Lowkeyy want to write some one shots for the UKyt boys, please send me in some requestsssss
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@kingcliit
Lowkeyy want to write some one shots for the UKyt boys, please send me in some requestsssss
I alwayss see people making sad or hot stuff abt Patrick Feely, and as u said your request of BOT are open I just thought that asking you to do a fluff Patrick Feely would be a great idea, something like friends to colored friendship to lovers ig or something just friends to lovers (I love that trope)
CROSSING LINES- Patrick Feely
Warnings- absolutely zero, just Patrick Feely my man in all his glory🌟
A/n- I am SO SORRY I’ve been away for so long, I’ve started a new job and I’ve been so busy. I’ve also tried doing pictures and a bigger title so please let me know if it looks good??? Also let me know what you think of the story ofc, thanks besties xxxxx
Patrick Feely had always hated the rain.
Not because it soaked through his school blazer or turned the roads of Cork into rivers of muck and puddles, but because rain meant thinking too much. Rain meant long walks home with nothing but his own thoughts and the sharp ache in his chest he never talked about.
And lately, all he could think about was you.
You and Patrick had been best friends since the age of 12 years old when you both joined Tommen.
The girl who sat beside him at the back of chemistry because she was the only one who could read his awful handwriting.
The girl who stole chips off his tray at lunch and wore his hoodies without asking.
The girl who had become so woven into his life that Patrick genuinely didn’t know where he ended and she began.
Which was exactly the problem.
Stood at the lockers in school with his friends around him, Patrick felt a sense of unease, he knew it was because he hadn’t seen you walk through the school doors yet.
The school corridors were buzzing with students bustling by, going about their own days. Taking no notice of them, Patrick kept his eye trained on the door.
“Jesus, Feely,” Gibsie said around a mouthful of crisps, “you’re staring holes through the entrance.”
Patrick shoved him lightly. “Am not.”
“You are.”
“Shut up.”
Gibsie grinned. “Waiting for your wife?”
“She’s not my wife.”
“Yet,” Hughie muttered.
Patrick flipped both of them off.
Then the doors burst open, letting in a gust of cold October wind and you stumbled in, laughing breathlessly as you were fighting with your umbrella.
“There she is,” Gibsie sang.
Patrick ignored him, taking no notice
Because you looked freezing and he hated it.
Cheeks were pink from the cold, dark curls damp around your shoulders, tie hanging loose around your neck. Spotting Patrick instantly caused your face to light up in a way that always did strange things to his chest.
“There you are,” you said, marching over. “Your mother made those scones again, didn’t she?”
Patrick blinked. “Hello to you too.”
“Do you have them?”
He sighed dramatically and reached into his bag. “You only love me for baked goods.”
Snatching the container from him with a victorious grin you answered. “Correct.”
The boys around them groaned.
“That’s romance if I’ve ever seen it,” Gibsie muttered.
You rolled your eyes and leaned against Patrick’s shoulder while opening the container.
And there it was again.
That feeling.
Warm.
Patrick swallowed hard.
Later that night, after Patrick had spent all day trying to keep you warm after your lips had started turning blue in first lesson. You both lay on his bedroom floor surrounded by books that weren’t being read.
Music played softly from Patrick’s stereo.
Patrick’s arms had your calf resting in them as he was strumming against your leg like it was his guitar
Looking back at him giggling, you turn back round and carry on doodling in your notebook, when a thought came to mind.
“You ever think about leaving Cork?” You thought out loud
Patrick looked over. “Where would I go?”
“Anywhere.”
He shrugged. “Never really thought about it.”
“I want to see everything.”
“You hate flying.”
“I know but still”
Patrick smiled faintly.
He knew that you always dreamed bigger than everyone else . Bigger than their town. Bigger than expectations.
He admired that about you.
However, it did bring fear to him as well, he realised that one day you might discover your worth and grow out of Cork, leaving him on his dads farm with all his aspirations in the mud.
“You’d come visit me, though?” You added quickly, hating how much your voice shook with worry.
He looked at you then, as you had finally took your leg from his hands and turned to face him, legs crossed .
He looked into your eyes, taking in all features of your face like it was the last time he’ll ever see it
Taking in all the freckles scattered over your nose and cheeks
At the softness in your eyes
At the way you trusted him completely.
“Always,” he said roughly.
Something shifted in the room. You felt it as well as you felt your smile falter a little. The silence was stretched and too long to feel comfortable.
Patrick’s pulse thudded painfully in his chest.
Sitting up abruptly you decided to put and end to the awkward silence, not liking the places your brain was taking you to during it.
“Right,” you announced too brightly, “I’m starving.”
And the moment disappeared.
Things changed after Christmas. It was a subtle change at first, it wouldn’t be noticeable to the outside eye, but to the two in the friendship the change was unbelievably drastic.
Patrick became hyperaware of every touch, every glance that landed on him from across the classroom during school. Every time you curled up against him during your weekly movie night.
He didn’t realise you felt the same, deliberately stealing his hoodies, not because you were ‘cold’ but because you loved the smell of them. It reminded you of him.
Patrick even began to feel fire at the pit of his belly when you spoke to any other boys.
When you started talking to Darren Murphy from sixth year, Patrick nearly lost his mind.
“He asked me to the social,” you said to Patrick one afternoon while you both sat outside near the rugby pitch.
Patrick forced himself to sound normal.
“Did he?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s…good.”
You frowned slightly. “You don’t sound excited.”
“I am”
“You hate Darren don’t you”
“I don’t hate him” he huffed
Patrick absolutely hated him.
Studying him carefully you gently added “you’re acting strange Pa”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He stood abruptly. “I’ve got training.”
“Patrick—”
“I’ll see you later.”
He walked away before you got the chance to stop him.
Because if he didn’t walk away that moment in time he realised he may have said something he didn’t want to just yet.
Such as don’t go with him.
Such as I’m in love with you and it’s ruining me.
The winter social was absolute torture.
Patrick stood near the gym wall in a shirt that suddenly felt too tight around the throat while watching you dance with Darren beneath flashing lights.
Gibsie winced beside him. “Mate.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look homicidal.”
Patrick dragged a hand through his hair.
A familiar laughter shot through the air, and Patrick felt irrational fury claw through him.
He looked over and noticed Darren’s hand was resting on your waist.
He couldn’t believe the utter jealousy that was coursing through his veins at this moment.
“You should tell her” he heard a voice come from next to him, the voice belonging to his close friend Hugh Biggs
Patrick scoffed. “And ruin everything?”
“Maybe you already are.” Hugh added with a shrug
That hit harder than Patrick expected.
Before he could answer, you looked across the crowded gym.
Straight at him.
And suddenly the smile wasn’t on your face anymore.
Twenty minutes later you walked out the front of the hall for some air.
Patrick stood beneath the covered entrance, rain hammering the pavement beyond, a puff of smoke blew out of his mouth as you caught a glimpse of the cigarette in his hand. Glassy eyes looking out into the distance, he hadn’t realised you were there yet.
“You left,” you said softly.
He shrugged.
“Patrick.”
“What?”
“Talk to me” you sighed “please”
He laughed bitterly. “About what?”
“Whatever’s going on with you lately.”
He stayed silent.
You took a tentative step closer. “Did I do something wrong?”
That nearly broke him.
“No,” he said immediately. “Jesus, no.”
“Then what is it?”
Patrick looked away, because he couldn’t pluck up the courage to say it, couldn’t survive the thought of hearing she didn’t feel the same
You had known him for too long to know this wasn’t about nothing, taking a step towards him and placing yourself directly infront of him, slotting yourself in between his knees.
“Look at me Pa, please” you softly begged.
He did.
Big mistake.
Taking one look into your eyes just about broke Patrick, they were so soft and full of emotion, the one emotion coming to the forefront was worry.
“I miss you” was the most painful three words that could have come out of your mouth, they cut Patrick so deep. “You’ve been pulling away from me for weeks now” you sighed.
Patrick’s throat tightened.
“I’m trying not to.”
“Why?”
Patrick exhaled shakily. “Because I can’t watch you fall for somebody else.”
You froze, at the exact same time a crack of thunder shot out above the both of you, none of you two moved a muscle, staring into the others eyes
“What?” You whispered.
He laughed once, miserable. “There it is.”
“Patrick…” you breathed out
“I’m sorry, alright? I never meant for this to happen.”
Your expression changed then. Not horror or pity or any of the other emotions Patrick expected to flash across your face when he told you, instead it was something positive, something hopeful
“You idiot” you breathed out, hitting him on the shoulder
Patrick frowned. “What?”
You stepped closer until your legs were fully nestled into his and your bodies were so close he had no choice but to stare up directly into your eyes.
“You really don’t know?” You asked causing his heart to pound violently.
“Know what?”
“That I’ve been in love with you since second year”
Everything stopped. Patrick just stared at you, almost as if he was waiting for you to say you were joking, or for his friends to jump out and start laughing like this was all one big prank.
Shaking your head and laughing nervously you added “I thought you knew. Everyone else seemed to.”
Patrick sighed, a mixed between content and confusion
“You’re the person I look for first in every room,” she whispered. “You’re my favorite part of every day.”
Patrick felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“You’re serious?”
She rolled her eyes watery-eyed. “No, Patrick, I came out into freezing rain for a laugh.”
And suddenly he was smiling. Really smiling, from ear to ear for what felt like the first time in forever.
Then you reached up slowly, fingertips brushing his jaw and Patrick swore he felt like he might burst into flames on the spot, no matter how much rain was pouring down.
“If you don’t kiss me now,” you murmured, “I might actually scream.”
Patrick didn’t hesitate again.
He kissed her hard and desperate beneath the stormy Cork sky, one hand cradling the back of her neck while she clung to his shirt
And the strange thing was it didn’t feel new or like they had to get used to it, it felt inevitable. Like every moment of their friendship had slowly but surely led them to this moment.
You pulled back and took the time to really take a deep look into Patrick’s eyes which were swimming with yearning and love.
“Took you long enough,” you whispered.
Patrick laughed softly, still stunned.
“I was terrified.”
“Of me?”
“Of losing you.”
Your expression softened instantly.
“You never will.”
And for the first time in his life, Patrick Feely believed someone completely.
Guys I’m literally so rundown and poorly but I WILL be getting around to more requests during this week xoxox
I need some gibsie fluff pleaseee 😩😩 maybe the reader is having a bad day and gibsie trying to cheer them up x
Gibsie x f!reader
Warnings: none
A/N: this is my first ever imagine/ one shot😖😖😖please be kind! I hope it’s what you wanted!!! I loveeeee gibs and can imagine him being so kind and caring. Hope you guys love, please let me know what you like/ didn’t like so I can work on it xoxox
Coming home from school early was second nature at this point, dipping out of class quickly after telling your mum to come and pick you up. Not listening to the teacher shouting out after you, the shouts began to drown out when your breathing became laboured and it felt like the walls were inching closer by the second.
“Fuck” you whispered to no one in particular
Knowing you had to get outside before the panic attack consumes you, breaking out into a run with the unnecessarily large school doors in sight.
Pushing them open the fresh air smacked you in the face like a harsh come down into reality, scanning the car park you spotted your mams car, steadying yourself on your feet you took a deep breath and began walking.
Your mam didn’t say anything when you got into the car, just gave you a knowing smile and patted your thigh, you appreciated her not prying, she know you’d be able to talk to her about it later.
A couple of hours later, having turned your phone off because it was blowing up with messages from everyone, querying where you were and what happened.
Soft knocking sounded at your bedroom door in a familiar rhythm. You hummed a response and looked up to see a familiar mop of blonde curls poking round the door.
Gerard Gibson in all his glory.
“Hey,” he says gently, voice low and warm, like it’s wrapping around you before his arms even do.
You don’t realize how close you are to tears until you stand up to greet him and he pulls you into his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head. “Bad day?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your hair.
You nod against him, and he just holds you tighter.
“C’mere,” he whispers, guiding you towards the bed, not letting go for even a second. He sits down and tugs you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, brushing his thumb under your eye. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve got you.”
There’s something steady about him something that makes the noise in your head quiet down, breathing felt easy, even with tears steadily streaming down your face.
“You know,” he says softly, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him, “you’re still my favorite person. Even on your worst days.”
You smile up at him, finding solace in his warm grey eyes.
“Even though you turned your phone off and ignored my messages”
You huff a small laugh, and he smiles like he’s just won something.
“Thought so,” he teases lightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead this time. “We’ll fix today, yeah? We can even take a walk down to the chipper if you want, which I hope you do as cap fucked me up at practice today and we’ll come back get under a blanket, and you can pretend the world doesn’t exist for a bit.”
His arms tighten around you again, warm and safe and certain. Placing your legs on either side of his own, you take a long hard look into his eyes once more. You couldn’t help but smile every time you looked into his eyes.
“ My beautiful gorgeous sexy baby momma” he smirked before placing numerous sloppy kisses over your face
“Gibs!” You squeal throwing your head back laughing.
Looking up at you with eyes as bright as a summer day that Ireland never gets to see.
“Fuck I love your laugh more than anything and I love even more when I’m the one who’s caused it”
“My beautiful girl” he whispers before placing one last kiss, this one on your lips.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he adds quietly. “Not tonight. Not ever if I can help it.”
And for the first time all day, you believe things might actually be okay.
I want to start writing one shots about the boys of tommen mennnn. Smut, angst or fluff I don’t mind! However I have NO idea where to start or who to write about. Please give me requests I’m happy to do whatever or whoever!! My requests are open💞💞💞💞
In another life im throwing shapes with gibsie while wearing a pink feather boa and cowboy hat
I will always defend hughliz
FOREVER! My babies
hello queen
this has been in my head all week and i know you would do it justice🙏
but what about Gibsie x shy!reader
like she rarely talks except to Gibsie and her close friends (can be the core 10) and outsiders wonder how they’re together because they’re so different but it works because the reader loves listening and not talking and Gibs loves talking and does the talking for them
and Gibs always knows what she wants without her having to say it out loud if she’s in a very large space where she’s not comfortable talking
i hope this makes sense and thank you queen if you write this🙏🙏
enough words for both of us
pairing: gerard gibson x fem!reader
tw: none !
a/n: mb it took a little while, lowkey have zero energy and shit tons of school work but hoping it’s up to ur standards
masterlist !
𝓗ughie Biggs who simply cant seem to help himself by littering your skin within soft kisses, always.
teasing was invariably one of your strong suits. wether it be by pressing a soft, tender kiss upon hughies gorgeous lips before running off within a plea of giggles, or much naughtier within the sense of leaving him hanging a few times too many for his liking, it had always been a reoccurrence between you two, one hughie had endlessly loved despite claiming he loathed it entirely.
this moment was no different, hughie had been kissing, well, attempting to kiss you for what felt like years now, though each & every time his mouth would ghost over your own youd turn away within the last second, aimlessly erupting into a fit of amusement riddled giggles afterwards.
to say hughie was displeased would be both an understatement and a lie, contrary to the both being so incredibly opposing.
the smile glazing his lips showcased the fond amusement, though the scoff inevitably physicalising the internal warfare he was facing.
“baby, i swear ta’ christ himself if you dodge my kiss one more time-“
he begins to utter within that gentle warning tone that had always seemed to be enough to make your brain switch to mush, his words trailing off within a smooth velvety laugh, a warning within itself.
you let him have it for a second, feigning innocence as your hands gently cup either side of his neck, not holding, simply resting.
your nose bumps against his own, mouths practically touching for a beat, then another, then perhaps one more.
all before you pull away entirely the second you feel him begin to properly close the gap.
your head falls back within a plea of giggles, throat & neck upon perfect display, that sharp brain of his instantly switching on, finding the solution he’d desperately craved all along.
“right, thats enough”
he chuckles, his hands gently grasping upon your waist, delicate, soft, simply grounding.
he crowds closer, lips beginning to leave site slow, tender open mouthed kisses on the vicinity of your throat, leaving absolutely zero time for you to squirm away, or even consider arching out of his touch.
i mean, teasing or otherwise, you could never refuse hughies neck kisses, not even for a moment, and that was something he cherished within moments like these.
your body grows softer immediately, the defiant lint immediately coaxing out of your body within harsh waves of haste, leaving you pure mush within his hands, quite literally.
your eyes flutter shut within a dreamy sigh of contentment as he continues to coat the sensitive skin of your neck within innocent kisses of affection, leaving your whole body thrumming within soft bliss.
he cant help but grin against your skin as he feels your body grow lax, a smooth vibrational hum flowing against his kisses only seconds later, far too pleased within himself.
“not gonna push these ones away, are ya, baby?”
he rasps against your skin, earning a dazed & slow shake of the head within response, indicating that no, you were most certainly not going to arch away from such pleasant kisses.
“thats what i thought.”
salty makeouts
Arguing with Patrick Feely felt like standing on the edge of a cliff during a thunderstorm—one moment it was all wind and the scent of salt in the air, thrilling and alive, and the next you were being hurled into crashing waves below. It always started quietly, cautiously. Like two people trying not to wake a sleeping giant. But inevitably, one word—just one—would send everything spiraling.
You had been standing in the middle of his bedroom when it happened. The place was dimly lit, only the soft golden glow of the old lamp on his nightstand throwing pools of light on the deep navy walls. His guitar leaned lazily against the edge of the bookshelf, schoolbooks were strewn across the desk in his usual half-chaotic fashion. It smelled like sandalwood and something sweet—his cologne. Familiar, comforting, even when everything else felt sharp.
“You’re being crazy!”
There it was. The word. That word.
You froze. Your body stiffened like you’d just walked into icy water. You blinked once, then again, like if you did it enough times, the sting behind your eyes would go away.
He realized it the moment it left his mouth. His expression shifted, regret flickering in his dark eyes for just a second. But then, as always, pride got in the way.
“Oh, I see. Sorry for trying to be enough for Patrick fucking Feely,” you said, voice trembling like the air before a storm. You folded your arms tightly over your chest, more to keep yourself from shaking than anything else.
“Maybe stop trying so hard,” he snapped, tone sharp. “It’s suffocating. You’re suffocating.”
You flinched. Your lip trembled before you could stop it. “That’s mean, Pat. You’re being mean.”
“No, I’m not being mean. I’m being real,” he said, taking a step away, as if distance would soften the blow. “Ever since you came back from Dublin, you’ve been… different. I can’t deal with this right now. I should go.”
Oh, that’s how it is…
“Yeah,” you whispered, though your heart was roaring. “Yes, you should.”
He didn’t look at you again. Just turned, grabbed his jacket off the back of his desk chair, and left. The door slammed behind him, vibrating through your bones.
For a few moments, you just stood there, staring at the space he left behind. His scent still lingered in the air. His hoodie was still draped over the edge of the bed. There was an empty mug on the nightstand—he’d made you tea that morning. That version of him, the one who made tea and sang you songs when you couldn’t sleep, felt like a ghost now.
You dropped onto the bed, knees folding in, your back curling like a dying leaf. Then the tears came. Not the pretty kind. The ugly, heaving, choking kind. The kind that leaves your face blotchy and your chest hollow. You weren’t even crying over the fight—you were crying because you believed him. Because deep down, that small, cruel voice in your head had been whispering the same thing for weeks: You’re too much.
The next day at Tommen was a blur. The school looked the same, but everything felt different. The halls were filled with laughter and chatter, but it passed over you like smoke. You kept your head down, eyes fixed on the floor tiles like they held all the answers.
In class, you sat next to Shannon, who was practically glowing as she spoke about her weekend in Dingle with Kav. Her fingers twisted through her curls as she described the seaside cottage, the firelit dinners, the moonlit walks on the shore. You nodded along, offered smiles in the right places, but your mind was elsewhere. Stuck on that moment in Patrick’s room. That word. Crazy.
You didn’t look behind you, because you knew. You could feel him. That strange gravity Patrick Feely always carried—his stare burning holes in the back of your neck. But he didn’t approach. And neither did you.
The walk home was miserable. A thin drizzle coated the streets in a slick sheen, and the grey sky seemed to mirror your mood perfectly. The route along the canal was usually your favorite—lined with cherry trees and little stone benches—but today it felt too open, too exposed. Like the world was watching you unravel.
That night, sleep never came. You lay in bed staring at the ceiling, counting the rotations of the fan, your thoughts spiraling faster than the blades. You didn’t eat. You skipped your meds. You drowned yourself in schoolwork, hoping to quiet the noise.
But Patrick’s voice kept echoing.
The third day after the fight, something snapped. You grabbed your coat, pulled on his hoodie—you hadn’t been able to stop wearing it, no matter how much it hurt—and left your house with no real destination in mind. Your feet just… moved.
You ended up at the lake.
It was raining again. Not a drizzle—proper Irish rain, coming down in sheets. The kind of rain that soaked you through no matter how fast you ran. But you didn’t run. You walked slowly, letting the cold water seep into your shoes, your hair plastering to your face, your fingers trembling.
The lake was surrounded by trees, dark and wild, the kind that seemed to hold secrets. You’d come here with him before. Once, after a particularly bad anxiety attack, he’d brought you here. Sat you on a blanket, wrapped you in his arms, and talked about nonsense until you smiled.
Now you stood on the edge, arms wrapped around your own body, sobbing so hard it felt like your ribs might crack. “You said you’d never leave when it got hard,” you whispered to no one, voice raw.
“I didn’t,” came a voice behind you.
You froze.
Slowly, you turned.
The rain came down harder now, like the sky itself was falling apart. Cold water streamed down your back, soaking Patrick’s hoodie clinging to your frame, and yet you barely noticed. Every nerve in your body was locked on him.
Patrick stood just a few feet away, chest rising and falling beneath his drenched T-shirt, jaw tense, fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust his own body not to reach for you.
“I didn’t leave,” he said again, hoarse.
You blinked at him, raindrops mingling with the tears on your cheeks. “You walked out, Patrick. You let me fall apart. You let that word leave your mouth and then you just… left.”
“I know,” he whispered, as if even saying it caused him physical pain. “I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now. I’ve been carrying it around since I closed that fucking door. I wanted to turn around the second I left.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
His eyes searched yours, helpless and hollow. “Because I’m a coward. Because loving you means seeing parts of myself I don’t like. Because sometimes you look at me like I’m the only thing holding you together, and it scares the hell out of me. Because I didn’t think I deserved to be your person. Not when I couldn’t fix what was hurting you.”
“I didn’t ask you to fix me,” you said, voice cracking. “I just needed you to stay. Even if I was messy. Especially because I was messy.”
“I know. I know that now. And I am so—” he stepped forward, his voice breaking—“so sorry I made you think you weren’t enough. You’re not suffocating. You never were. I was drowning in my own fear and I lashed out like a bloody coward.”
Your bottom lip trembled, and you bit it hard to keep it from fully quivering. You hated how much you wanted to believe him. How even now, after everything, you still wanted to run to him and bury yourself in the comfort of his arms.
But he saw it—the flicker of hope in your eyes—and that’s all he needed.
He stepped closer. One step. Then another. Slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.
You didn’t stop him.
“I miss you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I miss you so much it physically hurts. I miss your laugh. Your weird obsession with that ridiculous cardigan. The way you whisper my name when you’re half asleep. I miss us, and I know I don’t deserve to ask you to forgive me but—”
You reached out before he could finish.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, dragging him the final inch toward you until your foreheads touched. His breath hitched as he leaned into the contact, eyes fluttering closed.
“I hate how much I love you,” you whispered.
A single breath passed between you.
Then your lips crashed into his.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or pretty. It was desperate. Like kissing him was the only way to stop the ache in your chest. Like if you didn’t kiss him now, your bones might shatter from the weight of missing him.
He groaned into your mouth, one hand flying to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your soaked hair as he kissed you like he’d been starving. His other hand found your waist, pulling you tightly against him, like he couldn’t stand even a millimeter of distance.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your lips between kisses. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You kissed him again, harder, your hands framing his face. “You hurt me,” you whispered against his skin.
“I know,” he said, eyes red, voice barely holding it together. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. His breath hitched under your touch.
“I don’t want promises,” you said. “I just want you. Real. Scared. Messy. But here.”
“I’m here,” he breathed. “God, I’m so here.”
And then you kissed again slower this time. Painful in its tenderness. His lips moved like he was trying to memorize the shape of yours all over again, like every second he’d gone without you was being rewritten in that moment.
He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth. Your eyelids. Reverent. Apologetic. Devoted.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Even when I’m the worst version of myself. Even when you can’t see it. I love you.”
You let yourself fall into him completely, arms wrapping around his waist as he buried his face in your neck, holding you like he was afraid the wind would tear you from him if he let go.
And there, standing in the rain by the lake—two heartbreaks stitched together with saltwater and apologies—you knew you were choosing each other again.
Not because it was easy.
But because love like this was worth it
If I don’t end up with a rugby boyf I fear I may die xx
Gibsies drunk messages to you xox
First post and I have no idea what I’m doing on here! Let me know what you think and if you would want to see the other BOT boys drunk texts💋