you were perfect.

you are perfect.

nat loves that you love her. she loves that you let her love you. she loves when she can leave marks on your neck and your chest and your thighs and she loves when you leave scratches down her back.

she loves that when she’s in a bad mood, she can love you in her own special way and she can speak to you in words that doesn’t sound like love— but is love.

“you fucking bitch,” nat huffs into your ear one night, fingers tightening their grip on your waist, “looking so hot in my bed like that.”

sometimes you’re in a bad mood, and you act like a bratty little bitch and nat loves you so bad it hurts.

“fuck off,” you mutter, eyes glued to your phone.

nat likes your relationship like this. it’s not the most healthiest, perfect example of a flawless couple, but it works. it works for the both of you, and deep down, you know you love it too.

“don’t be a sl—”

nat pauses. she’s never gone that far before— doesn’t even know if she should. doesn’t know if you’re into it. she leans against your side a little more, possessive hands on your body like they always are.

“can i call you that?” nat suddenly asks. blunt, honest, matter-of-fact. she wants you to say yes. she wants you to know that she loves you still, even when your thighs are bruised with kisses or when she murmurs the meanest, filthiest things into your ear.