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Literature Text
[Hold me responsible, it’s all my fault…]
“Look at me, bitch!”
A rough hand grips your chin and forces it up, trying to your eyes to him. Your face is impassive.
“I said, look at me!”
You slowly turn your eyes from the ground to his. His nose is only a few inches from your own, and you can see his teeth are clenched tight.
“Yes, Mattie?” Your voice is soft, but more than a whisper.
“Don’t call me Mattie.” a deadly hiss seeps through his lips. It smells like cigarettes and alcohol.
“Yes, Matthew.” Your eyes have darted down to the ground again. A growl rumbles through his throat.
“Don’t ignore me! I hate being ignored!” another hand wraps around your wrist and squeezes painfully. A sharp inhale pierces your lungs. You force yourself to be calm, to take deep, slow breaths.
Your eyes find his again. You give a weak, reluctant smile.
“People didn’t notice me today,” he says, his voice ripping through the calm. “Why didn’t they notice me?”
“I don’t know, Matthew.”
You keep your gaze unwillingly. You’ve learned the best thing to do is to stay calm and keep your eyes on him. His grip on your arm tightens, and you reel back a gasp.
“It’s you,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry, Matthew. I don’t really understand what you mean.”
“Do you love me?”
“Of course I do.”
“That’s why.” he rasps, his face within an inch of yours. “They think I’m soft, they think I love you too. But I don’t.” he spits, and you flinch.
“You don’t?”
“No. No. You’re just an ugly little slut,” he sounds almost happy now. “Who could love you?”
He shoves you forcefully onto the pavement with a sneer. Then he turns on his heel and stumbles away.
You can tell yourself he’s drunk (which he is, of course). You can tell yourself he’s insane (which he also is), and that he doesn’t deserve anybody, much less you. You can tell yourself so many excuses, so many ways out.
But in your eyes, every scar is a trait, not a flaw. He has a good side and a bad side, and though the good side is rare he’s shown it to you, left him vulnerable, whether for the better or the worse. He’s made his choices, and you’ve made yours, both with at least some mistakes.
He may be twisted, but the truth is you love him.
And he doesn’t love you.
[…I want you to hold me any way you can.]
“Look at me, bitch!”
A rough hand grips your chin and forces it up, trying to your eyes to him. Your face is impassive.
“I said, look at me!”
You slowly turn your eyes from the ground to his. His nose is only a few inches from your own, and you can see his teeth are clenched tight.
“Yes, Mattie?” Your voice is soft, but more than a whisper.
“Don’t call me Mattie.” a deadly hiss seeps through his lips. It smells like cigarettes and alcohol.
“Yes, Matthew.” Your eyes have darted down to the ground again. A growl rumbles through his throat.
“Don’t ignore me! I hate being ignored!” another hand wraps around your wrist and squeezes painfully. A sharp inhale pierces your lungs. You force yourself to be calm, to take deep, slow breaths.
Your eyes find his again. You give a weak, reluctant smile.
“People didn’t notice me today,” he says, his voice ripping through the calm. “Why didn’t they notice me?”
“I don’t know, Matthew.”
You keep your gaze unwillingly. You’ve learned the best thing to do is to stay calm and keep your eyes on him. His grip on your arm tightens, and you reel back a gasp.
“It’s you,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry, Matthew. I don’t really understand what you mean.”
“Do you love me?”
“Of course I do.”
“That’s why.” he rasps, his face within an inch of yours. “They think I’m soft, they think I love you too. But I don’t.” he spits, and you flinch.
“You don’t?”
“No. No. You’re just an ugly little slut,” he sounds almost happy now. “Who could love you?”
He shoves you forcefully onto the pavement with a sneer. Then he turns on his heel and stumbles away.
You can tell yourself he’s drunk (which he is, of course). You can tell yourself he’s insane (which he also is), and that he doesn’t deserve anybody, much less you. You can tell yourself so many excuses, so many ways out.
But in your eyes, every scar is a trait, not a flaw. He has a good side and a bad side, and though the good side is rare he’s shown it to you, left him vulnerable, whether for the better or the worse. He’s made his choices, and you’ve made yours, both with at least some mistakes.
He may be twisted, but the truth is you love him.
And he doesn’t love you.
[…I want you to hold me any way you can.]
Literature
2P!Canada x Reader- Second Chance
Walking with your head down the hallways of the school and keeping as quiet as possible, with your hood over your head. Everyone would say something rude or mean about you. Just because you got the best grades and always keep the rules straight. You wanted no problems, no fights, just peace and silence. You finally reached your locker and opened it, putting your books you didn't need and only keeping the ones you needed.
Before you could close the locker, someone else did it, slamming it with brute force, making you step back a little in fear. Your eyes were glued from the floor to piercing violent eyes. You didn't need to look at his face,
Literature
Warm nights ( 2p!Canada x reader)
You watched the rain fall from the grey sky making it impossible to look outside, you sat on the black couch cuddling into a warm blanket, while waiting for your Canadian lover to come home from his usually round in the forest. The orange and reds nuances from the fire reflected on your face making your soft features seem unnatural. Your bright eyes watched as the flames dances and heated your skin, making you smile.
The radio played in the background creating a soothing atmosphere, as countless of love songs drifted through your ears. The smell of maple syrup, wood and a slight touch of your favorite perfume tickled your nose. The fragrance
Literature
France x Reader: Glad You Came (Songfic)
WARNING: swearing!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The sun goes down
The stars come out
And all that counts
Is here and now
My universe will never be the same
I'm glad you came
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There she is, Francis thought when he spotted you in the crowd entering the conference hall for another world conference. Your (lenght) (colour) hair swayed from side to side as you strode to your seat between Lovino and Feliciano.
You were very close to both of them and could consider them your best friends. You were cheerful and friendly to everyone, apart from the ones you despised. Sadly, Francis was one of the latter. He was sure you t
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sara bareilles wrote 'responsible'
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I faved. This was so wonderfully written and heartfelt. It described the point in a few simple words, (I hate it when it's too descriptive) that also touched the Reader's heart. I loved it, kinda angst too. Will there be a part two? You definitely seem to know the disposition of 2p Canada to people very well. But just a teeny thing that I'd have to say, 2p Canada's name is "Mattieu". Not that I wanna be rude.