#post break up

[mendeshoney]

don’t tell me you’re my heartbreaker

Summary: You weren’t expecting Mat to come back to you.

Pairing: mat barzal x f!reader

Word Count: 10,251

Warnings: post breakup, verbal disagreement, angst, make up sex, angst with a happy ending, second chance romance

A/N: happy freaky friday, i have returned lol. thank you to @m00nlightdelights​ for beta reading this and being my hype person, ily<3

Why you had agreed to this, you had no idea.

Even now, sitting here, across from an unsurprisingly empty chair, every instinct, every nerve ending in your body is telling you to run, to flee, to get the fuck out of here and run down the few blocks it would take to get to the train station to get away from all of this.

From this, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. 

You anxiously checked the time on your watch once more, the glaring 6:28 PM letting you know there were exactly two minutes till the agreed time of 6:30 pm, and once that time arrived, you would start the timer for what you were considering a generous fifteen minutes. 

If he wasn’t in this chair across from you at 6:45 pm, sharp, you would give into your body’s response and bolt. 

And then that would be it, right? You’d be able to put everything that had happened into a box sealed with a neat little bow, store it away to be forgotten and move the fuck on.

You could deal with that.

…Right?

You checked your watch again.

6:29 PM.

The waiter comes back to your table, dropping off the two glasses of water, a basket of bread rolls and a little dish of butter, along with the diet coke and glass of wine you’d ordered for yourself, and the whiskey on the rocks you’d ordered for him. 

You really shouldn’t have done it. 

Would it send him the wrong message?

No. you chided yourself. There's nothing wrong with being polite. Be the bigger person.

Besides, if his tastes somehow changed in a month and a half, and if he wanted something else to drink, he could get it himself once he showed up.

If he showed up.

Immediately after the waiter turned his back on you, you reached for your wineglass and took a large gulp, trying to psych yourself up. Trying to remind yourself that despite what you were feeling, you did have the upper hand here. He asked you to be here, and you could leave at any time you wanted.

You checked your watch again as you put your wineglass back down to the table.

6:30 PM.

He gets a generous fifteen minutes and that’s it. You reminded yourself sternly. 

The second the thought formed in your head, the door to the restaurant flew open and your eyes betrayed your attempt to appear nonchalant about all of this, immediately flying to the door and observing as Mat entered in a rush of limbs, pulling the toque off of his head and smoothing a gloved hand over his hair.

You continued to watch, keeping your expression blank as he weaved through the tables and straight for you, plopping down into his seat with a hushed but rushed, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think traffic would be so crazy, had I known I swear I would’ve taken the subway or an Uber instead of taking my car, and-”

“Breathe,” you say gently, taking in the deepening flush of his cheeks. “It’s fine.”

Mat exhales, taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his jacket pocket, before shrugging it off and letting it hang on his seatback. He ruffles his hair anxiously one more time, then finally, finally looks at you.

Your stomach twists.

Shit.

You were worried about this. You’d managed to get over him - well, about eighty five percent of the way over him, at least - but you were worried that the minute he gave you his full attention, the minute you looked into his eyes, you’d be catapulted back into his orbit and it would be like the last month and a half you’d spent trying to exorcize him, your relationship, and all the memories tied up in between, would have been for nothing.

It’s not all of that quite yet, but your heart starts incessantly hammering against your ribcage anyway, and you fight to keep your expression blank, trying to resist the urge to be launched back into his gravitational pull.

His expression, however, falters, and the instant smile that spreads across his face when you manage to make and maintain eye contact for longer than a second is brilliantly bright. 

“Hi,” Mat breathes. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re technically right on time.” You counter, then lower your gaze to the drinks and bread in front of you, trying to look anywhere but at him.

Gorgeous fucker. 

Stupidly beautiful. 

Annoyingly perfect.

His eyeline follows yours, and he frowns for a second, before a look that you can only describe as fond takes over his face. “You ordered for me?”

“Just the drinks,” you clarify. “The waiter said he’d be back to take our orders once you got here.”

“Well,” he says, looking into your eyes, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

You shrug, not really considering it a big deal and he leans forward, clasping his hands on the table when he says “It really means a lot that you agreed to meet me here.”

You assess him a little, and when you find he’s being sincere, all you can do is nod. There's still a ball of anxiety in the pit of your stomach, and your walls climb all the way up, barricading what’s left of your heart behind its stone barriers, and keeping it close. 

Mat can clearly sense this, can sense you keeping yourself at a distance if the small frown that starts to form on his lips is anything to go by, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he plows forward. “I know…I know that things didn’t exactly end well, and I wanted to apologize for that. I wanted…I wanted to talk this out. Talk about us.”

You nod again, because he’d said as much when he called you out of the blue this morning, but it’s what he says next that nearly gives you whiplash.

“I want to give this another shot.”

You blink, partially stunned.

That is…not what you expected him to say at all.

When he called, said he’d wanted to talk about everything, you assumed it was for closure, assumed it was so they could maybe finish the half-finished angry conversation you’d been having the day you broke up, when he called it quits out of nowhere and then walked out.

You hadn’t been expecting…this. 

“You…what?” You stutter out. 

He nods, vehement, grabbing a roll and his butter knife, stabbing a little ball of butter on the end of it and going about buttering a roll for you and then himself - a habit of his now, you’re sure - like this is all completely normal.

“Yeah,” Mat says, gaining confidence with each word he speaks. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said that day. About what you’d been trying to tell me this whole time, and you’re right. I wasn’t exactly the best boyfriend to you. I didn’t put you first, I took advantage of you, got scared, and when it mattered most to you, I couldn’t give you what you needed, but that’s not true anymore.”

He puts the roll on the little plate in front of you, then goes about making his own, continuing on like you’re not sitting there gaping at him. “I know I said a lot of things. A lot of awful things, no, horrible things, things that I didn’t mean. And I know I can never take it back, but I hope I can at least…try to make things better?”

Watching you, Mat takes a moment, gauges your reaction. You realize he’s waiting for you to say something, but the only thing you can manage is a small “huh.”

He swallows. “I uh, I know there's a lot to unpack, and I know I have a lot to explain to you, but I wanted to at least put all my cards on the table as to where I’m coming from.”

It’s all too much, and you feel like your body malfunctions a bit, your hands coming up to stop him from speaking any further. “I’m sorry…I just, I need a second to process.”

He closes his mouth, nodding, watching you closely, eyes getting a little wide as you grab your wine glass again to take another large gulp, nearly draining it before reaching for your buttered roll and taking a bite to try to calm your nerves. You both sit there, Mat watching you, and when you finish the roll after a couple of minutes and you manage to gather some semblance of sanity, you hesitantly meet his gaze.

“I don’t understand.” You say. “You…want to get back together?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little sheepish now. “I would like that.” When you don’t answer, or return his smile, it drops a little, only reaching the corners of his mouth. “Unless…unless you don’t want that?”

You grab your wineglass again, downing the last of it and trying to gather all of your thoughts.

There was…definitely a lot to unpack there.

You certainly hadn’t been prepared to discuss…getting back together with him. Even though there was a space in your still recovering heart that desperately ached for the prospect to be with him again, to go back to that little slice of paradise the two of you had managed to carve out for yourselves in the dreary winter of last year. 

To go back to spending snowy days cuddled up together in his bed, to return to your spring outings in the many parks New York had to offer, to go back to Summer with him in Vancouver and spending days at the lake, spend fall with him cozied up with warm cups of coffee or hot chocolate or spiked cider.

But that was…gone now. 

You’d worked hard in the last month and a half to convince yourself that this, him and you, your relationship and any chance of it coming back was gone. 

Because it was. You’d fought, explained that you loved him but needed a little more from him, wanted more from him. He fought back, he’d said things, called it quits and then walked out because that was what he said he wanted. And if he was willing to go that far, you need to believe it was what you should want, too.

You were right to worry about agreeing to meet with him for dinner.

I should have left at 6:25, you curse yourself. 

“I don’t know, Mat.” You say finally, honestly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The smile that had been lingering at the corner of his mouth slightly disappears. “What’s not a good idea?”

“Any of it,” you say honestly, pushing the words out of your mouth with a tired breath. “I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Mat’s quiet for a moment. You can’t read the expression on his face, can’t parse out what he’s thinking or what he’s feeling. It’s a little daunting, seeing as how you used to be able to read him like a book.

But trying to exorcize him from your mind when you were broken up meant forgetting, and you’d clearly managed to forget more than you originally thought. 

His whiskey on the rocks be damned. 

Said whiskey was still in his glass, untouched, and Mat stared at it for a second before looking at you, nodding. “Okay.”

You raised a brow in suspicion. “Okay?”

He nods, pulling out his wallet and flipping through a few bills. “Yeah, okay. I can respect that.”

You can’t help but stare at him, only a little confused.

When he’d called you out of the blue this morning, he seemed eager. He said he wanted to see you, have dinner, and talk to you about something important. You could practically sense the adrenaline running through his veins, could hear the hard thuds of his heartbeat through the phone. And while you knew Mat was always the kind of guy who was mature enough to take no for an answer, his response made you a little surprised that he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Come on,” he says gently, placing a couple of bills on the table - more than enough to cover the drinks you’d ordered and a generous tip - before standing up, and extending his hand towards you. “I’ll bring you home.”

“Mat you don’t have to-”

“I’m going to,” he insists. “I asked you out, almost got here late. It’s the least I can do.”

With a moment’s hesitation you could tell Mat didn’t like by the flex of his jaw, you placed your hand in his, accepting his help as you stood up. Together, you both put on your own coats, gathered your things, and exited the restaurant. 

You follow Mat to his car, thanking him as he opens your door, making sure you were secure before getting in on the driver’s side and peeling away from the curb.

“Do you want me to stop to get you something to eat?” He offers. “I just realized I all but dragged you out of there, but you probably didn’t even eat yet.”

“No, I’m okay.” You assure him, albeit lying a little. You had been starving, but his choice of conversation curbed your appetite quickly. 

“Are you sure?” He offers. “I can stop somewhere, or order a pizza.”

You shake your head, “No, thank you. Just take me home.”

The rest of the drive is silent, save for Mat’s radio playing lowly in the background. You keep your eyes trained out the window, refusing to acknowledge Mat or his constant fidgeting. You know it’s a sign that he’s got something to say, probably wants to bring up your decision at the restaurant, or maybe insist on dinner, but thankfully, he keeps his mouth closed.

Once he gets to your apartment, he parks outside, making a point of saying “Stay right there,” as you reach for your door handle.

With a small roll of your eyes, you indulge him, waiting patiently for him to round the car and open your door for you. You take his outstretched hand, allowing him to help you onto the curb and dropping it the second you can stand upright.

He locks his car, escorting you into your building and following along with you in the elevator like he always used to.

“Always gotta make sure you get in safely,” he used to say when you chastised him about this before. “I need to see it with my own two eyes.”

When you finally reach your front door, you find that you just want him to leave, and can’t seem to get him out of your hair quick enough.

You reach for your keys in your purse, fumbling a couple of times trying to get the stupid thing into the lock. 

“Let me get it,” he offers, reaching for your shaking hands, but you snatch them away before he can touch you, taking a step back.

“I don’t need your help, Mat!” You nearly shout, almost regretting it when you take in his expression.

Almost.

“Hey,” he says, hurt lacing his voice as he frowns. “I was just trying to-”

“I know!” You sigh out, frustrated and exhausted. “I know what you were trying to do, Mat. I appreciate it.”

“Then what’s the issue?” He asks, hands gesturing between the two of you. 

“I thought tonight was about getting closure Mathew, not getting back together!” You exclaim, exasperated. You fall back against the wall closest to your door, head thumping gently back against it. “It took me by surprise and now I feel like everything is upside down.”

“It doesn’t have to be!” He counters, just as exasperated as you. “It can be simple, it can be easy, if you just let me-”

“Why would I let you say anything to me?” You snap, your angry gaze cutting him straight down the middle. 

“Because I still love you!” His confession takes you by surprise, and he crowds into your space, the heat coming off of his body in waves. “I love you, and I want this. I want us back, and I just want to work this out.”

You can’t find the words for a small moment, taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes, and how he’s behaving like nothing happened. “After the way you spoke to me when we broke up? After the things you said?” That seems to shut him up. “You really think you deserve another chance?”

At your words, Mat could see the wall you were slowly building up to keep him away, to shut him out and push him away for good. If he wasn’t upset before, he definitely was now. He feels so close to seething, his chest rising up and down with every angry breath. He is angry, yes, but not at you, never at you. At himself. He presses his hands on either side of your head, resting on the very wall he had your body pressed up against so many times before. 

Before, when he’d bring you home, press you against this wall by your door and make out with you for what felt like hours, before eventually dragging you inside when you could hear people coming up the stairs or when the elevator dinged. 

But now, he was so livid, so fucking angry with himself that he felt like if he tried hard enough, he could push his hands through the brick, felt like if he closed his fists, he’d pound into the masonry until it was rubble.

“Don’t shut me out.” He pleads. “I know what I said was awful, but-”

“No buts.” You respond. Your tone was dry, your eyes empty. You were looking right at him, but all Mat felt was hollow, like you were looking right through him instead. 

“Baby, I want to make you understand but-”

“No buts.” You repeat, a little firmer, a little louder. It took the breath right out of him. “Every time you say ‘but,’ it negates everything you said in front of it.”

You’d said that once before, he remembered. You were saying it to Tito, giving him advice on how to make up with a girl after they’d fought, explaining how to communicate better instead of making things worse. Mat remembers how tuned in he was to you talking to Tito about it, how he couldn’t help but feel like you were sharing a piece of yourself in turn, that he didn’t realize he was staring at you until someone cleared their throat.

Here and now, with your beautiful eyes looking through him like glass, he wishes he could’ve stayed in that moment. Wishes he listened to his gut all those months and didn’t take this risk.

That he didn’t risk losing you.

He was so sure all of this would have ended with him breaking your heart. 

Now you were breaking his.

“Baby,” he chokes out. “I just didn’t think that I could be what you needed back then. I didn’t think I was good enough to be what you needed, okay?”

“But if you loved me, you would’ve at least tried.” You reason.

Mat shakes his head. “I do love you. Love you. I just didn’t want you to get hurt, can’t you see that? There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re beautiful, you’re perfect, so perfect it makes my chest ache.”

“Is that why you called me clingy?” You deadpan, recalling his exact words the last time you saw one another. “Is that why you said my emotions were too much? Why you said I was asking you for too much? Is that why you said it felt like I was suffocating you by asking you for more? I’m so perfect that it makes you feel sick just being so close to me all the time? Is that the ‘ache’ you were talking about? There’s nothing wrong with me now, but you weren’t willing to try to do anything more to be with me back then? Is that why you did all of this? Because the whole ‘it’s not you it’s me’ bullshit you’re spewing right now contradicts that a lot, you know.”

“I didn’t mean that.” He pleads. “I didn’t, I swear. I just said all of that-”

“To make me believe it.” There’s no emotion in your voice or your eyes, no light, no wonder, no window into what you’re thinking. All the fire and molten heat that’s usually there is gone. 

It's all my fault. He thinks miserably. 

Mat swallows thickly, hoping he didn’t snuff out your flame and make you shutter yourself away, but it’s no use. He knows it’s his fault. “Well,” you begin, placing one palm flat on his chest and pushing. “Congratulations. I do.”

He goes easily, taking a step back even though it feels like he’s putting miles between you both. It dawns on him when his hands fall to his sides lamely that he could have touched you, kissed you one last time just then, and since he didn’t, he probably never will again.

“You were right.” You say simply. “That day, when you said that when people show their true colors we should believe them. And I believe you, Mat. I believe all of you. Especially the version of you that you really are. And that version of you? Doesn’t want to be with me.” 

After every word, all the fight dies out of him a little as you push yourself off the wall, not sparing a single glance at him as you walk away, dragging his battered heart with you as you enter your apartment, and lock him out.

~

Your heart pounds as you finally throw your apartment door shut behind you and lock it and struggle with everything in your power not to collapse to the floor.

Idiot.

Fucking beautiful idiot.

You can’t do this now, can’t cry and weep and mourn for something that was already over. But deep down, you still believed that what you both had was real. You hoped and prayed with the last shreds of positivity that you owned that for once, for one small moment, this thing with Mat would allow you to exist outside of yourself and have something real, something tangible. That he would fight for it.

And even that was taken away from you.

And yet, you should have known it was all too good to be true. Hell, you did know. And you hoped anyway.

A mild trill sounds from your purse - your phone - and you groan, trying so desperately to push the pain of your heartbreak away. 

You wipe furiously at your face, willing away tears that threaten to surface while trying to shove your emotions down. You tear off your purse, coat, scarf, and make quick work of throwing your hair into a bun before wrenching open the closet and stripping down, tossing your clothes into your hamper before stomping into your bathroom. 

Your phone rings again, and you let out a pathetic cry of frustration, stomping back to where you left it and fishing it out.

It’s Mat, and his name fills your screen with his text messages. 

Please baby, please talk to me 

Let me fix this baby

I need you to know how sorry I am

If anything baby, please believe I never meant to hurt you

I need you

You fling your phone toward your bed with an angry scream that turns into a sob, and you sink to your knees on the plush carpet of your bedroom. 

Isn’t this what you wanted, once upon a time? Someone to fight for you, fight to keep you, fight to win you back, to be lusted after, desired. 

You weren’t sure you wanted this anymore.

You’d dated others, but you never felt heartbreak with them.

You did with Mat, though. You felt every crack in your heart. Felt the sadness, the sorrow, the misery.

With Mat, he seemed to make you feel everything and more.

And that was why this hurt so bad.

Because you felt it all anyway.

You fell together anyway.

You loved him anyway.

Love him anyway.

Fuck.

~

It’s hours later, getting close to eleven at night and you’re sipping on your late night glass of wine when your apartment’s intercom buzzes.

Despite your better judgment, you get up from your spot on the couch to answer it, figuring it’s probably your neighbor two doors down who forgot her keys - again - after a night out.

You press the intercom to talk, saying “You owe me wine for this, Isabella.” 

The voice that comes back is not Isabella’s at all.

“It’s me.”

You nearly drop your wine glass, what little alcohol you’ve had tonight rushing through your veins and to your brain quickly, too quickly, and you’re pressing the intercom again before you can register what you’re doing.

“Mathew?”

“Yeah. Can I come up? I was hoping we could talk…talk again, I mean. I didn’t like how I acted earlier, and I-”

You’re pressing the buzzer to let him in before he can finish his sentence, not necessarily needing or wanting to hear the rest of his plea. The last thing you need is for anyone to spot him on your doorstep this late at night.

There was a small part of you that was grateful you’d managed to shower after the little semi-breakdown you had after getting back from dinner. Although now you regretted putting on the silky tank top and shorts pajama set.

Definitely can’t open the door wearing that. 

You quickly place your wineglass on your nightstand, running to your dresser fully intending to grab clothes to change, but then your doorbell rings, and, well.

You could stall, could change anyway, but you don’t need him in the hallway any longer than necessary in case your neighbors spot him.

So instead, you trod over to the door, opening it to find Mat standing there in black sweatpants and a black shirt, his hands in his pockets and his hair a little damp, though thoroughly disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it over and over again since getting out of the shower.

You step to the side, allowing him in, and he crosses the threshold, taking off his shoes and putting them next to yours like he’s done hundreds of times before. You shut the door behind him, taking your time locking it to try to catch your breath.

He goes to sit on your couch, then pauses halfway there, unsure. 

This was where it happened, after all. In your living room.

Where you’d fought, he’d spewed his venom, broke your heart, then walked out. 

Deciding you also don’t want to sit on the couch, you walk past him, leading him into your bedroom. It’s probably not the best idea, but it’s the safest alternative. 

You sit at the edge of your bed, and Mat leans himself against your dresser, feeling too antsy to sit down.

“I’m sorry,” He starts. “For how I acted earlier, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I had a right to your time.”

You shrug. “It’s okay.” 

Mat shakes his head. “It wasn’t. And it also wasn’t fair of me to ask you out to dinner and not explain my intentions behind it. Dropping that on you at dinner wasn’t fair either, and I didn’t mean to blindside you with it.”

You nod, reply on the tip of your tongue when Mat forges on. “I realize I have no right to ask anything of you, and no right to ask for the space to explain myself, but I’d like to, if you’d let me.”

It takes you a second, but you already know your answer before you’re speaking the words. “I’ll let you.” You say softly. 

This conversation has the beginnings of closure to it, and no matter what direction it goes in, you need to hear what he has to say if there’s any hope for you to either move past this, or move on from him.

So you let him talk.

Mat takes a deep breath. “I was feeling a lot of things that day. Frustration over the season, how it ended, and then family stuff, more stuff with the surgery. And you were there every step of the way, and I appreciated it, I really did. I guess I just felt…overwhelmed? Overstimulated? There was so much to do and say and I felt like I just needed to be alone for a second, just to breathe.”

He takes another breath, his eyes furrowing as he tries to recall how it was for him back then, trying to say the right things the right way. “You weren’t clingy. You weren’t suffocating me. You weren’t too much, and your emotions weren’t too much. You were always enough, you were perfectly fine. I know you just wanted to be there for me, to support me and help me through what I was feeling, but I’ve never had anyone do that for me before. Every one I’d been with before just sort of…left me to deal with it on my own.”

Mat sighs, chancing a look at you. You’re sitting there, listening to him intently, giving him your full attention like you always used to do, allowing him the time and space to gather his thoughts and feelings. 

When his gaze becomes too much, you find yourself tearing it away, staring at the floor of your bedroom instead. It stings, Mat realizes, not having you look at him like that, but he accepts it, knows he deserves it. 

“I didn’t know what it felt like to have support like that.” He explains. “I wasn’t used to it, and I was wrong to think even for a second that you wanting to be there for me, or you wanting more from me once things got better, was you just wanting my attention, or you wanting anything other than to remind me that you loved me and that you were there to help me, but that you also had your own needs, and that they weren’t being met.”

He sighs, disappointed in himself. “You poured all of yourself into my cup, and I couldn’t return the favor when it mattered most to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t see that sooner, and it shouldn’t have taken me a month and a half to come to you and apologize. I thought I was doing the right thing, walking away, but I can see now that I wasn’t. And I’m selfish enough to admit that I don’t want to let you go.”

There’s a quiet sniffle from you, and Mat feels his gut twist uncomfortably. “I understand if you don’t want this,” he says. “If you don’t want us. I know I was an asshole, I know I took too long to get my shit together and tell you what a piece of shit I was, and probably still am. I still meant what I said, though. I do want you. I want us. And I know I’ll have to work hard to get you back, and I will put in the work, I swear it to you, if you’ll still have me.”

Another sniffle, but no words. He can see you swipe at your eyes, but no words come out.

His heart cracks in his chest.

“Please, baby.” Mat says softly. He gazes down at you, from where you sit on the edge of your bed, and wishes in his head that you’d just look at him. Even if it was just for a second, even if it would be the last time.

You shake your head softly, still cast to the side, those full lips beginning to pout, your bottom lip starting to tremble, and Mat feels like a knife just plunged into his heart and twisted.

Even when you two went through rough times, even when you broke up, he never made you cry. 

And he wasn’t going to start now.

He takes a step forward, and then another, until he’s as close to you as he can be without touching you. He drops down to his knees then, and noticing there are tears beginning to well in your eyes, he decides he has to touch you.

Carefully, Mat reaches up with both hands, cupping your cheeks, and wiping gently at your tears with his thumbs. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs.

You let out a shaky breath. “It’s-”

“It’s not fine.” He insists. He applies gentle pressure behind his hands as he turns your head to face him. You blink when you meet his gaze, more tears falling onto Mat’s thumbs, and he wipes them away. When they keep coming, he lowers his hands a little and leans forward, gently kissing the tip of your nose, then the spots under your eyes, kissing your tears away.

“Tell me what I have to do, baby.” He pleads, moving closer, rising up a little on his knees to rest his forehead against yours. “I’ll do anything, I swear. Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need.”

There’s a small shake of your head, and he can feel you beginning to relax into him. “I don’t know.”

Before he can reason with himself if he should do it, if he’s lost the privilege to, he presses a soft kiss to your lips. He’s surprised when instead of shoving him away, or refusing his kiss, you kiss him back.

He can feel your hands move to his arms, gently pulling him forward, and he kisses you again, moving between your legs when you open them to press the two of you together. As the kiss deepens, he wraps one arm around your waist, banding the other across your back so he can gently grip the back of your neck, and your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, your ankles locking at the base of his spine.

A small gasp escapes Mat when he feels you grind yourself against his shirt-covered abdomen, and the hand on the back of your neck creeps upward, grabbing a fistful of hair at the base of your skull, using it to anchor you both. At the tug of your hair, you moan, and Mat feels his whole body light up with electricity.

He murmurs your name against your lips, presses kisses there, to your chin, your cheek, working his way down to your neck, sucking little bruises into the skin. He releases your hair, trailing his hand down your arms, moves to your collarbone, sucking bruises, leaving little nips and bite marks as he goes, all the while you keep trying to tug at his hair to get him back to your lips.

Mat acquiesces once, brain going blank when your soft tongue grazes over his lips, and he accepts it, cupping the back of your head and sucking on your tongue lightly. Then, he’s pulling back just a little to kiss your lips, sucking your bottom one into his mouth, and then pulling it between his lips as he pulls away. You loosen your grip, but keep your hands in his hair, running the curls through your fingers. 

“I’ll do anything.” Mat repeats the words against your skin, his hands running down your front, settling on your hips. Picking up from where he left off on your collarbone, he presses a sweet kiss to the skin before sinking his teeth in gently, enjoying your little moans of surprise before using his tongue to satiate the little pain from the wound. “Anything to make you forgive me.”

He starts to work his way down, leaving a trail of kisses on your chest, pulling the strap of your tank top off of your shoulder before pulling the neckline down, exposing the top of your breast and immediately sucking the skin into his mouth, hard.

You let out a small whine, arching your back and pressing further against his mouth, your hands tightening their grip in his hair and Mat groans from where he’s latched to your breasts.

He tugs at the hem of your tank top, and you both part for a small, torturous second, for you to all but tear it off, flinging it somewhere to your bedroom floor before his lips are immediately back on your skin, his hands cupping your breasts in both palms, kneading them in his hands before sucking on one nipple, then the other. 

“I’ll do anything to have you again,” Mat begins, your nipple caught between his teeth. “To make you mine again.”

He rises up on his knees, his tongue purposely swiping over your nipple, your chest, your neck, and as he goes, your core throbs as you watch his tongue glide over your skin before he tucks it back into his mouth. 

“I’m so fucking sorry baby,” he says when his mouth releases your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

His eyes lock onto yours and you meet his gaze straight on, watching, waiting, until he tilts his chin just so and you meet his lips, kissing him once, twice, three times before he presses his whole body against yours, hands disappearing from your breasts to cage your body against his once more.

His tongue slips into your mouth, hands roaming over your bare back before sneaking into your hair, grabbing a fistful at the nape of your neck and pulling your head backwards. He chases your mouth, biting your lip as he pulls away slowly, trailing his lips down your chin and then latching onto the particularly sensitive part of your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth hard. 

You moan in response, can feel his tongue massaging over the spot as he continues to suck, and a sharp but delighted hiss leaves you when you feel his teeth scrape gently against the spot. His lips release you a moment later, and he eyes the blooming hickey with pride.

“Never should have let you go,” he murmurs, and then Mat’s arms move, releasing you from his caged embrace so his hands can coast down your sides, settling on your hips as he continues to leave bruising kisses on your neck, fingers dipping into the waistband of your silk sleep shorts. 

“Can I take these off of you?” He murmurs against your collarbone, and you nod, lifting your hips just so, and Mat wastes no time in tearing the material down your legs and off of your body, flinging the things to some spot in your room. 

Mat eyes your exposed pussy and can feel his heart thump against his chest. “God I missed you, missed seeing your pretty cunt every day.”

He moves to place his arms under your thighs, to pin them up next to you so he can devour you, right where you’re glistening and wet for him, but then you’re grabbing at his shirt. He thinks you want it off, so he complies, tearing it off and throwing it to wherever the rest of your clothes are, but then you’re beckoning him to you, reaching for him with your hands, and he smirks a little.

Mat presses a kiss to your pretty glistening heat, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. “I want to taste you baby, it’s been so long.”

You shake your head, a crease forming between your brows as you reach for him. He goes easily, reaching up to smooth that crease away beneath his thumb, and you cup his face, laying back on your bed and pulling him with you.

He climbs onto the bed, moving you both up the mattress until your head is resting on your pillows. He places his hands next to your face, propping himself up so he doesn’t crush you. Your legs wrap around his waist, pressing the two of you together as you kiss him, writhing beneath him like the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

“It has been too long,” you say in agreement, lips ghosting over his as you speak. He can feel you trying to use the heels of your feet to push the band of his sweatpants down. “I need you now, Mat.” 

“Okay baby, okay,” He acquiesces, repeating the word as he pushes his sweatpants and boxer briefs down just enough to free his cock, feels it throb once it’s pressed between the two of you, resting against the soft skin of your belly. 

An excited noise trills from your mouth as you reach between you both, lining him up with your slick folds and grinding against him. The feeling is overwhelming, blinding Mat as he shuts his eyes and groans, rocking up against you, delirious with the friction. “Condom?” He asks belatedly, trying not to choke on his breath when the head of his cock nearly catches on the entrance to your pussy.

You shake your head emphatically, watching completely dazed as Mat reaches a hand between the two of you. 

“No, it's just been you. Only you.” His head swims at your admission, and he dips a finger inside of you, then two, collecting the wetness before bringing his coated fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. He groans, cock pulsing again as he grinds against you. 

You reach for his face, chasing his mouth for a filthy open mouthed kiss that he’s happy to give to you. 

“Had to taste you,” he explains. “Couldn’t wait another second.”

“Need you now, Mat.” You breathe against his lips, and he nods, pulling his hips back ever so slightly until the head of his cock rests against your entrance, and then he’s pushing forward, sliding inside of you slowly. Your breath catches in your throat, and Mat can’t look away, can’t stop watching the way your eyes glaze over before they roll back into your head. 

“That’s it baby, take my cock.” He praises, eyes casting down to where he’s pushing inside of you.

You take every inch of him perfectly, as you always have, and once he’s fully inside, Mat gets in close. He’s on his knees, positioning his thighs under your own to both keep you propped up and open to him, and to keep himself close to you.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your body consumed by the white out pleasure of Mat’s thick cock sliding into you. Your fingers are tangled in the sheets beneath you, back broken on an arch, mouth open in a silent cry. It’s been so long since you’ve taken him, and your body’s reacting like it’s the first time you’ve been with him all over again.

You’re so focused on his cock, on how full you feel, that you can barely register that he’s speaking to you, calling for you. His voice comes back to you as pleasure ripples through your body. 

“-please honey. C’mon baby, breathe,” he encourages, cupping your face in his hands. “Breathe for me baby, you can do it.”

You inhale sharply, chest heaving, gathering air in your lungs as you can feel your body begin to adjust, the blinding pleasure of him being buried inside of you starting to replace the stretch and pressure of his welcomed intrusion.

“That’s it honey, that’s my girl.” He praises, thumbs caressing your cheeks as he slowly pulls his hips back, then pushes in again. His abdomen drags against your clit, and your eyes squeeze shut again, overwhelmed by everything Mat. 

His hips move like that once, twice, three times before your orgasm shoots through you like a rocket. It’s so sudden, so unexpected that Mat nearly loses his pace. He has to bring his hands to the back of your knees and pin your legs down so he can continue to drive into you, flexing his hips and fighting past the tight squeeze of your cunt on his cock, fucking you through your orgasm just the way you love as you cry out.

Your name falls from his lips, completely dazed as he watches you. Your cry evens out into a whine, your grip on him loosening a little, and Mat bends his head to kiss you, laughing softly as when your eyes slowly blink open as he pulls away.

“Good baby?” He asks, and you can only manage a small nod in response.

Your blood feels like syrup in your veins now that he’s made you come once, and Mat loves you like this. Loves when you go soft and pliant under him, loves that you trust him to make sure he takes care of you like this.

“More,” you beg, and Mat nods, bending once for another open mouthed kiss, his tongue dragging over yours before you part.

“Love it when you come for me,” he says against your lips, moving his hips so he can fuck you with slow strokes. “Have to fight my way in every time, just to keep fucking you, just to make sure you keep coming all over me.”

“Mat!” You cry out, his hips driving into that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. 

“You’re gonna deny me this?” He asks, a slight taunt to his voice, but you can hear past it, can hear the plea in his voice, the desperation. “You’re gonna take this away from me baby?” 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the question. It’s no use. 

While you were alone after dinner, you’d had way too much time to yourself, to think, to overthink, to mull over every single second from the fight, to the break up, to tonight, to slamming the door in Mat’s face. 

You knew, somewhere in your heart, that you’d already forgiven Mat before he came back. That whatever his excuse, whatever his reasoning, you’d forgiven him for what had happened.

And it wasn’t until he came back asking for a second chance that you realized you’d give him that, too. You’d give him anything he asked for. 

Because you loved him.

He drove you batshit crazy, but you loved him. 

And you hadn’t exorcized him out of your life, not really. No matter how much you tried to pretend like you had.

Maybe it was your greatest flaw, but you were too forgiving of a person.

You couldn’t deny Mat a damn thing if you tried.

And you didn’t want to deny him, not anymore.

“Answer me,” Mat demands through clenched teeth, pressing down on the backs of your thighs as he begins to drive into you, merciless and desperate. “Am I going to have to fuck you like this is the last time?”

He punctuates his question with a particularly hard thrust, pushing a choked sound out of you as your pleasure starts to build and twist. 

“I want to hear you say it,” he orders, pistoning in and out of you. You can only watch him, stunned.

It was no secret he was beautiful, no secret he was stunning. But only you got to see this, this moment where he looked like a god among men.

The sweat at his hairline, the pinched look of concentration, the veins along the muscles in his arms straining as he holds you down, holds you open so he can fuck you the way he knows you like, the way he pleases you best. The way his eyes flame as he watches your every move, tracks your face so he can be sure he’s bringing you nothing but pleasure.

“Tell me,” he insists, bending his head a little to press a kiss to the inside of your knee, and you don’t miss the way it still sounds like a plea. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You nod, brows pinching together as the delicious drag of his cock brings you higher and higher, closer to your next orgasm. Mat can tell, knows exactly what you need, but he won’t give it to you.

Not yet.

“You don’t get to come again unless you say what I want to hear.” Mat says, slowing his pace to emphasize his point.

A whine sounds in your throat, and he laughs a little, resting his forehead against yours. “I know baby, I know. I know exactly what you need, everything you need. In this bedroom, in this bed, and outside of it. I know everything that you need and I promise I’ll give it to you. But I need to hear you say it. Need to hear you tell me what I want to hear.”

You can only manage a whine, too focused on the slow drag of his cock, the way it feels like you can feel every hard vein and ridge of it slowly fucking into you. Mat shakes his head at your broken noises. “I know it feels good, baby, but you can do it. Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I’m yours.” It comes out as a whisper at first, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock, the friction of his solid abdominal muscles against your clit as he writhes against you slowly. 

“You’re mine?” He repeats, not even trying to hide the bit of disbelief in his voice, the uncertainty. “Yeah? You’re mine? Look at me baby.” Your eyes lock onto his, and he holds your gaze as his hips grind into you. “Are you mine?” He punctuates his question with a particularly hard thrust. “Am I yours?”

You nod again, crying out “Yes!” when he starts to fuck you again. His pace is unrelenting, his hips unforgiving as he moves, driving his cock in and out of you, consistently hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you see the sun, the stars, the moon, the whole galaxy with each thrust.

“Tell me what I need to do.” He says to you. You blink lazily at him, lost in the way he fucks you, and he crowds his body in closer, dropping your thighs and cupping your face in his hands, using the muscles in his hips to fuck you deep, grinding his cock into you some more. 

“What do I need to do baby?” Mat asks again, voice a little softer. His words are loaded, multiple meanings behind the question, and you know what to say to answer them all. He waits as patiently as he can, his mouth locking yours in a deep kiss as you start to squeeze down on him. He can tell you’re getting closer, can tell you’re right on the edge, but he still needs to hear you say it. 

“Need you to make me come.” You answer finally, lips brushing against his as you speak. He nods, forehead brushing against yours from where it rests. His hand snakes between you both as he circles your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to the sensitive bud. Your back arches up in response, moving further into his touch.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” Mat pleads, keeping his hips in time with the circle he’s drawing against your clit, swallowing your cries with a kiss. “I wanna feel you come for me again.”

The dam breaks, your mouth opening on another silent cry as you breath gets caught in your throat, white light bursting as your eyes fall shut, cunt squeezing his cock impossibly tight.

Mat’s orgasm hits him like a freight train and he groans out loud, doing his best to keep his eyes open so he can watch every second of you coming all over him. His cock pulses, his come spilling inside of you in thick ropes, and he can barely breathe as your pussy squeezes around him, like you’re trying to pull him deeper inside of you.

When your orgasms subside, Mat goes to pull out of you so he can lay beside you, but your legs lock around his waist, and you pull him down to you, taking him by surprise with a sweet and gentle kiss. That gentle kiss morphs into the both of you making out lazily, you winding your hips, grinding against him while his cock rests inside of you. 

You both remain like that for what feels like hours, but is probably more like fifteen minutes straight, Mat’s cock getting hard all over again, and you can feel your arousal slowly returning, ready for a round two, if needed. Eventually, Mat’s lips trail lazily from your mouth to your cheek, chin, neck, shoulders, collarbone, moving across your chest to reach your other shoulder, other side of your neck, and so on then back again, leaving kisses in each place as he goes.

After a little while longer, your post orgasm high subsides a little and your head starts to clear bit by bit. When you manage to come back to yourself, you realize Mat’s been murmuring his apologies into your skin, over and over, only pausing when he gets back to your lips, then resuming his apologies as his lips follow the little trail he’s made.

On what you think is his eighth loop around, you tangle your hands in the curls near the nape of his neck and tug a little, removing his lips from their place against your shoulder, dragging him to your mouth and kissing him again. 

You roll the two of you so he’s on his back, his now half hard cock still nestled inside of you and your thighs bracketing his torso. Mat’s hands rest on your hips as he looks up at you, his lips a bright pink from all of the kissing. He looks dazed still, like he isn’t sure if this is all real, then his brow furrows, and regret slashes across his features.

He moves his mouth to form another apology, but you rest a single finger against his mouth, shaking your head softly. 

“I know,” you tell him. “I know you’re sorry, baby.” Slowly, you start to wind your waist, watching Mat’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips and trying his damndest not to thrust up into you. There’s a hiss that leaves his mouth when you squeeze, and a harsh breath is punched out of his lungs.

“I’m sensitive pretty girl,” he says, definitely not half hard anymore. Mat can’t tear his eyes away from where the two of you are joined together, where he can see his own come starting to drip down his cock, watching as you fuck it back into yourself as your drop your hips down.

“Just need one more.” You promise, can already feel your body chasing after the next orgasm as you move.

Mat nods, pupils blown wide as he watches. “Take what you need baby.”

And you do, planting your hands on his chest as you begin to bounce. Your nails dig into his skin a little, dragging them down his pecs and to his lower abdomen, watching in delight as red marks bloom in their wake, Mat groaning out loud, low and deep, his hips bucking up into you. 

He always did love it when you scratched him up like this.

“More,” he pleads, and you slowly glide your palms back up to his collarbone, digging your nails in once more and dragging them back down in the same path. His body jerks a little when he moans, and then he’s grabbing your hips and sitting up, laying you down and getting onto his knees to fuck you all over again. 

Your hands move to his ass, pulling him in deeper, your nails sinking into the hard muscled flesh and dragging up to his waist, and Mat’s thrusts become harder, sharper, and your orgasm rips through you like a lightning strike.

He follows close behind, fucking past the tight grip of your pussy and coming with a hoarse shout, pinning his hips against you as his cock throbs.

You move your hands then, cupping his face and pulling him down to you, allowing him to bury his face into your neck as he tries to recover. You both breathe deeply for a while, heated skin cooling as the time passes. Eventually, Mat presses soft kisses to your neck, then shoulder, before propping himself up above you by his hands. 

“We should probably shower, shouldn’t we?” He suggests, and you nod. He carefully pulls out of you, but when you move to sit up, he gently pushes you back down, eyes glued to your pussy, where his two loads start to slowly leak out. Mat takes two fingers, gathering what’s coming out and pushes it back into you. Your back arches in response, a small hiss pushing through your clenched teeth. 

He removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean before leaning over you again, capturing your mouth with his, sharing your combined release. 

“Want some more?” He murmurs against your lips, and you nod, your eyes locked on one another as he reaches down, his fingers pushing back in, stroking you a couple of times before pulling them out. This time, when he brings his fingers back up, you grab his wrist before he can put them in his mouth, bringing them to your lips instead, sucking them clean. Mat’s eyes flutter, glazing over and you can feel his cock start to come back to life where it rests against your thigh.

Once his fingers drop from your mouth, he surges forward, kissing you again and you both fall back onto the bed, all thoughts of doing anything but making out leaving your minds for the next ten minutes.

Eventually, you manage to pull away, resting a hand on his chest as you part. “It’s getting late,” quickly adding, “we should probably shower now, so we can head to bed.” when you see Mat panic a little, thinking you were going to try to kick him out. 

He smiles a little, nodding. He gets up first, reaching out a hand for you to take. Once you’re both upright, Mat looks down at you and smiles a little, brushing some hair away from your face then pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You go first, I’ll gather up the clothes and get the bed ready.”

You nod with a small smile, heading into your bathroom to pee and start the shower as Mat busies himself with gathering up your clothes, tossing them into the hamper in the corner of your room. He feels his heart thump in his chest at the familiarity of taking your decorative pillows off of your bed, putting them on their designated shelf in your closet, then fluffing the pillows you actually use before bringing your comforter down.

When he finally makes his way into your bathroom, he finds you standing under the spray of the shower, watching through the glass as the water cascades down your body.

A body he almost let go, a body he knows he’s honored to be able to worship again.

He wastes no further time in stepping into the shower with you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in close, resting his cheek on the top of your head. 

“I’ll do better, I’ll be better.” He swears to you.

Your hands rub up and down his back in a soothing pattern. “I know, Mat.” Your name falls off his lips in a soft murmur, and you pull away a little, tipping your head back just so to look up at him. “We’ll be okay,” you promise, nodding to reassure him.

He nods back, cupping the back of your head in his hand, resting it against his chest. “I know we will, baby. I’ll make sure of it.”

~

A week later, you wake up to soft and gentle fingers dancing up your bare back, winding into your hair and twirling a strand around it before working its way back down, gently stroking into the dip of your back. 

The sheets are tangled around you, the curtains in your bedroom drawn to let the mid morning sunlight pour in, and Mat is sitting on your side of the bed, his hand moving to gently caress your face when he sees he’s managed to cajole you into opening your eyes. 

“Good morning beautiful,” his voice is soft in the quiet of your room.

You smile in turn, rasping out your own “good morning” before turning onto your side to face him fully. “What got you up so early?

He shrugs, pulling your sheets down to your waist, running his hands over your skin. “Made you breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” You ask, playfully skeptic.

“I think I can manage a few eggs, bacon, and premade waffle mix pretty well, but that’s just my opinion.” He says with a small smirk, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

The daylight surrounds him from behind, creating a beautiful glow around him and that’s a sign if you’ve ever seen one. You’ve always liked Mat best like this - soft and boyish in his features, but relaxed, a kind of comfort you’ve always felt from material things but never from a person.

It makes your heart skip a beat, and distantly you think, maybe this is what you’ll remember in the future - this moment, Mat surrounded by sunlight, soft skin, bed head, and waking you up for breakfast. 

Maybe you’ll remember this exact moment and know, that’s when you realized you’d always be in love with him, and neither of you ever stood a chance at anything different.

#mathew barzal #mat barzal #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal x reader #new york islanders #mat barzal smut #mat barzal angst #angst with a happy ending #angst with a hopeful ending #angst with smut #post break up #make up sex #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction #hockey blurb

[horangboosadan]

2 MINUS 1 | JOSHUA HONG

summary: the one where Joshua wants everyone to think he’s over you but in the end, he can’t even fool himself.

genre: smau, heartbreak, post break-up, gn!reader, songfic, angst, one-shot

bonus: yn may seem fine to joshua, but “the truth is rarely pure and never simple” - Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

boo talks | main masterlist

i tried a one-shot smau bc the longer ones take so much time to write. I hope you like it. its more (bad/sad) vibes than anything else but i love the song 2 minus 1 and it works so well for a story. if you like this, there will be more eventually (which includes longer series when i manage to finish them)

#seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #smau #joshua hong x reader #joshua x reader #joshua hong #joshua #svt joshua #svt smau #seventeen smau #gender neutral reader #x reader #post break up #one shot smau

[kjack89]

Oceans Apart

Watched Ocean's 11 last night for the umpteenth time and this popped into my head as I watched the scene where Danny and Tess reunite.

Should probably be part of something larger but like. Context? What context? I don't know her.

Modern AU, E/R, post-breakup. Angst because it's been too fucking long.

Enjolras peered through the windows of the tiny, nondescript restaurant, his heart doing double time in his chest as he saw the back of the man he was looking for. He’d know the hunch of those shoulders anywhere, the way the man’s shirt stretched across a deceptively well-muscled back. Once upon a time, he’d known every inch of the skin beneath that shirt.

But that was years ago. Now…

Now, he straightened, pushed the door to the restaurant open and walked inside like he was supposed to be there, skirting the hostess stand and making a beeline to the man in question, hesitating for only a moment before reaching out to lightly rest a hand on the man’s shoulder.

Grantaire froze before slowly reaching up to cover Enjolras’s hand with his own, and then—

“Fuck,” Enjolras swore, as Grantaire gripped and then twisted his fingers.

Violently.

Grantaire let go without doing any lasting damage, and Enjolras cradled his hand against his chest for a moment, his pride far more wounded than the hand. “Hello to you, too,” he grumbled, even as he drank Grantaire in with eager eyes.

It had been far, far too long.

But Grantaire wasn’t amused. “What are you doing here?” he said, in lieu of a greeting.

Enjolras jerked a shrug, flexing his fingers to make sure they all still worked before dropping his hand to his side. “I got out.”

“You got out,” Grantaire repeated, something incredulous in the three words.

“Of prison,” Enjolras supplied helpfully. “You remember, the day I went for beer and never came back. You must have noticed.”

“You don’t drink,” Grantaire said shortly, followed by an exasperated, “Don’t sit—”

But it was too late, as Enjolras sat down across from him. Almost as if on cue, a waiter appeared at the tableside, looking at them expectantly. “Can I get anything for your…”

He trailed off. “Husband,” Enjolras supplied.

“Ex,” Grantaire corrected. “Or didn’t you get the papers?”

The waiter glanced between them, eyes wide. “I’ll give you two a moment.”

He disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, and Enjolras gave Grantaire a long, measured look. Despite everything, despite, especially, the acrimony that was rolling off of Grantaire in waves, it really was good to see him.

Even if the feeling was, seemingly, not mutual.

“What are you doing here?” Grantaire repeated.

Enjolras sighed and leaned forward. “They say I paid my debt to society,” he started, but Grantaire snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Funny, I never got a check.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “But I felt I owed you a little bit more than just time served,” he continued, and Grantaire scoffed and looked away. “Hence the drop by.”

Grantaire didn’t quite meet his eyes as he reached out to trace a finger through the condensation on his water glass. “How’d you even get parole anyway?” he asked, deliberately casual. “I’d’ve thought domestic terrorism would be an automatic life sentence.”

“I wasn’t convicted for domestic terrorism,” Enjolras said.

“Right, just indicted.”

Grantaire gave him a sharp sort of smile that didn’t remotely reach his eyes, and it was Enjolras’s turn to look away. “So you did keep up with my case,” he said, aiming for levity and missing by a mile. “I wasn’t sure, considering…”

Grantaire jerked a shrug, his smile disappearing. “Well, I did try to visit you once. Turns out I wasn’t included on your approved visitors list.” Enjolras winced, but Grantaire didn’t let him interrupt. “You know, I always told you that you needed to work on your communication in our marriage, but that one I heard loud and clear.”

“That wasn’t—” Enjolras broke off, not sure where to even start explaining why he hadn’t wanted Grantaire to visit him without explaining the rest. He huffed a dry chuckle, running a hand across his mouth before telling Grantaire, a little wryly, “You don't know how many times I played this conversation out in my head the last five years.”

Grantaire just arched an eyebrow. “Did it always go this poorly?” he asked coolly.

“Yes.”

That sharp smile was back, twitching at the corners of Grantaire’s mouth. “Sounds frustrating.”

“You were never easy,” Enjolras told him, honestly. “You were always worth it.” Again Grantaire’s smile disappeared, and for just a moment, he looked—

He looked as heartbroken as Enjolras had never in a million years wanted him to be.

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away. “Okay, I’ll make this quick,” he said, trying to steer back on subject, if only to try to alleviate the pain in his chest when he saw Grantaire looking like that. “I came here because I wanted to explain.”

His attempt working perhaps too well, as Grantaire’s expression instantly hardened. “What explanation could you possibly have that will matter one iota?”

Enjolras wet his lips before telling him, his voice low, “You may not believe me, and given everything, I don’t blame you for that, but I swear, I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Well, for someone who wasn’t trying, you sure as shit pulled it off with aplomb.” He leaned in, his eyes dark. “So by all means, Apollo, tell me, what were you trying to do?”

Enjolras met his glare evenly. “I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit.”

Enjolras shook his head. “It’s not. I didn’t want—”

“And did you ever stop to think about what I wanted?” Grantaire interrupted, his eyes flashing. “Because I didn’t want to be protected, not if that’s what you’re calling the last five years of my life. I wanted us to be together.”

“Pretty hard to be together from a jail cell,” Enjolras said flatly. “As the divorce papers you sent pretty clearly demonstrated.”

Grantaire shook his head. “We could’ve figured something out if you had just, I don’t know, involved me literally once—”

“Involving you would have implicated you,” Enjolras said, his voice tense, “and I couldn’t let that—”

Grantaire barked a laugh, scrubbing his hand across his face. “You think I wasn’t already implicated?” he asked, incredulous. “Tell me, do you think I’m stupid? Or naïve? That I didn’t know what you were doing all that time?”

“I—”

“Because the FBI agents who interrogated me after you were arrested didn’t seem to think so.” Grantaire let that statement sit for a moment before continuing, “We were married. We were living in the same house. Just because I don’t believe in the same Causes you do doesn’t mean I’m a complete moron.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I never said you were,” he said quietly.

Grantaire’s lip curled. “No, you just decided to cut me out of everything.” He laughed again, dry, humorless. “I mean, hell, I wasn’t even your one phone call when you were arrested.”

He hadn’t been, but it wasn’t because Enjolras hadn’t wanted to call him. But there were multiple moving pieces that needed to fall into place, and— “I didn’t have a choice,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “You did have a choice, Enjolras. You had a choice, you made it.”

“Fine,” Enjolras snapped, “I made a choice, and I didn’t pick you, and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t mean—”

“It was never about picking me!” Grantaire burst. “Three years of marriage before your arrest and you don’t think I had already figured out where I ranked?”

Enjolras had the sudden realization that everyone in the restaurant was staring at them, so he leaned forward and lowered his voice as he told Grantaire, with every ounce of sincerity he possessed, “And you don’t think I know that if I was in trouble, or in danger, you’d firebomb the fucking Hague to keep me safe?” Grantaire met his eyes evenly, and didn’t bother trying to deny it. “I didn’t want that for you.”

“And all I wanted was to be part of the decision,” Grantaire said tiredly, all of the fight leaving him in an instant, his shoulders slumping in what Enjolras recognized all too well as defeat. “Even if there wasn’t a thing I could say or do to change your mind, I just wanted you to care about me enough to ask.”

With that, he stood, and Enjolras stared up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” Grantaire said shortly, grabbing his coat. “You did it, you should recognize the gesture.”

Enjolras scrambled to follow, trailing after him out of the restaurant. “Grantaire, please, I—”

“You what?” Grantaire asked, stopping so suddenly that Enjolras almost ran into him.

“I still love you,” Enjolras said. He said it simply, starkly, hoping the quiet declaration would reinforce that he meant it. It had been all he had come to say tonight, after all, and even if Grantaire didn’t believe anything else, didn’t believe in anything else, Enjolras needed him to believe this. “You think my choice was about me not caring enough to involve you, but how could I possibly involve you? How could I possibly tell you what was going on knowing that you would immediately put yourself at risk, and all because of me?”

Grantaire shook his head, but Enjolras didn’t let him interrupt. “The only way that I could do what I did was by knowing that you were sage. So even if you never forgive me for it, I did what I had to do to protect you.”

For one long moment, Grantaire just stared at him, and Enjolras held his breath, hoping against hope that maybe, somehow, Grantaire might find a way to forgive him, even just a little. But then Grantaire shook his head, reaching up to wipe the tear from his cheek with the heel of his palm. “Yeah. Well. Right back atcha,” he said his voice hoarse. “Goodbye, Enjolras.”

Watching Grantaire walk away from him hurt more than Enjolras could possibly have anticipated, all the more so when he saw Grantaire meet up with a dark-haired man halfway down the block, grabbing his arm and tugging him in the opposite direction.

Enjolras wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understood what heartbreak felt like before that moment.

He was staring so intently that he didn’t even notice as Combeferre joined him, squinting after Grantaire. “Why is Grantaire with him?” he asked.

Enjolras shook his head. “Pretty sure that’s who he’s seeing now,” he said dully.

“No, I get that,” Combeferre said, glancing sideways at him. “I told you this was a fool’s errand from the get, after all. But why is Grantaire with a Serbian arms dealer?”

Enjolras stared at him. “He—” Grantaire’s parting words replayed in his head, and for the first time all evening, for the first time, if he was being entirely honest, since he’d gotten the divorce papers mailed to his jail cell without so much as a note, he felt a spark of something flicker in his chest: hope.

“He’s doing what he has to do to protect me.”

#exr #enjolras #grantaire #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #riffing off of ocean's 11 but this really has nothing to do with that #former relationship #post break up #angst

[touch-starved-lurker]

i wonder what you think of me.

we used to talk so much.

were you pushing yourself to do it?

why don't you talk as much now?

i remember how important texting first was to you, you mentioned it once as we talked of something.

ive texted first at least ten times in the past week.

i remember your reasons. i remember your silence.

is talking to me too hard now?

i remember you saying that you were really sure now that you didnt want to date anyone at all, that trying had only messed you up.

i hate the thought that ive ever hurt you, with anything i've ever done.

the thought sticks like a choking cough.

#sadposting #yearning #breakup #break up #heartbreak #breakups #emotional #personal #sad thoughts #sad poetry #is this poetry? #idk lol #post breakup #post break up

[chrxllv]

part 2 of baby, i’m yours || ex!suguru x reader

part 1:

warning: this is 18+ so if that’s not your cup of tea don’t interact

***

Once you two reached the room, he violently pushed the door aside and closed it again by shoving his foot against it.

"Impacient now, are we?" you inquired, turning to face him.

Before he could reply, you slipped your fingers under the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Suguru threw it on the floor as he guided you towards his bed. Somewhere on the way you lost your shirt too. And your skirt followed quickly.

Everything was hazy. One moment you were standing and the next he was hovering on top of you on the bed, one leg propped between your thighs.

You realised he discarded his pants too at some point and he was now hungrily staring at your lips.

"Finally, you’re under me again” Suguru breathed as he closed the small distance between you two by pressing his lips against yours once more.

He could never get tired of the taste of your cherry lips and how soft they felt against his. How many sleepless nights did he spend thinking about them?

His hot breath tickled your skin and you felt shivers just like the ones you got when you two kissed for the first time. Everything was so intense.

You were quite surprised to see how responsive you still were to the feeling of his mouth on yours. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating, your head was dizzy and you could only focus on the taste on his tongue.

The kiss was frantic, both your lips and teeth clashed together in a hopeless attempt to make up for the days you were separated.

His hands wandered carelessly on your body, trying to feel as much as possible. One of them was tangled in your hair while the other stopped on your bra and made quick work of it, removing it with sheer desperation.

Suguru broke the kiss just to stare at you. Stare at your flushed face and enjoy your naked body once again.

During these damned days in which you were broken up he kept thinking about you. You couldn't leave his mind.

It didn't matter where he was or what he was doing, the image of your naked body rose up in his mind over and over again. And almost every fucking time he got painfully hard.

And it drove him insane.

He muttered "beautiful" under his breath as he cupped one of your breasts with his hand. He had to touch you, feel you, kiss every inch of your body.

But the night was long and he decided not to rush. Or at least try to. He lowered himself once again and this time he pressed his lips on your neck.

Leaving hickeys on your soft skin has always been his favourite part. Let the others know how well he takes care of you.

“Suguru” a soft moan escaped your lips as he kept dragging his tongue over the tender spot on your neck.

Your hands were around him and your fingers felt the shift of his back muscles. He tensed as he heard his name spill out of your lovely mouth.

“Calling me by my name again? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

But he didn’t give you any time to reply as he moved on to your breasts. His mouth closed on top of your nipple while the other was pinched between two of his fingers.

You let out a small squeal when his teeth scraped that sensitive spot of yours. In response, he kissed it and moved on to the other one.

The touch of his lips on your painfully hardened nipple made you tangle your hands in his dark hair, slightly tugging at it as he continued to do his work.

Oh he was taking his sweet time with you. Geto was replaying in his mind every moment of the past few weeks in which he wished he’d have you close again.

He remembered how he touched you in his dreams and now that you were sprawled under him he seized the opportunity to make it real.

After admiring the marks he left on both of your breasts Suguru shifted his attention lower, eyes focused on your now dripping wet panties.

You trembled as his fingers moved the piece of clothing aside, lightly touching your core.

“You’re so wet for me, darling” he said as he moved himself again so his head would peak from between your legs.

Fuck he looked so ravishing in between your thighs.

He placed a quick peck on your inner thigh so dangerously close to that place you wanted to feel him the most.

You couldn’t help but whimper under his touch. Your heart was beating so hard, the anticipation of his touch against your wetness was maddening.

Suguru enjoyed seeing you lose control like that all because of him. It was as if he was getting high on your moans and whimpers. And you knew how much he liked you to express your pleasure.

“Not being able to touch you all these weeks has been incredibly frustrating, princess. Especially because you always looked so nice” he told you as he slid one finger inside you.

Your hand gripped the sheets under you. Suguru pressed a kiss on your clit continuing to increase the pace with which he was going. Your face felt so hot you had to take a sharp breath.

“Tell me how I make you feel” he demanded quietly and you obeyed.

“Good. So fucking good, Suguru”

He was content with your reply and added one more finger. Keeping his pace steady, he used his other hand to stimulate your sensitive spot.

You bit down hard on your lower lip and arched your back against his touches. His thumb circling your clit made your whole body jerk and your fingers started to hurt from gripping the mattress so hard.

You were getting close to release, you couldn’t resist him no matter how hard you tried. His fingers curling inside you made any pretense of a composure vanish. You were just a whining mess at his disposal.

“I’m close” you breathed and he stopped moving. You groaned in frustration, glaring at him while trying to steady your breathing. “What the fuck, Suguru?”

“Calm down, allow me to do this right” he explained himself, face so close to your clit that the feeling of his breath sent a tremor up your spine. “I want to taste you”

And with that his fingers were replaced by his mouth. The first touch of his tongue inside you felt like electricity buzzing through your entire body.

Once again his attention was focused on the overly sensitive bundle of nerves.

You could cry because of how good it felt. You pushed your legs further apart, allowing him to grip your thighs and steady himself. He kept sucking your clit as you begged him not to stop.

“My, my you only care about your pleasure. Guess I spoiled you too much, huh?” he detached his mouth from your cunt to look up to you.

A smug expressions appeared on his face as he saw how flushed you were.

“I need you, Suguru” you cried.

“Hm? What did you say princess?”

“‘need you now”

“Louder”

“Please”

“I can’t hear you, use your words love”

"Oh for fuck's sake, just fuck me already Suguru"

He didn't think he could get any harder but your words changed his mind. He felt his cock pulsating and aching to feel you around him. Fuck, he needed you just as bad.

"Good girl" he whispered against your ear as he aligned himself at your entrance.

The sound of his words sent a sweet shiver down your spine causing you to slightly arch your back. Damn him for exploiting your praise kink.

If there was one thing Suguru was good at, it had to be pleasuring you. He knew what you liked, he knew how to get those reactions out of you that he enjoyed to see and you felt embarrassed to remember in the morning.

Gods, how lewd you sounded whenever you were with him.

"Since the night we ended it.. I dreamed about touching you again" Suguru breathed as he eased himself into you.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't think about the same thing.

You relaxed at the familiar feeling of his cock filling you and pushed your legs further apart to give him more space.

His thrusts were rhythmical in the beginning but he lost control soon enough. You could feel how bad he missed you these days judging by his moves.

His mouth was slightly agape as he kept pushing himself inside you. Desperately. Like he would fall apart if he stopped.

"I don't know how long I'm going to last" he smiled as the words rolled off his tongue. "Your pretty pussy feels so fucking good around my cock, princess"

Princess. That stupid nickname he gave you in the third week after meeting you. Geto thought it suited you because you were too elegant and rather dippy for a sorcerer. You only liked to be fashionable.

But there was nothing elegant about this moment. Your two bodies almost merging with one another, sweat glistening on your skin as Suguru kept his pace steadier than before.

You could feel your orgasm approaching rapidly and you sank your nails into Suguru's back. At that he grunted and smirked lightly.

"How I missed seeing those scratch marks in the morning"

If you weren't so close to your climax you would've rewarded his remark with a suggestive eye roll. You knew better than listening to his sweet nothings once again. But now...

"Fuck, Suguru, I'm coming" you heard your own strained voice warn him.

"Let's come together then" he sighed almost relieved that he didn't have to keep pretending he could last any longer. "Come with me, darling"

And with those words your whole body shook with the intensity of the orgasm. No one made you cum like him before. Your head shot back against the pillow as you tried to catch your breath again.

He groaned as he pulled out, finishing off on your lower abdomen. You reached for his glistening tip and stroked him once, moving your thumb along his head just to hear Suguru gasp lightly for air.

Maybe you were a bit rougher than intended.

"That's sensitive" he whispered through his teeth as he pushed back. "And you know that"

"You deserved it" you grinned back at him, pushing yourself up on your elbows on the mattress.

"Princess, do I have to remind you that you were the one to break it off?"

"Because you were a dick" you clarified and raised your eyebrow.

"Right" he huffed and shook his head. "Allow me to get you clean now, baby"

Suguru picked you up in his arms and you chuckled like a silly school girl as he swirled you around before getting into the bathroom.

***

He couldn't keep his hands off of you in the shower, insisting on letting him massage the soap into your skin and occasionally kissing your neck from behind.

Once you were both cleaned up, he gave you one of his shirts he knew you liked to use as pajama's. You threw yourself onto his bed and wiggled under the blanket. You had always been under the impression that his mattress was simply better.

He laid down next to you, putting his arm around you. And you knew that was his way of telling you to come closer. So you did.

As you laid your head against his chest, you felt his lips touch the crown of your head.

"I can't even remember why we broke up, princess" he mumbled against your hair.

"Oh, please, shut up for once" you smiled and closed your eyes.

"Since you're asking so nicely"

#jjk smut #geto smut #geto x you #getou suguru x you #geto suguru #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #break up #post break up #ao3 writer #part 2 lol #jujutsu geto #high school #ex relationship #pining #for you #no idea #jujutsu high #jujutsu kaisen #fanfiction #minors dni #geto x y/n #geto x reader

[xmalereader]

Lord Morpheus X Male Reader

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|| Masterlist ||

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Authors Note: It’s not as sad as I thought it would be but at least I got it done, but anyways. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Reader is a writer struggling to gain inspiration again, his roommates try ways to find him that feeling of inspiration again but the only person who can give him that feeling is no longer apart of his life, perhaps they could try to work things out again and give themselves a second try?

Warnings: Angst, past regrets, insecurities, reader blaming themselves, reader is a writer, Morpheus is soft, some inspiration from EP11, a writers struggle, fluff moments, post break up, past memories, mentions of Matthew, alcohol, language.

Word count: 5.5k

—

—

Saudade

(n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost: "the love that remains"

It was a cloudy morning, signs of rain and stormy weather showing on the news cast as the town prepares for their day. The storm has been raging on for days that it’s become a usual thing for many residences that lived near the area, knowing that they are to dress up warm and to wear the proper clothes if they wish to stay dry for majority of the day. While everyone got ready for their day a certain man stayed indoors, doing his own work and focusing on his writing. He was a well known author who wrote many stories in the past but recently his inspiration had worn off, his mind drifting to other places and not being able to focus. He’s tried many things or ways to get ideas again but nothing ever came.

He used to write many stories, his mind filled with adventure and curiosity. He always explored new places, read new books or listened to peoples lives and used them for his own stories, molding it into something new for everyone to read. But as the years went he lost that feeling of excitement, the feeling of writing again all because of his own mistake. He stopped writing four years ago and tried to make changes in his life, moving out of his flat and finding a new place. He began to live with two other roommates who knew little about him but treated him with kindness and respect. They’ve convinced him many times to confound writing again, pushing him into picking up a pen and sitting him down in front of a blank page.

He spent days sitting in front of a blank page, nothing coming to mind as he focused more on the outside world, staring out the window as the rain poured down, the cold fogging up the window as he watched the trees sway in the wind. They reminded him so much of Fiddlers green, the meadow that brought him peace and happiness. He frowns to himself, shaking the thoughts away, it’s been four years since he’s visited the garden and he couldn’t go back. No matter how much he wanted too, he can’t.

With a sigh to himself, rubbing his face with his hands he closed the blank notebook in front of him, placing the ink pen on top. Another day with nothing, his roommates would be disappointed. He knows he was suppose to have something done by the end of the week, promising his roommates that he would give them a story but his promise was broken. He had nothing today and neither would he tomorrow. He instead focused on other things, making himself some breakfast and enjoying his time alone.

Well—not entirely alone, his roommates cat, Hansel, was keeping him company. The Siberian feline had grown attached to him, following him everywhere and rubbing up against his legs, nearly tripping him up a few times. Y/n didn’t mind the creature, he adored it but, there were times where Hansel got on his nerves and the cat was always pushing his buttons when he wasn’t in the mood. When he first moved in his roommate, Max, told him about the cat and asking if he was allergic or perhaps comfortable around animals.

Y/n smiled that day with a nod and letting max know that he was alright with being around Hansel, not feeling bothered at all. The creature sometimes reminded him of a specific someone who had the ability to take any shape or form, reminding him that dreams could be anything. The first day he spent around the cat he was anxious, his mind playing tricks on him as the creatures followed him everywhere. It took him some time to tell himself that the creature was nothing like ‘him’ and that he wouldn’t be coming back, guess animals easily attach to him.

He’s the one who serves Hansel their food in the mornings since he works from home. He didn’t mind the little extra chore he had to for his good friend. He sets his glass of water to the side and walks over to Hansels eating spot, bending down to pick up her dish and walking back to the kitchen as the cat followed him in silence, well behaved and sitting next to his feet as she patiently waits. Y/n makes sure to add the correct amount of food before placing the bowl back in spot and allowing the creature to eat. Before he could head back to his room he hears the door unlock, startling him as he raised a brow to see his other roommate, Missy, entering the flat.

“Fucking cold—“ she cursed, shaking her wet hair and slipping off her jacket. She’s drenched from head to toe. “What happened? I thought you went to work.” Y/n steps up to help her with the wet clothes, taking her wet jackets and shoes. “Yeah well,” Missy struggled with her socks. “The station is flooded and my stop never came, they closed the station due to the flood and I had to call in to work and let them know that I wouldn’t make it in time. I tried another route but the streets just got worse and—ugh—I just gave up and decided to come back home instead.” She explains, slumping against the door as Y/n brings her a towel.

“Good thing you did, your drenched and it’s best to have warm shower before you get sick.” He instructs. “I’ll put your clothes in the dryer while you go do that.” He didn’t expect the weather conditions to worsen, everyone hopes that it gets better by tomorrow.

“Thanks, Y/n.” She heads to the bathroom where she takes her warm shower while Y/n focused on making her something to eat in case she didn’t have time this morning. It felt nice helping around, he didn’t feel too lonely when he first moved out of his old place. He couldn’t stay there for too long. It was full of memories of ‘him’ and he’s trying to move on from things. The first few months were tough as he forced himself to stay awake and not sleep, he couldn’t end up back in the Dreaming not after everything. He wasn’t banished and still had free access to entering the realm but Y/n maintained his distance. So, at night if he were to ever dream he’d make sure that it’s not about the dreaming or anything related to it.

As a matter of fact it was a lot harder than he thought.

“You haven’t written anything?”

He’s startled by Missy’s voice, looking over his shoulder to see her wearing sweats and flipping through his notebook. He sighs to himself and turns off the stove. “I know I promised you and Max but I—“ He shakes his head. “I can’t write anymore, nothing comes to mind.”

Missy frowns, setting the notebook aside as she walks towards the kitchen, sitting on top of the counter and crossed her arms over her chest, watching him move around the kitchen and serving her a plate of food. “You told us that writing was your life—your gift.” She mumbled out. “So tell me, in all honest—what inspired you to write?”

Y/n is caught off guard by her question, the dish almost slipping from his hands before she caught it and held it away, her eye brows raised as she asks again. “What inspired you to write, y/n?”

Many things inspired him; his reading, the people he was with, Max’s cat, the weather or location, perhaps the dreaming too. But, he couldn’t tell her that, she wouldn’t believe him if he ever told her about the Dreaming and how Dream of the endless and him were sort of an item before he messed things up.

“Nothing, Missy. Nothing brought me inspiration.”

“Bullshit.”

“Missy—“

“Ever writer has a reason to write.”

Y/n shakes his head. “I stopped writing four years ago because things got complicated. I had so many ideas and thoughts—that I could write forever but their all gone. People change, Missy and maybe, writing isn’t something I can do anymore that I have to look for an alternate.” He exclaimed.

Missy’s shoulders sag, lowering the plate down in defeat. “Then what is your alternate.” She was desperate to know and wanted to help him. Y/n shrugs his shoulder in response. “I was thinking Art? Or maybe do some medical research, having Hansel around has gotten me interested in other animal that I could maybe study their anatomy or work as a vet.” He rambled out. Animals were another interest of his and could research about them all day. He wouldn’t mind getting his hands a little dirty or interacting with other creatures.

“A vet? Sweetie, I love you but a vet isn’t your thing. I’ve read your stories and writing is you, it describes who you are!” She hops off the counter, standing next to him as he focused on cleaning up the dishes. “Max and I both know that you have a story inside that little head of yours—“ she taps on his temple, causing him to smile a little. “I guess you aren’t ready to share it yet.” She sighs to herself, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him while he awkwardly washed the dishes. He’s grown used to her affection and touch and it was her way of showing others that she cared for them.

“Thank you, Missy. But, I just need time.”

Missy gives him a nod and lets him go, patting his shoulder before smiling. “Max texted and told me that he would be coming back early today too. Why don’t the three of us try and go out tonight? Maybe, get a drink.”

“In this weather?” Y/n questions with a raised brow, drying his hands on a towel as he turns around to face Missy, leaning back on the counter as she rolls her eyes. “Okay, maybe not today but we can make coffee here and just sit down and relax and watch a movie or we can gossip about my workers? I heard that the new girl was sleeping with my manager.” She whispers the last part.

Y/n laughs at her statement. “Alright, I’ll make coffee once Max gets back home and we can talk shit about your workers all day and watch movies too.” Missy cheers, throwing her hands up as she ran out of the kitchen and into the living room, he excitement freighting Hansel as she scurried away from the energetic women.

“Don’t forget your breakfast!” He calls out to her, reminding her to eat as the two wait for Max’s return from work. He shifts his gaze towards the window, the rain has calmed down but it was still windy and cold outside that even be, wouldn’t go outside without rushing back inside to keep himself warm. He can still hear the thunder clap in the skies, muffled by the walls that surround them and keep them safe.

Both he and Missy sat in the living room, watching a movie together as they waited. Missy would talk every once an awhile and point out stuff in the movie, groaning in displeasure when one of the characters did something she didn’t quiet like, the sound of her voice and the movie lure him into sleep. It was reaching noon but a small nap wouldn’t hurt. His eyes slowly close, letting sleep take over him as he drifts off. He didn’t expect himself to open his eyes and to be inside a familiar library.

He shouldn’t be here but yet, somehow he found his way here. After four years of not returning to the Dreaming he didn’t think he’d come back or accidentally return. He slowly comes to a stand, his hand placed against the bookshelf as he looks around. He doesn’t see or hear anyone and takes his chance to try and leave this place before he is caught. His fingers graze the shelves as he walks forward, keeping his steps quiet as he continued on.

The place felt like a maze, losing himself amongst various books as he tries to find a way out. It’s been years since he’s been here and changed have been made that he doesn’t quiet remember where to go. Before he can make another turn he hears a familiar voice.

“Lucienne.”

His blood runs cold, frozen in spot as he hears that familiar deep voice that he fell in love with. That same voice that would read him stories or poetry when he couldn’t sleep. He shakes the thoughts away, breathing heavily and in panic as he turns around frantically.

“Lucienne, are you here?”

He sounded near and he couldn’t be here. He tries to control his breathing. “Come on, wake up, wake up.” He whispers to himself, trying to find a way to wake up and to disappear from this place. His moving around quickly that he doesn’t notice a pile of books sitting on the floor that he trips over them, yelping in surprise as he stumbled down, knocking more books off the shelf’s. “Shit!” He sits up and moves the books off of him, coming to sit on his bottom as he removed more books.

“Lucienne—“

His looks up with a gasp, blue eyes locking with his as he stares with wide eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking or doing but the panic jolts him awake. He’s jumping from the couch in panic, looking around frantically to see Missy and Max sitting at the dining table with surprised look on their faces. “You alright?” Max asks.

Y/n is breathing heavily and nods. “Yeah, just a nightmare.” He chuckled nervously, reaching up to push his hair back only to see a book in his hand. His breath hitched, taking notice that he’s accidentally taken a book from Luciennes library. He still couldn’t explain how he could do it but back then he was able to take any book from the dreaming back to the waking world with him. He didn’t mean for this to happen he was in shock and didn’t notice that he’d taken one of the books.

Sooner or later ‘he’ll’ come after him in order to get the book back. Y/n couldn’t deal with that right now, no he couldn’t. So, he rushed back into his room and opened his desk drawer, shoving the book inside and slamming it closed where he stands still, staring at the closed drawer before letting out a deep breath. If Morpheus were to come and get it then it’s best to deal with it later. Right now, he had other things to do. He returned back to the dinning room where Max stared at him with worry in his eyes. “You sure your alright? You woke up like someone was trying to kill you.” He chuckled out.

“Yeah, it’s just a nightmare.” Y/n chuckles back, rubbing his face and running his fingers through his messy hair. “I haven’t had one in years so, I guess I got a little scared.” He admits, afraid of seeing the King of Dreams again after promising that he wouldn’t.

“Well—anyways!” Missy claps her hands together. “It’s stopped raining, so why don’t we go get those drinks?”

Y/n groans. “Missy it’s cold outside, do you really want to go outside right now?”

“Yes and you can’t stop me.” Missy smirks, walking to her own room to get something warm on. “You know she always wins.” Max reminds him, slipping his own coat on as Y/n groans to himself. “Yeah she does.”

—

The three were able to make it across town without any trouble, finding an open bar that they enter and spend their time sitting in a booth as Missy gossiped about her work, saying how one caused a bit mess that she had to fix while another embarrassed her in front of her higher uppers. Both he and Max would sit back and listen, drink in hand as his index finger circled around the ring, nodding along to Missy’s stories.

“Anyways, He caught her cheating in the ladies room with some other guy and all hell broke loose. Their was yelling and fighting that we had to kick them out.” She giggled, half drunk as she sips her drink. “What about you, Y/n?”

“What about me?”

“Any rumors or stories that you’ve heard of lately? Perhaps some love in your life?” She grins to herself as Y/n shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat. “No.” He focused on his drink and takes a sip, his body language giving him away as Missy gasped, slamming her hand down. “You do!”

“Missy, calm down.” Max tries to keep her down but she swats his hands. “Hush, tell me!” She points at Y/n who sets his drink down, nervously tapping his finger against the glass. “It’s not important.”

“If not then why are you nervous?” He was like an open book to her that she could easily read. Missy was a scary women to mess with and she knew everything and will get what she wants one way or another. He knows that he can’t win this argument no matter how hard he tried.

“I had someone four years ago before we ended things. It was technically my fault, I let my insecurities get to me and ruined what we had.” He breaths out.

“Why did you end things?” Max asked, intrigued to know too.

“He—“ How exactly was he suppose to tell them that he dated an Endless while he was just a normal human or mortal. “He was an important person, someone that many people knew. His family and siblings are the same they all have their duties and roles to fulfill. It didn’t bother me at first how I was just a simple writer trying to find my way through life—he showed me many things and helped me. I guess you could say that he was my inspiration.” His eyes glance up to Missy who stares back with sadness in her eyes.

“We were briefly engaged and I was happy, excited actually but,” he frowns. “I started to think about his past lovers, they too, were important and better than me. They’ve done so much for him that I couldn’t do and I just felt like I wouldn’t reach that level and allowed my thoughts and doubts to take over. So, I ended things with him and our engagement ended.” His finger tapped the table, avoiding their gazes as he down his drink.

When he sets his cup down, Missy bursts out into tears. “Why would you think that?” She sobs out. Max awkwardly handing her napkins as she takes them. “Your obviously the best and he wouldn’t have asked you to marry him for something so stupid!”

Y/n blinks, opening and closing his mouth. “Missy—“

“No!” She slams her hands down, startling the two. “You will go find him and make up!”

“Missy that was four years ago, he’s probably moved on.” Y/n tells her.

“How did he react when you broke it off?” Her voice is firm as she raised a brow, tears wiped away as she glared at him. “You could say he was a little upset.” He shrugs his shoulders. Morpheus didn’t really say anything when he broke it off, all he did was give him the ring while the King of dreams stared down at it with no words.

Missy continued to cry at the tragedy, both Y/n and Max knew that Missy would get emotional when drinking. The two already knew how to handle it but today was a bit difficult since the focus was on him and not on something else. “I think that’s enough for today.” Max takes Missy’s drink, sliding it to the side as he helps her stand. “Come on.”

“No!” Missy shakes her head. “I won’t go until Y/n makes up with his fiancé.” The writer rolls his eyes, helping her stand and taking her bag with him. “Let’s get you to bed.” He mumbled, ignoring her words as the two drag her outside into the cold weather, she shivers and clings onto Max.

“I don’t think will make it back home with her like this, maybe we can stay at a hotel for tonight?” Y/n suggest while Max agrees. “I’ll get a cab and take her to a hotel, you can head home.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Y/n felt guilty leaving Max alone with Missy. The two get along well but Missy wasn’t so great when she’s drunk. “Please, Y/n I’ve dealt with her like this for years I think I can handle it.” He chuckled at him as he holds her upright. “You go ahead will call in the morning.”

Y/n hesitates and gives Max a nod as he calls a cab, he gives his friends one last look and reminds max to call in the morning before getting inside the cab and riding back home. He sighs deeply, leaning his head against the window as the driver takes him home, arriving after a few minutes and paying the man as he steps out of the vehicle. When heading inside his apartment he doesn’t take notice of the raven perched on his balcony, watching him closely as he enters the building.

Once he’s inside he closes the door behind him, removing his coat and hanging it up. He also kicks his shoes off and makes his way towards his bedroom where he tossed his phone on the bed. A familiar meow gets his attention as he looks over to see Hansel sitting by his doorway. “Right.” He walks back out of his room to feed the cat his last meal of the day.

“Sorry bud.” He whispers, serving the cat more water and food. “Max won’t be coming home tonight, he got stuck with Missy.” He strokes the cats head, earning a purr in return as he smiles to himself, coming back to a stand from his crouched position as he turns around to head back to his room. When he enters he turns to close the door until a tap is heard against his window, causing him to look over.

He steps forward to see a black raven standing outside his window, beak tapping the window again. He stopped in his steps, staring at the raven that he remembers very well. The same raven that’ll follow him everywhere and talk about some nonsense or try to keep a decent conversation. Before he could do anything he feels a familiar presence, one that he knew too well.

His back faced him, eyes closed as he exhaled nervously. He opened his eyes again and turns around to see Morpheus standing in his bedroom, his hands in his coat pockets as he stares him down. His expression is blank and can’t tell what the man is thinking.

“Hello, Morpheus.” He says softly, avoiding his piercing blue eyes as he focused his attention in anything else but him.

“Y/n.” His voice is still the same as he remembers, deep and soft but also soothing and comfortable. “You have something that belongs to me.” The Dream lord goes straight to the point and Y/n knows that he’s not here for a social meeting.

“Right.” Y/n mumbled to himself, walking to his desk and pulling the first drawer open where the book is stored away. He pulls it out and closed the drawer behind him, swallowing nervously as he turns around to hold the book out to Morpheus. The dream lord himself takes the book in his own hand, their fingers touching. Y/‘n is the first to pull away, taking a step back.

“I didn’t mean to take your book from the dreaming since I am no longer welcomed.”

“Your always welcomed into the dreaming.” Morpheus interrupts, hand gripping the book as he stares at the writer.

Y/n shakes his head. “I know I am but decide not to.” The tension between them is strong, making it hard for either of them to speak.

“You should make up!”

Missy’s words repeat in his head, he knows that making up won’t fix anything and neither would an apology but he had no choice but to speak up about how he felt. He wanted Morpheus to know how sorry he was for breaking the Endless heart or maybe the dream lord himself had already forgotten their love and moved on.

“Im sorry for everything and I know my apology won’t do much. I just wanted to let you know that what I did isn’t your fault.” He could feel Morpheus stare. “What I did was terrible and I blame myself, I let my doubt and thoughts get to me and did a terrible thing to you and I understand if you hate me—“

“I don’t hate you.”

Y/n looks into his eyes a hint of shame and sadness at his own words. Y/n gives him a sad smile. “You should.”

Morpheus takes a step forward. “My hatred is something I will not give towards you.”

“I broke us apart, because of me we couldn’t get married. I just couldn’t stop thinking about us and asking myself why. Why did you fall in love with someone like me? A human, a mortal who couldn’t be by your side. Why choose me when you could have anyone that could give you what I can’t?” He’s looking at Morpheus, letting him know how he really felt during their time together. Yes, he was happy to be with someone and happy to know that he could have a future but his doubts started to flood his mind, fearing taking over him and asking himself, why? Why him out of everyone. Morpheus could be with a goddess or perhaps someone with the same equal as him. But instead he choose him, a mere human.

Y/n was too distracted in his own thought that he doesn’t notice Morpheus stepping closer, setting the book aside as they stood toe to toe. His breath warm as he speaks. “I choose you because you showed me a feeling that I never thought I’d ever feel again.”

“And what feeling was that?” Y/n whispers.

Morpheus leans forward, pressing their foreheads together as he breaths him in. “Love.”

Y/n wants to break down, wants to take everything back and start over. But, he doesn’t know if Morpheus would want to do the same thing, for all he knew the Endless could have moved on already after four years. He feels his warm hand cup the nap of his neck, holding him in place, touching him again after years of being apart.

“You were what filled my blank pages.” Y/n whimpers, closing his eyes as he holds back tears as Morpheus continued. “I loved you from the day I heard your stories, stories that brought many dreamers together. I admit that I loved others before you but what we had is something far more extraordinary than ever.”

Y/n didn’t know what to say, afraid of saying something that’ll ruin this moment. Afraid of saying something that’ll push Morpheus away. “I don’t—“ He feels the dream lord shake his head, whispering more words to him. “Come back to the dreaming.” His words pull a gasp from Y/n, pulling away to look at him properly. “Morpheus I don’t—“ He bites the inside of his cheek, nervous again. “What if I mess up again?”

“You won’t.” Morpheus reassured him, suddenly remembering Luciennes words about change and second chances. He gave gault another chance to becoming a dream and not a nightmare, he’s willing to give Y/n another chance to make things right.

“Someone once told me that second chances is something that everyone needs and I’m willing to do that.” The Dream lord takes hold of Y/n’s hand into his own. “We can both give each other a second chance.”

Y/n sniffles, his thumb stroking the top of Morpheus palm. He inhaled sharply. “Are you sure?” He asks, as much as he wanted to give this another chance he still wanted Morpheus’ thoughts about their relationship. Everything was so unexpected but now that they’ve talked things through and allowed their feelings to spill he can’t help but feel a weight get lift off his shoulders. Hd felt lighter now that he let Morpheus know about his doubts and fears, fears that Morpheus understood.

Morpheus takes another step forward, their chests brushing up against each other as the King of dreams and nightmares pulls him close, placing a soft kiss on the top of his head as he mumbled out. “I want you by my side in the dreaming and as my consort.” His voice is a small whisper as Y/n hears his words, giving a small nod. “Then I shall stay by your side.”

—

Y/n was sitting in front of the window, notebook in hand as he the wrote across the pages. The stories he had filled the empty spaces, hand cramping but not stopping until he’s gotten the last few details in. He’s distracted by his writing that he doesn’t feel Missy standing over him until she speaks up. “You’re writing.”

He’s startled by her voice, slamming the notebook shut. “Shit, you scared me.”

“You’re writing.” She points out again.

“Yes and?” He raised a brow.

“Let me read.”

“What—no!”

“Let me read!” Missy launched after the notebook, he’s quick to pull it out of her reach, stumbling away from the window as Missy jumps on his back, legs wrapped around his torso as she reached up for the notebook. “Get off!” Y/n struggles to shove her off, walking around the living room. It wasn’t until Max comes back home, groaning to himself. “Can’t I come home without you two trying to kill each other?”

“Max! Get the fucking notebook! He’s writing again!” Missy shouts, yelling as she’s thrown off and onto the couch. “Wait he’s writing again?” Max is quick to get involved, rushing over to snatch the notebook. “Not you too!” The notebook is taken from his hands, caught off guard when Max takes it and flips through the pages.

“Read it out loud!” Missy shouts, attaching herself to Y/n’s back, holding him back from taking the notebook. “What—don’t, it’s not finished!” He groans out.

Max steps back, grinning widely as his eyes skin through the pages, reading the words. He doesn’t read out loud, instead he reads to himself as his mischievous grin softens into a smile. “I said out loud!” Missy screams out again.

Instead, Max closes the notebook and smiles at him. “I think it’s a wonderful story.” He holds it back out for Y/n to take, after he throws Missy off his shoulders he takes the notebook back and holds it to his chest. “No one can read it until it’s finished.” He states out.

“That’s bullshit! Max got a little sneak peek, why can’t I?!”

Max chuckles. “It’s best to read it after he’s done, it’s good so far and I’m very interested to know more about this character if you’re.” He air quotes, causing y/n to blush. “Anyways, like Max said you both can read it when it’s finished now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go to bed.” He rushed to his room, slamming the door behind him and locking it. He sighs to himself and sets the notebook on his desk.

“Your friends seem eager to know what you are writing.”

Y/n looks over his shoulder to see Morpheus standing near his bed a knowing smile on his face. It’s been six months since they’ve given their relationship a second try, taking things at their own pace again before he accepts Morpheus’ proposal again. “You would know, Dream of the endless. It’s possible that you got an exclusive look into my story since it’s not published yet.”

Luciennes library contained many books that have or haven’t been written yet. The dreaming library contained it all and wouldn’t be surprised if Morpheus had read it already. The dream lord chuckles, coming to sit on his bed. “I actually haven’t read it yet.” He admits.

“I was hoping that you would read it to me, like old times.” Y/n smiles in return, walking to sit next to him as he hums. “How about the first chapter—I’m making you wait too.” It wouldn’t be fair that Morpheus would have the first listen into his new book and not his friends.

“Very well, my love.” Morpheus leans close. “I’ll allow the first chapter.”

Y/n smiles, leaning against Dreams shoulder and staring out the window where Matthew stood.

“A tourist in the waking world, who was never quite awake, no gentle word could wake then up from their slumber until they realized it was you who held them under…”

#male reader #lord Morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman #lord Morpheus x male reader #the sandman x male reader #dream x male reader #reader #one shot #post break up #tom sturridge #Tom sturridge x male reader #tom sturridge x reader #dc imagines #dc x male reader

[hellcheerficdatabase]

White Snow

Author: @gingertumericlemon

Rating/warning: Explicit, referenced ED

Chapter Count: 6/? (Part 2 of Spirit Stick series)

Description:

1986: Eddie's on the make in LA. Chrissy's in Seattle. They're young and in love up and down the West Coast!

1989: Eddie and Chrissy reunite in Hawkins after two years apart during the strange liminal days between Christmas and New Year's.

What happened then, what happened in between, and what happens next.

A story about growing up.

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, future fic, true love, post break up, smut, angst, fluff, Eddie is becoming famous, character study, second chances, reuniting, alternating POV, multiple chapters, part of a series, status: WIP

#Alternate Universe- no vecna #future fic #true love #post break up #smut #angst #fluff #Eddie is becoming famous #character study #second chances #reuniting #alternating POV #multiple chapters #part of a series #status: WIP #eddissy #eddie munson #eddie and chrissy #eddie x chrissy #chrissy deserved better #eddsy #munningham #chreddie #hellcheer #stranger things #chrissy cunningham

[cluelesspigeons]

This is written for the song ‘Save your tears’ by The Weeknd from @drarrymicrofic

Word count: 159

Drarry microfic: staring

Draco stood at the other side of the room, talking to a man Harry didn’t know. Their eyes had met once before, at the beginning of the evening. But ever since, Draco hadn’t even glanced in Harry’s direction.

But Harry couldn’t help his staring. Even if he tried so hard not to. When he saw Draco lean closer to the man he was talking with, however, involuntary tears filled Harry’s eyes. Draco’s hand curled around the man’s neck, that sweet, sweet smile playing around those familiar lips. They were mere inches apart, still Harry couldn’t look away.

Only when their lips touched, and Draco pressed his body closer to the man, did Harry finally turn his head, more tears running down his face. This was stupid. He was stupid. He should have known better.

Before he even realised what he was doing, he was already running, trying to get as far away from his broken heart as he could.

Prompt from March 10th

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#drarry #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #drarry fic #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco x harry #harry x draco #my writing #cp writes #cluelesspigeons #march 2023 #staring #post break up #moving on #jealousy #angst #unhappy ending

[gallavichfanficlibrary]

hi! do you know of any fics where Mickey isn’t in prison in season 6 or 7? Like ones where he’s basically written into the canon for those seasons instead of in prison or the escape plot??

Hi! :) Here you go, four great fics:

Joy of rediscovering you - Mickey never went to prison and he is completely written into the canon of S6.

to stop our hearts from drowning - Mickey gets out of prison six months after being arrested for a crime he didn't actually commit.

to think that we could stay the same - Mickey gets out in a few days after the break up, because there's no evidence.

when the party's over 'verse series - they let Mickey out of jail after 12 hours and he doen't want to run back to Ian. Mickey is written into the canon of S6.

#season 6 fix it #post break up #post 5x12 #canon divergent #fix it #post 6x01

[autisticlancemcclain]

Young Love Murdered (That Is What This Must Be)

Keith/Lance (Voltron), Angst With A Happy Ending, Season 4-6 Fix-It, Break-Up and Make-Up, 4.8k Words

Summary: Keith leaves, and their relationship falls apart. Maybe, though, both of them want it back. 

--- --- ---

“Why are you packing a bag? Did Allura have a mission for you?”

Keith tenses, but doesn’t turn around. He continues stuffing clothes into a duffel. “Not exactly.”

Lance is tense, too. There’s an air in the room, something crackly. Something dangerous.

“…Okay, then. What are you picking for?”

Keith doesn’t answer, not for several moments. He grips a pair of socks in his hands, so tightly his knuckles go white. Lance swallows, but it’s hard. His throat is dry. His heart pounds in his ears.

“I’m leaving for the Blades,” Keith admits gruffly. “I talked to Kolivan. They have some missions for me.”

It feels like the room tilts around him, and Lance’s head spins.

“What?” he asks weakly.

Keith clears his throat. He tries to speak, can’t, and clears it again.

“I’m resigning.”

“You can’t fucking resign!”

The sharpness in Lance’s voice startles them both, and Keith whips around to face Lance fully.

“Yes, I am.”

“No the fuck you are not. You can’t just leave Voltron! You said so yourself when we started this thing!”

“I’m not just fucking ditching, Lance. There are five Lions, six paladins. That’s what you said, remember? I’m doing everyone a favour!”

Lance clenches his fists, if only to hide them shaking.

“You’re not doing everyone a favour, you’re doing yourself a favour. You’re a goddamn coward, Keith Kogane, and you’re running away.”

Keith inhales sharply, glaring at Lance. “I’m no fucking coward,” he spits.

“You are! You so are. You’re afraid of leading the team, you’re afraid of being in a family, you’re afraid of us, of me, because you’re a coward, a fucking coward —“

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t know a goddamn thing!”

“Then fucking tell me what I don’t know, Keith, because all I’m seeing is you running away!”

Keith spins back towards his duffel bag, shoving a few more clothes into the bag before hefting it on his shoulder and turning to face the door.

“I’m not arguing with you. I’m resigning. I’ll talk to you when I land on the base.”

“No, you won’t.” Lance stands to the side of the door, fists clenched as tightly as Keith’s were earlier. His face is neutral, cold, except for his eyes. His eyes are wet and there are tear tracks dripping down his face, and his voice shakes and his shoulders shake but he stands as tall as ever. “Don’t call me if you walk out that door, Kogane. I won’t be waiting for you when you get back.”

Keith blinks at him, shocked. He can feel something sharp prick in his chest, something painful and destructive.

Lance won’t wait for him?

Suddenly he’s angry. Fuck Lance, and fuck his lack of support. He won’t wait for Keith? Fine.

“Fine,” Keith snarls, storming past him. “I don’t want you to wait, either.”

—

Keith hugs the team tightly as they wish him farewell, promising to call as often as he’s able.

Lance doesn’t come to say goodbye. Keith pretends it doesn’t bother him.

He waits until he’s in his pod, watching the Castle wormhole away, to break down.

—

Lance presses the nozzle on the can of shaving cream rapid-fire, hoping some will magically squeeze out. When none appears from the nether, he sighs, digging around in his cabinet for another can. He doesn’t need to shave too often, his hair doesn’t grow very fast, but he’s been neglecting it a bit and doesn’t want to go walk all around the castle to get a new can. There has to be some buried in here somewhere — aha!

He pulls out a bottle that was hiding behind a box of new toothpaste, triumphantly shaking it in the air. He squeezes a dollop onto his hands, and goes to rub it on his face —

His knees buckle, and he collapses to the floor so quickly he almost brains himself on the edge of the sink. The shaving cream smells so intensely of Keith that if Lance closes his eyes, he can pretend Keith is standing behind him, rubbing his prickly cheek on Lance’s because he knows it drives him insane.

He clutches the can until his knuckles turn white, and his vision goes blurry as his eyes fill with tears. He tries to breath through it, to swallow the lump in is throat. He hasn’t let himself cry since — since that day.

Keith left. He choose to leave. He wanted to leave. Why should Lance cry over him? Why should Lance miss him? Miss his hands, miss his smile, miss his heart, because that’s what Keith is, the very fucking heart beating in Lance’s chest —

The tears finally fall, and they don’t stop falling, and the smell of Keith is still so strong but he’s not fucking here, and Lance sobs until he throws up.

—

Keith stares blankly at the ceiling ahead of him, counting the seconds. It’s currently nearly four hours since he went to bed. He’s been entirely unable to sleep, even a little bit. He’s not used to the sleep schedule here, he’s hot, the sheets feel like fucking sandpaper, and worst of all no pillow clutched to his chest will never be a substitute for —

Yeah, he just misses Lance. He’s never slept as well as he has with Lance. He somehow has the softest sheets in the world, even though they were all given the same stuff when they first came to space. The two of them are also the perfect cuddling pair — Lance is always freezing, and Keith is always hot, so cuddling is always ideal.

Well, was. They were the perfect pair. Cuddling was always ideal.

They’re not anything anymore.

The thought doesn’t help Keith sleep.

—

The rest of the team does their best to stay in contact with Keith, but they don’t have much luck. Keith is sent on what seems to be dozens of missions a month, always in a different galaxy and seemingly without signal. They’re upset, but there’s nothing they can do.

Lance pretends he’s unaffected.

He is not.

In the middle of handing out supplies to refugees on one of the many planets Zarkon’s Empire has torn to shreds, Lance sees a flash of purple and black in the corner of his eye. He turns around so fast he feels like he might pull something, but he doesn’t care, because all he can see is a Blade that’s short for a Galra and their posture is defensive and their shoulders are broad and Lance forgets about his anger, about his hurt, and the only thought in his head is Keith, Keith, Keith —

“Keith!”

Before he knows it he’s sprinting for the Blade, calling Keith’s name over and over, desperation getting worse each time. He forgets that Keith doesn’t want anything to do with him, forgets that Keith left, that Keith doesn’t love him anymore —

“Keith! It’s me! It’s Lance!”

He stretches out a hand, because yes, maybe Keith’s still mad, hell, Lance is still mad, but they’ve fought before and they’ll fight again but they’ll be fighting together and that’s all that matters —

“Keith!”

He finally catches up to the Blade, curling an arm around their bicep, and he immediately knows something is wrong. The Blade deactivates their mask, and they’re not Keith. They’re not even humanoid. Lance feels his heart drop to his feet, feels the burn of tears that has been his constant companion for months make a reappearance.

“I — I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I mistook you for someone else. Sorry.” He runs off, not even back to the job he fucking needs to be doing, but his head hurts and his stomach hurts and his heart hurts and Keith is gone and he’s never coming back and —

Lance wants Keith to come back.

Lance needs Keith to come back.

—

Keith knows he shouldn’t, but he watches the Coalition Show live. He watches the whole team, proudly, but he pays special attention to Lance. Loverboy Lance, rather. He watches the team do their best to promote Voltron, even if they have to play characters they hate, but Lance seems to thrive. He captivates the crowd, laughing and shooting finger guns and having everyone watching swooning. He’s magnetizing, as he always is.

Keith hates it. He hates it so much. How is Lance fine? How is Lance just moving on, with no issues? Where is his heartbreak? Did Lance ever love Keith like Keith loved him? Or did he lose all his feelings when Keith walked out that door? Is that even possible?

Keith watches the paladins’ individual acts with a tight chest, angry and miserable. He can’t pay full attention, thinking over and over again about Lance and his smile and his complete lack of the same ache Keith feels every second of every day.

Lance’s individual act is last, leaving the audience on a high note. Keith should turn it off. He has no need to watch it. But he can’t, because it’s the closest he’s been to Lance in months, and Keith misses him just as fiercely as he did when he left.

Lance climbs up the ropes, back to the camera, the audience watching with bated breath. Then the music starts, and instead of the upbeat pop song Keith’s expecting, something slow plays — something sad.

Lance finally turns to face the camera and Keith gasps as he sees the raw pain in Lance’s dark eyes. Lance has never been good at keeping his eyes free of emotion, every feeling he’s having displayed clearly in the beautiful brown orbs, and today is no exception. His eyes are anguished, wet.

Lance dances to the song, and his misery is unmistakable. Every movement is wracked with pain and vulnerability, every curl and flip looks like he’s seconds away from letting himself drop to his death. Keith grips his holopad, heart pounding, terrified and strangely hopeful.

Lance is just as heartbroken as he is.

Maybe there’s a chance, for them. Maybe they haven’t reached their end.

Keith watches his show until the end, thinking hard. Maybe… maybe Lance is waiting for him. Maybe Lance wants to see him again. He pulls up his schedule, looking at all his upcoming missions. He has one big mission starting tomorrow, with someone named Krolia, to go scope out some old base. He’s got a fair bit of time off, after. Maybe he’ll go see the team.

Yeah. He’ll go with Krolia to the base, and then he’ll go talk to Lance.

Maybe they’ll fix things.

—

Keith doesn’t get to see Lance.

He doesn’t get to see anyone, actually. Not for years.

—

Lance has been neglecting his friends because of his mopefest, and he’s not having it. It’s been nearly half a year, since he’s been with Keith, and he still can’t sleep right. It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Being this heartbroken over some boy.

(Even if that boy was kind. Was brave. Was sweet, and smart, and thoughtful, and strong, and even if that boy what Keith, the love of his life —)

Lance needs to get his shit together.

He messages Hunk and Pidge, asking if they want to have a sleepover. They respond enthusiastically, agreeing to set up in Hunk’s room in an hour. Lance rushes through his skincare routine, because he knows he won’t have a chance to do the whole thing with his dorky best friends distracting him ever three seconds, and drags four blankets and two pillows over to Hunk’s room.

They set everything up in a nest on the floor, sitting in a cuddle pile together and talking and chatting and gossiping and generally having a good time. Lance almost forgets the constant ache of missing Keith.

Almost.

Eventually, though, Lance’s eyes begin to droop. It’s always been easier for him to sleep with someone else, so he can feel his exhaustion finally breaking as he snuggles up next to Hunk with Pidge leaning on his back. The last thing he hears are Pidge and Hunk dropping their voices to whispers.

He snaps awake and indeterminate amount of time later to the same two whispering voices dissolving into giggles.

“Wha’s funny?” he asks around a yawn, stretching out his arms. He’s still tired, he can’t have been out long.

“You were saying Keith’s name in your sleep,” Hunk teases.

“Yeah,” Pidge joins in, “I bet you guys have been talking nonstop. I bet you miss him so much. Your crush on him getting worse, huh, Loverboy?”

Lance freezes mid stretch.

They don’t know.

They can’t know, how much Lance misses Keith. Desperately. Painfully. Constantly.

“…Lance? You okay?”

Like clockwork, Lance feels the lump build in his throat, stubbornly sitting there even as he tries to swallow around it.

“I — I’m fine,” he assures, shooting them a weak smile. They don’t look convinced.

“Is there… something going on? Between you and Keith?”

Is there something going on between you and Keith?

Is there, Lance?

Is there?

Lance feels the lump get bigger, and the tears finally drop down his face. He recognizes the pain spreading through his chest, and he can’t break down in front of them.

“I have to go,” he chokes out, and rushes back to his room. He leaves his blankets and pillows, too panicked to care, and collapses on his bare mattress, the stuffed fabric muffling his sobs. He cries himself to sleep, again, and wakes up to his blankets carefully folded beside him and a pillow tucked under his head.

Pidge and Hunk walk on eggshells around him for weeks. Lance pretends not to notice.

—

The space whale is the worst place in the universe, Keith thinks. It’s a constant survival situation, he’s never safe, he’s fucking bored all the time, and worst of all he’s stuck with the woman who abandoned him when he was a baby.

Yeah. Not ideal.

He doesn’t know how to talk to Krolia. What the fuck is he supposed to stay? It’s bad enough that the damn whale projects scenes of Keith’s private life for Krolia to see, but what? Is he supposed to talk to her about it? Hash out their issues? Talk about Keith’s dad?

No. Keith’s not that desperate, yet. If he’s stuck on the stupid fucking whale much longer, he might be, but for now he fuels himself on rage and the reassurance that he’s gonna talk to Lance as soon as he gets off this piece of shit time dilation, or whatever.

Of course, it’s not like Keith ignores her. They need to rely on each other a little, after all. It would be stupid not to. But Keith ensures all their conversations are strictly business related, at least until she gives him a reason to treat her as anything other than a coworker.

“You wanna take first sleep?” Krolia offers. Maybe she’s trying to win his trust. It’s not working. Keith only accepts because he’s fucking tired, not because he’s accepting her olive branch.

He lies down on a grass-woven mat he made, curling his arms around his stomach and imagining he’s back on the Castle, in Lance’s bed, holding him close. It works well enough, knocking him out fairly quickly.

He dreams of Lance, as always. Of their time together, of the future they dreamed of.

“As soon as this stupid war is over, I’m gonna take you home, Keith. Straight to Varadero.”

“Yeah?” Keith asked, trailing his fingers down Lance’s face. Lance leaned into his touch, eyes closed in bliss.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “my family’s gonna love you. And then we’re gonna buy a little house, right on the beach, and spend every day with no stress and nothing but love.”

Keith smiled, eyes crinkling. “Tell me more.”

Lance turned his head to press a kiss to Keith’s palm, before snuggling closer and leaving his head on Keith’s chest. Right about his heart.

“Mm, okay. You’re gonna get that fixer upper bike you’ve always wanted, spend your mornings doing that. I’m gonna take up scrapbooking, maybe. Or gardening. Something pretty.”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah. Then we’ll spend the afternoons together, in the ocean.”

“Of course.”

“Mhm.” Lance’s breathing evened out, mumbling about their future right into dreamland.

“We’ll have that beach house, Lance,” Keith whispered into his hair, just before he nodded off himself. “I promise.”

Keith flinches as Lance’s cold hand brushes across the back of his neck, but his lips quirk up. Lance’s shitty circulation really never fails.

“Mph, s’too early, Lance,” he mumbles. “Come back to sleep.”

“Keith, it’s your turn on watch.”

Keith shoots up, tendrils of sleep falling away immediately at Krolia’s voice.

Right. He’s on the stupid fucking space whale. Not in bed with Lance.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He gets comfortable as he can on the rocky ground of the cave floor, looking morosely out the entrance.

I hope you’re waiting anyways, Lance.

I miss you.

—

“Wait, you haven’t heard from Keith either?”

“Not as of yet,” Kolivan says carefully. “It is unusual for him, but not so unusual for the Blade he is currently working with. I have full confidence that we will hear an update from them shortly.”

Shiro nods, as if that is at all an acceptable answer. “Good. Let us know when you hear something. Now, for the —”

“That’s it?” Lance demands. Shiro turns towards him, eyebrows raised and disappointed, but Lance holds his gaze. “‘We’ll keep you updated’? You’re satisfied with that?”

Shiro narrows his eyes at Lance, obviously annoyed with the interruption. “Kolivan has given us the information he has, Lance. No need to start something.”

“Keith is apparently fucking missing! Missing! And you’re just gonna lie there and accept it? Keith tore the fucking universe apart looking for you, Shiro, and you suddenly don’t care? He could be dead! He’s your brother, and —”

“Oh, so now you decide to care?” Shiro asks coldly. Lance rears back as if slapped, and Shiro smirks at him.

“Yeah, don’t give me that. I was there when he said goodbye, Lance, and you sure weren’t. You’ve claimed to hate him from day one.”

“T — that’s not true, I —”

“Oh? ‘Rivalry’ doesn’t ring a bell? C’mon, Lance,” Shiro attempts to sound reassuring, but all Lance can hear is condescension. “You’ve got your second to shine in the conversation, it’s time to drop it. Keith will turn up when he wants to turn up. You know how he is.” Shiro turns back towards Kolivan, back to Lance. A clear dismissal.

Lance gapes at Shiro’s back. What the shit was that? Shiro’s changed since he came back, sure, but in no universe did Lance ever expect to see Shiro dismiss the possibility that his little brother could be dead.

Lance clenches his hands together, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. Keith — Keith could be dead. And the last thing that Lance said to him was that he didn’t want him to come back.

All Lance wants if for Keith to come back.

—

The relief of finally being free of the fucking space whale is as overwhelming as it would have been two years ago.

Keith is different, now. He’s taller, for starters. Bigger. He has a dog, now, and a mom. A relationship with his mom, even. He’s had a lot of time to think, a lot of time to reflect, a lot of time to forgive himself and forgive others. A lot of time to grow and change.

One thing that has not changed, or even waned or lessened, is his love for Lance.

He knows, now, that he made a mistake. He wasn’t wrong, exactly — he needed to go. He needed to figure himself out. But he could have figured himself out and kept Lance, but he rushed, and he regrets it. He regrets how he left, the pain he knows he left with Lance. Now, he has to fix it. As he flies off the stupid whale, Kosmo and Krolia and Romelle and the fate of the Universe tucked safely in the pod with him, Keith thinks of Lance.

“Oh, hey, I think that’s the Neflexxer nebula,” Romelle comments, pointing out a swirling mass of turquoise and pink and spots of bright white stars. Keith gasps, almost doubling over.

“What the fuck are we doing, Lance?” Keith demanded, rough and annoyed. He had to look for his brother, and Lance was insisting on some frivolous joyride.

“You need to bond with Black,” Lance said matter-of-factly, voice tinny from Black’s speakers but no less firm. “You’re the only one of us who hasn’t spent any time with her. You’re wondering why you’re struggling so badly? It’s because y’all don’t talk.”

Keith glared through his window at Red, imagining he was glaring a hole right through to Lance’s stupid face. Why couldn’t he have gotten Hunk as a right hand, or something?

“Black and I are fine.”

“See, you speak, and it’s like all I hear is ‘Lance, please convince me I’m wrong’. It’s fun for me.”

“Can you just get to the fucking point so we can go back,” Keith snapped.

He couldn’t see it, but he knew that Lance rolled his eyes.

“Fine, fine. Jesus. See that nebula to your left?”

Keith glanced over, seeing a swirling and colourful nebula. A new one, by the looks of it.

“Yeah.”

“That’s Neflexxer. You know what it’s notorious for?”

“Get to the point, Lance.”

“Yeesh, okay. It’s got a lot of rock storms, asteroid belts. We’re gonna play a little game.”

Red twirled suddenly, facing the galaxy, looking ready to bolt.

“Think of it as a training exercise! And a way to get out your aggression! You’re gonna chase me and Red through the nebula, and if you catch us, well.” Keith could hear the grin in Lance’s voice, the competitive flair, and he found himself grinning a little, too. “If you catch me, you can do what you want with me. But you won’t.”

“I wouldn’t be so cocky, Cargo Pilot.”

“We’ll see, Dropout. See ya!”

Red fired off, a blur of red and silver in the dark backdrop of space.

“Hey!” Keith called, shooting after them.

Lance cackled, and the sound made Keith smirk.

“Oh, it’s on, you little fucker.”

“Come get me, Keith! Betcha can’t! In fact, Keith —”

“Keith!”

Keith startles out of his memories, only to see everyone looking at him in concern.

“Sorry. My bad. Let’s go.”

He pushes heavily on the thrusters, flying them as fast as they can go.

I’m coming, Lance.

Please still be waiting.

—

As much as Lance tends to enjoy himself at parties, or at least use them as a distraction, there’s nothing he wants less to be at this one, in the arms of some random stranger.

“You’re very beautiful,” compliments the stranger, who’s name Lance does not remember even slightly.

“Thank you,” Lance says tersely, pointedly avoiding eye contact. This feels wrong. Being in someone else’s arms, especially in a dance — Lance feels gross. It feels like a betrayal. Like cheating.

And that doesn’t make sense, because he doesn’t even know if Keith’s alive, let alone if Keith still wants him. Just the thought of what Lance said to him — Lance wouldn’t take himself back, either.

Regardless, Lance does his best to keep himself at arm’s distance, trying desperately to imagine that these stranger’s hands are rougher, covered in leather, touching him gently.

“You look bored,” Keith whispered.

“Of course I’m bored. This planet it boring.”

Keith snorted, turning it quickly into a cough lest they both get in shit.

“You know,” he said quietly after a moment, “I heard this planet has pretty good music, actually.”

“Not for us,” Lance whispered back. “They have some really expensive concerts open, I checked, but they’re all heavily gated. Most of them are happening right now, actually. We can’t go.”

“Huh.”

Keith turned back to the meeting, and Lance thought that was the end of the conversation. A half hour later, Keith stood abruptly, making a loud gasping noise.

“Oh, Lance, you’re feeling sick?” he asked, in a voice so clearly fake and practiced Lance would bash his head against the table if he didn’t want to laugh so hard.

“Oh, yes,” he said, playing along immediately. He pressed a hand to my stomach. “So sick. I need to leave immediately, I’m so sorry.”

The head of the meeting blinked worriedly at him, exchanging a look with the rest of the aliens. “You’re feeling unwell, Red Paladin?”

Lance nodded, doing his best to look pitiful. “Yes, terribly ill. So ill I might not be able to walk myself out of here. Very sudden.”

The head alien person pursed their lips, gesturing for the door. “Please, then, make haste for medical attention.”

“I’ll help him,” Keith announced, standing again and grabbing Lance gingerly by the shoulder. Lance bit back a giggle.

“Yes, much obliged, Black Paladin,” the alien agreed. “We shall continue when your paladin is at full health.”

Keith and Lance rushed out the door, barely holding in their laughter.

“You snake!” Lance teased, as Keith led him through a back path to a large, chain link fence. Keith leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Lance’s cheek.

“My baby wants to go dancing,” he responded, eyes twinkling. “I can’t very well withhold such a humble request!”

Lance rolled his eyes fondly, and the two hopped the fence as quickly as they could, sprinting towards the sound of music. They stopped just outside the venue, music plenty loud enough to hear. Keith turned to Lance, bowing playfully.

“May I have this dance?”

Lance yanked him back up, laughing, and the two twirl around, silly and offbeat, to songs that are barely meant to be danced to. They spend hours spinning around, dipping each other to their hearts’ content, and all Lance could think was how much he never wanted Keith to let him go.

“…which is why I think you would be an excellent mate,” the stranger continues, and Lance blinks. He glances subtly at his watch, and yikes. He’s had his head in the clouds for a couple hours, now, ignoring whatever the hell this rando is spewing. Time to ditch before this guy really gets some ideas.

“I’ll have to regrettably decline,” Lance says lightly, gracefully twirling away, and booking it for the door as soon as he’s out of sight.

Please be alive, Keith. I can’t do this without you.

—

Keith’s landing on the castle is a mess. It’s rushed. There’s a crisis, they have a homicidal prince to stop, but when Keith and Lance make eye contact on the bridge, for the first time in either eight months or two years, it’s like time slows to a stop. Like the world narrows to the two of them, everything and everyone else dropping off of it.

Lance takes the first step forward, reaching out like he’s not in control of his own hand, to cup Keith’s face like he always does. Like he always did.

But he hesitates, millimetres in front of Keith’s cheek, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed. There’s fear in his eyes.

“Lance,” Keith breaths, and slumps forward. Lance hand finally touches his face, and he doesn’t hesitate, this time, before rubbing a gentle thumb over his cheekbone.

“Keith,” he whispers, just as reverent. Keith brings up his hand to Lance’s, just to hold. Just to touch.

They stare at each other for what feels like decades, hungry eyes drinking in the sight they’ve missed and missed like you might miss the air when you’re too deep under water.

“I missed you,” Lance says, voice so quiet it’s barely audible. “Every day. All day. I missed you, and I waited for you.” A tear slips down his face. “I never stopped.”

Keith huffs a quiet laugh, eyelashes wet and salty. “I missed you too. I — I never meant to leave, Lance. Not like that. I’m sorry, I just —”

Lance brings up his other hand, cupping Keith’s face wholly, now. He wipes his tears, gently, slowly.

“I shouldn’t’ve said what I said. I didn’t mean it. I don’t think you’re a coward. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known, and I loved you for it. I still do.”

Keith leans down, pressing his forehead to Lance’s. He closes his eyes, feeling joy for the first time in days. Weeks. Months. Years.

“And you’re the most loyal. I love you too, Lance. I never stopped.”

Lance sobs, arms moving to wrap around Keith’s neck. He presses kiss after desperate kiss to Keith’s lip, muttering apologies and ‘I-love-yous’ between every peck. Keith does the same, arms tight around Lance waist, kissing back just as hard.

“We’ll try again, okay? Take two. No more running away.”

Lance nods quickly, breath hitching. “No more accusations. Take two. This one’ll be it, Keith. To the end. You and me.”

“You and me, Lance, always.”

#anyways i listened to the harold song like two hundred times and hurt my own feelings #so heres this #vld #voltron #keith #lance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance #langst #keith angst #klangst #post break up #make up #angst #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #clone shiro #season 4 fix it #season 5 fix it #season 6 fix it #blade keith #keith has abandonment issues #pining lance #pining keith #mutual pining #resolved tension #heartbreak #tall keith #brown-eyed lance

[read-a-hinny-fic]

Status: In Progress

Rating: T

Word Count: 38,371

Universe: Post-Hogwarts

Summary:

At 22, Ginny had lived through several lifetimes worth of misery. She’d been deceived, betrayed, and possessed, her very soul almost wrung out into nothing. She’d been subordinated, humiliated, and tortured. Lived almost an entire year surrounded by enemies. Fought Death Eaters and dementors and giant spiders. Been heartbroken, anguished, and grief stricken. Lost friends and mentors and a brother.

And through it all, she’d survived… because of luck, or sheer force of will.

Maybe a little of both.

If she could suffer and endure and prevail through all of that… she could live through some anonymous wanker plaguing her with badly written poetry.

(I am loving this bodyguard AU and can't wait to see where it's going. Ginny's character is so robust too. Quite the feast.)

#Harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny #hp fic recs #post hogwarts #multi chapter #post break up #bodyguard AU

[saiikavon]

“Loretta” by ginger root :)

(Sorry this took me a bit, but thank you for the prompt!)

"I don't get you, Kaiba."

He didn't mean to say it out loud. Out loud meant a confrontation, and they'd had what should have been the final one a month ago, followed by a media storm that saw their already-burning relationship reduced to ashes.

Jounouchi would carry the scars forever. He didn't want to add to them.

He wasn't sure what to expect out of Kaiba, after, but he still expected...more. Some backlash following the argument, or else a complete shutdown. Not...this. Not for Kaiba to reset himself and essentially go back to the way things were before they got together.

Same banter. Same disdainful looks. Same level of acknowledgement. Same damn posture as Kaiba turned to respond to the offhand comment, same frown pulling at his lips.

"There's a surprise. I'll wager there isn't much you do get."

"See, that's what I mean! Every time I think you're done getting into my head, you find some new way to mess with me, and I - I don't know how to - god." Jounouchi ran a hand through his hair. "How do you act like this? Like we never happened?"

Kaiba tilted his head, eyes narrowing. Like he was trying to figure out Jounouchi's angle, as if he'd ever had one.

"It's called 'moving on,' deadbeat. I suggest you try it sometime."

He didn't stay to hear another response, and Jounouchi wondered if he was just imagining the hollowness to his steps as he walked away.

#yugioh #puppyshipping #violetshipping #post break up #angst

[nadsdraws]

In Exchange

(Inspired by that one fanart with Ed/Izzy AU)

"I don't understand," Izzy squeezes the empty can of beer that clanks to the floor. "I tried, I really fucking tried so hard to make it work. Everything I've done was for you." The computer screen in front of him doesn't respond, merely reflects the blue hued light on Izzy's face. He's tired and his eyes hurt—he's been staring at the simple, short notification in front of him for far too long.

Edward Teach in a relationship with Stede Bonnet.

There is a dull pain in between his ribs that feels suspiciously like something cracking inside his chest, but that's impossible. Heart is a muscle, not a bone that can be broken. It doesn't stop when you decide not to move on.

Still, it makes him feel like he's drowning, like his lungs got flooded with liquid he cannot cough up. Suddenly he can't breathe. Something within has set its cold tendrils around him and is pulling him deeper into the abyss.

It's nothing new, it shouldn't be. They have broken up before, they had their spats, quarrels and low points. They screamed at each other at the top of their lungs and slammed the doors hard enough to shatter them. But at the end of the day, they were in this together and Izzy didn't think there was anything in this world that could break them apart.

Not until Stede Bonnet showed up.

How was Izzy supposed to know when Edward walked out the door that it was for the last time?

He stares at the familiar face—now so different from how he remembered it—gone is Edward's long beard and the sadness in his eyes that Izzy was never able to chase away.

He is not stupid, he can see Ed is happy in a way he hasn't been in years. That he needed something Izzy could never give him. It doesn't matter that he has given Ed his everything, but in exchange he's got…nothing. No way of fixing it. They were just two wrong people at the wrong time.

What is left for Izzy Hands now, but old memories and few faded photographs? Reduced to the fencing trophies he doesn't even care for.

"All I ever wanted was you." Izzy mutters to himself, closing the laptop. "I'm sorry I couldn't be what you needed in return."

Nadzieja on AO3

Ofmd drabbles: 1 | 2

#ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #blackhands #israel hands #ed/izzy #edward teach #edward x izzy #our flag means death fanfic #drabble #post break up #they are exes #angst #grief #my writing #ficlet #edizzy

[bts-fic-collection]

Hi can you recommend me some Jikook angst fics ??

I love HEAVY ANGST ,Heartbreak,exes is also okay for me.

Make me cry😕

I can indeed! :)

somebody you can lean on by tuesdead

Rating: G

Status: Complete

Word count: 6,723

Summary: Jimin has been really distant with the boys over the last few weeks, and Jungkook can't take it anymore: he needs to get to the bottom of this.

Knock On My Door (It's Always Open For You) by CaseyLove

Rating: M

Status: Complete

Word count: 30,000

Summary: Jimin’s heart is nothing but collateral damage in the wake of Jungkook’s charm.

Even after all this time, Jimin’s heart still thuds in his chest a little harder, a little faster, every time he does something even remotely attractive. But after blindly loving Jungkook for seven years, he finally comes face to face with a reason to give up on his unrequited love once and for all.

Or, in which Jungkook always visits Jimin when he’s lonely, and everything changes when their extended vacation is announced and Jimin starts pulling away from Jungkook to overcome his feelings.

I still love you, I promise by Potatogirrrl

Rating: M

Status: Complete

Word count: 37,456

Summary: “Jeongguk,” Jimin whispered in a tone so kind that Jeongguk thought he might suffocate. “I’m so sorry.” Those three words managed to make the taller man’s smile falter but before the blond could continue, that seemingly happy expression was back in place. “I wish –”

“Congratulations on your engagement, Jimin-ah,” Jeongguk cut in, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. Frankly, he couldn’t care less about apologies so when he saw the man in front of him nod and turn around on his heels, he felt his whole body relaxing.

It has been five years since they last saw each other – five years in which he did his best to dodge any possibility of meeting Jimin. Whatever gods made that man walk inside his café during the opening day sure had a wicked sense of humor so he found himself chuckling dryly as he dragged a smoke from his just-lit cigarette. He pressed his back against the backdoor entry just before tears started to prickle his eyes, Jimin’s words ringing in his ears over and over again.

There were days in which he wished they had never met at all.

OR

The story in which Jimin and Jeongguk learn to believe in second chances ♡

#ask #jikook #jimin #jungkook #angst #post break up #enemies to lovers #Rating: M #Rating: G

[starrnobella]

Title: Anchorage

Written for thescarletphoenixx

Quote: “I don’t know what else I could do to convince you that I really did love you at one point.”

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov

Rated General Audience

Summary: Anchorage: (n.) the desire to hold on to time as it passes, like trying to keep your grip on a rock in the middle of a river, feeling the weight of the current against your chest while your elders float on downstream, calling over the roar of the rapids, “Just let go—it’s okay—let go.”

When Steve and Bucky lose communications with Natasha on a mission, Natasha is flooded with the memories of a time where she and Steve were more than just good friends.

Word Count: 981

Links:

FFN:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14199024/1/Falling-Starrs-Anchorage 

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45085372

#starrnobella writes #falling starrs #steve rogers x natasha romanov #steve rogers #natasha romanov #break up #post break up

[sweetlixes]

wait till i hear our song

(★) fandom: skz (★) ships: minho/felix (★) rating: not rated (★) 1187 words (★) completed (1/1)

Felix waits. Waits until the radio plays the song, like clockwork everyday at 3 AM. Then he gets up and dances with Minho.

link

Russian translation: here Vietnamese translation: here

#minlix #skz #skz fics #char: lee felix #char: lee minho #ship: minlix #angst #post break up #sorry guys apparently i really went off with this one #ao3 link #kara's skz fics