#My finger is hovering over that block button

[miumura]

WAiTiN’ ON CALLS — S. JAEYUN 𓂃 ⭑

( 엔하이픈 제이크 ) : jake misses you — too much for his own liking. he tries to move on, and by doing so, he gives you one last call. usually it would go directly to voicemail, but instead, he was greeted with you on the other line.

──── ex!jake x gn ! r . . . ⌕ ex 2 lovers, second chance, angst, fluff ∿ 𝔀ord count 2.1K+ ( 2196 ) ╱ HAPPY BF JAKE DAY 🤍 i’ve been dying to write a fic using this pic of jake ever since it got posted … so this is for me and my jake baes 🤍

Jake knew he was beyond exhausted—so tired that all he could manage after work was to head straight for his bed, not even bothering to take off his suit.

But despite the dim lighting and the comfort of sinking into his mattress, sleep refused to come. He tossed and turned, tried counting sheep, but nothing worked. Frustrated, he sat up, turning on the radio to a soft, quiet tune as he stared at his phone.

He already knew what was on his mind.

His gaze settled on his contact list, focusing on one name—yours.

He missed you, more than he cared to admit. His eyes lingered on your icon, a picture he’d secretly taken during one of your dates. You’d demanded he delete it, but he never did. Instead, he kept it as a reminder of you, proudly showing it off whenever he got the chance.

A small, bittersweet smile crept onto his lips as his eyes trailed down to your name, the ache in his chest growing a little heavier.

My Love. He never bothered changing it—that name was reserved for you, and only you. Was it strange for him to keep it that way? He wasn't sure, but what he did know was that no matter what, you’d always be his love, even if he was the only one who still believed it.

Should he call you again?

His finger hovered over your name, hesitating—a rare feeling for him. He’d always called before, whenever he had a free moment. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, just a way to clear his head, but it had become a habit. Strangely enough, he found relief in those calls. They always went straight to voicemail, and he was certain you never listened to them.

That’s where he poured his heart out, leaving messages that no one would hear. It was sad, but in a way, comforting—like shouting into the void, knowing there'd be no echo, no response.

He often wondered why you hadn’t blocked him yet. Maybe, if you did, it would finally force him to move on.

Maybe that would give him the push he needed to let go.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. He was the one holding onto the past, the one clinging to old habits. Why did he think calling you, of all things, would help him get over you? Even if someone asked him, he wouldn’t know how to explain it.

Maybe he didn’t really want to.

Maybe, just maybe, he was still hoping for something—anything—from you.

He just wanted to hear your voice again, even though it felt impossible at this point. Pressing his lips together, he finally tapped the call button. Placing the phone on his thigh, Jake ran a hand through his hair, unable to look at the screen as the rings buzzed in the quiet room.

As usual, he fully expected you wouldn’t answer.

Normally, the sting of disappointment would hit him when you let his calls go unanswered, but tonight felt different. Tonight, everything was going to change.

This would be the last time he stared at your contact, the last time he pressed your number, and the last voicemail he'd leave. Tonight, he was finally going to say goodbye.

Tonight—

"Hello?"

His body went still.

For a moment, Jake couldn’t believe it. Your voice, so familiar yet distant, cut through the static of the call. He had rehearsed this moment over and over in his mind, but now that it was real, his words were trapped in his throat.

"Jake?" you repeated, sounding confused, maybe even concerned. "Are you there?"

He swallowed, trying to collect himself. "Hey," he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I didn’t expect you to pick up."

There was a brief silence on the other end, making his heart race, before you spoke again. "I didn’t expect to get so many calls... or all the voicemails."

"You... you listened to them?" he asked, barely able to believe it.

“Caught up on all of it yesterday,” you admitted, your voice surprisingly calm. “You really sent a lot, huh?”

Jake’s heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out his own thoughts. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The plan to say goodbye, the resolution he had built up in his mind, seemed to dissolve the moment he heard your voice.

He didn’t want to mess this up—he couldn’t.

“I still didn’t expect you to actually listen to them,” he said, his voice shakier than he wanted it to be.

“How could I not?” you chuckled softly, attempting to ease the awkward tension. It was strange, both of you knew it. Talking to your ex, someone you swore you’d never contact again, felt surreal.

And yet, here you were—on the phone, waiting for him to say something more.

Jake took a breath, the weight of his next words heavy on his chest. "I was planning on this being the last call,” he confessed. “Since you never really picked up... I figured I was just bothering you."

There was a pause on the other end, and he held his breath, wondering what you’d say next.

"Would it be wrong to say I had a feeling?" you finally replied, voice soft.

"How could you tell?"

"Just... a gut feeling," you said, as if searching for the right words. "Or maybe because… I knew you."

His heart couldn’t help but falter—he knew you were not lying. You did know him, deeply once. But that closeness had slipped away when life had led you down different paths.

"Yeah," was all he could muster, the simplicity of the word masking the storm of emotions within him. He wasn’t sure how to move forward, or if he even wanted to.

“Do you mean every single voice message?” you asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. Jake’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the question.

“Of course I do,” he replied, gripping his phone tightly, as if it could somehow bridge the distance between you. His heart was pounding; he needed to make this count. “There isn’t a single thing I’ve sent to you that I’d ever want to take back. Every word was real. It’s exactly how I feel about you... about us.”

For a moment, vulnerability hung between you, both knowing this conversation could change everything. Jake could only hope you’d feel it too, that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to turn this into something more.

“Come see me then.”

“Huh?” Jake’s breath hitched, unsure if he’d heard you right.

“You’re not going to leave me hanging this time, are you?” you asked with a light chuckle, though your voice held a hint of nervousness. You hoped the laughter would mask how your heart was pounding, racing in anticipation.

Jake barely registered the words before he was scrambling to grab his keys, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. “Not this time,” he stammered, his voice shaking with excitement and a touch of panic. He could feel his pulse hammering as he fumbled with his shoes, trying to keep his hands steady.

The thought of seeing you, of finally closing the distance he’d been feeling for so long, filled him with both anticipation and nervous energy.

"Take your time," you teased, though he could hear the faintest tremor in your voice, as if you were trying to calm yourself, too. But he knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—wait.

He barely managed to lock his door, nearly tripping as he rushed down the stairs. His mind raced, playing over every word, every message he’d sent, wondering if this was finally his chance to make things right.

As he reached his car, hands fumbling for his keys, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus, to drive safely. But his heart wouldn’t slow, each beat pushing him forward with a desperate urgency.

Jake barely remembered the drive over, his mind racing faster than the car itself. As he pulled up in front of your house, he felt a fresh wave of nerves settle over him. He sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady his breath.

This was it.

With a final deep breath, he stepped out of the car and walked up the path to your door, his heart pounding with every step. He hesitated before raising his hand to knock, his mind swirling with questions.

But before he could overthink it, the door swung open, and there you were, standing there in the soft glow of your porch light. For a split second, neither of you spoke, caught up in the quiet intensity of the moment.

“Hi,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, though he could see the same nervousness reflected in your eyes. “Still in your work attire?”

Jake looked down, realizing for the first time that he was still in his slightly rumpled shirt and loosened tie, his rushed appearance suddenly feeling a bit ridiculous. He let out a small, embarrassed laugh, reaching up to grab his tie as if he could somehow hide it from you. But when he looked back up, he wore a shy smile, his eyes creasing in that gentle way that had always made your heart skip.

Before he could say anything else, you stepped closer, reaching up to fix his tie, your fingers brushing against the fabric with a delicate touch that sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt like slipping back into something deeply familiar, a memory that had never truly faded.

“There,” you murmured softly as you adjusted the tie, smoothing out the collar. Your hand lingered for just a second longer, and in that moment, Jake felt everything—the unspoken words, the history, the quiet yearning.

“Thank you,” he managed, his voice a little rough.

"I didn’t realize you wanted to see me that badly… especially after just finishing your shift,” you said with a hint of surprise. “You’ve always loved your job.”

Jake let out a small, wistful laugh, meeting your gaze. “Even after a long shift, that isn’t enough to distract me from you,” he admitted. You both knew how deeply he was dedicated to his work, how it had once been the thing that drew him away from you, consuming his time and energy. Something he loved had taken his real love away from him. But he couldn’t dwell on regrets now, not when this chance was standing right in front of him.

“Every time I get back from work, I have to leave a voicemail,” he confessed quietly, his words hanging between you both.

“Every night?” you asked, startled. You hadn’t realized just how much he’d been reaching out in those messages, hadn’t counted the days it had spanned. “That’s… a lot, Jake.”

He nodded, his gaze steady and sincere. “There hasn’t been a single day I haven’t thought about you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice raw with honesty.

You looked at him, noticing how he pressed his lips together, a nervous habit he’d never quite outgrown. His hair was neatly parted, and his suit fit him perfectly, accentuating the small changes time had brought to him. Somehow, he looked even better than you remembered—or maybe it was simply because you’d missed him more than you’d realized.

“Jake,” you murmured, almost as if testing his name again, letting it fill the space between you both. “I really missed you too.”

At your words, Jake’s face lit up, his cheeks lifting with a smile he couldn’t contain, no matter how hard he tried to keep his composure. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat, but when he turned back, his grin only grew wider as he saw your own smile mirroring his.

“Then… would you let me stay the night?” he asked softly, his voice hopeful, though almost immediately he seemed to second-guess himself. His smile faltered as he began to backpedal, a nervous laugh escaping. “Or, if that’s too much, we could just sit outside, or… in my car? Just to talk, to catch up—or maybe just to let me finally say all these things I’ve kept hidden.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, finding his nervous rambling unexpectedly endearing. It was hard to remember the last time you’d seen Jake like this—unsure, almost shy. Without another word, you reached out and grabbed his arm, gently tugging him inside.

“You can stay,” you said, a warmth in your voice that eased the lingering tension in the air.

Jake blinked in surprise, his nervous expression melting into something more tender as he stepped inside. The familiar warmth of your home wrapped around him, but it was the simple presence of you that truly eased him. He hadn’t realized how much he'd longed for this—just to be near you again.

As he looked at you, a quiet realization washed over him, clear and undeniable. He wasn’t just here because he needed to be; he was here because he wanted to be.

Wherever you were, that was where he wanted to be too.

‘💬’ ─── may active soph come back after this one 😖!

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[kristhekrispy]

omg my first bot 😍

[thesolarangel]

Eddie meets Elrond, what would they talk about?

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Everyday I live in utter fear of how people are gonna respond to what I have planned for what happens right before and during my season 5 rewrite for Peaky Blinders.

[ofmermaidstories]

me watching u fakes gogo post all the time now. im gonna remember this.

[jellogram]

Bat at hornest's nest maybe. But you know how people are saying that those wannabe "grippy sock jail" people would be afraid of someone with actual psychosis. That's what I feel some of you on here are like, but about developmental disorders. Like sure perhaps you are on the spectrum but if you met an adult who communicates with cries and grunts and wears a diaper you would be incredibly uncomfortable around them. Can you handle autism when it's not just special interests and sock preferences? Can you handle down syndrome when it's not a sassy TV character with mosaicism? Can you handle anyone with any disorder that isn't doing stand-up comedy about it?

Sometimes I think most of you don't even realize such people exist.

[skyview-temple-spring]

No offense but like why are you here

[purrification-in-progress]

Im being so brave right now [just saw someone express an opinion contrary to what I believe]

[unsertraumschiff]

Anyone who talks down to me online just because they’re older than me owes me money for being insanely aggravating

[thekosheraisle]

Maybe a woman could be an antisemite on tumblr. Who knows. I am extremely bothered that this is continuing and I’m not going to continue this pointless debate. Read the room.

[giaantisopod]

saw selfship art of my fav guy from a game and i got jealous for no reason ? ?? HE’S NOT EVEN MY F/O . guys what is going on guys. what is going on

[jeezypetes]

hmmm....male with two testicals, stubble, and perhaps even. a penish.

Hi. What is this in reference to

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wet & Wild

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: smut build up, porn with a plot, making out, cursing, frat party, art being stupid, happy ending dw, two parts because I cannot condense my writing for the life of me

word count: 4.0k

masterlist

“Swimmers…”

You curled your fingers around the rough end of the diving board, unconsciously holding your breath as you readied for the starting noise. The pool glinted below you, reflecting light from the glaring sun above that sparkled like the blue glitter polish on your toenails. But you ignored it, blocking out anything that wasn’t the signal as you lowered your neck.

“Take your marks…”

There it was. You tensed as the official hovered her finger over the mic button. She was about to send you off and there could be no hesitation once she did. Any second now.

“GO!”

You were already under as the crowd started cheering. Two laps,100 meters, that’s all that it took and you had already conquered a quarter of the length by the time you came up for your breakout strokes. You cut through the smooth pool surface leaving white water waves in your wake. You tried not to let your gaze stray anywhere away from the tiled black line at the bottom of the pool as you felt the competition slipping behind you.

As the wall comes into view at the other end of the 50 meter pool, you take your first breath of the race and pause your strokes for only a second to perform a nearly perfect flip turn. You only have one more length back before it’s over and you can claim the medal that is rightfully yours as you come up from your last breakout. Arms pulling and legs kicking almost frantically, you’re almost there, so close you can sense the touch pad waiting for you at the end. You zoom past the flags and…

“I can’t believe I lost by less than two tenths of a second!” you groan, taking a swig from the Heineken one of your teammates had handed you when you arrived earlier. More than 12 hours had passed since your race and yet you couldn’t stop thinking about your unexpected loss. It had plagued you still as you had made your way to the party a random fraternity had thrown, though your team considered it a celebration after the Stanford swim team took home another champion title. It was small in comparison to the larger meets you had won in the past, but it was a reason to stay out past the curfew your coach imposed on you. And any reason to stay out was good enough for you.

“You’re not actually upset about that, are you?” Chloe asked, one of your teammates who competed in the endurance free events. While you would consider yourself close to nearly every girl who swam with you, Chloe was more of an instant best friend.

You shake your head as she sips on her own beer. Unlike you, she had opted for a brand with a higher alcohol percentage as she was unafraid of hangover ridicule that inevitably awaited her at your next morning practice.

“Of course not. You know me, winning is only a plus. I just can’t believe I got so close to the record!”

It was true. You didn’t so much mind losing the first place prize to the opposing team in such an insignificant meet. What really had you grinding your teeth was the fact that you had only been a half of a second away from the official Stanford record. You weren’t sure where you lost that time in your race, whether it was one of your two breaths or if you needed to dive further out, but you were set on remedying every part of your race until the problem was solved. Your next meet was only a week away and unlike this one, it would be a much bigger deal.

“You got that girl,” Chloe assured you, patting your shoulder in a comforting manner. “Half a second ain’t nothing for you.”

“I hope so. I’m not missing any more practices until I get it.”

Your conversation was disrupted as the room suddenly erupted in cheers, people gathering around the entrance as newcomers entered. You turned your head towards the noise, searching for whoever could elicit such a response.

You caught sight of him right away, a man you had never seen before though immediately prayed you’d never lose sight of. He was tall, his head covered in light blonde curls that were well trimmed to not hang over his hooded eyes. He was attractive, no doubt, but there was more to him than looks. There had to be. Anybody had to be more than attractive to get applause in a place like Stanford, especially within the frat parties.

“Who is that?” you nudged Chloe in his direction. She was normally more up to date than you on the campus celebrities as she didn’t get swallowed up by her swimming commitments as often as you. Chloe nearly choked on her drink as she saw him, turning back to you with a befuddled expression.

“You don’t know Art Donaldson? He’s like the most promising tennis student to ever play here.”

You furrowed a brow, staring at Chloe as if she had said something incredibly stupid.

“Do I look like I watch fucking tennis?” you gestures to your hoodie that clearly bore the words ‘Stanford Swimming and Diving’.

“Let me put it this way,” Chloe started, unoffended as always. “He’s already won the Junior US Open in the doubles category. He got second in the singles and at the rate he almost qualified for the real thing.”

“What’s stopping him?” You asked, looking back in the direction of the man who had now settled on the dance floor with a drink. You sensed a catch in Chloe’s explanation.

“That.”

Chloe pointed to the only television in the house that was conveniently showing a rerun of one of the man’s, Art’s, matches which from the date you could tell happened the same time as your meet. He was amazing, more skilled than any of the few players you had ever watched before, but even you, someone who knew nothing about tennis, could tell that he was playing like something was holding him back. Every ball out of his reach skirted to the fence behind him until he eventually lost. You couldn’t understand how a Junior US Open champion could miss shots that were arguably hard, but reasonable for a professional. There had to be more to it than what lay on the surface and as a swimmer you couldn’t stop the urge to dive in deeper.

“Oh no,” Chloe smirked. She knew you too well to miss when you were after something you wanted. And you weren’t sure by which mystical force you were being pulled, but you started to gravitate away from her. “You’re going to go after him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna do a walk around.” you promised, standing from your couch seat beside her, though you were both certain she wouldn’t see you again until practice the next day.

“Good luck.”

You were careful not to approach him directly, instead jumping into a conversation with a couple of your teammates who happened to be chatting in his vicinity. After several minutes of receiving congratulations for your attempt at the record, the group surrounding Art had finally dispersed leaving him alone with his drink on the floor. Lucky for you, by the time he was without a crowd to bypass, your group had moved on to much more nonsensical topics. It was then, by chance or fate as you believed, that he just so happened to bump into you, forcing your drink out of your hand and his attention onto you.

The glass of your Heiniken sank to the group, shattering into a million dazzling pieces of green glass, but you were able to block it out with the focus of a swimmer as you felt his stare on you.

Through the flashing lights you were able to make out the shape of his face better, mapping out sharp jawlines and chiseled cheekbones. You decided then you preferred this Art, the one who smiled at you anxiously over his moving body on the tennis channel and by the slight intrigue on his face, you could tell he felt similarly.

“I’m so sorry,” he professed, looking down at the mess of glass behind you before his blue eyes again met yours “You okay?” He had to shout over the loud music, guilt evidently rushing through him as if he had shoved you to the ground rather than accidentally causing you to drop your nearly empty bottle.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Art, right?”

Art nodded, leaning in closer to you so that he could hear you over the blaring club music.

“Do I know you?” he asked, in awe that you knew his name as if it wasn’t being broadcasted all over the Stanford sport program.

“Not yet,” you laughed, pointing to the screen where you had just seen him, watching as a wave of embarrassment washed over him as they replayed the portion of the match where he lost it all, unbeknownst to you. “I was watching your game. You’re really good.”

“You play?”

“Not tennis.” you gestured to the logo on your hoodie, hoping the disco lighting wasn’t enough to distort the clear waves of the swimming logo. 

“Oh wow,” he marveled. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team.”

“What can I say? My sport’s not quite as popular as yours.” you shrugged, shooting him a smile.

“We’ve really gotta get you another drink.” Art pointed out as he took a swig of his own beer.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just have to take care of this first.”

You turned around to the glass mess that waited for you only to find that your teammates had already handled it in the time you had spent getting introduced to Art, leaving the two of you plenty of time to get acquainted, mess free. You caught sight of them across the room sitting next to Chloe, smirking at you as you looked their way. You rolled your eyes at the sight.

Art had his arm offered out to you when you turned back to him, a guarantee that the two of you wouldn’t get separated on the floor as you headed into the kitchen. It’s there that the seconds fade into elongated hours as you get to know more about each other. You told Art all about your life on the team and why swimming was your calling out of all sports while he spilled to you every tennis affiliated memory from his childhood where you learned he attended a special boarding school for the sport. You made note of his humility as he never once mentioned his success on the Junior US Open and the high level he can play.

You finish the soda Art had gotten for you as the music in the main room increases in volume, forcing you to crane your neck in order to talk in his ear, leaning in so close that you can smell his cologne. He’s not much taller than you, but it’s enough to make a difference.

“I can’t hear anything with this music,” you admitted, speaking at a timbre that’s loud enough to be audible to Art without bursting his eardrums. “Do you wanna move somewhere else?”

You knew Art was joining you when he looked at you with consideration. But it was impossible for you to know exactly what he was thinking, staying ignorant to the fact that he supposed after losing his match and an evening with Tashi due to another scheduled Patrick reappearance, what did he have left to lose? He wouldn’t normally do this, but you look like the perfect contender for a brand new game.

“Let’s go upstairs.” he nodded towards the stairs to your left, accepting your invitation. “It won’t be as loud up there.”

And so you both made your way up the frat house staircase, passing by closed door after closed door until you finally found a vacant bedroom. While you don’t know who lives there, it was tidy enough for you to neglect caring as you followed Art inside and shut the door behind you. 

“I don't think I ever caught your name, by the way.” Art stated as he took a seat on the bed in the center of the room, leaving a space for you beside him..

“Oh, I didn’t say.” you chuckled in realization as you sat beside him, your name falling from your lips as you met the lumpy mattress.

“And this is your reward party?” he wondered, a thought you can’t help smiling at as you shake your head.

“Definitely not,” you took another swig from your bottle. “I don’t think there’s any real reason behind this besides to fuel college memories. If anything, they’d be celebrating you. You’re like famous right?”

Art’s gaze moves to the shag carpet below as he shakes his head of blonde curls, disappointment shrouding his face.

“Not quite,” he disagreed, his eyes meeting yours once more. “I don’t know if you saw the whole thing, but my match today wasn’t anything to celebrate.”

“Why not?”

“Because I lost.”

He stated it like it was obvious which only confuses you as a swimmer. All the work and dedication he must put into his sport all to think there was no yield. You couldn’t imagine basing your pride off of winning and winning alone when there were so many other components to competing.

“So?”

He’s startled by your nonchalance towards losing, something so foreign to him it isn’t even a refreshing take.

“So?” he repeated. “So I failed today. I let my team down. I let Tashi down.”

Tashi. You’ve definitely heard that name before. Though you don’t know much about the inner workers of tennis, everyone and their mother in the state of California knows who Tashi Duncan is. She’s the most famous person on campus, in and out of the tennis world. You didn’t know her personally, only ever seeing her when walking between classes. You also knew she had a boyfriend who didn’t attend Stanford from seeing them eating together. There had always been something off about her and now, with Art beside you in full self-deprecation mode, you figured you were about to find out exactly what it was.

“Is that who you were looking at?” you asked, piecing together that she must’ve been in attendance at his match. He immediately tensed at the mention, surprised you caught the simple detail. “I saw during your match. You looked like you were distracted.”

“It wasn’t just her,” he shook his head. “One of my oldest friends just flew for the weekend. He was there with her.” he paused. “They both saw me fail.”

“I’m sure they were both proud of you.” you assured, but Art was quick to set you straight as his friends didn’t operate the same way yours did.

“No, you don’t get it. I’m nothing if I don’t win.”

“Well it’s okay, you can just try again next time.”

“It doesn’t work like that. That’s not what tennis is about.”

You sensed a planted ideology in his evaluation, causing you to probe further.

“Really? So tennis isn’t just hitting balls with rackets over and over?”

“It’s more than that,” he informed you, taking no offense from your lack of knowledge. “It’s a relationship. It’s about the fight between two people. The back and forth until someone comes out on top. And even then the winning, it’s not nearly as important as the match. I didn’t just lose today, I let the crowd down. And my opponent won without the intensity of a good match. All because of me.”

You quieted as he explained, placing a careful hand on his shoulder as he finished. You felt for him, absorbing his sorrows like a therapeutic sponge, but it didn’t take a tennis expert to understand that bullshit behind his dogma. It sounded more like a manipulation technique than anything, all stemming from the same source.

“Did Tashi tell you that?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if your statement was any more outrageous than the lies he had been fed.

“It’s the truth.” he answered.

You weren’t sure how to get across to him, if it was even possible to crash through the wall of his beliefs in the first place, but you knew you had to try. It wasn’t right for him to harbor such disappointment over a match that did nothing to disprove his skill at his sport.

“Okay,” your voice softened as you thought of a way to challenge his theories. “Let’s change the subject. How about I tell you how swimming works?”

“Isn’t it more of the same?” he sighed, still overcomplicating his loss.

“Actually it’s very different.” you corrected.

“What do you mean?” Art asked, looking at you with the utmost intrigue.

“What if I told you that even the losers in swimming end up winning?”

Incredulous of the possibility, Art waited for further explanation.

“See like tennis, we have the players and of course only one person in each race can come out on top, but it’s not about beating the other players. Once you’re out there, it’s just you and the water. That’s the only relationship. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is, beside you, behind you, that’s not what’s not important. All that matters is how well you swim and if you lost a few seconds on the time board. Everything else is lost to the waves. And if your time is the fastest well, that’s just one big fucking bonus.”

Art sat with your words, unable to reply as he processes the possibility of winning as a loser. It’s almost too hard to imagine. You leaned closer to him, breath catching as his eyes moved down to your lips and one of his hands gently gripped your thigh.

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded, your faces so close now that your nose nudged his own.

“I didn’t win today either,” you whisper to him. “But my team screamed when I touched that wall. And do you know why?”

He waited for you to explain, eyes fluttering close for only a second as you laid a palm on his shirt, feeling the hard muscle that lay beneath. Your hands trailed to his sleeves, settling his bare skin a blaze as you take in his equally sturdy biceps.

“I almost beat a school record today. First time in 30 years if I had done it.”

“There’s no records like that in tennis.” he countered, but there was uncertainty in his tone. As if he was waiting for you to further back this new perspective. As if he was really starting to believe it.

“Then maybe you should take a page out of my book. Leave tennis in the past for now and focus on what’s here, in the present…” your lips brush over his before you mutter, “... focus on me.”

You're not entirely sure who initiated it, but before either of you could get out another word, his lips were on yours. You dove head first into the kiss, his lips melting against yours as you swipe your tongue out to catch the lingering taste of cheap beer at the edge of his parted mouth. It’s all so soft, like two cracked dolls who want nothing more than to break for the other until the intensity reaches its peak and you could feel microscopic beads of sweat forming at your brow.

Art pulled you in closer, gentle hands moving to your waist as the faint vocals of California Gurls played distantly in the background. His fingers curled into your sides, worming their way under the hem of your hoodie as they gave way to underlying desire, sparking every inch of your skin that they came into contact with.

You sighed as his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Pausing the kiss, he tipped his head back to jerk ever so lightly on your lip before allowing it to snap back into place and at once you crashed back into mouth, kissing him with a fervor you don’t remember ever feeling this intensely. Every movement, every change in the pace all worsened the heat igniting within you.

You tugged on the blonde roots of his curls that rest closest to his neck and soon enough you felt Art’s needy fingers claw at the waist back of your black athletic shorts. Though you're in desperate need of relief from the growing pool of desire at your core, you knew it was time to pull back. Art didn’t let you go so easy, his lips chasing after yours once you’ve broken the kiss, but it’s no use. You knew you couldn’t do this, at least not tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Art whispered against your lips, automatically assuming that it was his own fault rather than an independent decision of your own. It was certainly too intimate for a man you’d only just met, but you have to cup his cheek to keep from breaking as his own hands part from your skin.

You told him some form of the truth, that you didn’t think the timing was right. It’s not that you didn’t want to, you were dying to sneak another taste of his lips in and give him everything he’s ever wanted right there and then. But you couldn’t. Not when you know that it’s just another match. A distraction from Tashi. Especially not when you know that it didn’t have to be.

“We can’t do this here.”

Art face fell at your words, but he’s never been one to give up so easily.

“Then let’s go back to my place.” he offered, hoping it was just the atmosphere of the party that alarmed you. He wasn’t ready for you to leave.

“No, not tonight.” you frowned apologetically. “Not while you’re playing tennis.”

He stared at you in utter confusion as you stood up from your place beside him, dusting off your clothes as if you hadn’t been enjoying him all along. He didn’t understand the reasons behind your sudden switch, but he’s willing to risk it all in the heat of the moment.

“You want me to quit.” he suggested as if it’s a solution both of you are comfortable with. You turned back to him disturbed, shaking your head wildly at the proposal.

“Of course not, Art, you know that’s not what I mean,” you began, gathering an explanation that you hope will convey your reasons without making him feel like a complete piece of shit. “I don’t know what Tashi told you, but to me it sounds like she expects a winner. She’s programmed you into believing the player doesn’t matter without a title.”

You stepped an inch in his direction, close enough that you can see even the smallest details of his face, but not enough for him to touch you again.

“…but she’s forgetting that without the player, winner or loser, there is no title. Without a foundation, there is no relationship between you and the other player. And nobody can succeed if they’re scared of failure.” you explained further. You knew your words resonated with Art as his gaze turned to the stained carpet of the bedroom, but he had to pass the ball back.

“Well, you said it yourself, you don’t know Tashi.” he fired back, and you knew it’s only the tennis talking.

“You know I’m right.”

Art was silent, only proving your point. You knew you had to leave, but you had to promise him a second meeting, for him and for yourself. You wouldn’t be blocked from a happy ending by wrong timing.

“Come to my meet next weekend,” you invited him. “It’s the biggest one of the year. You should see how other sports operate.”

“I can’t see you before then?”

You almost smiled at the confirmation that his frustration wasn’t directed towards you.

“I have practice,” you shrugged. “- and so do you. You can see me again at my meet and in the meantime, just think about what I said. And know that you’re more than a loser, Art.”

You left without another word, shutting the door while silently cursing yourself for not taking the opportunity while you had it. It was very possible that you would never see the tennis star again, that every spark you felt with him in your first hour of knowing him was entirely one sided. You prayed it wasn’t true, that he had shown some feelings in return, but only time would tell. In exactly one week, you would be certain.

part two out now!!!

[superiorsuicide]

of course he’s religious!! I clocked it but I was in denial

discovering over and over these days that most people truly believe that life has meaning? I thought the inherent meaninglessness of the universe & one’s own existence were a shared truth that, apart from religious people perhaps, was universally acknowledged. but much like that line, it’s apparently fallacious.

[band--psycho]

Sylus x Reader - No Going Back

Main Masterlist / Sylus Masterlist / Join My Taglist

My first Sylus story...Before anyone asks, yes there will be a part 2 to this!

Please be kind; reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support and I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms

Warnings: Mature themes, mentions of sex , swearing

Sleeping with Sylus was a mistake; at least that’s what you kept telling yourself whenever you felt your memories drifting to him and the night you had spent together not too long ago. 

Sleeping with him was one of the best mistakes you’d made in a long time, but it was a mistake nonetheless; one that you couldn’t risk making again. 

That’s why you’d been ignoring not only his calls, but also Luke and Kierans. 

You needed to put distance between you and the leader of Onychinus; in your mind this was a simple thing to do, you just needed to talk or see him. 

But in reality, this ended up being much harder than you could’ve ever imagined it being. 

You missed him. 

You wanted to talk to him. 

You wanted to be around him. 

You wanted the ‘mistake’ you kept thinking about so often, to happen again. 

You wanted him and being the one purposefully put the distance between the two of you hurt. 

A small sigh left your lips when you saw your phone light up with another incoming call from his number. 

You knew you should just block his number; it would certainly make trying to ignore him easier, but you could never bring yourself to do it. 

For a few seconds, your finger hovered over the flashing green answer button, your heart just longing to hear his voice again even if it was just to hear him say a few words. 

But then  your mind regained control over your emotions, you couldn’t talk to him 

It would just make everything harder.

So you declined the call and tossed your phone onto the couch, in an attempt to avoid any temptation. 

You were going to go out for a walk, in the hopes that it would potentially help you clear your head, but when you opened your door, you were met with the very person you’d been avoiding.

“We need to talk,” Sylus said simply, slipping past you and into your apartment. 

You stood there for a few moments, trying to process what was happening as well as trying to work out what you were going to do. 

You could run? 

But he’d catch you. 

You could stay.

But that came with its own risks.

“I suggest you shut the door, unless you want people to start asking questions,” he continued, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

Run. 

Stay. 

Run..

Stay…

Your heart won the battle. 

You closed the door, trying to persuade yourself that you were only doing this so that no one found out that he was here and not because you wanted to see him. 

You took a deep breath, before turning to look at Sylus, whose rube eyes were fixed on you. 

“You know it’s very rude to ignore phone calls from people,” he pointed out, using his evol to lift my phone from the couch and into his hands. 

Eventhough he hid it well, you could see the hurt in his eyes…that look, that fleeting look of sadness was enough to make you want to break every single rule you’d been giving yourself. 

“You can’t be here,” Y/n said, holding his gaze. 

What if he got caught? 

What if someone found out you two knew each other? 

It was too dangerous for both of you. 

“You’ve been avoiding me, what else was I meant to do?” he asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively, taking a few steps closer towards you. 

You didn’t answer his question; you didn’t know how to. 

You didn’t know what to say to him. 

So you just remained silent. 

A sigh fell from his lips as he took a few more steps closer to you, all but destroying the distance you knew you needed to keep between each other. 

You went to take a step back, only for your back to collice the front door of your apartment. 

Almost instantly, Sylus took advantage of this opportunity; placing one hand by your waist and the other next to your hand, essentially trapping you between him and the door. 

“Conversations only work if both people are talking sweetie,”

Fuck that nickname. 

Fuck the way it fell from his lips. 

Fuck the way it made your heart skip a beat whenever he used it. 

Fuck him. 

Oh how you wanted to. 

Yo needed to keep your resolve, but that was slowly dwindling away with every moment that passed

“Why?” he asked, his quiet tone making you wonder if he’d really said anything at all, until he repeated himself, “Why have you been avoiding me?” 

There it was again; that flicker of hurt in his eyes that made you want to do nothing more than just reach out and kiss him. 

As you glanced up at him; the words that you’d been pushing to the back of your mind, were somehow suddenly on the tip of your tongue 

You tried so many times to tell yourself that it wasn’t true, to try and push the feelings that you had for Sylus away. 

But it was all a lie. 

You’d fallen for the leader of Onychinus….

You saw Sylus’ eyes narrow in frustration at your continued silence, as another exasperated sigh came from his lips. 

“I’ve been avoiding you,” you started, the sound of your sudden uneasy voice, catching his attention instantly as he waited intently for you to continue.

“Because I’m falling-”

Your admission was cut short as Sylus moved the hand that had been by your head and put it  over your mouth, silencing you. 

He leaned in close, so close that you could feel his breath tickling your skin. 

“Careful, sweetie,” he warned, slowly removing his hand from your mouth before placing it on your jaw, allowing his thumb to run across your bottom lip. 

This is exactly the type of situation you were trying to avoid. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from his touch, instead you felt yourself instinctively melting into it. 

“You can’t take those words back once you say them,” he breathed, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes again. 

You didn’t want to take those words back. 

You wanted to say them. 

But then a thought raced through your mind; what happened once you did? 

Your internal battle was cut short when Sylus leaned in closer to you. 

What you didn’t know was that Sylus wanted to say those words as much as you did. 

You were staring at him; with those gorgeous y/e/c eyes, not knowing that these last few days had felt like a living hell. 

He needed you, craved you…and not being able to even so much as talk to you, was enough to drive him to the brink of madness. 

And that’s why he was here; risking everything, just to be with you. 

“Touching you was a bad idea,” he smirked, his lips inches away from yours.

“The worst,” you whispered in agreement, feeling how quick your heart was beating inside your chest. 

You knew what you were doing, knew that if you didn’t stop what had already begun to happen, that there would be no going back. 

“We should stop,” you breathed, feeling the last of your resolve completely disappearing. 

“That would be the logical thing to do,” he answered back; his eyes glancing between your lips and eyes again, silently asking for permission to close what little distance was left between you. 

“Fuck it,” you sighed, throwing your arms around the back of his neck before standing on the tips of your roes and crashing your lips onto his.

Tagging some people who might enjoy this:

@xacatalepsyx @book-dragon03 @hiqhkey @fangirlsfandomsss @albert-moriarty-fan @elegantangelenthusiast @worm-in-a-bug @darkphoenix2332 @deathkat657 @xenasolos @tasha-1994 @randomruff @mrs-masen-cullen @okaydokey @the-slytherin-poet @taronyuhunter @reverbsworld @serenitymaria @babygirl-panda19 @themagicafox

[sixosix]

just say it | nagi seishiro

angst to fluff, confessions!!, friends to lovers, time skip, 2k words

you’re not sure, exactly, but seeing nagi seishiro sprawled like a cat on your couch, looking all too much like your home is his, leaves almost a strange feeling in your stomach. it festers, ugly and clinging.

and stupid nagi continues to lay there, oblivious to how your fingers clench to block out the beat of your heart.

“oi,” you throw a towel on his head, grimacing at the sight of sweat clinging to the back of his neck and sticking onto your headrest. “what are you doing in my house?” and did he travel by foot all the way here? under the scorching sun?

nagi cranes his neck, all slow and lazy, eyes wide. “oh,” he says. “you left your notebook,” he points at the table, without looking at it, “on my desk.”

“well, thanks, i guess.” you push his long legs away from the side of the couch and fall back onto it, sighing deeply. “you could’ve just given it to me tomorrow.”

he seems to pause for a second, thumbs hovering awkwardly on his phone screen. when you face him with a questioning look, he returns as if nothing happened. “reo said i could visit you.”

you hate it. you always hate when nagi does this.

when for a split second, he hesitates, shuffles a bit too close, his fingers tremble to reach for you, or his eyes flicker to your lips, but he never does anything about it.

he pulls away at the last second, and time seems to flow back normally in a snap. as if he wasn’t just about to ruin the friendship you’ve been picking scabs on just to get him to peel it off and make a move already.

and knowing nagi, he never does. he never does. (and he never will.)

“reo, huh,” you murmur, giving him a doubtful look. nagi doesn’t react visibly, but you can tell he’s starting to get uncomfortable under your scrutiny, burying his chin into the towel.

when you stretch your legs over his lap, he lets you. he doesn’t question it, doesn’t react, just keeps playing on his phone, and it’s almost infuriating how little you have an effect on him.

and knowing you, you’ll keep letting him drag this out. because underneath that frustration is fear, vulnerable and thin, ready to crumble faster than butterfly wings with the wrong move.

if you confess, and he pulls away, it can still be back to normal. that’s what everyone says, and those people don’t talk to their forgotten ones anymore. they wouldn’t understand.

but it will never be the same with nagi, because you know that you love him and will keep loving him. it will not be okay if he doesn’t feel the same, no matter how hard you try to fool yourself. it will hurt and claw out your heart, chew, and spit it out like it wasn’t someone’s soul.

it will hurt to know that you would peel yourself open and offer your heart to him, and he wouldn’t even accept it because he’ll say he doesn’t love you back. he shouldn’t deserve your dedication. it will hurt even more to know that nagi will bleed out for someone else someday, despite the longing glances and lingering touches he keeps giving your way.

“you know, you should be asking me permission, not literally anyone else who doesn’t live here.”

nagi hums, and the round finishes with a final slash of his weapon. the boss crumbles, and you kind of feel for it. he spares you a glance. “you don’t mind.”

you don’t.

even if you don’t say it out loud, the ghost of a smile on nagi’s lips says he knows.

it should be enough that you could be under the same sky as him. someone like nagi. but you are selfish and obsessed, keening like a tamed lion when his attention is focused your way.

with an almost personal jab on the number button of the vending machine, you watch the juice box tumble out.

you bend down to pluck it out but almost drop it back down again when you feel a warm body press against your back as you stand straight.

with a chin propped up on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist, and a phone right in front of you, you nearly choke on your spit realizing who it is.

“fuck’s sake, nagi,” you breathe, pressing a hand on your chest as if that would somehow strangle it to quiet down.

when nagi huffs an amused laugh, your traitorous heart goes wilder.

“let me free so i can also buy you your lemon tea,” you grumble, wriggling in his grasp.

nagi continues fiddling with his phone, skillfully defeating virtual enemies. “no,” he says after a while. “you’re warm.”

“i’ll strangle you.”

nagi hums in acknowledgment.

with a defeated sigh, you press the number of nagi’s favorite drink, packed in a bright yellow box. hoping to piss him off, you abruptly squat down to grab the lemon tea, but nagi follows, unbothered.

he follows after you, and again when you rise back up. and he’s still unbothered.

“you are so annoying,” you grumble, tucking your juice box under your arm to unwrap nagi’s. you poke the straw in, scowling.

you twist in his grasp to face him, holding the straw up to his mouth. “here. you haven’t drunk anything recently.”

but nagi’s face is too surprised, his eyes flicking down to where your hand is on his chest, then to where his arms are still snug around you. if you still had any hope left in you, you’d say there’s a flush in his cheeks.

it makes you realize how this position must look to other people, pressed against each other like this.

“thanks,” nagi murmurs, sipping happily on the straw. the moment shatters once again, and he doesn’t fucking do anything about it. even later and tomorrow, and the day after that, you two won’t talk about it.

from behind you, his character makes a grunt of pain, and you notice nagi isn’t looking at his phone, but somewhere on your face.

down, his phone says.

down, indeed.

when nagi and reo have to leave for this thing called blue lock, you say to yourself that you’re relieved.

you’ll miss reo a lot. he is one of your best friends, and you’re proud to watch him grow and become the person he wants to be. at least he doesn’t drive you fucking crazy.

nagi is an entirely different story.

the goodbye wasn’t anything remotely close to heartfelt. it felt like they weren’t even leaving, just taking a trip to the bathroom, but they had to make everything dramatic for no reason. and you’re fine with that. it will soften the blow.

but stupid nagi doesn’t allow just a gentle wound when he leaves.

[reo 6:43] don’t miss us too much y/n or else i might have to come running out :(

[y/n 6:50] don’t baby me and go play soccer, loser

[y/n 6:50] you better text me as soon as you can and tell me everything

[reo 6:52] i will i will

[reo 6:52] (sends an attachment of him and nagi on bus seats. reo has an arm thrown over nagi’s shoulder with his tongue stuck out, while nagi is frowning at the window.

[y/n 6:53] dumbasses. i love you.

[reo 6:53] we love you too

[nagi 7:35] i miss you.

you bury your phone face-first on your bed, as if that’ll spit out nagi’s message and let you cut it in pieces and throw it out of existence. you hate it. you hate it.

what was it about distance making the heart grow fonder?

fuck.

you bite your pillow and steer your mind clear of anything else.

nagi will probably forget about you after this whole blue lock thing anyway. it’s better to get used to being on your own now.

“a match?”

“yes,” reo’s voice says over the phone. there’s a cheer of teen boys echoing, and reo apologizes, saying he’ll leave the locker room. “you’ve seen the news, right?”

no, you haven’t. “that’s… cool!” you don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. “with who?”

“come watch us play, idiot,” reo chuckles; he knows you’ll say yes sooner or later, and you hate that you know he’s right. “didn’t you miss us?”

it’s only today that you and reo started talking again. he says he’s been busy, and you tell him it’s fine because so were you. but meeting him again tomorrow when it’s been so long since you’ve even spoken? you’re not sure if that’s fine.

“i… don’t know.” you glance at the date displayed on your screen, considering. “tomorrow, was it?”

you really have been busy. you’re not sure if you can take it if the stress of life adds up to the stress upon seeing nagi’s stupidly handsome face.

“yup. you should see nagi, man; he’s been really awesome lately.”

just the mention is enough to seize your heart and sway you. you scowl, and judging by the smile you can hear from reo, he did it on purpose.

“i’ll see if i’m free, i suppose,” you sigh, falling on your mattress to frown at the ceiling. “how have you been, reo?”

when reo launches into a ramble about all the events that went down, you let him. you smile and freely admit that you did miss them more than you can bring yourself to admit. it’s a bandage for a bullet wound.

“fuck.”

you weave through the crowd and halls with as much speed as possible. your ankles ache and protest with each step, but you ignore it. your heart beats and echoes in your ears, berating you for this stupid decision, but you ignore it.

the crowd erupts into deafening cheers, and you wince, scrambling to pick up your pace. the speakers from the corners of the wall announce the winners, and they scream and howl again.

“fuck, fuck.”

you’re late.

the worst part is, you can’t make them treat you to dinner for the stress this is giving you because they’re the ones who won.

when you finally reach the door, there’s already a string of people leaving, talking among themselves animatedly. you hear names, straining your ear when someone mentions reo, nagi, nagi, nagi.

the stadium is slowly filling out, and guilt eats you right up for missing even the winning shot. but you were too busy being indecisive not to be late when ( eventually ) leaving the house.

it’s fine. if nagi won’t care about you, then at least reo is there. he invited you, and you won’t lie that you also came to watch your best friend. ( you ignore the bitterness in your chest. )

“y/n!”

you perk up at the sound of reo’s voice, unable to fight the smile off your face when he comes running straight your way.

“come down here!” he calls out, grinning wide. there’s something different about it, though you’re not sure what it is exactly. was it the confidence he’s exuding? the sureness of himself?

you make your way to where he can reach you and gasp when his sweaty ass comes to hug you.

“gross, gross,” you hiss, trying to slap his arms away. “don’t slobber all over me.”

reo laughs, “you’re also all sweaty. did you just arrive?”

you grimace. “sorry. i was being an idiot overthinking again.” you smile at him, and hope you can convey that you really are happy seeing him again. “congrats on winning, reo. i’m proud.”

he sighs, shaking his head fondly. “well, whatever. at least you still visited. we missed you.”

we, huh? 

reo smirks, noticing immediately when you try to search for a certain white-haired boy discreetly.

panic fills you when reo cups his hands around his mouth. “wait, don’t call him—”

“oi, nagi!” reo turns to his left, and your eyes immediately find a home in nagi’s.

your breath catches in your throat when nagi’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly. strands of hair are sticking out from his head, and his nose is all burnt from the heat. his lips part to speak, but he shakes his head instead.

then, he’s jogging towards you.

nagi seishiro is jogging towards you. christ, that’s kind of terrifying.

“hey.” you hold your hands up protectively over your body. “hey, hey, don’t—”

nagi hugs you, trapping you in his embrace, and the words die on your tongue. you don’t know what’s worse: registering the cackle reo is letting out or the fact that nagi doesn’t actually smell, and you find comfort in his warmth.

“you came,” he breathes.

you blink up at him, wilting under his stare. “well. reo said i could.”

nagi’s brows knit together subtly, and you almost grin in victory. 

“i missed you,” nagi says, squeezing you in his grasp, “a lot.”

you look at him, and realize that it’s not just reo who’s changed. nagi is staring straight at you, in your eyes, and he isn’t wavering or shying away when you stare back. his eyes are alight with conviction.

suddenly, your mouth goes dry. “i—i missed you, too, nagi.”

something in nagi’s eyes shift.

this is what you wanted: for nagi to be forward, to take what he wants, say what is on his mind, but you weren’t expecting it to melt you in a puddle like this.

“hey,” you tug his arm, face in flames, “i think your teammates are calling you—”

“you came for reo,” nagi murmurs, inching closer, “you’ll stay for me.”

and, wow, okay. you need a bit to process that.

before you can respond, though, his lips meet yours and keep you there.

your heart lurches in your throat. for a second, you could only stare wide-eyed, frozen, but upon seeing the flush on nagi’s ears and the hesitant press of his lips; you let yourself melt into him. his arms tighten around you when you sling your arms over his neck.

when you start to feel a little lightheaded, you pull away, and he chases after you, pouting slightly.

“why did—” you heave, catching your breath. “why did you just kiss me like that?”

“you don’t mind,” nagi says, kissing the side of your mouth as if to coax you back into kissing him again.

“i don’t,” you agree. and frown. “why do you think so?”

this kiss will mean nothing until you can hear him say it.

“because you like me,” nagi says; there’s a dangerous glint in his eye.

“you don’t mind?”

“i don’t.” nagi smiles against your mouth. “because i like you, too.”

sorry if this is a mess!!!!!! this was supposed to be like 500 words (and was supposed to end on a bad note) but it kept flowing out of me so i just let it be 😭😭🙏