you can smell the leather of his jacket, the expensive cologne, something purely him tying it all together. You can feel the heat of his body, the chill of the thin silver chain he’s wearing and the rings on his fingers over your skin. 

An ache begins low in your stomach, which only turns sour when his eyes flitter to you and then look away. It’s so quick it feels like a slap to the face, his own expression impassive, like he has a million better things to do than be standing around at this party. You know his masks well, the ones he puts on when he thinks no one is looking, the ones he peeled off when he was around you. You know this is his favorite one—pretending he doesn’t care, when he does. 

Chewing on your lower lip, you take a step towards him though you’re not sure why. To speak to him, maybe? To make a joke about how his face looks like it was carved in stone? That if he keeps making that expression it’s going to stick like that. But then he shifts when someone comes up beside him—

fucking Anna. 

You stop short, trying to tell yourself to turn around, to get some water, to go back to having fun with Jenna. And yet, like a car crash, you can’t seem to look away. Anna has always been obvious about her feelings for Nick, whether it’s something genuine or just purely physical—it doesn’t matter. She practically molds herself to his side, a pretty grin on her face, talking about something that you can’t hear about—but her hand glides down his arm. 

There’s a small, gentle tilt to Nick’s lips, ever so subtle, but it’s enough to make it feel like the floor is opening up underneath you. 

Turning on your heel, you move through the crowd towards the bathroom, trying to quell the nausea rolling in your stomach. You try to tell yourself that you’re overreacting, that it’s not fair for you to have a reaction like this, that Nick is single and he can do whatever the fuck he wants… regardless that Anna is the worst. 

It hasn’t been too long since you’ve broken up, and yet you find yourself trying to rationalize that it shouldn’t hurt like this. You know that’s a defense mechanism, that trying to convince yourself that you’re okay is just something to keep yourself from hurting. But maybe it’d be good to feel that hurt, to let it in instead of shoving it deep in a box that’ll remain unopened. 

Maybe if you let yourself hurt, you wouldn’t be spiraling over Nick’s almost smile at Anna. 

When you go for the bathroom door, it’s locked, and a groan leaves your lips because of course. Running a hand over your forehead, you lean back against the opposite wall, waiting, allowing your eyes to close as your head tips back. 

“You look a little nauseous.” 

Nick’s voice jolts you out of your position against the wall, almost setting you off balance. When your eyes dart to him, there’s that playful quirk to his lips, warm amusement in his brown eyes. His jacket is missing—you hate that you wonder if it’s around Anna’s shoulders. You straighten your shoulders, letting out a breath as you turn to look at him. 

He’s not wrong, you are nauseous. But it’s not from the alcohol. “Think this house just does that to me.” 

Nick smirks, shaking his head as he takes a few steps towards you. He stops short, too short, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His eyes dance over your form, making you squirm, hating how he seems to see right through you. Like you’re made of glass. Heat gathers low in your stomach and pulses between your legs, that familiar ache comes back in the center of your chest. You miss him and you fucking hate that you do. 

Tearing your gaze away, you curl your hair around your ear, glancing back towards the bathroom door. Sheesh, what is someone doing in there? 

“Is it the house or is it someone in particular?” 

You scoff out a soft laugh—fuck, he’s got a lot of nerve. “Is that any of your business?” 

The smile he gives you is something slow and knowing, his gaze wandering to your lips, lingering on the red lipstick there. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, fluttering up towards your ribs, living there on the bones. The way he’s looking at you digs under your skin in the best way. 

“Think it’s completely my business.” He replies, sticking his one hand in his pocket. You can picture his fingers flexing, maybe trying to resist touching you. You love the sound of that. It’s one of the reasons you decide to flip the script, to take a little power back when he won’t stop staring at your mouth. Two can play this game—whatever game this is. 

Taking a step towards him, you say, “Is my lipstick your business?” 

Nick draws in a slow breath, it may seem causal, but you can see the heat darken the color of his eyes. Regardless of how things have played out between you two, things that maybe should have never happened in the first place (breaking up sounds like it was a stupid idea), you know that you feel safe with him. It’s that safeness that has you eliminating space, the toe of your shoe bumping into his. 

He’s not that much taller than you but it feels like he’s towering, eyes zeroed in on your lips. He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb over your lower one, purposely smudging your red lipstick, 

“You never seemed to be jealous of anyone when we were together.” He whispers, his breath fluttering over your cheek and yet it feels like a bucket of ice water tossed over you.  A reminder. Dick. 

You lean further into his touch, your noses bumping, close enough to kiss him but you don’t. Nick goes dangerously still and licks his lips. 

“Unsurprised that you didn’t seem to know me very well.” 

And with that you pull back, putting distance between your bodies. You wish it was enough to get your head on straight. Nick rubs his fingers over his thumb, erasing any traces of lipstick, like it never even happened. 

You wished it didn’t sting to see it. 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to keep Anna waiting.” You cross your arms over your chest, a clear defensive move but almost creating a shield as well, protecting yourself. 

You’re not looking at him but he lingers, a soft hum leaving his lips. He then moves to the bathroom door that…still hasn’t opened? Jesus, who’s in there? Though you try not to think about how often you and Nick found an empty bathroom during a party, a dark corner, a place where hands could roam and lips could nip. 

He jiggles the handle and pushes, your mouth falling slightly open—

“The door sticks,” He says, amused, eyes bright. And then turns to head back down the hall. 

Well, fuck. 

—

Nick leaves the party before you do but you’re not going to deny that you feel a zing of enjoyment that Anna’s left behind. And she looks pissed. 

—

Time crawls forward—it’s somehow achingly slow at the same time that it spins like a top. You and Nick are unfortunately like magnets, stuck in one another’s orbit. You suppose that’s the downside of having the same group of friends, seeing one another is unavoidable. It’s not…the worst thing, despite the prickly conversations you’ve been having. You know the fallout is a reflection on how good your relationship could be. There’s still strong emotions lingering—guilt, regret, love. It stains everything around you both. 

There’s a moment that comes and goes, just like your feelings, about having a conversation with Nick. About explaining to him why you were pulling away—that your parents have a shit relationship, that their divorce and their problems and their burdens sometimes sit in your bloodstream in a way you can’t put into words. You’re used to people disappointing you, you’re used to relationships not carrying merit—the only good one you’ve ever been in had been with Nick. And sometimes you were afraid that you weren’t worthy of it, that eventually he’d realize it too. 

That he’d leave. That all good things come to an end. 

Maybe then he’d crack wide open and explain that he likes to hurt people before they can hurt him. That it was a mistake. 

That you can start over. 

That thought is gone as quickly as it comes. Everything happens for a reason, right? There’s no need to go backwards when you need to focus on what’s ahead. Just because a relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean that…you and Nick can’t be what you were before. 

Friends. Good friends. 

—

“Can you check again, please?” You ask, rubbing the back of your neck as you hold up a line at this charity event that your parents were supposed to attend. 

Well—your parents decided to get a divorce three months ago and neither of them wanted to get dressed up and go. You get it, you really do, they don’t want to spend time with one another anymore. They want to continue separating their assets and not be in one another’s lives unless they have to. You're the bridge between and that’s…that’s something you’re coming to terms with. 

You tried to explain to both of them that you’ve been wanting to go to this, that this charity event is about donating money to cleaning up the ocean. That plastic removal and creating turtle sanctuaries and doubling-up efforts on proper recycling is really important to you. It always has been—this shouldn’t be some sort of surprise. 

And yet neither of them can get their shit together to just be present. To go with you. 

So whatever, fine. At this point you’re used to feeling like you’re doing things by yourself, and that’s how you decide you’re going to go. By yourself. 

Except for some reason, your name isn’t on the guest list. 

Vanessa, who’s in the same social circles as you, scowls behind the podium. She must be some sort of volunteer in whatever rotations that rich kids fall into, her nose wrinkling as she taps her fingers down the so-called list that you’re missing from. 

“Sorry—who are you again?” 

You feel your cheeks heat in frustration, refusing to get flustered even though you’re sure that’s her intention. There’s this group of girls that are always hanging out with Anna at any party you’ve ever been to. Vanessa knows exactly who you are. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, can feel people getting restless behind you, wanting to get inside to escape the chill in the evening air. You’re not sure whether your parents took themselves off the guest list when they decided they weren’t attending or whether Vanessa is just being a bitch. 

“Y/N,” You say your name and add your last, just in case there’s any confusion. 

Vanessa purses her lips, about to say something nasty, when her gaze catches something over your shoulder. Her entire demeanor changes—her shoulders relax, there’s an easy smile on her face, eyes soft. You already know who it is before he speaks. 

“Is there a problem?” Nick asks, the warmth of his body at your back. You feel yourself bristle, not turning around. 

“Nick, hi,” Vanessa offers. 

Nick ignores her, his gaze falling to your own when you finally tip your chin. You turn a little, crossing your arms over your chest. He’s dressed in all black; slacks, dress shirt, overcoat, it makes the softness of his brown eyes and the golden curls in his hair stick out even more. 

“You alright?” He lifts his eyes away from you just briefly and you know he’s checking the crowd for your parents who aren’t there. 

“She’s not on the guest list.” Vanessa sounds altogether too pleased at informing him. 

“Your parents made these reservations months ago,” His attention doesn’t waver from you.  

You swallow, giving him a small smile as another podium opens up to get guests inside since this one is obviously backlogged. You resist the urge to just give up, to head back down the steps and go home.

“I know.” You reply, and Nick’s head tips back just slightly, recognition flashing in his eyes. Months ago. Your parents. The divorce. 

He turns to Vanessa, finally acknowledging her. “There’s space at my table for her.” 

“Nick,” You say gently, touched by the sentiment, by him trying to help, as Vanessa visibly bristles. 

“All the tables are filled—“

Nick cuts her right off, voice cold and sharp as glass. “Then I suggest you figure it out, Vanessa, because Y/N’s my plus one.” 

Vanessa scoffs, waving us in, muttering whatever under her breath. Nick’s hand falls to your lower back, encouraging you to step forward to walk inside. You roll your lips together, glad you’re not wearing lipstick tonight before turning to look at him in front of the coat-check. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

Nick gives you a soft smile, motioning you to turn around so he can help you take your coat off. “Like I’d get in-between you and saving the otters tonight.” 

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that threatens to slip out, amusement pulling your mouth into an honest smile. Something warm and comfortable and feels far too familiar with him. 

“Sea turtles.” You correct. “I’m worried about the sea turtles.” 

You’re not sure why he’s here if he doesn’t really know what the event is for, but you bite down on the inside of your cheek from saying that to him. A twinge of warmth butterflies your stomach in hopes that he came because he knew you’d be here. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” 

Your lips twitch and you smooth your hands down your dress, removing imaginary wrinkles. “Thank you.” You add. 

Nick’s hand slides effortlessly into yours to tug you towards the open doors and awaiting tables. He doesn’t say anything back, but he does squeeze your fingers. 

—

When you donate an amount at that charity event, Nick doubles it. 

—

It’s easy to get lost in those simple touches, it’s always been something so easy between you and Nick. That communication runs deep. Sometimes, you think, that words often get in the way. A misplaced phrase, a misunderstanding, syllables stuck under tongues or behind teeth. There’s never been any confusion in how you touch one another, in how Nick’s hands convey a love language that maybe words can’t. 

The problem is that touch between you two is sometimes too much, too honest, too real. Too complicated. 

How are you supposed to move on and get over him if you’re constantly near one another? If one brush of his fingers turns into a playful squeeze at your hip, if one lingering gaze ignites into him brushing his lips against your temple? 

You convince yourself that you can somehow create space, that it won’t be so difficult, that the universe has to be on your side here—that even though it’s hard? It’ll be good for you in the long run. 

Turns out the universe is a bitch. 

—

There’s too many moving bodies on the dance floor, it pushes you and Nick closer and closer together. 

To be fair, you’re in a tight circle of friends and beats are pulsing through the tight spaces. You’re in a tiny slip dress, a pair of high-top converse sneakers to move easily, which just ends up being a bunch of bouncing and swaying to the beat at a wicked pace. Jenna’s grin is wide as she throws her arms around you and you laugh, tipping your head back towards the ceiling. 

You love nights like this, the feeling of freedom, your heartbeat loud in your ears, no concerns other than when the next drink is gonna be bought. Lion tugs your dance partner away, twirling her into a circle and you back up to avoid the spin—

And bump right into Nick. 

The man is like black hole—endless, all-encompassing. He’s dressed simply, but he could probably wear a paper bag and still have the same sex appeal. Lean, tapered body, intricate line tattoos on muscled biceps and you try not to think about the set of Roman numerals that you used to love to kiss on his collarbone. You’re close enough to see the light sheen of sweat sticking to his skin, deepening the scent of his cologne and him somehow. You want to run your hands through his curls and tug—

You must show how you feel right on your face because Nick steps closer, his hand reaching for you, sliding it around your waist to pull you flush against him. It’s so confident and knowing that it nearly takes you out at your knees. 

You know you could pull away and that he’d let you, but the moment his fingers curl against your back, the moment he gathers a bit of the fabric of your dress between his fingers—you know you’re not going anywhere. 

The weight and heat of his body against your own feels like coming home. 

You dance like that for a while, pressed against one another, your arms resting on top of his shoulders, fingers against his neck, curling into the bottom of his hair. He slips close enough at one point to press a kiss to your shoulder, something that you ignore. You have to. 

And yet your fingers dig into his shoulders and Nick pulls back, eyes dark, on your lips. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You’re about to say something, maybe mention grabbing water or stepping outside—but Nick’s thumb begins to trace circles through the thin material of your dress against the underwear line on your hip. A struggled gasp leaves your lips, and he must feel it more than hear it, a slow smile curving his handsome mouth. 

“I need to—“ You take a step back, almost running into someone else. Nick’s arms stabilize you from stumbling, even though he eventually lets you go. You immediately regret opening your mouth. “Bathroom.” 

You turn and make a b-line towards the restrooms before he can say anything. The sharp coolness off the dance floor manages to shake reality into focus and you run a hand over your face, a soft laugh rumbling in your chest. 

Jesus. 

You don’t end up using the bathroom, just leaning against the wall near them and breathing, trying to center yourself. It’s blissfully devoid of people back here and you need that. Your body aches in a delicious way, a throb of heat still present between your legs. 

And apparently it’s not going to go away, because Nick rounds the corner. 

“Nick—” His name barely slips out from between your teeth before he’s pressed against you again, and your resolve goes right out the fucking window, your mouth crashing down onto his. 

You thread your fingers into his hair and yank him forward and you can feel him chuckle against your body as he has to balance himself with his hands on the wall on either side of you. His thigh slides between your legs and a full body shudder passes through you as you allow yourself to lean down into him. 

Fuck. 

Nick pulls back just a little, brushing your lips together. His hand slides between you, tugging your dress up so that the only thing between your cunt and his jeans are your underwear. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, mouth at your ear. “I can stop.” 

That’s something you’ve always loved about Nick—he checks on you, he makes sure you’re okay. Doesn’t matter if it’s something soft or like this, heated and desperate. You know you shouldn’t—you know that this will only complicate things that are already complicated…

And yet you don’t want to stop. 

“No,” You reply, assure your response with your hips pivoting down, grinding against his leg. Nick’s hands fall to your waist, holding you in place, a groan vibrating in his chest. 

The pulse of the music is muffled, you can hear the uptick in his breathing, can feel how hard he is against you. You’re not ashamed of the tiny whimpers that leave your lips as you roll your hips down against him, the pressure incredible but not enough—he feels so fucking good. You’ve missed him terribly. All logical thought evaporates when his one hand comes up and cups your breast through your slip dress. 

“Can feel how wet you are for me,” Nick says. “Desperate for it, aren’t you?” 

Jesus. You need more. You need him to help—to do something. You can only use the momentum of your legs to get off on him to a certain point. There’s not enough leverage, there’s not enough friction to sate the heated ache quickly building in your lower belly. 

“I—I need—”

“No,” He nips at your lower lip. “If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to do it just like this.” 

An exasperated noise leaves your mouth, and you’re stuck between wanting to throttle him and kiss him. He drags your hips down, and you wish his fingers were inside of you, wish his thumb was circling your clit. The thought alone is enough to uptick your pleasure, and you’re so fucking close. 

“Nick,” You moan, “Please.” 

He licks his lips, smiling a little as his hand tugs down your dress over your breast. “So polite.” He teases, before he dips his head, taking your nipple into his mouth. 

There’s a snap of your hips when he drags his teeth over your puckered flesh and then you’re shattering. He holds your body up as you shudder, waves of pleasure slamming into you like the base of the music pulsing in your ears. 

He doesn’t let you go, even when your breathing settles, even when his leg moves out from between your thighs. You’re sure you look absolutely wrecked—you feel it. Underwear ruined, sweat sticking some of your hair to your neck, your heart thrumming for a completely different reason. 

Your eyes find Nick’s, the port that’s always been in the center of your storm, and a sudden thick emotion lodges itself in your throat. 

“I miss you.” You choke out, blaming the almost waterworks on endorphins, on the bliss that’s still kissing your nerve endings. 

Nick visibly swallows, brushing your hair over your shoulder after he fixes your dress. You think he might say something, he even opens his mouth, but no words come. 

Jesus. One good orgasm and you’re tumbling head over tincups into emotions too heavy to come with words. Nick broke up with you—you should be furious, you should push him away, except this is how the whole problem started. You pushed first. 

You straighten your shoulders and he takes a step back. You expect him to turn and leave, but he doesn’t, hovering—waiting? You’re not sure for what. He runs both of his hands through his hair, as if to compose himself, as if there’s words stuck in his throat that he doesn’t know how to say. 

Instead of saying anything at all, he reaches his hand out for you to take. A peace offering, of sorts, a promise that even though things aren’t okay, the door isn’t completely closed off. 

You discreetly wipe away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek and take his hand. 

—

You don’t talk about what happened at the club but things don’t change between you. It’s the same heavy glances, the same shared, soft smiles, the same brushing of fingers and calling it an accident. 

It should be fucked up. But it’s not. 

—

You haven’t been to an underground car show and race in a while, so the thrum of engines and the smell of gasoline is exciting. Comforting, even. You come with Jenna even though you know Nick will be there. Avoidance doesn’t work and trying to ignore the crackling energy between you two just…ends up with you getting off on his leg in a darkened corner at a club. 

“Don’t get me wrong, babe,” Jenna says over her shoulder as she moves to lean against her car. “I love Nick, I really do. But…whatever this is between you two—”

“I know,” You put your hand up to stop her. 

She smiles a little, “I was hopin’ you two would talk, figure it out.” 

“Oh, you mean you ruining my favorite pair of underwear wasn’t ‘figuring it out’?” You laugh a little, rubbing the back of your neck. Despite it probably not being the best decision…you can’t find yourself regretting it either. 

You still love Nick. You don’t think that’ll change. 

You look down at your shoes, a pair of sneakers, high waisted jeans  and a crop t-shirt. You’re showing off your shape but nothing that overdoes it; comfortable. You feel like you need that tonight. 

“I told him I missed him.” In an orgasm induced haze, but still. “And he didn’t say anything.” 

You know Nick isn’t exactly very forward with his words all the time, his actions speak the loudest. But…you needed to hear something then, you needed some sort of assurance that…maybe you both made a mistake. 

Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on your part. You can’t quite picture ripping yourself wide open to talk to him about why you pulled away if he can’t admit he purposely let you go. 

You run a hand over the side of your face, glancing over at another set of cars pulling up and guys getting out, greeting one another, the space turning into an outside party with music and beer. While you’re glad you came, it’s been a while, part of you feels like curling under your comforter at home with a book. 

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to branch out?” Jenna asks, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “Not saying you need to have another orgasm,” You laugh softly. “But maybe talking to some handsome strangers wouldn’t hurt either.” 

You breathe in through your nose, looking out at the crowd of cars and people. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt. 

—

Turns out talking to guys about cars is fun. You don’t know much about them? But they like responding to your questions—and none of it has been mansplaining, which you’re grateful for. You’re really not in the mood tonight…just trying to sink into your own skin, enjoy something that’s a little different, not think about Nick. 

Even though you can feel his eyes on you. 

You know he’s here because you saw him drive in, park his car, and find Lion and Jenna. He doesn’t come find you; wouldn’t be surprised if Jenna told him to give you some space. Either way, you can feel his gaze every so often, lingering, something open and warm that you miss. That you feel like you can dive right into. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as you lock eyes, the guy you were talking to, Pete, headed to the bathroom. Nick crosses the pavement, giving you a small wave. 

“Hi.” 

You smile, the word somehow too simple , but you say it back. You try to think of something else to say, to fill the space between you, 

“There’s not a race tonight, is there?” 

His eyebrows crinkle together, smiling, “Why? Did you want to give driving a shot?” 

You laugh and he takes a step closer, “No, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Even when you’re driving too fast sometimes I get nauseous.” 

“I’m always under the speed limit.” 

“You are not,” You scoff out a sound but you’re grinning. 

“Very responsible,” Nick tacks on with a playful tilt of his lips, sticking his hands into his pockets. 

The banter is familiar but it makes you miss him even more. That gnawing pit in your stomach rears its ugly head as you think about the other night, about saying something so vulnerable and it not being reciprocated. Nick must see the shadow pass over your face because he clears his throat, tilting his head in the direction of the bathrooms. 

“I’m gonna—” He trails off and he turns to leave but then pauses, “I’ll see you later?” 

The question sinks into your skin and blooms before you give him a small nod. You then look at your shoes, unable to watch him walk away. 

—

Having another sip of the drink in your hand, you smile as Pete finishes his semi-cute rant about the first car he ever owned. Some sort of thing he and dad fixed up together, which is how he’s come to love cars. It’s nice, having that connection to something special, something that becomes a passion project. You thought for a long time that might be art for you but…you’ve learned that you’re much more someone who appreciates viewing art than creating it. Maybe you’ll end up going to school for something that involves the ocean.

Shifting on your feet, you curl your hair away from your face. There’s a soft headache pinching the back of your head, behind your ear, but it’s probably from the muffled sound of music constantly pulsing against the concrete down here. 

“So would you say you like driving or fixing up cars more?” You ask, running your thumb over the rim of the cup. 

He opens his mouth to reply, but then his gaze narrows to someone behind you. Turning, you come face to face with Nick, who looks furious. It’s not so much in his face, it’s the way he’s holding his body—like a tight band about to snap. He zeroes in on the cup in your hand, 

“Give that to me.” 

You blink, “What? No.” Seriously? You thought you kinda parted from one another on good terms and now he’s here? In your business while you’re trying to talk to a guy? To have a decent night that doesn’t include him? 

You open up your mouth–

“Y/N.” There's something in the way that he says your name that makes you feel cold, your gaze wandering down to the cup. It only takes a moment to connect to dots about why Nick would approach you like this, pissed. A sour feeling develops in your stomach, connecting to pinpricks of dread as the cup leaves your hand.

Nick takes it, your fingers brushing, setting it down on the pavement. And as if he wasn't moving carefully before, he suddenly whirls his body in precise movements, suckerpunching Pete in the face. His body bows and he lands on the ground, screaming about his face—

"You broke my fucking nose!"

"You think someone wasn't going to hear you in the bathroom, you fuck?" He snaps and you stumble a step back, bumping into the driver's side of a car nearby. You’re trying to piece together what’s going on but your thoughts are sluggish, which just serves to make you feel more panicked. 

"I didn't know she was your girlfriend, man, she said she was single." 

You put your hand over your mouth, swaying a little on your feet, though you're not sure if it's because Pete...he put something in your drink or because of the blood on Nick's knuckles as he throws another punch, this time hitting him square in the jaw. Pete's head snaps back like a ragdoll but all he does is groan. 

It’s unclear if Nick says anything else because the garage begins to spin and you let out a short, sharp breath, bending a little at your waist to close your eyes. Fuck. Whatever Pete gave you? It's strong and working fast—you only had a few sips of that drink. Terrifying to think if you'd been alone with him...

Someone comes up beside you and wraps an arm around your waist and you begin to squirm until you hear Nick's voice against your ear, "Shh, it's me." A small, uncomfortable whimper leaves your lips—your body feels weird, like it's disconnected. Bone by bone, muscle by muscle. Your cheeks are hot and your stomach is dipping in nausea. "I know, I got you. Hold onto me." 

You stretch your arm across his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as everything spins. There's movement, but you have no idea how you're even walking with how heavily you're leaning into Nick's side. 

Flashes of movement, sound, and pitches of light. You can feel warm leather underneath your body, head lolled back against the headrest, Jenna's voice? Then Nick's. 

"No, I got her." He closes a door, opens up another, "I get it Jenn, but it’s not happening. I’m not leaving her.” Confusion prickles along your forehead, unable to make heads or tails of that conversation. You want to ask but your veins feel like they're filled with cotton as the world goes black. 

--

Sleep is uncomfortable and dreamless. You wake up several times with a pounding headache, a sour stomach, and shaking that makes you feel like there aren’t enough blankets in the world to keep you warm. When you wake up and it sticks, you blink as you try to get your vision to adjust. The room is a little dark, sun trying to shine through drawn curtains. There’s an anvil that’s been placed on your head, there has to be, because when you turn to lie on your back the pain in your temples is unheard of. 

You close your eyes again, pinching the space between your nose and forehead with your fingers. It doesn’t help. A weight sits down near your legs, an arm stretched over them. When you manage to pry your eyelids back again, Nick comes into slow focus. He looks tired, eyes not as bright, curls a bit mussed. 

“How you feeling?” He asks, voice nearly a whisper. 

“Like I swallowed a tire and then was run over.” You wince, sitting up just a little, which somehow makes everything worse. Your hand covers your face and Nick threads his fingers through your hair, brushing the strands over your shoulder. The room is quiet for the moment, birds chirping outside, the even movement of Nick drawing in breath. 

“I can't believe this happened,” You mumble, “I feel like an idiot.”

“This isn't on you,” He says, voice gentle but firm. “If Pete knows what's good for him, he'll never think about doing shit like that again.”

You raise your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth twitching in a smile as you finally look at him. “What are you, like, the mafia? Did you cut off his hands?”

A wisp of a smile, and yet something dark in those eyes that make you swallow, “No, but I did threaten to slam them in his car door if I ever saw him at another event you were at.”

You shake your head even though your entire body bursts with warmth. What does it say about you? That you're willing to accept such a violent sentiment? You draw in a long breath through your nose. Maybe a thought for another day when you don't feel so sick. 

One of Nick's hands lace through yours, his thumb brushing circles around your knuckles. "Seeing you like that..." He was scared, you realize, you can see it on his face—plain as day. He's quiet for a moment, licking his lips before he speaks again, 

"Can I get you anything?" 

You shake your head, not wanting him to leave, drawing in a breath as you finally notice that you're in his bedroom and not your own. You pick up hints of the smell of laundry detergent and his shampoo on his sheets. He drove you back to his place, 

"Didn't think I'd end up in your bed any time soon." It's a small joke, just something to break what feels like a vice-like tension around your ribs. 

Nick's gaze holds your own for a moment, something unweighted and unsaid, "I miss you here." 

You swallow over an instant lump in your throat and you have to tear your eyes away and blink, trying to get rid of the sudden onslaught of tears. Partly because of the situation that landed you here, but also because you didn't realize how much you needed to hear him say it, to hold that same sentiment as you. 

You sniffle, a tear slipping down your cheek as you try to play off the comment with a light laugh, "Well your bed does have the best pillows." 

Nick doesn't reply but instead leans forward until his arms are wrapped around your back, gently pulling you to his chest. His one hand slips through your hair as you press your face into his shoulder, while the other rubs up and down your back in firm, even strokes. 

Nothing is fixed between you two, not by a long-shot. But some of the visible cracks, you think, begin to heal. 

—

You were wrong. 

That much is clear. You’ve had so many good moments with Nick that you’re not sure why you allowed your unfounded anxiety to control you, to convince you of something that wasn’t true. But that time spent with him in his bedroom after the whole Pete thing only solidifies what you’ve been feeling for a while. 

You fucked up. 

You pulled away based solely on fears that were baseless, something you thought you didn’t have a claim to. But you do. You do deserve to have someone be there for you, to take care of you, to look out for you. To miss you. 

You’re ready to own that you didn’t make the best choice…but Nick needs to own his mess too. 

Y/N: Can we talk? 

It takes a little for your phone to buzz— Nick: You’re not gonna convince me that diner food is somehow better than Italian, you’re just not. 

A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth, Y/N: I mean…

You’ve had this banter back and forth before and it’s easy to fall back into similar patterns, something comforting. That feels like home. 

Nick: You’ve never had homemade carbonara. Life-changing. 

Y/N: Are you offering? 

Not what you were originally trying to text him about but spending time with him wouldn’t suck, either. Who says you can’t bring up past mistakes over pasta? You chew on your lower lip, as you wait for a response. 

Nick: What do you want to talk about? Nick: I might be out of London next week, my dad is traveling for work and I think I’m gonna go with him.

You stare at the messages for a moment, almost getting whiplash. You know that tone completely disappears sometimes with texting but…you also get the sense that you and Nick are on the same page. And he doesn’t want to be. 

You swallow over unspoken words in your throat, not wanting to lose your nerve. If Nick leaves, you’re almost worried that you’ll be at square one when he gets back. 

Y/N: Something important. 

You curl your hair around your ear, pulling yourself up in bed. You do your best not to pace, trying to clean up your room instead, something more productive than wearing the carpet down. When your phone pings, you deny practically diving for it. 

Nick: Then I’ll make time for you. 

—

That conversation doesn’t happen. Not because neither of you want it to happen, but because the next day, your grandmother passes away. It’s not something you were expecting—you thought your grandma was in pretty good health for her age. You just saw her a month ago…went over to her house, baked cookies and watched episodes of Magnum P.I., because your grandmother’s thirsting commentary over Tom Selleck was one of your favorite things to participate in. 

You were close. Sometimes you talked to her about relationships  because she was married to your grandfather until he died a few years ago. They were in love in a way that made you feel like…like maybe it’s one of the best and worst things to happen to someone. That maybe not all relationships are doomed from the start. Your gram talked about her husband every day, even after he passed, something warm and gentle in her eyes. That love never faded. 

Sometimes you and her talked about Nick. 

When your parents tell you, you don’t cry. You just kind of stand there staring at them, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to turn this into a warped joke, a morbid sense of humor. It doesn’t feel real. How does one day have your grandmother in it and then the next just…doesn’t? How are you supposed to keep going through each of them moving forward without her? Someone who was always willing to listen, someone who made you laugh and feel at home in your skin. 

Someone who just saw you. There’s only been one another person in your life that’s made you feel like that. 

The days slip forward but you don’t end up leaving your room, spending time in bed, unmoving. You ignore your laptop, your pinging phone that eventually dies, the pleas of your parents to eat something. You just…you can’t. Not right now. There’s an ache in your chest that is beyond anything you’ve ever felt before, it immobilizes you. In the back of your mind you know you should take care of yourself, that the last thing your grandmother would want is this. 

But today isn’t that day. 

You shift in bed, adjusting your head on your pillow, hearing your bedroom door open. You don’t turn to look at who it is—probably your mother, either setting food on your nightstand or maybe deciding she’s gonna force your hand. Yank the covers off and encourage you to get a shower. You cover your face with your hand, listening to the movements as the door closes again. 

Blankets are pulled back, but someone crawls in, your heart lurching into your throat as you realize who it is. 

Nick drags his hand down your arm, shuffling closer until his front maps against your back. “You don’t have to say anything,” He murmurs, “But I’m going to lay here with you. Alright?” 

You lick your lips, the bridge of your nose stinging as you realize he’s supposed to be gone this week. He mentioned he was going to travel with his dad and yet he’s here, with you, offering you comfort and space all at once. You lean back just a little into him, a silent reply, squeezing your eyes shut. Nick’s hand rubs your shoulder, thumb tracing back and forth along your elbow, a kiss pressed to the back of your neck. 

The weight of his body and the heat of his skin make tears gather in your eyes. You’re not sure how your heart can feel so full and empty all at the same time. Sniffling, you turn your body so that you’re facing him, Nick leaning back just a little. His hand comes to rest on your waist, his head perched on your one pillow. Your eyes begin to trace the soft blonde curls that are near his forehead, the slope of his nose, his strong jawline and full lips. 

He’s here—and you love him even more than you already do, which doesn’t feel possible. 

Nick’s eyes explore your face, his one hand cupping your cheek and brushing underneath your eye, removing invisible tears that haven’t fallen yet. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry, but on the next intake of breath tears spill over your cheeks. You cover your face with one hand, your shoulders shuddering, and Nick closes the space between you. He draws you into his chest, tucking you under his chin, and you find yourself clinging to him as each sob wracks your body. All the pent up emotions you’ve had since you found out empty against his chest—and Nick takes it all. 

He steadies you, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame, pressing his nose and lips into your hair. He squeezes every so often, your fingers gathering his shirt into your hands as if you can ground yourself in him. 

“That’s it,” He threads his hand through your hair, rubbing his thumb against the back of your neck. “Just let it all out.” Nick knows you far too well, knows that you haven’t given yourself time to feel, to be. To let it all wash over you. That you need this and didn’t realize how much that was true until it was happening. 

You exhaust yourself, until you’re a mess of sniffles and stumbled breathing. Nick pulls back a little, cupping both sides of your face to brush your hair behind your ears. He presses a kiss to your forehead, reaching over your shoulder to grab a few tissues from the box on your nightstand. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is a bit strained from lack of use and you try your best to clean up your face, crumpling the tissues into your palms. You’re not just thanking him for the tissues though, it’s for everything, for being here. 

Your chest hurts but…you feel a little bit better. You’re not sure when you’ll feel like yourself again, but it’s a good, small, first step. Your gaze finds Nick’s, who’s watching you with a careful expression. Not because he thinks you might start crying again, but because he’s concerned. Worried. You lift your hand and brush your thumb over his lower lip, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I love you.” You tell him, feeling him go still beneath your touch. You know this might not be the best time, that maybe these thick, heavy emotions are driving forth how you make decisions, but…if anything? You’ve just been reminded that life is short. That you shouldn’t go through it without sharing how you feel about things, about people. 

“I know it’s…I know we still have to talk and I understand if—” If you don’t feel the same way, is what you want to say but the words get trapped underneath your tongue. 

Nick’s hand falls to your neck, tipping your chin up with his thumb, “I love you too.” He replies, stealing the air right from your lungs. “That’ll never change.” He holds your gaze a moment, playfully pinching your chin between his thumb and fingers. “Okay?” 

You give him a soft, watery smile, nodding before he tucks you in close again. 

Nick stays as long as you need him. 

—

A handful of weeks pass by—the pain of losing your grandmother doesn’t completely disappear. But you do feel better. They say that time is capable of healing all wounds, and maybe that’s true, but honestly? You think it has everything to do with Nick. 

—

Jenna’s birthday is celebrated at her house, a large party underway. You’d expect nothing less at celebrating someone so vibrant. You’re over there early to help set up, to hang out and do your makeup, to eat a little too much cake with sweet icing. Her house fills up fast, people you’ve never even met before spilling into all the rooms of the lavish London estate. You’re looking for someone specific though. 

You and Nick haven’t spoken with the intention of clearing the air since your grandmother passed. He’s been giving you space to breathe and work through your emotions, which…you appreciate, but you don’t want space anymore. You don’t want to spend one more day caught between a ‘sometimes’ and an ‘almost’. 

“You seen Nick?” You call out to Lion who’s mixing drinks in the kitchen. 

“Playing pool I think.” He volleys back. 

Making your way through the crowd of people, you turn towards the dining room were the pool table is located, but stop short when you hear Anna—

“C’mon Nick, at the very least we used to be good friends.” 

“Jesus Anna, I’m just trying to take a piss.” Which tells you she cornered him outside the bathroom. You chew on your lower lip, debating turning the corner and revealing that you’re standing there or going about your business to the dining room…or maybe even go back the way you came. 

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, you know you’d be annoyed if someone was listening in on you, but…your feet feel glued to the carpet. You’re not sure you can move even if you decided to. 

“I’m just trying to say,” Anna replies, softer than before. She must have stepped closer to him because her voice is no longer carrying like it was. “That I miss you.” 

There is no reply from Nick. 

“We’ve always known how to have a good time.” 

When Nick finally does speak, his voice is matter of fact, “That hasn’t been true for a long time.” 

Anna bristles, “I just thought that since you’re single now, free from that—”

“Don’t,” Nick interrupts, a warning. You can picture the muscle in his jaw working, the way it clenches when he begins to get pissed off. Then, “You thought wrong.” 

A door closes, effectively ending the conversation. You know you should probably move as Anna storms down the hallway, but you don’t and when she turns the corner, her eyes go wide. You straighten your shoulders at her scowl, offering her a bright smile…before heading in the direction she came from. 

Down the hall, towards Nick. 

You wait patiently outside the bathroom for the door to open, his eyebrows lifting in soft surprise as he sees you leaning against the far wall. Warm amusement blooms over his face, erasing the earlier attitude lines from his expression.  Nick’s shoulders drop from his ears, his entire demeanor relaxes around you, as if he’s peeling away a version of himself. That he’s showing you something real. You have no idea why you hadn’t noticed it before. 

He props himself against the doorframe, “This feels vaguely familiar.” He smirks, glancing down the empty hall. 

You move towards him, a fond smile on your face, “I was looking for you.” 

Nick draws in a soft breath, tipping his chin down as you come to stand in front of him. “How have you been doing?”

It’s a large question, one you’re not sure you have a complete answer for, but you love that he asks, “I’m alright,” You nod, “Some days are better than others.” 

He nods, silence stretching between you both but it’s not uncomfortable. Your heart hammers a little into your ears and you resist the urge to straighten your dress when you know it’s perfectly fine. 

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” You ask after a moment, “Anna waiting to have a good time?” 

Nick lets out a soft laugh that sounds like a breath leaving his nose, rolling his eyes, “Heard all that, did you?” 

And yes, you may have admitted that you were eavesdropping, but he doesn’t look put off in the slightest. “Was a valiant effort on her part.” 

His gaze is warm as he shakes his head and suddenly the silence between you two feels electrically charged. “She didn’t come close.” 

You feel heat splotch across the back of your neck and fuck, you have no idea what it is exactly about Nick and how he can make you feel like this. Like everything you thought you knew has been flipped upside down. You breathe in through your nose to settle the butterflies, straightening your spine in resolve so you don’t chicken out—

“This…distance between us, it’s…it was my fault.” 

Nick’s eyebrows draw together a little and he takes a step forward and you’re almost breathing the same air. You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, his cologne achingly familiar, his fingers brushing yours as he takes your hand into his. You turn your wrist, your thumb playing with a ring on his index. 

You expect him to make a joke about there not being distance at all, but instead, he shakes his head, not allowing you to take all the blame, “I knew what you were doing,” Pulling away, “and instead of trying to talk to you, I made it worse.” 

“You wanted to hurt me,” You admit in a small voice. 

Nick glances away, a twitch in his jaw that tells you everything without him even having to say it. Not something he’s proud of, yet true. 

“Is that what you really wanted?” You ask, quickly clarifying when pain flashes in his eyes. “To break up?” 

He lifts his hand and plays with a strand of hair near your ear before tucking it behind. There’s a soft smile playing with the corners of his mouth, but it’s like he’s afraid to give into the full emotion. 

“Think we both know I’m not exactly over you.” 

You smile back, “So I’ll take that as a no then—”

Nick leans down to kiss you. It’s gentle at first, wary, asking for permission—just in case. But the moment you thread your fingers behind his neck, when you lean your body into his and make a soft, pleased noise, that’s all it takes for him to deepen the kiss. The atmosphere shifts around you and Nick leans down, lifting you up into his arms, backing up into the bathroom as your legs wrap around his waist. 

Sometimes Nick reminds you of fire—warmth, crackling energy, unpredictability. All-consuming. It’s one of your favorite things about him, how undeniable he is. 

The kiss breaks for a moment, you breathe and Nick’s one arm keeps you close while the other slips between you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb toying with your lower lip. “Whoever thought breaking up was a good idea is an absolute tool.” 

A giggle slips out, making Nick smile against your lips, and he backs up until he becomes flush with a wall. When that happens, he carefully loosens his arms so that you end up back on the floor, pressed against him. Your arms lazily wrap around his waist, up and under his jacket, a soft squeeze following. 

He purses his lips, “You think Jenna would be angry with us for leaving her birthday party early?” 

You really like where that thought is going, “I think she’ll understand,” You tip your chin up at him, smiling, “Besides, I have one of those faces that’s hard to say no to—sure she can’t be mad at it, either.”

Nick sighs softly, grabbing your hand to lace his fingers with your own. He begins to tug you from the bathroom, “Don’t I know it.” 

You grin, wandering back down the hallway and through the party towards the front door where all the cars are parked. You pass Anna on the way out, her eyes zeroing in on your joined hands. You know it’s petty of you to wave goodbye to her with your other hand—yet you do it anyways. 

—

Nick’s kitchen is filled with the scent of spices, herbs and fatty pork. He kept his promise about making homemade carbonara and you should have known that if he was going to cook, he was going to go all out. You lean against the counter as you sit on a high stool, chin pillowed in your hand, eyes on the back of him as he twirls pasta on the stove with tongs. Your gaze follows the long line of toned muscles in his shoulders, down to his waist. 

One of the hottest things a guy can do, you think, is cook. 

Jenna playfully snaps her fingers in front of your face, breaking your staring contest. You’re not even embarrassed, you just grin at her. She shakes her head, amused, “I’m so glad you’re back together, babe. No offense, I love you, but you both were just absolutely insufferable.” 

You scoff out an affronted noise, your hand on your chest in mock offense as Nick turns around to plate pasta. He’s smiling, his eyes flickering to yours before concentrating on the task at hand. He pulls long noodles from the pot, twisting even helpings onto serving plates. 

Everyone eats their fill—Jenna, Lion and Giles headed towards the pool for a late night swim. You and Nick will join them, eventually, but for now you have another helping of pasta as Nick cleans up the kitchen. You smile a little as you hear Jenna laugh outside, splashes of water. A pleased breath is drawn into your lungs as you eat the last bit of pasta on your plate. 

It’s gone—a tragedy. 

“Not going to lick the plate?” Nick asks, voice full teasing, a warmth in his gaze as he takes the plate from you. 

You narrow your eyes a little, “I mean, it was good, but check your ego.” 

Nick smirks, “Alright, so what’s the verdict?” You pretend to give it some serious thought, pausing for dramatic effect. Your boyfriend laughs suddenly, shaking his head— “Oh come on, you’re not serious.” 

“I’m still thinking!” 

“What’s there to think about?” He asks, “Homemade carbonara.” 

“Yeah, but like…have you ever ordered a cheeseburger with a perfect side of cinnamon pancakes?” You ask, purposely trying to jerk his wire, “Only a diner can do that.” 

Nick sets the plate down behind him, turning to lean against the counter. He gives you an incredulous look, “You are absolutely wrong for that, don’t know how else to put it.” 

You preen, a grin on your face, “You love me.” You toss it out rather carelessly, not expecting Nick to catch it. 

And yet he does, handles it with care, keeps it close. “Yes,” He nods, a small smile on his face. “I do.” 

A soft breath catches in your throat and warmth, affection, gathers in the center of your chest. The sensation used to make you feel like running away, but not anymore. You tilt your head a little, 

“Come over here and kiss me.” 

Nick pushes himself off the counter, rounding the island counter as you shift your body on the stool. He’s moving almost too fast, eager, and you don’t have time to open your legs for him as he leans down and captures your lips. That’s just fine though, his hands splay your knees apart before he sinks between them. 

A soft noise leaves your lips, an ache beginning in your stomach and blooming lower, your one ankle hooks around the back of his leg. There’s a distant thought in the back of your mind, shouldn’t we be getting back to our friends? — but that is quickly overshadowed when you feel the beginning of Nick’s hardness against your inner thigh. 

He seems to read your mind because in one quick motion, he’s lifting you up into his arms and you steady yourself with your legs around his waist, arms draped over his shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” You laugh, noses brushing as he tips his head up to look at you. 

“Making up for lost time.” And carries you towards his bedroom. 

[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 🫡

[wrtzia]

That’s no worries at all 🫶🫶I look forward to reading it!! I’m sure whatever you come up with will be great!!

What we are - Request

Warning ; mention of sex, first time, Reader is the only girl, frenemies, suggestive content

Notes : I went for a suggestive content and no smut because I was more comfortable writing it this way, hope you will still like it. Let me know your thoughts, if you liked it I might do a part 2 where they talk about it. It took me a WHILE to find out how to correctly write it, and I'm still not sure if it's okay, but I actually like it. Turned out really long too.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ The Glade wasn’t an easy place to live, but you had made it work. Being the only girl here had its own set of challenges, especially given how lonely you were and how you always acted tough. Some of the boys went out of their way to be overprotective, which could tend to annoy you, while others didn’t know how to talk to you like a normal person, didn't know how to act near a girl. Gally was neither of them and yet both at the same time. 

Gally had always been different. He wasn’t cruel, people who didn’t know him well enough like Thomas could say he was with wrong assumptions. He was sharp-edged. His words could sting, his looks could burn, but beneath it all, you knew there was something else. Something unspoken.

“Hey, you gonna do something useful today, or just stand there?” His voice cut through the air as you helped stack crates near the Blood House. His tone was rough, but you could see the way his eyes lingered on you. He was observing you and despite his tough look, for you his eyes always looked more soft, showing just a bit more of love.

The way his eyes would look at you always caused a feeling of confusion in your heart. It was so evident he didn’t hate you, that something else was behind it all, but at the same time you thought it would be easier if he hated you. Perhaps if he did, you wouldn’t feel your heart flutter and the butterflies in your belly every time he would soften around you. 

You rolled your eyes, placing the last crate down with a little more force than necessary. “I don’t know, Gally. Maybe I should leave all the hard work to you since you clearly love bossing people around.” and despite both of your attitudes, you didn’t hate each other. Behind all the ‘mean’ words, the roll of eyes, the annoying comments, love was hidden. Your relationship was really clear for you, and for the boy too. The gladers couldn’t understand and that was something you cherished ; them not knowing what your heart was feeling everytime you laid eyes on him.

He scoffed but didn’t fire back with a remark. Instead, he grabbed a cloth from his pocket and tossed it to you, letting his soft spot for you showing. “You got dirt on your face.”

Every time his attitude towards you would fall, it was as if you won the argument. So every time, a smug smirk would meet your face. You used his cloth to clean your face before walking toward your hut, as the night was setting. You didn’t need to turn back to know he was following you.

You entered your hut and Gally was quick to grab your wrist in a firm but gently hold, turning you around. Your faces were close, you could feel his warm breath against your cheek, his eyes were staring at your lips before he spoke your name in a gentle voice.

Was today the day he would finally let his guard down, the day he would finally tell you his feelings, those you knew about but always pretended you didn’t, not wanting to take the first step ? He frowned, his voice coming out rasping. “How the hell are you doing this to me ?”

Your eyes met his, your mouth about to answer before his lips stopped them, kissing you deeply. Your whole body froze, confusion filling you. Part of you knew his feelings for you, and obviously you loved him too. Your brain had trouble taking in the fact his dry lips were on yours, one hand holding you wrist while the other was making its way under your shirt. “..You make me feel crazy. I want to keep you buried in my arms but I also want to insult you every second..”

For the first time in your life, or atleast for what you remembered, you felt your heart beat like crazy, you could feel how red your cheeks were. You swore your legs could shatter at any moment, considering how shaky they were. As if Gally could sense it, he easily picked you up, his hands meeting your plush thighs. You could feel the warmth radiating from his hands on your whole legs, his thumb tracing small patterns causing you to shiver from the touch. “..I love you so goddamn much”

His eyes looked at you, his expression unreadable. You could see the love but you could also see the incertitude, as if what he said to you was hard to admit, as if he was unsure if he was doing the right thing or if you would get afraid and run away. But you didn’t.

You hadn’t expected his lips to attack your neck, and even less his hands to start taking your top off. Panic quickly set inside of you, suddenly you weren’t sure being there was a good idea. But then you remembered who was there, with you. It wasn’t anyone - it was this big asshole, the one who would treat you like crap only to be the most protective guy towards you. The one who would cradle you to his chest every time another glader would lose their life, but who spent his whole days telling you how much he hated you.

Your back was against the hammock, the pretty boy hovering above you. You were vulnerable, more than ever, but you wanted it. So with slight incertitude, you allowed yourself to speak the following words. ''Gally...I’ve never done that before'' 

His eyes met yours, not so surprised about what you just confessed. He himself didn't have much experience since there weren't many girls here, except for you. That didn't mean he didn't know what to do, and how to do it. In the world they were in, danger at the door, you actually didn't expect him to know anything. 

The danger around.

The danger around you seemed to fade. With Gally above you, your mind pushed aside all the fears—the Grievers, the threats outside. They no longer mattered. It was as if Gally was protecting you, putting a wall around the two of you.

You felt safe with him.

His words brought you back to the intimate moment the two of you were having,reassuring your racing mind, ''It's okay, don't know much myself.'' and his hands worked to take his shirt off, about to take yours as well before he stopped, putting a light kiss on your neck. ''We don't have to do anything if you're not ready, pretty thing.''

And you shook your head, because you were ready. You were just scared, scared because you didn’t know anything about it, nobody never taught you. But you trusted him, you knew he would be careful with you. You knew he cared. He was showing it everyday, and he was showing it today by taking his time with you. Your voice came out softly, almost in a whisper but he heard it, “..I’m ready as long as it’s with you.”

His calloused hands undressed you, taking his time to worship you, making sure every inch of your soft skin was kissed, caressed. You didn’t know how such small things could make your heart be so crazy, how that could cause your legs to press together before he would spread them. When he took his pants off, eyes ending on his boxers, you could have swore your eyes rolled in the back of your head. His chest was warmth against yours, his heart pounding beneath his chest, syncing with yours as if you were the same. You made one.

He didn’t take care of himself, didn’t allow you to put your attention anywhere else than on your pleasure. The only thing that mattered right now was you. Not the griever, not the newbie, you. The way he was, soft, careful, slow, it was different from what you knew. Different in a good way, you loved the way he was currently acting, as if you were the only in his eyes. As if nothing else existed. For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. The Glade, the Grievers, the chaos—it was all gone. It was just the two of you.

You didn’t know how you ended there, your first time and virginity being taken by your worst enemies but also your best friend. What you knew was how soft his touches and kisses felt, how well the two of you fit together. He took his time with you, showed you love. For the first time, you didn’t get any mean remarks, only words pure with love and admiration.

You never thought you would get the opportunity to lose your virginity, even less to Gally. But now that it was happening, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞

Main masterlist - part 2

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

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

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[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!! 🏃🏻‍♀️

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📜 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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[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.”

[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.

[spoonfulofmilo]

this is such a throwback, but ages ago, I made this moodboard

and now i've written a fic about it

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

susie wolff x mercedes driver!male!reader x toto wolff

“So, Y/N, straying away from your stellar on track performances…” Y/N could tell where this was going, but he was contractually obligated to stay and hear her out so he forced a grin and a nod towards the interviewer

“Yeah?”

“You obviously recently announced your relationship with your team boss, Toto Wolff and his wife Susie, congratulations by the way, I’m sure you’ve had a lot of questions surrounding it…”

“Yeah…” Y/N relaxed a little bit, this interviewer didn’t seem to be questioning the ethics or morality or team disputes in it, which was a welcome relief.

“I’m just wondering how the three of you avoid excluding someone, as this is quite common in trios and…”

“Sorry?”

“I just meant… well, there seemed to be a lot of events I can think of, just off the top of my head, such as the Mercedes gala last year, which Toto and Susie attended, obviously Lewis didn’t, but neither did you, which is a little surprising, and…”

Y/N’s mind immediately knew which event she was talking about as his mind flashed back to it…

—

“Hey, Liebe, we’re just heading out, we’ll be back.” Toto nodded at the kitchen as he straightened his tie in the hallway

“Oh, where are you going?” Y/N looked up from the data he’d been studying on the kitchen table. He was surprised to see Toto and Susie nicely dressed up. Surely he hadn’t forgotten about a date.

“Just some sponsor function.” Toto paused as he watched Y/N’s face fall. “They didn’t want to see the drivers, saw you guys as ‘too angry and irrational and stuck up’, otherwise you would be coming darling.”

“But… I- I could come, give me 10 minutes to get changed and i’ll be ready. Not as a driver, just as a Mercedes ambassador, surely?”

“Oh, sorry, darling. It’s not that kind of function. No Mercedes ambassadors are gonna be there, just bosses and partners…” Susie paused as Y/N tried to interject “I know, I know, but you’re not publicly out as our partner, and it would be odd of us to drag you along, as a driver.”

“Oh…it’s okay, yeah that’s fine… I’ll stay here, and get this work done…”

Y/N did not finish his work. He sat at the kitchen table staring at his work, thinking about where it all went wrong. He’d wanted to come out about their relationship since it began, but since it began not too long after he had signed for Mercedes, there were always going to be comments about him ‘sleeping his way to the top’. He thought he could deal with that.

But because Toto and Susie were older and supposedly knew better, and they had insisted that Y/N get settled at Mercedes, win a few championships, and then maybe the relationship could go public.

But…this gala wasn’t the first time this had happened. Y/N couldn’t even think to count the amount of dates he had missed out on because they’d been going out and he couldn’t be seen with them,

They made up for it, sure, and he had agreed to a private relationship, when he was young and cared more about people’s opinions than he did now.

—

“Sorry Y/N?”

“Um, y’know we manage, as I’m sure you’re aware, we wanted to keep our relationship private for a reason and attending galas that my other driver was not would have arised suspicion, I’m sure. Sorry. I’ve just checked the time, I think because of all the questions I’ve gotten, I’m running late for debrief, apologies.”

Y/N could tell that his press officer was looking at him oddly, knowing that debrief didn’t start for half an hour as Lewis had only just entered the media pen. But she could tell that something had agitated the driver and let him run off towards his driver room.

—

“Darling…where are you?”

Toto and Susie wandered through the hotel room, searching for any signs of Y/N in there.

They’d heard that Y/N had been spotted leaving the paddock an hour ago, backpack on, hood up, not talking to interviewers or taking photos with the kids.

And he hadn’t turned up to debrief. He called in and added a few hmms here and there on his engineer’s phone, but no face, and no real contribution to the conversation.

And now they were searching through the, initially welcome, now hindering large hotel suite they had for the weekend, trying to find their partner.

Jack was also helping the search, checking under all the couches and tables, until he went into the closet and loudly exclaimed “Y/N!”

Susie walked into the bedroom, seeing Y/N with tears still falling down his face, with his hood up, and a half packed open suitcase next to him, as he embraced Jack. He looked up, and Susie could see his red-rimmed eyes from here, and sobbed and held on tighter to Jack, burying his face in the little boy’s shirt.

Susie had a feeling she knew where this had come from. She slowly approached the boys and tried to extricate Jack from Y/N’s ironclad grip on the young boy. She felt Toto enter the room and come to the same conclusions that she had.

Y/N without speaking tried to plead with her, until he finally let go of Jack, and curled up in himself in a corner, hiding his face.

“Who said something, I’ll blacklist them from the paddock, liebe.” Toto immediately was pulling out his phone.

Susie didn’t think that was the way this conversation needed to go.

“Can’t blacklist the entire paddock Toto.” Y/N looked up and Susie got a first full proper look at his face, which was blotchy and red, and he’d clearly been crying for a while. He averted his eyes and started grabbing more clothes and haphazardly shoving them in the suitcase again.

“Darling, darling where has this come from? We know most of the paddock were gonna ask about the ethics of our relationship, and I don’t think that would’ve gotten you like this. We talked about how to call them out.”

“I’m leaving.”

“What?”

“Liebe, do you mean the team, because I really think that someone should’ve been in touch…”

“No, no, I’ll stick by the team if you still want my shitty results, I’m leaving the relationship.”

“What, liebe, you can’t just leave…”

“Why not? It’s not like you care about me anyway…” Y/N furiously wiped at the tears that were continuously falling down his face as he continued. “You’re always leaving me at home while you get to go on dates, and be seen together as a couple, meanwhile, I’m stuck at home…It’s…It’s like you don’t want to be seen with me cause you’re ashamed of me.”

“Oh, baby, we’re not ashamed of you. We could never be ashamed of someone so talented, and kind and open and passionate as you are. We were worried about how you would be treated if this relationship came out.”

That was all it took for Y/N to launch himself into Susie’s arms, sobbing, and clinging onto her. Susie rubbed his back, whispering soothingly as he sobbed, repeating over and over again ‘i’m sorry, i’m sorry’ and she soothed him reminding him again and again how much they loved her.

Toto crouched down, also, embracing his 2 partners “And liebing, your results are not shitty. I actually was contemplating making you the lead driver cause youre so close to challenging Max for the championship. I spoke with Lewis about it after the debrief and he agreed.”

“What? No, no. Lewis has won 7 world championships, Lewis, Lewis should be challenging Max. Getting revenge for 2021.”

“Lewis wants to support you. I was going to discuss it with you after debrief but you didn’t come.”

“I’m sorry, being a bratty driver.”

“We all have our off days. I think it’s part of being a driver, maybe Toto likes it and thats why he’s dating 2 of us.”

Y/N couldn’t help but crack a smile, thinking through everything.

Despite the challenges, they would always be there for him.

Although Toto would always say that if he ever moved to Red Bull, they may not be. But a slap on the arm from Susie would shut him up.

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @anicega, @badblondebisexualboy, @ghostking4m, @koalapastries, @camelliaflow3r

[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.

[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.

[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

[smooth-perceval]

do you write for MOTOGP? If you do can you write maybe some smut for Fabio Quatararo? If not just some fluff

A/N: I literally just re-made my Masterlist to add MotoGP in for you. And I so don’t regret it 😌

“I’ve missed having you”

Fabio Quatararo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader and Fabio are walking on eggshells around each other, reader finally speaks to him which ignites something in them both.

Warning: UNDER 18’s DON’T INTERACT!!, smuttish scenes? Somewhat…- swearing, maybe some tears? fluff!! Google translate- my bad writing…

Key: Y/N (Your name) Y/L/N (Your last name)

Word count: 1,227

A/N: this is my first time with “smut” not exactly smut but you know- I wouldn’t say this is smut- but there is still some ‘scenes’ , erm yeah kinda want me some Quatararo.

When did our relationship get so tense? I would say around the last few weeks of the championship, he was trying to get his points back- and hopefully make the last race his championship secured…

Yet during this time- his been so concentrated on winning I feel like his been loosing me… and it’s horrible to say but it’s true, I follow him around like a lost puppy most days- a silent supporter in the waves of people.

I missed him, even when he was just at arms reach, we barely spoke. Half the time I got a quick kiss on the cheek purely for cameras sake… he barely went near me behind close doors- unless he was asleep and I am then able to tuck myself under his arm- but when I wake his back is always facing me.

Most nights I would sleep before he even came to bed, and them nights I would cry myself to sleep- because I only wondered was there something I’m doing wrong… or was there someone else? Was I maybe not good enough anymore? And his now realising he can do way better… this feeling sucked.

Was he trying to push me away, so that when he does leave me it wouldn’t hurt so much? Because right now this shit pains me. I rather he just rip the band aid off on the first place honestly.

I let Fabio have his space- this weekend finally being the last race of the season, he had stopped using his socials to concentrate on this last race… and stopped speaking to me in general really.

Truthfully, I wanted to pack up and go home… but no I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Tom asked a few times what’s going on- but I had no answer to give I was silently praying he would have something for me, but neither of us knew.

Our relationship was well and truly dead I would say… this weird feeling like maybe he doesn’t love me anymore? It’s easier for some more than lovers to fall out of love- I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving him.

—

He tried his best, he really did. You could see the defeat on his face, and when he entered the garage, got his helmet off he broke down… and I just stood there watching, my heart went out to him.

My heart said to grab ahold of him… my mind said- if he needs you he will reach out. And so I listened to my mind… I waited for him to reach out.

My eyes were brimming with tears also, he deserved to win so much… but if it wasn’t meant to be, then it wasn’t meant to be… a bit like us really- I kind of came to terms with that.

Leaning over I switched the TV off nearby, I like and respect the other riders, but right now- seeing someone getting the cheers Fabio wanted so bad- hurt me also. I thought it would save us all the world of good and not watch.

Outside the garage we could hear the cheers still, but that was better than seeing it. Looking back down at Fabio, my heart fluttered slightly, as he was already looking up at me. Eyes red, lips somewhat swollen and cheeks flushed. Even now he look so effortlessly handsome.

My breath hitched when his hands found my waist, pulling me in and resting his head against my stomach… and as a natural instinct my fingers ran through his hair. This was the most affection I had gotten out of him in over a month, and boy did it feel nice. I was bathing in it- this gave me that little bit of hope that our relationship wasn’t falling apart at our feet.

“Pecco is coming back in- you should go and congratulate him-” I felt him sigh against me through my shirt, before he stood up, our chest just touching. Sympathetic as always, I brung my hands to his cheeks wiping away the stray tears before moving aside. And for the first time in a while he offered a small smile before heading out the team garage.

“Maybe he will talk now-” rubbing my shoulder Tom got up also. “You both need some time to reconnect.” Smiling he then nudged my shoulder leaving me be.

—

The night was young so they say, but for me and Fabio we were well and truly fucked- well I still had some energy left- Fabio however he was beyond exhausted. And for the first time in a few weeks we actually went to bed at the same time…

We both laid in silence- frightened to talk to one another. Swallowing the little bit of nerves I had, clearing my throat I found the courage to speak up.

“How you feeling?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that question.” Whispering back, his hand slid across the bed taking ahold of mine. And then I knew- my emotions were not going to hold in for long-

“I’ve missed having you…” letting out a shaky breath afterwards, my heart felt heavy.

“bébé… you’ve always got me…” (baby) his body then moved closer on the bed, he was at hands reach- I felt his body warmth slowly start surrounding me.

“It felt like I lost you-”

“Never, you’re stuck with me unfortunately.” I could hear the smile in his voice- even though I couldn’t see him in this dark room.

“I thought maybe you had lost interest in me…” it was now my turn to move closer- this time our chests finally touching.

“Oh, ma jolie fille.” (My pretty girl) and finally his lips pressed against mine- it was something I didn’t realise I needed so badly. Like his kiss sealed the fact that I was being delusional- I had not a worry when it came to our relationship.

So my only question would be.

“Are you sure you’re okay?…” whispering against his lips, I pulled back slightly…

“I will be.” And then he leaned back in connecting us once again. This kiss now saying everything we both needed to each other this past month.

Like a switch something was ignited in us both, his innocent kissed turned more hungry, making their way down my neck, biting down on the spot he knows so well. And without any control a low moan escapes my lips- causing me to bite down on my bottom lip suppressing anything else that dared to be voiced.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you moan in over a month-” his breathing become ragged- as if that alone was enough for him.

“You sound like a song.” He shuffled his body now hovering over the top of me, settling himself between my legs. My body ached for him- his hands gripped my thighs, and pulled me down the bed and against him, then toying with my/his top, sliding it up and exposing my stomach.

“A song I want on repeat.”

And as he moved down, my shorts followed along with him… humming to his words, my hands found his hair, running through before gripping ahold- catching his attention.

“Show me why they call you El Diablo.” I squirmed under his touch, my body getting hotter by the second.

“How about you moan it ma belle.” (My pretty)

Masterlist

[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.”

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