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diamonddaze01 · 23 hours ago

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invisible string

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 2K genre: fluff | au: f1 au | rating: pg-13 | warnings: none! a/n: dedicated to @ylangelegy, who has listened to me plan this for over a month now // based on invisible string by taylor swift // thank you @gotta-winwin for the beta! more notes at the bottom! takes place after full throttle and bad for business

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AZERBAIJAN GRAND PRIX Track: Baku City Circuit

The race had been his to win. Jeonghan had been leading the pack, smooth as ever, navigating Baku’s winding streets with a precision that seemed almost effortless. Lap after lap, he held the gap, the roar of the crowd swelling every time the scarlet Ferrari streaked past. But a mistimed pit stop—just a few seconds too long—had changed everything.

The radio crackled with updates as he rejoined the track, now behind the Red Bull and the Mercedes, a podium still possible but victory slipping further and further from his grasp. You’d watched from the media pen, clutching your mic in one hand and the delicate necklace he’d given you in the other. The charms—a tiny microphone and his initial—sat warm against your skin, as if absorbing the frantic beat of your heart.

It was painful to see him try to claw his way back, pushing his car to its limits, his lap times faster than anyone else’s, but the distance was too great. By the time the checkered flag waved, he’d finished fourth—a position that might’ve pleased anyone else but felt like a dagger to Jeonghan, especially here.

The cameras in the paddock caught every second: the way he climbed out of the car, the polite smile he gave his engineers, the exhausted slump of his shoulders as he trudged toward the team garage. You knew that expression too well—it was the same one he wore every time he felt like he’d let himself down.

The media pen had been merciless. You’d stood just off to the side, watching Jeonghan answer the barrage of questions with his usual charm, but you knew the weight he carried beneath that smooth exterior. A loss in Baku—his best circuit—was a bitter pill to swallow. You’d prepared yourself for the aftermath: the quiet ride back to the hotel, the sigh he’d let out as he peeled off his racing gloves, maybe the silent way he’d disappear into the shower.

You had even prepared your own words, something soothing to tell him when the hurt inevitably surfaced. When his PR manager leading him to the Sky Sports booth, you straightened your posture, determined to keep things professional. But your hand still found the charm at your neck, your fingers brushing over its edges as if it could somehow anchor you.

He looked like every bit the media darling he was known to be, that familiar, sly smile fixed firmly in place. But you noticed the tightness around his eyes, the slight strain in his voice as he greeted the host. He spared you a glance as you stood to the side, notebook in hand, and something in his gaze softened—brief, fleeting, but unmistakable.

When your turn came to ask him a question, you kept it light, knowing better than to press him when the wound was still fresh. “You had incredible pace today, especially toward the end. What’s your takeaway from this race?”

He tilted his head at you, his smile curling into something teasing, even playful. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, just loud enough for the nearby microphones to catch it. “Don’t go easy on me. You never do.”

Your cheeks burned at the nickname, but you ignored it, clearing your throat and shifting to a more pointed question. “Alright, then. How do you feel about the timing of that pit stop? Do you think it cost you the win?”

For a second, you expected his smile to falter, for the frustration to slip through the cracks. But instead, he laughed softly, shrugging one shoulder. “Sometimes things don’t go your way. That’s racing. You win some, you lose some. I’ve had my fair share of wins, haven’t I? Maybe it was someone else’s turn today.”

His calm surprised you, even as you jotted down his answer. Jeonghan had always been gracious in front of the cameras, but there was something different about him now—a lightness, a resilience that you didn’t expect. And when he finished the interview and turned back toward you, his smile lingering, you wondered if he’d been preparing for this moment long before the race ever began.

You didn’t have much time to think about it. By the time the interviews wrapped up and the paddock started to clear, Jeonghan was already pulling you toward the exit, his hand firm around yours.

“Let’s go celebrate,” he said, his voice light and easy, as if he hadn’t just endured one of the most grueling races of the season.

“Celebrate?” you repeated, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Jeonghan, you didn’t even—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut in, his smile growing. “Baku’s too beautiful to waste on sulking. Trust me, I’ve got something better in mind.”

He led you through the paddock, ignoring your protests and questions as he tugged you toward the waiting taxi. His hand was warm around yours, his grip sure and steady, and despite your confusion, you let yourself follow him. He always had that effect on you—a pull you couldn’t resist, like gravity.

The streets of Baku’s Old City glowed in the golden light of the setting sun. Cobblestones stretched out in every direction, and the sandstone buildings caught the last rays of daylight, painting the world in hues of amber and honey. The scent of saffron and roasted chestnuts filled the air, mingling with the hum of distant voices and the faint strains of music from a nearby café.

It all felt familiar. Too familiar. Your heart skipped as the taxi pulled to a stop, and Jeonghan led you toward the same path you’d walked on your first date. He pointed out the Maiden Tower again, his voice lilting with amusement as he repeated the same joke he’d made back then.

“Are you seriously taking me on a nostalgia tour right now?” you teased, though your chest ached with something too warm, too overwhelming to name.

“Maybe I am,” he replied, his eyes glinting with that mischievous light you loved so much. “Good memories deserve a second run.”

The sun was slipping lower by the time you reached the vendor’s cart tucked into a quiet corner of the square. It hadn’t changed, not really—the same colorful trinkets spilled across the table, the same aroma of aged wood lingering in the air. Your breath caught in your throat as Jeonghan reached for a small wooden box, almost identical to the one he’d bought you on your first date. You still had it, tucked safely in the corner of your nightstand, its corners worn from the times you’d traced them absentmindedly, as though trying to hold onto the memory of that day.

“You don’t need to get me another one,” you said quickly, a laugh escaping your lips. “I still have the first one.”

“Humor me,” he said, handing the vendor a few bills. He turned to you, holding the box out in his palm, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Go on. Open it.”

Your fingers trembled as you lifted the lid.

Inside was a ring—gold, inlaid with a stunning citrine gem and diamonds, catching the last rays of sunlight and scattering them like a thousand tiny stars. It was exquisite, timeless in a way that stole the air from your lungs.

You looked up at him, the question forming on your lips, but Jeonghan was already moving. He was on one knee before you, his dark eyes fixed on yours with a tenderness that left you utterly undone.

“Marry me,” he said, his voice low but steady, every word laced with certainty. “Not because it’s the perfect moment or because I have the perfect speech prepared—because God knows I don’t. But because I love you. I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I know, without a doubt, that I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

Your heart felt like it was being tugged by that invisible thread, the one that had always tied you to him, no matter where the world spun you both. You could feel the weight of every shared laugh, every argument, every stolen moment between races and chaos and life. It all led here—to him, kneeling in the heart of the city where it all began, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Jeonghan…” You barely managed to get his name out before your voice broke.

“I’ve always believed in fate, you know,” he continued, his lips twitching into that familiar smirk even as his eyes shone. “Call me romantic, but I think there was a thread pulling me to you, even before I knew you existed. And now? I don’t ever want to let go of it.”

Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes, the weight of his words sinking into your chest like a stone. He wasn’t smiling anymore—not his usual mischievous grin or his media-trained smirk. This was something raw, something real, and it made your heart feel like it might burst.

“You’re my invisible string,” he continued, his voice softening. “The one that’s tied me to you through every twist, every turn, every high and low. And I don’t want to spend another day without you at the other end of it.”

The tears spilled over before you could stop them, a shaky laugh breaking from your lips as you nodded, the world spinning and stilling all at once. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Yes, Jeonghan. Of course, yes.”

A cheer erupted around you, startling you both. You hadn’t even realized a crowd had gathered in the square, tourists and locals alike drawn in by the sight of the golden boy of Ferrari on one knee. His grin spread wide as he slid the ring onto your finger, the metal cool against your skin, his own eyes suspiciously shiny.

When he stood and pulled you into his arms, the applause only grew louder. And when his lips met yours, the world seemed to fade entirely, leaving only the warmth of his hands, the press of his mouth, and the steady, unshakable beat of his heart against yours.

The kiss was long, deep, and full of promises you didn’t need to hear to understand. When you finally broke apart, your cheeks flushed and your breath short, Jeonghan pressed his forehead to yours, his smile dazzling.

“I love you,” he murmured, just for you.

“I love you, too,” you replied, your voice steadier now.

And as you stood there in the golden haze of the old city, the ring heavy on your finger and Jeonghan’s arms tight around you, you couldn’t help but think of that invisible string. Of the way it had wound through time and space, pulling you both through every twist and turn, every high and low, until it finally tied you here—together. Forever.

The next morning, the headlines were splashed across every sports outlet and beyond:

Ferrari’s Golden Boy Pops the Question in Baku’s Old City—And Gets a Yes!

a/n: if anyone is curious about the ring:

a/n (pt. it's the remix): i'm ngl - idk if there's anymore full throttle left to write. BUT! jeonghan and his journalist lover fiance will definitely be popping up in the other fics in the pedal to the metal series, so keep an eye out for your favorite ferrari golden boy <333

truly, thank you for all the love on full throttle. it blows me away how many people have reached out and told me that this fic got them into f1, and that's such an honor to hear (carat f1 enjoyers RISEEEE).

does this mean i'll never write ferrari!jeonghan again? no ofc not, he's one of my favorite characters of all time and if an idea pops up i will def write it. but for now... kisses, ferrari boy, onwards to pr disaster ferrari!soonyoung!

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ayumigotabittoolonely · 11 hours ago

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Nerd!Gojo x Nerd!You

Nerdjo x nerd reader!

Part 1 no next part sorry I lost the motivation 😔 and lost most of my works

♡Gojo, the paranoid investigator.He is now on a mission to prove you’re human.He starts stalking (observing is the word he prefers) you, noting down every tiny habit.But every time you catch him staring, you don’t call him out.You just stare back. Unblinking. Unfazed.His brain short-circuits. His soul leaves his body. Suguru finds him sitting in a corner later, mumbling, “She’s not real… she’s not real…”

♡Gojo, the humbled flirt.He’s never failed at flirting before. Ever. So when he dramatically tells you, “I’d bring the moon to you if I could.”He expects something a scoff, an eyeroll, a blush. Instead, you say, “That’s scientifically impossible.” The way you deadpan it makes him rethink his entire existence.Suguru and Shoko witness this and nearly die laughing.

♡Gojo, the desperate competitor.He stays up all night, studying harder than he ever has in his entire life, just to beat you in the rankings. The results come out. You still top. He’s second. But the worst part? You don’t even react. No smile, no satisfaction, no nothing. He’s not mad that he lost he’s mad that you didn’t care. He dramatically flops onto Suguru’s shoulder. “She’s a machine, man… I’m up against a machine…”

♡Gojo, the secret romantic.No one knows, but he loves romance novels. It’s his guilty pleasure.One day, he’s in the library, nose deep in one, when you suddenly sit next to him.He panics. He immediately slams the book shut.You glance at the cover. You say nothing.You just… nod slightly and continue reading your own book.For some reason, that’s way worse than if you had teased him.

♡Gojo, the horror movie victim.He once fell asleep in the library and woke up at 3 AM. Everything is dark. Silent. He feels like he’s in a horror movie.Then he sees you. Sitting at a table, reading, like some paranormal entity that never moves.He has never known fear like this before.He contemplates running, but his legs don’t work.He watches in terror as you slowly… turn the page of your book.He passes out.

♡Gojo, the human experiment conspiracist.He is convinced now. You are not normal. You are not real.He asks Shoko to run a “human test” to confirm.

She plays along and casually tells you, “Hey, mind giving me a blood sample?”Gojo watches you for any sign of panic.You blink. “No.” And walk away.

He gasps. He screams.

“SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHY. SUGURU, SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHY.”

♡Gojo, the fool in denial. He refuses to admit he finds you interesting.

“I don’t like her, okay? I just wanna know more about my rival.”

Suguru and Shoko exchange looks. “Sure.”

“I MEAN IT.”

“Mhm. Sure. Do your homework.”

He storms off in frustration.

♡Gojo, the dramatic love announcer. One day, out of nowhere, he slams his hands on the lunch table, eyes wide with revelation.

“I THINK I FOUND MY MATCH.”

Suguru and Shoko don’t even look up. “Yeah, we know.”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. SHE’S—”

“Yeah, yeah. Do your homework, Gojo.”

He stares at them in betrayal. They’re supposed to be shocked.

He’s suffering, and they don’t even care.

♡Gojo, the haunted. One day, he catches you staring at him.His heart stops. His brain malfunctions.You just tilt your head slightly, as if analyzing him.And then you go back to your book.That moment haunts him to this day.

♡Gojo, the theorist.He starts developing wild theories.Maybe you’re a spy. Maybe you’re a hacker. Maybe you’re an escaped AI prototype from a secret lab.

Suguru literally smacks the back of his head. “Shut up and focus on your work.”

♡Gojo, the secret simp.He doesn’t even realize he’s simping for you.One time, someone called you boring for always studying.

Without hesitation, Gojo fired back, “At least she exists. You just stand around judging people who do.”

The entire room went silent.

He immediately realized what he just said and pretended to choke on air.

♡Gojo, the needy puppy.When he wants something from you, his voice turns softer.

“Show it to me please… send it to me, Y/nnnn.”

He stretches your name out like a whiny kid.

Suguru stares at him in disgust.

♡Gojo, the unshakable, now very shaken.His ultimate goal? Make you react.

First, he starts leaving anonymous cute notes.

You glance at them for two seconds, then toss them in the trash.

His heart shatters.

Then, he tries challenging you. “Bet you can’t solve this.”

You solve it in seconds. He gasps. He didn’t even know the problem had an answer. (He made the question)

As a final resort, he sends you a fake love letter, thinking you’ll finally get flustered.

You read it and say, “It’s technically impossible to climb Everest in three minutes for a girl.”

He wants to scream.

♡Gojo, the ignored.He gets petty. Tries ignoring you for three hours to make you notice his absence.You don’tyHe snaps.

“Missed me?”

You blink. “Oh, I didn’t even know you were here today.”

♡That one physically hurt.

♡ Gojo, the fool who fell.He’s never met someone like you.You challenge him in a way no one ever has.He hates it. He loves it.He’s completely doomed.

@syrooo @hel1nn @ourfinalisation @dekusdante @naomigojo

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celerydays · 1 day ago

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long time no see…

Hey, hi, hello~

I don't know if anyone is still around this little blog o' mine or if I'm just showing up suddenly on the dash and whoever is seeing this might not recall ever even following me lol.

But – whether you remember me or not – I'm just dropping by to say that...I've missed you and that I truly hope you're doing well 🫂💗

I...have not been doing so well. But I've been working on it.

In a way, it's been healing to reshape my approach to things like journaling and capturing photos. I've been taking the time to develop a practice in documenting daily life – the people I care about, the places we visit, and all the random little moments in between – with more intentionality and care than I have in recent years.

(tw: grief and loss/death under cut)

I lost my mom very suddenly last November – and things have been unbearably hard the last few months.

In a lot of ways, 2024 was one of the best years: my partner and I traveled to Japan for the first time ever, my family had a small reunion in our hometown to watch the total solar eclipse together, my best friends got married, and we went on so many amazing trips and had the type of outings that made me so inspired, optimistic, and excited about life and the future.

But in so many other ways, it was also one of the worst years I've had in a long time: starting with a hard-learned (but perhaps overdue) firsthand lesson and reminder on how scary and mean the internet can be, followed by losing both my grandfather in the spring and then my mother just before the winter holidays.

I'm not particularly good when it comes to emotions– forget about even processing grief or putting into any sort of meaningful words how it all feels. But I guess all of this has made me shift my mindset when it comes to wanting to just...remember. To not forget.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On documenting life through journaling...

I had always journaled in some way or another all my life, but I only really started considering it a serious practice and hobby sometime around 2020. But I had lost my way with it in recent years, treating it solely as some kind of aesthetic-only venture, and only dedicating the time if I knew that I could make it "pretty" and "palatable for sharing".

And so, many entries were missed; days and weeks lost to fuzzy recollection, months bled into each other, and little moments only existed as vague and passing snapshots on my phone gallery (if I even remembered to take a photo).

But I now wish I had just written it down; whatever it was – big, small, angry, funny, sad, happy – just wrote it all down. It didn't have to be an aesthetically collaged spread or artful doodle or drawing. I wish I had documented some of the last times I had seen or spoken with my mother; what she had said, did, or how she reacted to silly news or quips I told her. I barely remember anything even just from the last year.

So now I write it all down, day after day: I'll write what's on my mind, what we did before, what I'm doing currently, what I'm planning to do. If someone calls or my partner walks in to my studio while I'm working and tells me something that has me reacting in the moment I'll jot down a little "omg!!" or "lol" or "holy shit" next to whatever they said or did.

If I get little scraps from the day – receipts, tags, tickets, wrappers – I'll paste it in wherever it happens to fit in my journal, with a little note of the date or what the outing was. And every so often, I'll print out photos to paste in with notes relating back to past entries or junk journal spreads.

Is always pretty? No, but it's pretty in its chaos. Is it always even chronological? Not at all, but I've embraced the organic nature of pages and dates that sort of jump around, just as long it gets recorded. Does it always make sense? Not really, but it makes sense to me and that's really all that matters. And I love every page so, so much more than anything I had carefully curated before in my previous journals.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On documenting life through photos...

I had once carried a camera with me everywhere before phone cameras became decent enough that I didn't feel the need to have a dedicated tool for just taking pictures anymore.

It wasn't until we were all looking through our collective family photos to use for my mother's memorial service and headstone that it hit me that I just don't take as many pictures as I used to– and even when I did, they just don't compare to the ones that I took years ago when I did carry a camera with me on every outing and trip.

We ended up choosing a photo of her that I had taken on my once-beloved dSLR camera I used to haul around with me almost 10 years ago; she was smiling, strong, radiant, beautiful– and it was just a random moment I took my camera out in a Taiwan hair salon while she was waiting for me and my sister to get our hair done for our cousin's wedding.

A bit indescribable – and not even something I realized was missing – but there's something about having an actual camera on hand that pushes me to take more photos, and somehow better and more mindful photos at that.

And so I made the decision to invest in a new camera. An absolute necessity to take photos? No, of course not; I do still have my phone camera after all. But they say (apparently) that "the best camera is the one that you actually use"– and I was most definitely not using my phone as much as I could have been.

This new camera though? Only time will truly tell, but the past has shown that I've worked better with a dedicated camera on hand and already I can't begin to explain the difference it's made in the last week alone since I picked up the habit of carrying a camera around with me again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

This was a crazy long post that sort of got away from me. Not sure where I want to go from here – I guess I just want to say that if you ever felt called to document your life in some way, it's never too late to start; you'll only wish that you had begun sooner.

If you're still here– I love you. I hope you're taking care of yourself.

And thank you for reading along with my incredibly longwinded life update of what was essentially just "I'm grieving so I started journaling more and also bought a camera" lol.

💗

#celerydays #cels diary #cel journals #cw grief

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thefirstlioveyou · 11 hours ago

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Mike's Core Fear - No, it isn't not being needed/loved, and no, he doesn't actually need El to need him

Disclaimer: this is technically a discussion on whether mike's Enneagram is type 6 or 2, but this is can still read as a general analysis on mike's actual driving fear. i've been stumped on which he is because of his whole thing with wanting to be needed by el, but still somehow matching entirely as a type 6. i realized while how it may seem his fear is not being needed... it's not the core fear driving mike's actions. also, i'm still learning about the enneagram. bare with me if i mess up or misunderstand something lol. and please correct me

Mike isn't a Type Two just because he wants to be needed by El. He just doesn't relate to any of the motivations of a Two. He isn't wanting or expecting appreciation for his efforts. He doesn't feel under appreciated. Even though he technically is, that isn't relevant to him here. He doesn't care about that. It's the exact opposite. Mike doesn't feel deserving. He feels like he does nothing. He feels inferior to El.

If he is not a Two, this means at his core, Mike's deepest fear isn't not being loved/needed like we've been thinking. Don't get me wrong, it is one of his wants (I mean.. Who doesn't want to be needed and loved?). It's something he canonically cares about... It's just not for the reason we've been thinking. It's not what he desires the most. It's not what he truly fears.

I think his core fear is something along the lines of abandonment/rejection and being without support/guidance, making him a Type Six.

i can't really articulate my explanation with all the terminology since i'm still learning more and more about enneagram typing. but I will try to make sense in my own way lol.

here are some quick things that show me mike's afraid of abandonment and to be without support/guidance:

- he is constantly losing will and el throughout the show in different ways, affecting him greatly every time. loss is already a consistent theme in his story.

- mike hides the real reason for his bruise from el, avoiding potential rejection or embarrassment. he doesn't want el to see him the way others do and essentially drive her away.

- before meeting will, he claims to have felt so scared and alone because he didn't have any friends and knew no one. fear went away once he did finally meet someone. not a lot of kids express feeling scared and alone with tears on the first day of school. scared, sure!! who isn't? but scared and alone? now that's another thing, especially just for the first day.

- one of his fears is revealed in dustin's book. he is scared of letting down the ones he loves. what happens when you let someone down? you're at risk of losing that person's respect, love, support, etc.

- will's "what if they don't like the truth?" resonates with mike. this is similar to the point above. mike is afraid to el the truth because he doesn't want to disappoint and let her down - he's at risk of losing her entirely.

- when mike tries to reach el in s2 on halloween through the walkie talkie, he talks about having a bad day and wishing she was there. he also reaches out again to her after having a bad dinner with his parents and being forced to donate his toys as a punishment. he doesn't specify that to her, but it becomes clear why he's trying to communicate to her. he's trying to cope with events in his own life.

- during mike's monologue, he admits he doesn't know how to live without el. hmmm.

that all being said... as you can probably tell, there's a specific pattern when it comes to el lol. i think it's safe to say:

mike doesn't need el to need him - he needs her.

why? well it makes perfect sense. el is his shield. she has protected him from the main thing that brought him trouble his whole life - his bullies (and the supernatural)

But, she is also the superhero he feels inferior to, the superhero he wishes he could be.. but instead is lois lane (actually, he feels even less than her).

season 1, el protects mike and saves him in multiple occasions from bullies. he is saved from getting ass beat by troy. he is saved from literal death. she saves the whole group as a whole in multiple occasions from the supernatural and government.

mike calls her a weapon. this is important because the only thing mike's seen her use her powers as defense at that point was to defend him from his bullies and when him and lucas were fighting. interesting huh?

Before we see her save him from bullies, we are introduced to the group's experience with bullying. we get a scene where mike is tripped and ends up with a scab on his chin, which he hides from her until she manages to get the truth out of him. She tells him she understands.

ALL THIS is why he keeps referring back to her powers and putting her on a pedestal. THIS is why he sees himself as lois lane and her as superman. Without her, he has no actual defense or "weapon." Without her, he would've died because of his bullies. He is projecting what he wishes he could be on her.

"You can fly." no?? she can make you fly, mike

This is one of the reasons why the cliff scene is SO important. Mike and Dustin are confronted with their bullies who are looking for revenge. The bullies threaten Mike. If he doesn't jump off the cliff, they will cut off Dustin's baby teeth. Mike is defenseless. He doesn't have powers. He can't fight someone who has a knife. His aim is shit enough. He can't do anything. He has to jump and throw away his life, ultimately letting the bullies win. With true bravery, he steps off the cliff for his friend. Gone. Oh wait. He's saved by a supernatural force. He doesn't actually fall to death - He flies his way back to the surface instead! Winning against the bullies... The bullies running away scared... Except... that was all of El's doings. Not his. She's the one who saved him and Dustin. Not him. She's the one who gets the praise, not him. Why would he? Over someone like that? Mike gets it. He's just as impressed.

Similar thing happens in the sauna test. While Mike is the only one with the courage to stop Billy from choking El, it still isn't enough. He once again has to be saved by her.

Notice how he doesn't even try to defend himself as Troy goes for him. He's still like he is in the sauna when Billy has him trapped.

He doesn't fight back. He may start the fight... But he never can finish it. It's either physically impossible or because of discouragement. But, that doesn't stop Mike from for some reason trying again. Still no good.

And even more to think about: He goes about how he thinks El doesn't need him anymore. But.. when has she even suggested to him that she needs him? Like, actually? He's literally just assuming that.

S1, before the trauma of losing her, he was genuinely just trying to help her because she actually did need help. S2, she's not even there. He's literally desperately trying to reach out to her without even hearing anything back from her. He's the one that needs her, not the other way around. S3, she literally basically says it to his face she doesn't need him. S4, el's actions to mike are closed off. she lied the entire time. it's not like she was begging for his help and for him the whole time?

We only ever see HER saving and protecting Mike, not the other way around. There is nothing for Mike to think she needs him. Therefore... This whole thing is just another case of mike projecting once again. Classic Michael! Also very much a Six thing - Projection of fears and insecurities.

Now that we got the whole Mike and El thing out of the way..

If he is a Two, and if he fears not being needed the most, and to be needed is *the* desire, where does the forced conformity part of his storyline even come from then?

Seeing him as a Six makes the forced conformity bit align far better than if he really is a Two.

Season 2. He is immediately confused by Lucas and Dustin's interest in Max. He doesn't understand their crushes the whole season and ends up pissed as hell by it. He refuses to let her in the Party and rejects her (something a type two would not do). In his eyes, she is ruining the structure of the group. Lucas and Dustin spend more time with her during Halloween and ruins his day, later complaining about it to El briefly on the walkie talkie.

He just can't understand their obsession with this girl. He is behind all of them, he feels.. at least based on the least possibly obvious blocking /s.

He's alone on this. They all agree on this except him. The structure of the group is falling apart due to crushes and girls when he obviously doesn't want them to go to the direction.

But by the end of the season, while sitting alone at the snowball as the rest of his friends dance with someone, this is where he finally decides to give in and join the rest in growing up and focus on girls. Mike doesn't want to be behind and alone, but he can't stop this change. They have to grow up. He chooses to stick to society's rules because that's the most secure way through. That's where his friends are, his source of support and guidance, so that's where he'll be.

He needs El because he needs the strength and protection she gives that he believes he doesn't have himself, which he must learn to conquer. He does not want to be left behind and therefore conforms to fit in with his friends, pushing aside all the things he really actually wants. Despite his overwhelming insecurities, he wants to be the paladin he is in DnD. He wants to lead a structured group to victory. He wants to lead his own life instead of following societal expectations, even if he's alone on it (which he won't be)

Mike is stuck with lots of fears and insecurities and is afraid of being without support or guidance. "I don't know how to live without you" tells you exactly what Mike needs to learn - How to live without someone like El who shields him. He must become a hero himself and must believe it is possible, regardless of what his little negative head tells him. He is meant to be Superman.

Mike is a six. End of the post.

(specifically 6w7 but not the argument here lol)

#pls i had a whole revelation writing this #mike kinda doesn't actually care about being needed that way #its something more than that #i hope i made sense!!!#the whole scared and alone thing was what initially caught my attention #mike i fucking love youuuu #mike wheeler #elmike #byler #< target audience #anti mileven #just to be clear lol

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icallhimjoey · 2 days ago

Note

I miss poppy and mark still and I miss that version of joe (and always bookstore joe) but that joe please he was such an idiot😭 I miss him and this is all your fault (said with so much love bye going to reread everything (again))

ok so it took me a good second, but, here you go bby <3 to the girls unfamiliar with poppy and mark: maybe have a look here Wordcount: 2.3K

---

Won’t Say It Until You Will

Sometimes you still don’t quite understand how you’ve gone literal years thinking Joe couldn’t fucking stand you.

You’d gotten so used to his stand-offish demeanor. To the arrogant smirks you’d catch just before he’d bite them back, just in time for Poppy or Mark to notice. To his overall unapproachability, and the heavy judgment that would drip off of him.

For years you thought you didn’t like Joe, simply because you were convinced Joe didn’t like you.

Didn’t like you as a person.

As Mark’s friend.

As someone that, through Mark falling for Poppy, was going to be in his life now.

You think you’re still adjusting to the sudden change. And the change was definitely sudden. Learning that, actually, Joe was trying to keep as much distance as he possibly could for the exact opposite of what you thought had been quite the shock. You might be adjusting for a while longer, still.

Which makes sense.

It is all quite the adjustment.

Joe used to be so weird around you, and you were always left to figure out why all by yourself.

The big difference now, though, is that every time Joe sees that you doubt yourself in whatever interaction you have with him, he’s quick to set the record straight.

He’s not allowed to say I love you yet.

You have to say it first for it to feel normal. Granted, barely anything about how this started feels normal to begin with. But this is something you hold onto. You tell him to shut up all the time, because you have come to know this look Joe will throw you.

This soft, adoring sort of dreamy stare Joe has a hard time containing. It’s truly quite something to be looked at like you’re the single best thing in current existence to someone. Like you’ve got shimmery diamonds and liquid gold where your heart should be.

It’s a shame it makes you frown the way it does.

“Shut up.” You’ll warn before he’s even gotten the chance to say anything.

And Joe used to reply with, “I didn’t say anything.”

That has since changed to a very dopey, a very smiley, “Okay.” that makes your nose scrunch.

Joe knows the rule.

Won’t say it until you will, no matter how many times the words will pop into his head and will beg to be released into your ears via his mouth. It’s nothing short of agony, because there’s moments where you’ll look at him like you used to. Before. When he kept his distance and would say the wrong thing, crack an unfunny joke that accidentally hurt your feelings, and – God, if he could just say those words and put your mind at ease the way the so desperately wants to...

He’s found different ways.

Has had to find different ways.

If you can’t hear the words, that’s fine. He’ll make you feel them just the same.

When you get into bed, one night, over at Joe’s place, you suddenly pause, halfway in.

“What?” Joe asks, already sort of smiling at your expression as he slides his legs under the covers on his side of the bed.

“Remember when...” you start, and immediately Joe’s aware that this can go one of two ways. You could either end up a giggling heap underneath the covers, or he’s going to end up kissing you silly to reassure every doubt from your mind.

You glance at one of his wardrobe doors and squint your eyes a little.

Joe’s scared it’s going to be the latter of the two options.

“I’ve actually never seen you wear that shirt again– have you...” you don’t finish whatever you were about to ask, and instead walk around the bed to check something. To see for yourself.

“What shirt?” Joe asks, sat up in bed, both hands in his lap over the covers, tongue pushing into his cheek as he watches you open the wardrobe.

You’re met with a meticulously well-organised row of shirts, jackets– Joe’s even got all of his trousers and jeans folded over hangers. All pressed and ironed, ready to make Joe look far smarter than he’ll feel.

You used to fall for it all the time, but you’ve since learned to see through most of it.

“How often do you get rid of clothes?” you ask, hands filtering through.

“All the time,” Joe says a little sheepishly, and jokingly adds, “You know I really only like... three things.”

Joe watches you filter through hangers at lightning speed, metal wire gliding over the rod and clanging together in your search.

You’re looking for something specific. Unsure of what made the thought pop into your head, you’d just remembered a specific shirt Joe wore once and wanted to see if he still had it. If there was maybe a reason why you hadn’t seen him wear it ever since that one night.

And, morning.

“Hmm... it’s not here.”

“What shirt are you even talking about?”

You throw Joe a look over your shoulder, eyes squinted, and for a moment you look like you’re contemplating something. Like you’re milling something over.

Then, suddenly, Joe gets it. He knows exactly what you’re looking for, and is immediately embarrassed.

“Oh. Yea, no. Do you mean the white– my white button down? I, um… that shirt, it’s… you’re right, it’s not– it’s not there.”

Joe stutters through a bad excuse, and for an actor, he’s a fucking terrible liar. You shove aside some of his jackets, and then…

“Come back to bed, please.”

There it is.

The white button down shirt you were looking for.

You grab the hanger and pull it out, ready to happily show Joe you found it, but as you move the fabric into the light, you notice it.

See it.

“Found i– oh, my God…”

This is the shirt Joe wore to Mark and Poppy’s wedding shower. The one he said he’d get dry cleaned after he wiped your face with the sleeve, after he dabbed both your make-up covered cheeks. The one of which he’d pulled the cuff into his palm to get the fabric real close under your eyes to get rid of the wet mascara that had traveled there through tears.

You’d shown him the brown and black marks right after he’d done it, and he’d said he was going to get it dry-cleaned.

“Joe, what the…”

You’re holding a dirty shirt.

Had this stains not come out?

Clearly not.

You’re both looking at a dirty shirt. At old make-up stains that… well, this shirt is ruined. Your eyes quickly glance at the tag in the collar, and you wince.

That is too expensive of a brand for a shirt to be ruined like this.

This is the reason why you hadn’t seen Joe wear it again.

You’d ruined his shirt.

God, and you had even told him that next day, that next morning, that a regular cycle in a machine wash was going to get the stains out fine.

Obviously, it hadn’t.

Because you’re staring at caked blotches of bronzer and dark streaks of mascara and– ... you can feel how you shrink in on yourself, stood there, in his bedroom, with a stupidly expensive badly stained shirt he’d been hiding from you because he hadn’t been able to get it clean and–

Upon the sight of your face dropping, Joe gets out of bed, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Um.. I’ll have that.”

Two slow hands come into vision and carefully take the hanger from your grip.

“Thanks.”

The shirt, in all its dirty glory, gets gently put back in its place, hidden behind Joe’s jackets, before Joe closes the wardrobe doors entirely.

“Sorry,” is all you can think to say, voice small, a little wobbly. “I’m sorry, I thought… I ruined your shirt. That should’ve come out in the wash. Sorry. I will– I’ll replace it. I’ll–”

“No you won’t.”

You drop both your shoulders just as Joe grabs hold of both of them. His grip is strong enough to bring you into the room a bit more.

“And don’t look at me like that. I didn’t… that’s… I’ve never washed it.”

What?

“You didn’t ruin the shirt. It’s just unwashed.”

Joe softly chuckles at your face and you get lead back to bed as you try to puzzle together what you’ve just been told. What that even means.

There had been plenty of whispered conversations, late at night chats in the dark, where Joe would reassure you that he had never hated you. The outward dislike had always been an awful way to hide how he really felt, and Joe was going to be kicking himself until the end of time for how that had always make you feel.

Joe is never going to be able to make it right, he thinks.

But he can fucking try.

“That’s…”

“Disgusting? Yes. Absolutely.”

He’ll die trying.

“Why haven’t you…”

You’re scared to finish the question because you fear you already know the answer.

“Didn’t want to. So don’t worry about it.”

You get tucked in as your worries easily get dismissed, but it’s difficult to make your confused frown disappear.

Joe sighs when you keep looking at him like that, sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and goes, “You’ll make fun of me. But... that’s the… that’s what I wore when you slept in my bed for the first time. It’s not ruined. Washing it would ruin it, actually.”

Everything about that is confusing and will take a minute or two for you to process. Now, here, in the moment, it just makes you grimace with horror, and that in and of itself makes Joe laugh. Makes his eyes twinkle as he bites into his lip, head titled back and to the side a little.

He can’t really help it.

“To be fair... you were never meant to find that. Can you not tell Poppy?”

“Okay. I won’t tell Poppy.” You easily agree.

“But you’ll tell Mark?”

“But I’ll tell Mark.”

Joe drops his head forward in a silent laugh. Of course you will tell Mark.

And, that’s fine. Because it’s a memory he’ll cherish forever, even if you were violently drunk that night, and your hair still smelt of vomit even though Mark’s mum had really done her best to rinse most of it out. You had found Joe’s bed on your own, and had pulled him in to nap with you and– ...he doesn’t think that it was the exact moment where things changed a little, but it was a moment momentous enough to want to keep a souvenir.

It’s why he never washed the dirty button down shirt that proved to him he hadn’t dreamt it up.

He’ll never tell you how he also still has the empty yoghurt carton he had found in his kitchen after you’d left the next morning.

And he’ll also ignore the weird fall out you had after when he lied to Poppy about it. That’s not part of the memory.

Only the good stuff.

Like how he’d barely slept at all.

How he’d gotten to stare at you all night long.

How he’d finally, after hours of collecting courage, had softly let one of his fingertips stroke along the skin of your arm.

How that made you hum contently in your sleep.

If he thinks about it for too long, he could easily make himself cry. Looking at you now, all relaxed into the pillows of his bed, he could make himself cry.

When Joe looks at you a little too long without saying anything, dopey grin and all, your frown only deepens.

“Shut up.”

Joe knows it was bound to be said, but it still tickles him and he lets a throaty laugh escape him before he turns faux-serious.

“Ah. It’s made a return.” Joe scans your features and talks like he’s in a film, speaking to a villain. “That face. Are you even aware of how powerful it is? Makes me feel how much my soul wants to escape my body.”

That gets a little grin out of you, and it’s cute enough for Joe to want to tell the whole entire world how much he loves you. He wonders if you know how much it pains him. How often he can feel the scratch of the words in his throat, the violent urge to just let them free ever present.

But he won’t.

You’d just told him to shut up, so he will shut up, and instead will let those three words seep out in other ways. Through his hands that wander up to your neck. Through his fingers that swipe under your jaw, tipping your head back a little so he can easily kiss you.

You happily accept his kisses, because even though you’re still adjusting to all these little changes in your truth, it all ultimately means that Joe really, really likes you.

Really, really, really likes you.

And of course you know it’s more than that to Joe.

And that he really wants to tell you already.

But he’s not allowed.

Not yet.

Which is fine. He can just kiss you. And he will. Like he’s doing right now.

Joe still can’t quite believe he’s kissing you in his bed, and he can’t believe there was ever a time where he wasn’t.

When he pulls back, still sat on the side instead of under the covers with you, he hovers over you a little. Gives you a quiet moment, just in case you want to tell him.

And you will.

With time.

But not now.

“Shut up.” you repeat, giggling now at how lovesick he looks, and Joe can’t help grin in the way that he does.

He used to reply with, “I didn’t say anything.”

Instead he says, “Okay.” and goes for another kiss when he sees your nose scrunch.

Joe knows the rule.

Won’t say it until you will.

---

The Taglisted

@almightywdm, @alwayslindie, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @dailyobsession

@eddies-puppet, @elvendria, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee

@ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @gri959, @hazelenys, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @kravitzwhore, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia

@mandyjo8719, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles

@notverywise, @overthinking-raccoon, @pepperstories, @pinchofhoney, @readergf

@royale1803, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

Add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfiction #joe quinn fanfic #icallhimjoey #to have and to scold #wont say it until you will

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dreamersworldduh · 1 day ago

Text

HIS AWAKENING —PART 3

TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT

• NATE JACOBS x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Though Nate has finally admitted his feelings for Y/N, expressing them is an entirely different battle. Used to guarding his emotions behind arrogance and control, he struggles with the vulnerability that comes with actually showing Y/N how much he cares. Every touch, every lingering glance, every unspoken word feels like unfamiliar territory—territory he’s not sure how to navigate.

Y/N, ever perceptive, notices the hesitation. While he appreciates Nate’s confession, he refuses to settle for half-measures. He wants something real, not just words spoken in the heat of the moment. And if Nate truly wants him, he needs to prove it—not just with declarations, but with actions.

Now, caught between his pride and his undeniable need for Y/N, Nate faces his biggest challenge yet: learning how to love without fear.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 9.7k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Of course the story of Nate Jacobs wasn’t over. I have a few more plans for our lovely toxic duo. Also working on get those requests done. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy!

The following weeks passed in a blur, and everything between Y/N and Nate had shifted in ways neither of them fully acknowledged—but both of them felt. The tension that once simmered between them had evolved into something more potent, more charged. It wasn't just about lingering glances or teasing remarks anymore. It was something unspoken, something that had settled into the very fabric of their everyday interactions.

Mornings were different.

Y/N used to wake up to the sound of Nate moving around the dorm, the rustling of fabric and the muffled sighs of someone half-asleep and grumpy about early practice. Now, he often woke up to the warmth of Nate's arm draped lazily over his waist, their bodies tangled in a way that no longer felt accidental. The first time it happened, Y/N had tried to slip out quietly, but Nate had pulled him back without opening his eyes, murmuring a sleep-heavy, "Stay."

And Y/N had.

Classes were different.

Before, they'd sit apart, pretending not to notice each other in lecture halls. Now, Nate made a habit of sitting beside Y/N, stretching out in his seat like he owned the space and shooting Y/N knowing smirks when their knees brushed under the desk. Occasionally, he'd pass him a note written in Nate's barely-legible handwriting—sometimes sarcastic, sometimes suggestive, always smug.

You looked good this morning.

Caught you staring. You're not subtle.

Meet me after practice. No excuses.

Afternoons were different.

The football field and track had once been separate worlds, their teams rarely crossing paths outside of shared locker room banter. But now, Nate's eyes found Y/N easily across the field. When Y/N stretched with his track team, his shorts riding high up his thighs, he could feel Nate's gaze on him. He would smirk, deliberately holding his poses a little longer than necessary, pretending not to notice the way Nate clenched his jaw.

And Nate? He was just as bad. During football drills, when he'd strip off his sweat-soaked jersey, he'd make sure Y/N was watching before wiping his face with the hem of his undershirt, letting Y/N catch a glimpse of hard-earned abs. And when he threw a perfect pass, he always turned to Y/N first—just to see if he was impressed.

Nights were the most different of all.

What started as shared, comfortable silence in their dorm had turned into something heavier. The space between their beds seemed smaller. Some nights, they barely spoke, the tension so thick it felt like an invisible string stretched between them, ready to snap. Other nights, Y/N would throw a teasing comment at Nate, just to see how much it would take before Nate's patience broke.

And sometimes, Nate wouldn't break at all. He'd just smirk, push off his bed, and walk toward Y/N with that look in his eyes—the one that made Y/N's breath hitch before Nate even touched him.

But they hadn't talked about it.

Not once.

Not about what they were. Not about how things had changed. Not about how, in public, Nate still acted like nothing had shifted, but behind closed doors, he touched Y/N like he belonged to him.

And maybe that was the most interesting part of all.

Because neither of them seemed ready to bring it up.

And neither of them seemed willing to stop.

For Y/N, this was nothing more than casual sex. A mutually beneficial arrangement between two roommates who happened to have undeniable chemistry. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself in this kind of situation—hooking up with someone for the thrill of it, for the fleeting heat of the moment, without the baggage that came with emotions.

He knew better than to let himself catch feelings.

Feelings were messy. Feelings led to expectations, and expectations led to disappointment. Y/N had learned that lesson the hard way before, and he had no intention of repeating it. He wasn't the type to sit around hoping for something that wasn't guaranteed.

And Nate?

Nate was just another notch in the bedpost, another mistake he refused to let turn into something more.

At least, that's what Y/N kept telling himself.

But despite every effort to keep things detached, Nate was growing on him.

It was the little things—the way Nate always seemed to find him in a crowded room, the way he'd smirk like he had a secret only Y/N knew, the way he lingered a little too long after they were done, his fingers ghosting over Y/N's skin like he didn't want to let go.

It was the way Nate said his name.

It was the way Nate looked at him.

Y/N wasn't oblivious. He saw the shifts in Nate's behavior, the way he acted differently with him than he did with anyone else. The way his cocky bravado softened ever so slightly when they were alone.

And Y/N had to admit—he had a soft spot for the guy.

It wasn't just about the sex anymore, not really. He liked the way Nate got competitive over stupid things, the way he'd steal Y/N's snacks and then buy him more without being asked. He liked the way Nate absentmindedly played with the hem of Y/N's sleeve when they sat close, the way his smirks turned into real smiles when Y/N got under his skin in just the right way.

But liking Nate didn't mean he was going to fall for him.

Not unless Nate gave him a reason to.

Not unless Nate said it first.

Because Y/N wasn't about to set himself up for heartbreak. He wasn't going to be the one holding onto something that wasn't reciprocated, waiting for Nate to figure himself out while Y/N suffered in silence.

No, if Nate wanted more, he was going to have to be the one to say it.

Until then, Y/N was single.

And if Nate thought otherwise?

Well, that was his problem

Whereas for Nate, everything about this was uncharted territory.

He wasn't the type to hesitate, wasn't the kind of guy who struggled with words or second-guessed himself. On the field, in the locker room, in every other aspect of his life, he was confident—in control.

But with Y/N?

With Y/N, Nate felt like he was stumbling through the dark, grasping at something just out of reach, something he barely knew how to define.

He hadn't even admitted to himself that he wanted Y/N—not just physically, but in a way that made his chest tighten whenever he saw him smile, in a way that made his stomach twist whenever he caught Y/N flirting with someone else at a party.

It had taken him weeks just to acknowledge that he had feelings for Y/N, and even now, he barely knew what to do with them.

Y/N wasn't making it easy, either.

The way Y/N carried himself—always so detached, so effortlessly casual about everything—was driving Nate insane. He acted like this was just another hookup, like there was nothing more to it, like what they were doing didn't mean anything.

And maybe it didn't—to him.

But to Nate?

Every time Y/N smirked at him from across the room, every time he ran his fingers through Nate's hair in the middle of the night like it wasn't a big deal, every time he laughed at one of Nate's dumb jokes like it was the easiest thing in the world—it meant something.

But how the hell was he supposed to say that out loud?

How was he supposed to admit that he wanted more, when Y/N acted like there wasn't even a "they" to begin with?

It pissed him off, honestly.

The way Y/N would tease him, get under his skin, rile him up, and then act like it was nothing. The way he would kiss Nate breathless one moment, then shrug him off like it was just another part of their routine.

Like Nate was just a roommate.

Like Nate was just a good fuck.

And maybe that's all this was for Y/N.

Maybe Nate was the only idiot who was making it into something more.

The thought made Nate clench his jaw, his fists tightening as he sat on the edge of his bed, watching Y/N from across the room. Y/N was scrolling through his phone, looking completely unbothered, like he hadn't spent the previous night gasping Nate's name, trembling under his hands.

Nate exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

He needed to get a grip.

He couldn't be the one to bring it up first. He wouldn't be.

Because if Y/N really didn't care—if this really was just casual for him—then Nate wasn't going to be the one making a fool of himself.

So he bit his tongue.

Swallowed every confession before it could leave his mouth.

Kept playing the game, even though he wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend that the only thing he wanted from Y/N was this.

Because the truth?

The truth was, Nate didn't just want Y/N in his bed.

He wanted him in his life.

And he had no fucking idea how to say it.

The lecture hall was filled with the monotone drone of the professor's voice, echoing off the walls as students either scribbled down notes diligently or stared off into space, barely paying attention. Y/N, ever the diligent student, sat upright, pen gliding smoothly over his notebook as he copied the key points from the lecture slides. His brows furrowed in concentration, his fingers tapping absently against the paper as he underlined an important concept.

To his left, Nate was struggling.

Slouched in his seat, arms crossed, his head bobbed slightly with each passing second, his eyelids growing heavier as the minutes dragged on. He barely even tried to hide it, his mouth parting slightly as he fought off sleep, only for his head to tilt dangerously forward before he caught himself at the last second.

Y/N side-eyed him before nudging him with his elbow. "You keep nodding off like that, and you're gonna wake up drooling all over your desk," he murmured under his breath.

Nate cracked one eye open, blinking sluggishly before stretching out his legs under the desk. "Mm," he grunted, voice thick with exhaustion. "This class is pointless."

Y/N scoffed, flipping to a fresh page. "It's not pointless if you actually pay attention."

Nate made a dismissive noise, letting his head tip back against his chair. "Why should I? You're already taking notes for me."

Y/N paused mid-sentence, turning his head to shoot Nate an incredulous look. "Excuse me?"

Nate cracked a smirk, tilting his head toward Y/N but keeping his posture lazy. "Come on," he said, voice low and smooth. "You know you're gonna let me copy them."

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "And what makes you so sure about that?"

Nate's smirk widened as he leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping lower, enough that only Y/N could hear. "Because you like when I owe you favors." He let the words linger before adding, "And we both know I'm very good at paying them back."

Y/N's grip on his pen faltered for just a second, his cheeks flushing faintly as the meaning behind Nate's words settled in. He turned to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by the small, involuntary smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

"You're annoying," Y/N muttered, shaking his head as he tried to focus back on his notes.

Nate just grinned, leaning back in his chair like he'd won.

Unfortunately, their whispered exchange hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Mr. Jacobs. Mr. Y/L/N," the professor's voice rang out from the front of the lecture hall, immediately silencing the murmurs of other students. "Since you both seem to be having such an engaging discussion, perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts with the class?"

Y/N's head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly as he realized every pair of eyes in the room was now trained on him and Nate.

Nate, on the other hand, remained completely unbothered. He didn't even sit up properly, just lazily turned his head toward the professor with an easy smirk. "Oh, I'd love to, but I'd hate to take up time from your lecture," he drawled, voice dripping with faux innocence.

A few students chuckled under their breath, clearly entertained by the interaction, while Y/N resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.

The professor, unimpressed, sighed. "I'd suggest you both start paying attention before the midterm surprises you."

"Of course, professor," Y/N said quickly, elbowing Nate hard in the ribs as he dropped his gaze back to his notebook.

Nate let out a small grunt at the impact but merely smirked, glancing at Y/N from the corner of his eye. He leaned in one last time, whispering just low enough that no one else could hear.

"Admit it," Nate murmured, voice teasing. "You like having me around."

Y/N didn't look at him, didn't give him the satisfaction. But the small, amused shake of his head as he kept writing told Nate everything he needed to know.

The moment class ended, students moved like a tidal wave toward the exit, eager to escape the monotony of the lecture hall. Y/N gathered his notebook and slung his bag over his shoulder, slipping out of his seat just as Nate got held up near the front of the room, laughing at something one of his football teammates had said.

Y/N didn't wait for him. Why would he? He had his own schedule, his own life. Besides, it wasn't like Nate had asked him to wait.

He maneuvered through the mass of students, his mind already on his next class when—

Thud.

He collided into someone, his momentum halted as a firm chest absorbed the impact.

"Shit," Y/N muttered, stepping back quickly. "I really have to stop running into people."

The guy he'd bumped into let out a short chuckle, his hands raising in an easygoing gesture. "No harm done," he said, offering a friendly smile. "Happens in the stampede of post-class freedom."

Y/N exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, apparently I have a talent for it. Sorry about that."

"No worries." The guy shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder before extending a hand. "I'm Aaron, by the way."

Y/N reached out instinctively, shaking his hand. "Y/N—"

"I know," Aaron interrupted, a grin playing at his lips.

Y/N blinked in surprise. "You do?"

Aaron chuckled, tilting his head as if the answer was obvious. "Yeah. You're the Y/N. Star of the track team, campus favorite for breaking records. Kinda hard not to know who you are."

Y/N huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, now I feel like a minor celebrity."

Aaron smirked. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not about to ask for an autograph or anything."

"Good," Y/N teased, adjusting his bag. "My handwriting's terrible."

Aaron let out another laugh, an easy warmth to his demeanor. "Where you headed?"

"Next class," Y/N said, glancing at the clock on his phone. "Bio 201."

Aaron's eyebrows lifted slightly. "No way. I've got that too."

Y/N raised an amused brow. "You sure you don't just know that because you did some secret research on me?"

Aaron grinned, shaking his head. "I promise, total coincidence. But hey, now I have a walking buddy."

Y/N smirked, falling into step beside him as they started down the hall. "Well, let's see if you can keep up, Mr. Football."

Aaron let out a scoff, nudging Y/N's shoulder playfully. "Please. I may not be as fast as you, but I think I can manage walking."

The conversation flowed effortlessly as they walked together, the natural ease between them making Y/N forget the crowded hallways, the pressure of the upcoming class, and the lingering soreness from morning practice.

But what neither of them knew—what neither of them even thought to check—was the sharp, focused gaze watching them from a few feet away.

Nate stood near the door of the lecture hall, having just finished his conversation with his teammate. His easy smirk had disappeared the moment he caught sight of Y/N—his Y/N—talking and laughing with some other guy.

His arms crossed over his chest, jaw tightening slightly as he watched the interaction unfold.

Aaron.

He knew of him. A decent player, decent stats, never really had a reason to pay attention to him before. But now? Now Aaron had his full attention.

And Nate didn't like what he was seeing.

Not one bit.

The hum of conversation filled the hall as students spilled out of Bio 201, most eager to escape the droning lecture and stretch their legs. Y/N emerged alongside Aaron, his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as they talked.

The past hour had passed easily, filled with quick banter and stolen glances. Aaron was charming, quick-witted, and confident in a way that made it effortless for Y/N to match his energy.

"So," Aaron said, nudging Y/N's arm playfully. "If you're such a track star, when am I getting VIP seats to one of your meets?"

Y/N arched an eyebrow, tilting his head with mock consideration. "Oh, I don't know," he mused, biting back a smirk. "VIP spots are reserved for special people. What makes you think you qualify?"

Aaron grinned, leaning in slightly. "I guess I'll have to work on that, then."

Y/N hummed, pretending to think. "Mmm. Maybe I'll save you a seat."

Aaron let out a soft laugh, his eyes glinting with something playful—something unmistakably flirtatious. "I'll take what I can get," he replied, his voice dropping just slightly.

The air between them shifted, the flirtation now laced with a subtle tension, a challenge silently hanging between them. Y/N wasn't opposed to letting it linger, to seeing where this could go—

But then the air really shifted.

Because suddenly, a new presence made itself known, stepping right into the space between them like it belonged there.

"Funny," a familiar voice drawled, cool and sharp like a blade sliding into place. "Didn't realize we were handing out VIP passes now."

Y/N didn't even have to turn around to know who it was.

Aaron, however, did—his easy expression shifting as he straightened slightly, clearly taken off guard by the interruption.

Nate stood there, casual as ever, but there was an undeniable weight in his presence. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes flicking between Y/N and Aaron, his smirk just a little too tight to be playful.

Y/N exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he looked at Nate, unimpressed. "Didn't realize you were invited to this conversation, QB."

Nate's smirk deepened, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I don't need an invite," he said smoothly. "I was just passing by and couldn't help but overhear." He turned his attention to Aaron, his expression unreadable but undeniably assessing. "Aaron, right?"

Aaron blinked before nodding. "Yeah. And you're Nate Jacobs."

"Guilty," Nate said, his tone light but laced with something harder beneath the surface. His eyes flicked back to Y/N. "Didn't know you made new friends so quickly, Y/N."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, his smirk not wavering. "I have a lot of talents, Nate."

Nate chuckled, shaking his head slightly before stepping in just a little closer—so subtly that to an outsider, it wouldn't seem like much. But Y/N felt it. He felt the shift, the unspoken territorial energy radiating from Nate like a silent warning.

Aaron glanced between the two of them, clearly picking up on the tension but not yet understanding the full weight of it. "Uh," he started, shifting his bag on his shoulder. "Well, I should probably—"

Y/N, ever the instigator, smirked up at Nate and decided to push.

"You should come to the meet this weekend," he told Aaron smoothly, his voice light and easy, but his eyes locked on Nate's. "It'll be fun."

Aaron hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yeah. Sounds good."

And just like that, Nate's smirk vanished.

Y/N could feel the shift, the way Nate's entire body tensed beside him, his jaw tightening just slightly. But instead of lashing out, Nate did something even more dangerous—he relaxed.

His smirk returned, but this time, it was slow, lazy, dangerous.

"Oh, yeah," Nate said smoothly, his voice dropping low as he glanced at Y/N. "He should definitely come."

And Y/N had to fight the shiver that ran down his spine.

Because that? That wasn't a smirk of someone backing down.

That was the smirk of someone ready to play.

The door to their dorm slammed shut behind them, the tension from earlier still thick in the air. Y/N barely made it two steps inside before he spun around, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes locked onto Nate.

"Alright," Y/N started, voice clipped, "what the hell was that all about?"

Nate, who had just shrugged off his backpack and tossed it onto his bed, arched an eyebrow like he had no idea what Y/N was talking about. "What was what all about?" he asked casually, stretching out his arms before leaning back against the wall, completely unbothered.

Y/N scoffed, his hands going to his hips as he glared at Nate. "Oh, don't even try that innocent act with me, QB. You know exactly what I'm talking about." He stepped closer, his chin lifting slightly. "You all but crashed my conversation with Aaron like some jealous boyfriend."

Nate smirked, tilting his head as he looked down at Y/N. "Jealous?" he echoed, his tone amused. "Now that's a reach."

Y/N rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "You—" He exhaled sharply, composing himself before leveling Nate with a pointed look. "You interrupted our conversation. You practically put yourself between us like you were staking some kind of claim."

Nate crossed his arms, that smug smirk never leaving his face. "Maybe I just didn't like what I was hearing."

Y/N huffed out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Oh, please. What, you didn't like that I was flirting with someone else?" He stepped even closer, pushing at Nate's chest lightly. "That bother you, Jacobs?"

Nate didn't budge—he was too solid, too rooted in place. Instead, his smirk deepened, and he leaned down slightly, getting right in Y/N's space. "You're really fishing for an answer, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something dangerous.

Y/N's breath hitched for just a second—just long enough for Nate to notice. And the moment he did, his smirk turned absolutely predatory.

"I don't fish," Y/N said finally, regaining his composure. "I just like calling out bullshit when I see it."

"Bullshit?" Nate repeated, his voice still maddeningly calm. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning Y/N's face like he was amused. "So, let me get this straight—you can flirt with whoever you want, but I can't say anything about it?"

Y/N blinked, thrown off for half a second before he scoffed. "You don't get to say anything about it, because as far as I'm concerned, we're just roommates who occasionally fuck."

Something in Nate's expression shifted then, so subtle that most people wouldn't have caught it—but Y/N did.

A flicker of something—irritation? Possession?—crossed Nate's face before it was quickly masked by that ever-present smirk.

"Right," Nate said smoothly, nodding as if the words didn't affect him at all. "Just roommates."

Y/N swallowed, suddenly feeling like he had no control over this conversation anymore. "Exactly," he said, standing his ground. "Which means I can do whatever I want."

Nate let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly before taking a step closer—so close that Y/N had to tilt his head to maintain eye contact. "Then do whatever you want," Nate murmured, his voice low and taunting. "Flirt with Aaron. Let him take you out. See if he can make you moan like I do."

Y/N's entire body tensed, his breath catching as Nate's words sent a pulse of something down his spine.

Nate smirked, seeing the reaction. "Yeah," he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "That's what I thought."

Y/N hated how easily Nate could unravel him—how he could turn the entire argument around and make it about this, about them, when Y/N was trying to keep it casual.

But Y/N wasn't going to let Nate win that easily.

So he squared his shoulders, looked Nate dead in the eye, and said, "Maybe I will let him take me out."

Nate's smirk dropped.

It was quick—so quick—but Y/N saw it. Saw the way Nate's jaw clenched, how his fingers flexed slightly at his sides.

But then, just as fast, Nate recovered.

He took a step back, that cocky grin sliding right back into place. "Go ahead," he said, voice lazy, unaffected. "See how that works out for you."

And with that, Nate turned, grabbed a towel, and walked straight into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him like he hadn't just dropped a bomb in the middle of their dorm.

Y/N stood there, his heart pounding, his mind racing.

Because if there was one thing he knew about Nate Jacobs—

He never backed down from a challenge.

However, Y/N had never been the type to back down from a challenge. If Nate thought he could rattle him, if he thought he could get under his skin and win whatever game this was between them—well, he had another thing coming.

Because Y/N wasn't going to let him.

That's why, when the weekend of the track meet rolled around, Y/N didn't hesitate. He knew Nate had been watching him ever since their argument in the dorm, knew that Nate's presence had been looming in the background like a shadow. It was almost amusing, really—how Nate acted so indifferent, so unbothered—but Y/N wasn't stupid.

He felt the way Nate's eyes followed him across campus.

He noticed how Nate's jaw clenched when Y/N got a little too close to Aaron during lunch.

And he definitely caught the way Nate's hands curled into fists when he overheard Aaron casually asking, "So, you wanna grab something to eat after your meet?"

Y/N didn't even hesitate. He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he pretended to consider. "Yeah, sounds fun," he said easily, just loud enough for Nate to hear.

Aaron grinned, oblivious to the fire that had definitely ignited behind them. "Cool," he said, nudging Y/N's shoulder. "It's a date, then."

Y/N didn't correct him.

Because if Nate wanted to act like he didn't care?

Then Y/N would make sure he really didn't care.

The track meet was packed. Spectators lined the bleachers, teammates clustered near the starting lines, and the sharp scent of sweat and adrenaline filled the air. Y/N stood with his team, stretching, rolling out his shoulders, his muscles already buzzing with energy.

He lived for this. The rush of competition, the way everything faded the moment he stepped onto the track—nothing mattered except winning.

But today, something was different.

Because when he glanced toward the bleachers, his eyes immediately found Nate.

Sitting in the middle row, legs spread like he owned the damn place, arms slung lazily over the back of the bench. His face was impassive, unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were locked onto Y/N with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

He shouldn't have cared.

But something about Nate being there—watching him—made his pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with the meet.

Y/N rolled his neck, shaking off the thought. Focus.

The announcer's voice rang out, calling for his event. Y/N stepped forward, adjusting his stance, feeling the familiar burn of anticipation settle in his chest.

He didn't look at Nate again.

But he knew, without a doubt, that Nate was watching every second.

The energy from the track meet hadn't died down, even after the final race was over. The team was buzzing, hyped from their victory, their adrenaline still running high as they spilled out of the stadium in groups, talking and laughing loudly.

Y/N was at the center of it all, sweat still clinging to his skin, his body thrumming with the residual thrill of competition. He loved this feeling—the high of winning, the rush of accomplishment. His teammates clapped him on the back, throwing playful jabs about his speed, about how he'd left the other runners in the dust.

And somewhere in the chaos of celebration, someone suggested food.

"Let's hit up that diner near campus," one of Y/N's teammates said, tossing an arm around his shoulder. "I need a burger and fries. I'm starving."

There was no argument.

And somehow, along the way, the football team got roped into the plans.

Y/N wasn't even sure how it happened—one second, it was just the track guys, and the next, a handful of football players had invited themselves along, their towering figures blending into the group like they belonged there.

Which, of course, meant Nate was there too.

Y/N wasn't surprised.

After all, Nate had been watching him all day. He hadn't spoken to Y/N, hadn't even approached him after the race—but Y/N felt his presence. Every time he glanced toward the bleachers, every time he turned his head slightly during cooldowns, Nate was there. Just sitting. Just watching.

So, of course, he was tagging along now.

Y/N didn't acknowledge him, though. He just kept walking with Aaron beside him, their conversation easy, their shoulders brushing every so often as they made their way to the diner.

If Y/N happened to glance over his shoulder and happened to catch the way Nate was looking at them—his jaw set, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets—well.

That was just coincidence.

The diner was packed by the time they arrived, but somehow, they managed to push a few tables together, turning the place into their own private post-game celebration.

Y/N slid into an empty seat, laughing at something Aaron had said, barely even paying attention to where everyone else was sitting—until he heard a chair scrape across the floor.

And then Nate was dropping into the seat right beside him.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for half a second. Because wait a minute—

He looked across the table and saw Aaron, now seated directly across from him, a bemused expression on his face.

Aaron frowned, shifting slightly in his seat. "Uh, wasn't I just—"

"Guess not," Nate cut in smoothly, grabbing a menu like nothing was wrong. "Seats are first-come, first served, right?"

Y/N's lips parted slightly as realization dawned. He stole his seat.

Nate had stolen Aaron's fucking seat.

Aaron stared for a second, clearly confused, but then he just shook his head with a light laugh, like he wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. "Right," he muttered, picking up his own menu. "Guess I'll sit here, then."

Y/N's gaze flicked to Nate, narrowing slightly.

Nate didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge what he just did.

He just leaned back in his chair, one arm resting lazily along the back of Y/N's seat as he skimmed the menu like he hadn't just pulled some petty, possessive bullshit in front of everyone.

Y/N's jaw clenched.

Oh, this was a game now.

Fine.

Game on.

The track team and football players had settled in comfortably, their victory-fueled energy carrying over into dinner. Plates of food were being passed around, drinks refilled, and the chatter was endless.

Y/N, however, was thoroughly engaged in his conversation with Aaron.

Leaning slightly forward, his elbows resting on the table, Y/N smirked as he listened to Aaron talk about an embarrassing moment at one of his recent games. "Wait, you tripped over nothing on the field?" Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow.

Aaron groaned, rubbing his face. "I swear there was a divot in the grass, but of course, nobody believes me. My coach still won't let me live it down."

Y/N chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "I mean, I get it. Falling on your ass mid-play? That's rough."

Aaron pointed a finger at him. "Alright, track star, don't get too cocky. I'd like to see you try dodging three guys while catching a pass and watching your footing."

Y/N smirked, about to fire back—

Until he felt it.

A large, warm hand settling casually on his thigh.

The touch was so casual at first, so light, that Y/N almost didn't react. But then—it moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

Inching higher.

Y/N's breath hitched for a fraction of a second—so brief that nobody but him noticed. He didn't have to look to know exactly whose hand it was.

Fucking Nate.

The bastard didn't even acknowledge what he was doing. He just sat there, pretending to be invested in his food, twirling a fry between his fingers as if his hand wasn't currently sliding up Y/N's thigh under the table.

Y/N swallowed, refusing to react, refusing to give Nate the satisfaction. He turned his attention back to Aaron, keeping his voice perfectly steady. "I think I'd manage just fine," he said, smirking. "Track makes you quick on your feet. Unlike some people."

Aaron laughed, rolling his eyes, but Y/N barely processed it—because Nate's hand was still moving.

Up.

And up.

Y/N clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his fork.

And then—enough was enough.

With a quick, decisive movement, Y/N swatted Nate's hand away, shoving it back toward his own damn lap.

Nate finally reacted.

He let out a small, quiet chuckle—one only Y/N could hear. It was low, smug, vibrating in the small space between them.

Y/N shot him a look—sharp, unimpressed.

Nate just grinned, his blue eyes glinting with something dangerous.

The worst part? He didn't even look the slightest bit guilty.

Y/N turned back to Aaron, ignoring the way his skin still burned from Nate's touch. He wasn't going to give Nate the reaction he wanted.

This was a battle of control.

And Y/N was not going to lose.

If Nate wanted to play games, then Y/N was more than happy to remind him that he never lost.

So, while he continued his conversation with Aaron—laughing, teasing, acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary—he let his hand drop beneath the table. Slowly, deliberately, he rested it on Nate's thigh, mirroring the exact move that Nate had pulled just moments ago.

At first, Nate didn't react. He remained lounged in his seat, chewing idly on a fry, his posture exuding casual arrogance.

But then Y/N started to move.

His fingers traced slow, featherlight strokes over the fabric of Nate's jeans, his touch casual—innocent, even. The kind of touch that wouldn't seem out of place if someone glanced their way. But beneath the surface, it was a challenge. A warning.

Nate didn't tense.

Didn't flinch.

Instead—he smirked.

Y/N didn't have to look to know. He could feel the amusement rolling off of Nate in waves, that cocky bastard reveling in the fact that Y/N had engaged with him. That he had reacted.

And then—Nate adjusted himself.

Not in an overt way. No, that wasn't Nate's style.

It was subtle—the slow shift of his hips, the deliberate way he spread his legs just slightly, offering Y/N more access.

Y/N clenched his jaw, keeping his face neutral, not letting it show how that single movement sent a wave of heat coursing through him.

But two could play at that game.

Y/N let his fingers move higher, grazing along the zipper of Nate's jeans, trailing over the hard lines of his thighs. Nate remained still, his breathing unchanged, but Y/N knew he felt it.

And then, without breaking his conversation with Aaron, without faltering once, Y/N took it a step further.

With practiced ease, he slid his fingers to Nate's zipper and pulled it down.

The soft sound of the zipper unfastening was drowned out by the chatter around them, by the clinking of plates and the hum of the diner.

Nate still didn't react—not outwardly.

But Y/N felt the shift.

Felt the way Nate's breath hitched, just barely.

Felt the way his body tensed for the briefest moment before relaxing again, as if daring Y/N to continue.

And Y/N, never one to back down, did.

His hand slipped past the waistband of Nate's boxers, his fingers grazing warm, hardening flesh. The moment he wrapped his fingers around Nate's dick, he felt it twitch in his grasp—growing, stiffening beneath his touch.

A thrill shot through Y/N's spine.

But still—Nate remained calm.

His breathing never changed. His posture never faltered.

But when Y/N squeezed slightly, teasing the sensitive skin with the lightest of touches—that was when Nate finally reacted.

It was subtle—a slow exhale, controlled, measured.

But Y/N felt it.

Felt the way Nate's thigh muscles tensed beneath his palm.

Felt the way Nate's dick pulsed in his grip.

And when Y/N risked a glance, he was met with pure smugness.

Nate's lips were curled into a smirk, his blue eyes sharp and focused as he turned his head slightly toward Y/N.

That look alone sent heat flooding through Y/N's veins.

Because Nate wasn't annoyed.

Wasn't flustered.

He was enjoying this.

Enjoying the fact that Y/N was touching him—that Y/N wanted to touch him.

It pissed Y/N off.

And turned him on.

So, as Aaron continued talking, completely oblivious to the war happening beneath the table, Y/N did the only thing he could do.

He kept going.

Sliding his fingers up and down, slow, teasing, his movements careful but deliberate.

And Nate?

Nate just smirked wider.

Because Y/N had fallen into his trap.

And he knew it.

But just as quickly as Y/N had started—he stopped.

Without warning, Y/N pulled his hand away from Nate's dick, sliding it casually back to his own lap as if nothing had happened. The sudden loss of warmth sent a wave of irritation through Nate, but before he could react, Y/N turned away from him entirely, shifting his attention back to Aaron with an easy, deliberate smile.

"Hey," Y/N said smoothly, tilting his head, "feel like going for a walk?"

Aaron blinked, caught slightly off guard. "Oh—yeah, sure." He glanced around at their half-finished meals. "Right now?"

Y/N nodded, already pushing back his chair, stretching his arms as if he wasn't just fisting Nate's dick under the table a second ago. "Yeah, I could use some air." His tone was casual, effortless—like this wasn't a power move.

But it was.

And Nate knew it.

Because Y/N didn't just pull away—he was making a statement.

Aaron grinned, oblivious to the battle happening right beside him. "Alright, let's go."

Nate clenched his jaw.

His fingers curled tightly around his fork, his grip so strong he could probably snap it in half if he wanted to. His body was still thrumming with heat, still aching from the way Y/N had just been touching him. He could still feel the ghost of Y/N's fingers wrapped around his dick, still felt the way his body had been climbing toward something more.

Only to be denied.

And now Y/N was just going to get up and walk away with some other guy?

Not just any guy—Aaron?

Nate felt something dark coil in his chest. Something possessive.

He didn't move, didn't speak.

But the moment Y/N and Aaron walked past him, heading toward the diner's exit, Nate turned his head ever so slightly—just enough to watch them leave.

And just as Y/N stepped through the door, he cast a glance back at Nate, his smirk devilish.

Nate's jaw ticked.

Oh, so that's how Y/N wanted to play it?

Fine.

Two could play this game.

And Nate never lost.

The cool evening air wrapped around them as Y/N and Aaron strolled side by side, their footsteps falling in sync against the pavement. The city lights flickered in the distance, casting a warm glow over the quiet streets as they walked away from the crowded diner.

For the first few minutes, their conversation was light—casual teasing, easy banter, small laughs exchanged under the dim glow of the streetlights. But then Aaron's tone shifted, his curiosity evident in his next question.

"So... what's the deal with you and Jacobs?"

Y/N nearly stumbled but caught himself before it was noticeable. He glanced at Aaron, raising an eyebrow. "Nate? What do you mean?"

Aaron smirked knowingly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Come on, Y/N. You can't tell me you didn't notice the way he was looking at you back there. And don't even get me started on the seat-stealing stunt."

Y/N let out a scoff, rolling his eyes. "That was just Nate being an ass. He's like that with everyone."

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah. That wasn't just him being an ass. That was territorial."

Y/N hesitated for a split second before quickly composing himself. "There's nothing going on between us," he said, shrugging. "We're just roommates."

Aaron gave him a sideways glance, as if trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth. "Just roommates?"

Y/N smirked. "Just roommates."

Aaron's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, then he grinned. "Good," he said simply.

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Good?"

Aaron nodded. "Yeah, because if there was something going on, I'd have to rethink what I was about to say next."

Y/N tilted his head slightly, curiosity piqued. "And what exactly were you about to say?"

Aaron turned toward him fully, slowing his steps as they neared the entrance to Y/N's dorm building. "I was going to say," he said, voice dropping slightly, "that I want to take you out."

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He wasn't surprised necessarily—Aaron had been flirting with him all night—but hearing it spoken so directly still sent a jolt of unexpected warmth through him.

A date.

An actual date.

Not a game. Not a chase. Not the tangled mess of mixed signals that Nate constantly threw his way.

Something simple. Something normal.

Y/N hesitated for a brief second before offering a small, genuine smile. "That so?"

Aaron nodded. "Yeah. So what do you say?"

Y/N exhaled softly, glancing up at the dormitory doors before looking back at Aaron. "I say..." He paused, letting the tension build for a moment before smirking. "Ask me properly tomorrow."

Aaron laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I'll do that."

They stopped just outside the entrance, standing close enough that Y/N could feel the warmth radiating from Aaron's body despite the cool air.

Then, without much hesitation, Aaron leaned in.

Y/N knew it was coming, saw the way Aaron's gaze flickered to his lips before closing the distance, giving Y/N the perfect opportunity to pull away if he wanted

to.

But he didn't.

Instead, he let Aaron press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, the touch light yet confident, like a promise for something more.

When Aaron finally pulled back, Y/N could still feel the ghost of the kiss tingling on his lips.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Aaron murmured with a grin.

Y/N huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Night, Aaron."

With that, Aaron stepped back, giving him one last glance before turning and walking away, disappearing down the dimly lit street.

Y/N stood there for a moment longer, exhaling slowly before finally stepping inside the building.

And as he walked toward his dorm, one thought nagged at the back of his mind.

He should feel excited.

And yet, all he could think about... was what Nate would do when he found out.

As soon as Y/N stepped inside the dorm, he let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto his bed. The air inside was noticeably warmer than the cool evening outside, but something else made the space feel heavy—something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up before he even turned around.

Nate was there.

Sitting on his own bed, elbows resting on his knees, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Y/N had barely taken two steps toward his dresser to grab some fresh clothes for his shower when Nate's voice cut through the air.

"Where did you and Aaron go?"

Y/N paused, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. He arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking in amusement. "Excuse me?"

Nate's gaze was steady, sharp. "You heard me," he said, voice level but laced with something simmering beneath the surface. "Where'd you go?"

Y/N scoffed, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel from his dresser. "Not your business, QB."

That answer wasn't good enough for Nate.

In a blink, he was standing, his height and presence taking up way more space than should have been possible. He didn't move closer, but he didn't have to. The weight of his stare was enough.

"Y/N," he said, his voice lower now, more deliberate. "You are my business."

Y/N let out a short, sharp laugh, turning fully now to face Nate. "Oh, am I?" he mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's funny. Because last I checked, we were just roommates who occasionally fuck."

Nate's expression didn't shift—at least, not in an obvious way. But something flickered in his eyes, something that told Y/N his words had landed exactly where he wanted them to.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, thick and charged, a standoff neither was willing to back down from.

Then, slowly, Nate took a step forward.

Y/N didn't move.

Another step.

Y/N stood his ground.

Nate stopped just a breath away from him, his voice quiet but firm as he said, "You know it's more than that."

Y/N swallowed.

He hated how those words made his heart stutter, how they sent a thrill down his spine even as he fought to keep his face impassive.

So, instead of acknowledging it, he pushed back.

"Do I?" Y/N tilted his head, his smirk sharp, challenging. "Because all I remember is you saying you were straight."

Nate's jaw clenched, and there it was again—that flicker of something, something he was fighting hard to keep buried.

But Y/N saw it.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

With a smirk, he stepped around Nate, brushing past him deliberately as he walked toward the bathroom. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he threw over his shoulder, "I've got a shower to take."

And with that, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Nate standing in the middle of their dorm—seething, breathing hard, and definitely not as in control as he wanted to be.

The steady stream of hot water cascaded over Y/N's shoulders, soothing the lingering tension in his muscles as steam filled the small dorm bathroom. It was peaceful, the kind of solitude he needed after the long day—the adrenaline of the track meet, the mind games with Nate, and the unexpected kiss from Aaron.

Aaron.

Y/N exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back under the spray. He shouldn't be thinking about it. It wasn't a big deal. It was just a kiss—a normal kiss—from a guy who actually wanted him in a way that wasn't shrouded in ego and possessiveness.

But for some reason, he knew it wasn't really Aaron he was thinking about.

The door creaked open.

Y/N's eyes snapped open instantly, water running down his face as his body tensed. The only other person who had access to this bathroom was—

The shower curtain was yanked back slightly, and before Y/N could even process what was happening, Nate was stepping inside, completely unbothered by the invasion of personal space.

Y/N blinked, half in disbelief. "Are you serious right now?"

Nate didn't answer.

He just stood there—completely naked, broad frame towering over Y/N, his blue eyes dark and unreadable through the steam.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, immediately turning back to the water as if Nate wasn't standing there with him. "I don't have time for this, Nate," he muttered, grabbing the soap and lathering it over his chest. "I actually came in here to shower, not deal with whatever this is."

Nate ignored the dismissal completely. "We need to talk."

Y/N snorted, shaking his head as he scrubbed his arms. "No, you need to talk. I don't have anything to say."

The tension in the air thickened.

Y/N felt Nate shift closer, the heat from his body contrasting against the water. "Bullshit," Nate said, his voice low but firm. "There's plenty to say."

Y/N rolled his eyes, refusing to look at him. "Not unless you're finally dropping your damn pride and admitting what we both already know."

That made Nate pause.

Y/N could feel him staring, could sense the tightness in his posture.

But still, he didn't stop. He grabbed his shampoo, squeezing some into his palm as if Nate wasn't standing there, waiting for an answer to a question Y/N hadn't even asked yet.

Seconds stretched between them, thick and heavy with unspoken words.

Then—

Nate moved.

Before Y/N could react, he was being pinned against the cool tiles of the shower wall, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as Nate's wet hands gripped his waist, pressing their bodies flush against each other.

"Fuck you," Nate muttered, his voice dangerously low.

Y/N smirked, despite the way his breath hitched at the sudden closeness. "That's not an admission, QB."

Nate's fingers dug into his waist, his jaw clenched tight. "You really think I'm gonna stand by and let you act like none of this means anything?" His voice was rough, strained with something Y/N couldn't quite place.

Y/N narrowed his eyes. "You're the one who refuses to call it what it is."

Nate's breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling against Y/N's own. He stared at him for a long moment, like he was trying to will the words out, but they stayed stuck—trapped beneath layers of ego and fear and denial.

Finally, Y/N scoffed, shaking his head. "That's what I thought."

He moved to push past him, but Nate didn't let go.

"You are my business," Nate said again, voice quieter this time.

Y/N exhaled through his nose, looking at him now—really looking at him. Nate's usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by something raw, something vulnerable.

For the first time, Y/N thought—maybe—Nate actually meant it.

But words weren't enough.

Not yet.

Y/N tilted his head, studying him. "Then prove it."

The challenge hung between them, steam curling around their bodies as water continued to cascade down their skin.

And for once—Nate didn't have a comeback.

Y/N had had enough.

The heat of the shower wasn't the only thing suffocating him—the tension between him and Nate was just as thick, just as overwhelming. The water still ran down his body, but all he could focus on was the weight of Nate's stare, the way his strong grip still lingered against his waist, like he wasn't ready to let go.

Too bad.

Because Y/N was done playing this game.

He pushed against Nate's chest, forcing space between them as he turned toward the curtain, reaching for it. "I'm done with this conversation, Nate."

"No," Nate said firmly, reaching out as if he was going to stop him again. "We're not—"

Y/N cut him off before he could even try.

"You know what's funny?" he said, looking over his shoulder. "Aaron asked me on a date tonight."

That shut Nate up real quick.

Y/N saw the way his body tensed instantly, the way his grip on the tile beside him tightened.

But Nate didn't speak. Didn't react.

So Y/N kept going.

"And you know what?" Y/N continued, turning around fully now, ignoring the way water still streamed down both of them. "I might just go."

Nate's jaw clenched.

Y/N smirked, but it wasn't a real one. It was sharp, laced with irritation, with frustration, with something undeniably real.

"Because unlike you," Y/N pressed, stepping closer, "Aaron actually knows what he wants. He's sure of it. He can actually admit it without all this back-and-forth bullshit."

Nate's eyes were burning into his.

Y/N could see the way his muscles tensed, could feel the way the energy in the room shifted.

But still—Nate said nothing.

And that? That pissed Y/N off more than anything.

So he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned back toward the curtain. "Exactly what I thought."

But just as he pulled it open—

"You haven't admitted anything either."

Nate's voice was low, rough, but the words hit.

Y/N froze.

He felt Nate step closer, could sense the heat of his body pressing against his back.

"You keep saying I'm the one avoiding it," Nate murmured, voice thick, "but you haven't admitted a damn thing either."

Y/N swallowed, his fingers tightening around the curtain.

Nate leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against the damp skin of Y/N's neck.

"You keep pushing me to say it," Nate continued, voice barely above a whisper. "But you haven't said what this is either."

Y/N's chest tightened.

Because... fuck.

Nate wasn't wrong.

He hadn't admitted it—not out loud, not in a way that made it real.

And suddenly, the air between them felt heavier than ever.

For the first time since this entire game started... Y/N wasn't sure what to say.

He stood frozen, his grip tightening around the shower curtain, water still dripping from his hair, his breath coming just a little too fast. The steam curled around them, making the space feel smaller, more charged.

Nate was still behind him, too close, his breath ghosting against the damp skin of Y/N's shoulder. He had thrown the challenge out there, forcing Y/N to face the one thing he'd been trying to avoid.

And Y/N hated him for it.

He exhaled sharply, turning around to face Nate, their bodies nearly touching in the confined space. His eyes met Nate's, and for once, there was no smirk, no teasing, no games. Just truth.

"You wanna hear it?" Y/N asked, his voice quieter than before, but firm. "Fine. I do like you."

Nate's lips parted slightly, like he hadn't actually expected Y/N to say it.

Y/N continued, stepping even closer, owning his words.

"I do have feelings for you, Nate," he said, eyes locked onto Nate's like a challenge. "And yeah, I love messing with you. I love the chase, I love pissing you off, I love the way you look at me when you think I don't notice." His voice dropped slightly, more vulnerable now. "And I won't lie—the sex is great. But..." He shook his head, his fingers curling slightly. "I'm not here for just that."

Nate swallowed, his blue eyes dark and unreadable, but Y/N saw something flicker behind them.

"I don't do half-assed feelings," Y/N went on, his voice steady but serious. "I'm not going to sit around while you figure out what you think you want, while you pretend this is just some game. Because I don't play unless I know there's a finish line."

Nate was silent.

Y/N let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "So unless you're done messing around—unless you're actually willing to be something—then don't stand here acting like you care who I go out with."

The words hung between them.

Nate's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands flexing at his sides.

For the first time, he wasn't smirking. He wasn't throwing some sarcastic retort back.

He just stared at Y/N.

And Y/N waited.

Because this was the moment.

Either Nate was in... or he wasn't.

And Y/N wasn't going to wait forever to find out.

#x male reader #gay #nate jacobs x male reader #jacob elordi x male reader #jacob elordi #nate jacobs

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sunrisecaminus · 2 days ago

Note

Ollo :>

Could you do a femme seeker reader x Megatron?

The reader is Megatron’s Conjunx and has wanted a sparkling for a long time.

Unfortunately thanks to the war, things make life unsafe to try start a family.

Now, thanks to the nemesis, it’s the perfect time to ask.

The reader is shy about it a first, beating around the bush until she blurts “I want a sparkling”

Cut to Megatron’s breeding kink(if that makes you uncomfortable then that’s ok), being pounded into oblivion into his throne.

Megatron is on his 4th load of transfluids but will not stop until he is sure the reader is satisfied and full.

Thank u :>

Message - When I said you could be freaky, I meant it. No judgement here man. I gotchu!

Megatron x Seeker Reader NSFW

Summary - Seeker conjunx is starting to get really impatient about Megatron not getting her sparked.

Warnings - NSFW, Breeding Kink,

It has been so long sense you and Megatron talked to each other outside of work related things. You have had enough from all the battling at this point and just wanted to be free from all the Autobots for once. You needed air from General Starscream and his arrogance so when you got a scouting mission you knew this was a perfect opportunity to leave.

You have been flying for about 4 hours now, but you didn't want to land. The clouds and the sky were beautiful on this planet and you wanted to take it all in before you went back in that dark ship. Going over rivers, mountains, and even flew over to another state just to see new environment. You ground bridged to the ocean and had fun splashing your wings in the water while going 1,600 mph. You being one of the fastest seekers out there made Starscream jealous, but you didn't care. After landing yourself on a mountain cliff, dangling your legs over to watch the sea waves, you started to think about things you have been wanting. One of the first things that have come to mind was finally having a little sparkling of your own. Every time you try to bring it up to your conjunx, he would just think you are talking about something else. That man, even if he hates you saying it, was the most oblivious man ever. You have even tried FLIRTING, twitching your wings at him, doing some lovely romantic dances with him in the berth room, and even kissing him a few times while telling him about what they should do when the Decepticons wins once and for all. He will never get it! Seekers are very much known for not being down to earth and not saying exactly what is on their minds, so you aren't use to telling him exactly what you want. It would be embarrassing for you if you had to tell him "Hey lets have a sparkling!" You feel butterflies even thinking about telling him so bluntly.

Before the meeting you wanted to give him one last chance. You walk up from behind Megatron and gently grab his hips. "Boo~" You smile with a loving look as he turned over to you with his angry expression. Once he sees that it is you, his eyes soften and grab your servo, kissing your digits. "How are you dear." You blush a bit, but lovingly give him a boop on his chest. "I was wondering if you would like to go to the next level after the meeting, hmm?" This has to be the perfect hint you could give him. What else would this mean? This was giving "Fuck me alright" energy and your tone said so. Megatron smirks and you wait for something flirty like he always did…but than-. "Well of course. I will put you in charge of the fleet next battle. I knew you have been getting bored about staying in the back. We can talk about your role in the next phase soon. I just need to talk to the others about their newest reports." He lets go of your servo and walks off. Holy Scrap that blew the fuse in your mind. No…No…NO! He has to be doing this on purpose! Megatron is the leader of the Decepticons and yet is so blind that he can't even find a TANK IN A STORAGE CLOSET!!!

Someone is wanting to speak with you on your com link so you answer for them. "Hello?" Normally it would be Megatron or Starscream trying to reach you, but today it was surprisingly just another seeker. "Good Morning mam, please make your way back as a meeting is about to start in 2 hours." You were getting a bit annoyed about this, another meeting…really?! You thank them and end the call, transforming and going back to the ship. You land on the top to meet Starscream reading on a data pad, probably another report. Even if you don't want to admit it, you and Starscream are very close friends. He may be a bit of a baby, but you help him from getting hit by Megatron quite often and it got you two to get closure and talked more about things. "Hey Star, can I talk to you for a second?" You put a hand on your hip sassily. "Not now y/n I-" He interrupts himself when he looked up and saw you were pissed. He puts the data pad down on a table and turned his whole body to face you. "You ok?"

"No, so many things have been on my mind. I have told you before that I have always dreamed of having a sparkling to take care of for the next generation, but Megs won't even look at me in a loving way anymore and I haven't had a kiss from him in 12 years!" You were so frustrated, wanting to get everything off your chest finally and Starscream took a second to load all the information you just told him. "Well have you tried wing communication?" Ah, Starscream also thought Megatron would know such an important Seeker language. He has been known to control the entire Seeker army and for some reason doesn't even know a flying fuck about Seeker culture. "I have literally danced with him and we even were going to kiss…until he said he needed to talk to Soundwave and he would "Dance with me later". Like HELLO!" Your wings were down and twitched a bit in anger. Starscream rolled his eyes to give you a motion that he completely understands where you are coming from. "Oh please, he can't be that stupid. At this point just yell at him. Don't show anymore kindness to him about it anymore. He needs to realize that if he is dating someone from another background, he is going to have to learn a thing or two about who we are." Starscream just pats you on the shoulder and tells you that he will see you at the meeting and leaves. He was right about something…that mech needed to learn a lesson or two.

You didn't go to the meeting, you needed to show him that you didn't care about his order about being there. You didn't want to hear him speak right now and took your lovely time in the Berth Room you share with Megatron. He noticed immediately that you were not there. Genuinely he were very confused from seeing you just a few minutes before it started. After the meeting he noticed the Berth Room was occupied and he came in to see you cleaning your wings, looking out the window to see the lovely sunset. You looked to beautiful to him, your elegance and lovely plating shined from the light and your eyes were always nice to look at. "You weren't in the meeting." He was the exact opposite with you, down to earth and blunt with what he wanted to talk about. You turn to him with narrow eyes and an angry look, which made him understand that he fucked up in some way and shut the door. "You never got it, for years I have been trying to show you that I was ready…but you never seem to look at me like you use to." Oh did it piss you off when he raised his eyebrow at you in confusion. You just wanted to smack him. You kept talking. "You notice everything else. My needs, the things I love, my support for the cause. Whenever I want to give you a life we both can share, You never seem to turn my way!" Megatron stayed silent, waiting for you to finish, he knew you were upset about something so he let you continue to hopefully hear what you desired from him. He obeyed your wishes a lot, he never knew he was ignoring one that you deemed important. "I want a Sparkling. Your Sparkling!"

Oh boy, did he just get whiplash from that statement. Before the war he has been telling his conjunx about his dreams of him getting you sparked and being able to take care of their sparkling's together. Now Megatron feels like a dumbass…scrap this whole time you have been giving him everything to show him you were ready. His spike was already pressing against his panel, but he needed to know if you were still ready. "I apologize for the torture you must have been going through, sweetspark. Would y-" Before he could say anymore, you sit yourself on the berth and lower your wings in a cute position. "Get over here right now you fragger." Megatron didn't ask anymore questions and grabs you by the neck, forcing you down onto the bed and biting your arm. "Whatever you wish~" His panel pops and you see his spike is fully ready for you to use. He bites your neck and keeps your hips in a good hold as you pull your head back and moan from the pleasure that you are being given now. You wanted him so badly, but you needed him to work for it after what he put you through. Your wings twitch from how good you felt Megatron touching you after years of not interfacing. After a while, your pede presses against his spike, making Megatron stop what he was doing to groan from the pressure you just gave him. "ngnn y/n…" Smiling from what you just did, you push his chest to get him to be the one to lay down as you climb on top of him. You shove your aft in his face as you start to lick the base of his spike with your glossa. You hear Megatron moan a bit louder, but than your panel is opened and your valve starts to get licked. "Ah! Megs! You Aft!" You hiss from how slow he was going and stopped giving friction to his spike, which made him realize that you were going to be a bit of a brat if he didn't do what you wanted. He starts to eat you properly as you feel his glossa going into your walls. Finally feeling satisfied from your valve being used and takes in his whole spike after a few more licks. Both of you were in a daze, trying your best to pleasure each other without becoming a moaning mess.

You feel as Megatron was about to release and you stop, shutting his tip so he didn't drip anywhere and he hissed from being stopped. "You brat!" He growls at you as you turn around, putting your valve above his spike. That made him shut up before he could say anything else and holds your hips again, ready when you wanted to move. You smile, in love at looking at your conjunx's face and lowered yourself on his spike. He exhales from how warm and tight you were; your wings spread to their full wingspan as your walls stretch to make room for him. After a while of both of you trying not to move, you start to go up and down, staring into his optics with nothing but love. He smirks at how you look right now, you were such a mess. "Look at you, craving for my sparklings. They will all be yours." He tells you in a deeper tone, knowing you crave for his sexy voice again. You look up to the ceiling and start feeling like you were going to finally cum. "Megs-ah!" You grab his hands that were clenched around your waist as he claws at your plating, both of you releasing at the same time. You stay sat deep onto his spike, making sure none of his fluids leave your valve. You stay where you were as you finally were at peace with everything. Megatron lays you on his chest and hugs around your body, helping you feel safe after such a vulnerable event took place. "Another Round?" You smirk from him asking such a stupid question. "You don't even need to ask".

#maccadam #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #transformers x reader #transformers x y/n #megatron x reader #valveplug

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alittlegiraffe · 1 day ago

Text

Title: Unspoken

You’ve always been the type to say how you feel.

Marshall? Not so much.

But that never really bothered you. He shows you he loves you in all the little ways that matter. He keeps a hoodie in the back of his car because you always forget a jacket. He orders your food before you even ask because he knows exactly what you like. He plays with your hair when you fall asleep on the couch, even though he pretends not to when you wake up.

You love him. So you say it.

All the time.

“Love you, babe,” you mumble against his shoulder before he leaves for the studio.

“Love you,” you call out when he brings you coffee without asking.

“I love you,” you sigh, curled up against him after a long day.

It’s effortless. Natural. Something you don’t even think about.

Until someone else does.

“You ever notice he doesn’t say it back?”

You blink, looking up from your drink. “What?”

Your friend shrugs, leaning against the bar. “I mean, I’ve heard you say it a million times. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say it.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” They raise an eyebrow. “Think about it.”

So you do.

And for the first time, you realize… they’re right.

You do say it all the time. But Marshall?

He never says it back.

Not once. Not ever.

Your stomach twists, suddenly uncomfortable.

That night, when Marshall comes home, you’re quiet. Lost in your own head. He notices immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning as he drops onto the couch beside you.

You hesitate. It sounds stupid now, like you’re making a big deal out of nothing. But the weight of it is pressing down on you, too heavy to ignore.

“Do you… do you love me?” you ask softly.

His brows furrow like the question baffles him. “What?”

You swallow. “I say it to you all the time. And you’ve never… you’ve never said it back.”

Marshall stares at you, silent.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension. “I mean, I know you do. You show me all the time. But I never noticed before that you don’t actually say it.”

Still, he says nothing.

And that silence?

It hurts.

You pull your legs up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around your knees. “You do, right?”

Marshall lets out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Baby, of course I do.”

You nod, waiting.

But… that’s it.

No I love you, no reassurance. Just… that.

You try to ignore the ache in your chest, try to remind yourself that he shows it, that words aren’t everything.

But for the first time, it doesn’t feel like enough.

---

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

Marshall shows you he loves you every day. He doesn’t need to say it.

But now that you’ve noticed… it’s all you notice.

It lingers in the spaces between moments—when you kiss him goodbye, when you curl up beside him at night, when you murmur I love you against his skin and hear nothing but silence in return.

Before, you never thought twice about it. Now, it stings.

You start holding the words back, just to see what happens.

He doesn’t notice.

And that? That’s almost worse.

One night, curled up on the couch, you finally ask, “Why don’t you say it?”

Marshall doesn’t look away from the TV. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

His jaw tightens, and for the first time, you see it—something unreadable flickering across his face.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you. You know he does. It’s that something about saying it makes him uncomfortable.

But you don’t understand why.

“You know how I feel,” he says finally, glancing at you. “I don’t have to say it.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding. You do know. But hearing it? That’s something different.

Still, you don’t push.

And that night, when you roll over in bed, your back to him, pretending it doesn’t bother you?

You feel his arm slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

It’s not an I love you.

But it’s something.

For now, it has to be enough.

---

It’s getting harder to swallow.

The way he holds you close at night. The way he pulls you against his chest, fingers tracing slow circles on your back. The way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking—like you’re the most important thing in his world.

It’s love. You know it is.

But now, every time you say the words and he doesn’t say them back, it feels like a small piece of you is chipping away.

And tonight, you can’t ignore it anymore.

You’re standing in the kitchen, washing dishes while he leans against the counter, scrolling through his phone. It’s comfortable, normal. But something inside you is unsettled.

So you test it.

“Love you,” you say softly, just like you always do.

And just like always, he doesn’t say it back.

He hums in acknowledgment, tossing his phone onto the counter. “You need help with that?”

You freeze, hands still submerged in the soapy water.

That’s it. That’s all you get.

Something snaps.

You turn off the faucet, drying your hands slowly before facing him. “Why don’t you ever say it?”

Marshall blinks, caught off guard. “Say what?”

Your stomach twists. “You know what.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, his shoulders tensing. “Come on, baby. Not this again.”

“Yes, this again.” Your voice is sharp, and you hate how desperate you sound, but you can’t keep pretending. “I say it to you all the time. And you never say it back. Not once.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “You know how I feel.”

“That’s not the point!” Your voice cracks, and you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. “I do know. But I need to hear it.”

Silence.

Your chest feels tight. “Do you love me?”

His gaze flickers to you, something unreadable in his expression. “Of course I do.”

Your heart pounds. “Then say it.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t—” He stops himself, shaking his head like he’s frustrated. “I’ve never been good at that shit.”

Tears sting your eyes, and you look away. “You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to mean it.”

He’s quiet.

And God, that silence is deafening.

You take a shaky breath, nodding to yourself. “Okay.”

Marshall’s eyes snap to you. “What does that mean?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

His whole body goes still. “What?”

You turn away, gripping the edge of the sink. “I’m tired, Marshall. I’m tired of giving and giving and never getting it back. I love you. I’ve never doubted that I love you.” Your voice wavers. “But I can’t be in a relationship where I don’t feel loved.”

His breath is uneven now, his hands gripping the counter like he’s bracing himself. “You are loved.”

You shake your head, blinking back tears. “Not in the way I need to be.”

The words hang between you, heavy and painful.

Marshall opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but nothing comes out.

And that? That’s answer enough.

So you turn and walk away.

And for the first time, he doesn’t stop you.

---

The guest room feels cold.

You’ve never slept here before. The bed is stiff, the blankets unfamiliar, the space too quiet. Every night since you’ve been with Marshall, you’ve fallen asleep next to him, tucked into the warmth of his arms—even on nights when you were mad at him.

But tonight, you couldn’t.

Not after that conversation. Not after he let you walk away.

You stare at the ceiling, your chest tight, throat burning. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be apart from him.

But what else can you do?

You roll onto your side, curling up beneath the blanket. Maybe this is what you needed—space. Maybe it’ll make things clearer.

But God, you miss him already.

Marshall stands outside the guest room door, fingers flexing at his sides, jaw clenched.

You’ve never slept apart before. Not once. Even when you fought, even when he was too stubborn for his own good, you were always next to him at the end of the day.

And now?

Now, you’re in the next room, alone.

And it’s his fault.

His hands drag down his face, frustration bubbling under his skin. He hates this. Hates knowing you’re hurting. Hates knowing he’s the reason.

But what the fuck is he supposed to do?

He wants to say it. He does. He can feel the words on the tip of his tongue, aching to come out.

But every time he tries, something stops him.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you. It’s that saying it out loud has never come easy to him.

And now, because of that, he’s losing you.

His chest tightens, panic creeping in.

He should go in there. Should apologize. Should say what he knows you need to hear.

Instead, he presses his forehead against the door, eyes squeezing shut.

“I love you,” he whispers.

But the words are swallowed by the silence.

And you never hear them.

---

You wake up feeling off.

The guest bed is too firm, the blankets too stiff, and your body aches in ways that have nothing to do with sleep. For a second, you forget where you are—until you turn over and don’t find Marshall beside you.

And then it hits you all over again.

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly. You’d thought maybe you’d wake up with some clarity, some reassurance that you did the right thing. But all you feel is empty.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you hesitate at the door, hand hovering over the knob. You don’t even know what you expect when you step out. Marshall sitting on the couch, waiting? Pacing the floor, doing something?

Instead, the house is quiet.

Too quiet.

You find him in the kitchen, staring blankly at his coffee. He looks… rough. His hoodie is wrinkled, his jaw tight, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

Your heart clenches.

You wonder if he slept at all.

He hears you before you can say anything, his head snapping up. His eyes find yours immediately, searching, hesitant.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then—

“How’d you sleep?” His voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t used it all morning.

You swallow. “Not great.”

His jaw shifts. He nods, looking down at his coffee like he’s trying to find the right words.

Something about it makes your chest tighten.

You lean against the counter, arms crossing. “You let me walk away.”

He flinches. It’s small, barely there, but you see it.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admits, voice low.

You study him, waiting, hoping.

He takes a slow breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

That hurts. More than you expect.

You look away, trying to blink back the sting behind your eyes. “You could start with I love you.”

Silence.

The same silence that’s been stretching between you for too damn long.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Okay.”

You turn to leave, but his voice stops you cold.

“I don’t know how to say it.”

You freeze.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s not that I don’t want to say it. It just—” He cuts himself off, looking frustrated. “It’s not easy for me.”

You turn slowly, watching the way he grips his coffee mug like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“It never has been,” he admits, quieter now. “Not with my mom. Not with Kim. Not with… anyone.” His fingers flex around the handle. “It’s not how I grew up. It’s not what I’m used to.”

You bite your lip, heart pounding. “Marshall…”

He finally looks at you, and God, the emotion in his eyes nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I know that’s not fair to you,” he says. “And I know it’s not enough. But it’s the truth.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t need you to say it all the time.”

His throat bobs.

“I just need to hear it,” you whisper. “At least once.”

For a second, you think he might say it. That he might finally give you the words you’ve been aching for.

Instead, he drops his gaze, fingers tightening around his mug.

Your stomach sinks.

And just like that, the space between you feels wider than ever.

---

A week.

It’s been a week since you walked away. A week since you started sleeping in the guest room. A week since Marshall let you.

And nothing has changed.

You still move through the same routines, still exist in the same space, but there’s a distance between you that feels impossible to cross. He’s been quiet, withdrawn—not cold, just distant. Like he doesn’t know how to fix this. Like he’s afraid of making it worse.

And honestly?

You don’t know if it can be fixed.

You miss him. God, you miss him. But every night you climb into the stiff guest bed, and every morning you wake up alone, and every single time you almost go back to him… you stop yourself.

Because the ache in your chest hasn’t gone away.

Because no matter how much you love him, you can’t keep feeling like you’re the only one willing to say it.

Tonight, sleep comes slow, restless. The room is too cold, the blankets too unfamiliar. At some point, you give up entirely, groaning as you push yourself out of bed.

You shuffle to the bathroom, eyes half-lidded, body heavy with exhaustion. But as soon as you step into the hallway, your foot catches on something.

You frown, glancing down—

And your breath catches in your throat.

Marshall.

He’s on the floor, asleep, curled up against the wall outside the guest room door.

Your stomach twists. What the hell?

For a second, you don’t move. You just stare, taking him in—the hoodie bunched up around his shoulders, the way his arm is bent awkwardly under his head, like he didn’t mean to fall asleep there but couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Your chest aches.

You kneel down slowly, reaching out, hesitating before your fingers brush against his hair. “Marshall,” you whisper.

He stirs, brow furrowing, then blinks up at you, groggy and confused. “…What?”

You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing out here?”

He exhales heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You bite your lip. “So you decided to sleep on the floor?”

His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Better than being far from you.”

Your heart shatters.

For a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think. You just stare at him, trying to process the weight of what he just said.

He never let you sleep alone.

Not really.

You shake your head, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you just—”

“Because you needed space,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “But I needed you.”

Tears burn the back of your eyes. “Marshall…”

He shifts, sitting up properly, gaze flickering away. “I know I’m fucking this up,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

You reach for him before you can stop yourself, fingers curling around his. “We can’t stay like this.”

His grip tightens. “I know.”

For the first time in a week, he’s close. Not just physically, but in a way that makes your heart ache, like he’s finally letting you see the part of him he’s been holding back.

You take a shaky breath. “Come to bed.”

His eyes snap to yours. “What?”

You squeeze his hand. “Not the guest room. Our bed.”

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then, without a word, he nods.

And for the first time in a week, you fall asleep where you belong—wrapped up in him.

---

Things go back to normal.

Mostly.

You stop sleeping in the guest room. You go back to your routines, the easy conversations, the quiet moments where nothing needs to be said. You curl up next to him at night, wrapped in his warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And when you tell him I love you, you don’t wait for him to say it back anymore.

Because you know he won’t.

Because you’ve made your peace with it.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Because at the end of the day, you just want him. The way he holds you, the way he pulls you closer in his sleep, the way he kisses your forehead in the morning before either of you says a word—that is enough.

It has to be.

And for a while, you think it is.

But Marshall knows better.

He sees the way your smile falters sometimes when you think he isn’t looking. The way you hesitate before saying I love you, like you’re bracing yourself for the silence. The way you hold onto him just a little tighter, as if trying to convince yourself that this—just this—is all you need.

And it kills him.

Because you’re settling.

For him.

And the fact that you’re willing to accept less than what you deserve just to keep him? That doesn’t sit right.

Not one fucking bit.

One night, he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, your soft breaths steady beside him. You fell asleep curled up against his side, like you always do. But even in sleep, you’re clinging to him. Like you’re afraid to let go.

His chest tightens.

He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling quietly.

You’ve given everything to him. And all he’s given you in return is half of what you need.

And for the first time, he wonders if loving you in silence is worse than losing you altogether.

---

Marshall waits until he’s sure you’re asleep.

Your breath is slow, steady, your body warm and soft against his. You always sleep curled into him, like it’s the only place you want to be. Even after everything, you still choose him.

And he fucking hates that you have to.

Because you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you what you need without hesitation, without making you wait for words that should be so damn easy.

His fingers brush over your back, slow and careful, and he swallows hard.

He should’ve said it a long time ago.

He should’ve said it that night in the kitchen when you asked him to.

He should’ve said it when you walked away from him.

He should’ve said it before you settled for less.

His throat feels tight.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, barely a whisper in the dark.

And you don’t hear them.

He exhales, his heart pounding harder than it should. He tries again, his lips brushing against your hair. “I love you.”

It’s easier like this. When you’re sleeping. When you can’t look at him with those eyes that make him feel like he’s being ripped open.

He closes his eyes. “I love you so much.”

And it feels real. Sounds real.

But morning comes too fast.

You wake up slow, stretching against him, your fingers trailing along his arm. “Morning,” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

His chest tightens.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before whispering, “I love you.”

And just like that, the words die in his throat.

He swallows. Nods. Kisses the top of your head.

But he doesn’t say it back.

And when you pull away, just for a second, he sees it—that flicker of disappointment you try so hard to hide.

It fucking wrecks him.

---

But you do.

Marshall tells you he loves you every night.

But only when you can’t hear him.

It’s become a routine, a quiet ritual in the dark—waiting until your breathing evens out, until he’s sure you won’t wake up, and then finally letting the words slip past his lips.

He says it like a secret. Like something fragile.

Like something he’s terrified of breaking if he says it out loud when it counts.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your hair, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back. “I love you so much.”

And he means it. God, does he mean it.

But in the morning, when you’re looking at him with those soft, patient eyes, the words refuse to come.

It’s been a month of this. A month of almosts.

You don’t push anymore. You don’t ask anymore. You don’t even hesitate when you say it—you just press a kiss to his cheek, whisper I love you, and move on like it’s enough.

But he sees it.

The way your smile falters sometimes. The way you linger in the doorway, like you’re waiting for something that never comes. The way you curl up against him at night like you’re trying to hold on to what you have, even if it’s not everything you need.

And it eats him alive.

Because he knows you notice.

And you pretend not to.

Just like he pretends this isn’t killing him.

But neither of you says anything.

Because if you did, you’d have to admit that love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

---

It’s been one of those days.

The kind that leaves Marshall exhausted, worn thin at the edges. He’s been holed up in the studio for hours, wrestling with lyrics that just won’t come together, the weight of expectations sitting heavy on his chest. The pressure to keep pushing, to keep creating, is suffocating.

And by the time he comes home, he’s drained. Mentally, emotionally—he’s just… done.

You can tell as soon as he walks through the door.

The way his shoulders are slumped, his steps slow and heavy, like he’s carrying the weight of the world. It doesn’t take much to see through the mask he’s put on, to know that he’s not okay.

You don’t ask. You don’t need to.

You just wait.

When he makes his way into the bedroom, you’re already sitting on the bed, watching him, your eyes soft. You’ve learned how to read him over the years, how to understand the moments when he just needs space and when he needs someone to be there. And today, he needs you.

Without saying a word, you move behind him, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, your hands finding the tense muscles in his shoulders.

At first, he tenses, surprised by the touch, but you don’t push. You just begin rubbing, your fingers kneading into the knots, applying just enough pressure to coax him into relaxing.

You don’t rush.

The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of your movements, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Slowly, the tension in his back begins to melt away under your touch, and you feel him release the tightness, little by little.

And then, without warning, you hear it.

The words that have been hanging in the air for so long, never said, never spoken aloud… until now.

“I love you.”

It’s barely a whisper at first, like he’s testing the weight of it. And when the words leave his mouth, you freeze for just a second, unsure if you really heard it.

But when you glance up, you see his eyes closed, his head leaning back against your chest, the vulnerability in his expression raw.

You can feel the truth in those three words, something he’s been holding inside for so long. Something he didn’t know how to say… but he needed to.

Without thinking, your hands pause on his shoulders, your heart racing, and you murmur softly, “I love you too.”

His breath catches, and you can feel the weight that’s been lifted from him, the relief in the air. He lets out a long, shuddering breath, and for the first time in a long while, the two of you are just present, no walls between you, no hesitation.

He turns slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, and in that quiet moment, you see everything—the love, the apology, the years of feeling like he couldn’t express it, and the realization that, for the first time in so long, he’s finally letting go of the fear that’s kept him silent.

“I love you,” he repeats, this time with certainty, his voice steady, and the words settle between you like a promise.

You smile softly, your heart full, and pull him closer, wrapping your arms around him tightly. This time, you don’t hesitate. You just hold on, because now, it feels like everything is finally as it should be.

And in the quiet of the room, you both know—you’ve crossed the line between almost, and real.

Once the words leave his lips, everything changes.

It’s like the dam inside of him finally bursts, the flood of emotion he’s held in for so long spilling out all at once. He doesn’t even know where to begin—his hands are restless, grabbing at you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, his lips finding whatever skin is closest.

He kisses the side of your neck first, the soft skin beneath your ear. “I love you,” he breathes, his voice thick with need. He kisses down the curve of your jaw, then back up to your mouth. “God, I love you so much.”

His lips are urgent, desperate, like they’ve been starving for this for years. His hands slide under your shirt, skimming over your skin like he can’t get close enough. He’s pulling you closer, pressing his body to yours, kissing your face, your neck, anywhere he can reach.

You gasp as his lips find the soft spot just behind your ear. “Marshall…”

“I love you,” he repeats, this time with a growl, his breath hot against your skin. “I love you, I love you, I—fuck—”

The words don’t stop. They come tumbling out like they’ve been locked away too long, like he doesn’t know how to stop now that he’s finally saying them.

His mouth moves down your throat, over your collarbone, desperate for any piece of you he can claim. He doesn’t care where, doesn’t care how—he just needs to touch you, to feel you, to pour every ounce of love and affection into you.

“I’ve been so fucking stupid,” he mutters between kisses, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer. “So scared to say it. So scared to lose you. But I—God, I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Your fingers twist into his hair, tugging him up to meet your lips again, and he kisses you with everything he has—fierce, desperate, as though he’s afraid to ever let you go. You can feel the weight of every moment he’s been holding back, and you don’t want him to stop.

His kisses are everywhere—on your lips, your neck, the curve of your shoulder, down your arm. Each kiss is a confession. Each kiss is a promise.

“I love you,” he says again, his voice hoarse and raw, the words coming out like they’re the only thing he knows how to say.

His hands trail down your body, his touch reverent, like he’s rediscovering you all over again. You feel his fingers tremble against your skin, his breath ragged, and you know—he’s not holding back anymore.

His lips find yours again, and when they do, it’s like the floodgates have opened completely. He’s kissing you like it’s the only thing that matters, like the only thing in the world is this moment, this love that’s finally being spoken aloud.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, filled with so much emotion you can hardly breathe. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with feeling. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to let you know how much I need you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you reply softly, your fingers brushing his cheek. “I know now. And I love you.”

And with that, he pulls you closer again, his lips crashing into yours with a new intensity. Every kiss is a promise. Every kiss is everything.

#eminem #marshall mathers #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader

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m-jelly · 1 day ago

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Hey jelly! I hope you're having a lovely day, so I was listening a song and I got an idea! Levi and y/n are childhood friends, Levi start to develop Crush on her but too scared to confess to her, y/n loves for songs since she was child, Levi sometimes sees her with headphones bobbing her head, one day Levi was taking a walk at the forest until he heard someone singing, he sees y/n singing 'come and get your love by redbone' and doing her little dance

@ladycheesington <3

A few firsts

Levi x fem reader

Modern AU, teen romance, fluff

Levi catches you dancing in the woods as you sing along to your music. Levi's feelings bubble over and you share a few firsts.

Levi kicked a small stone on the woodland path as his thoughts raced. Soon school would be over and you'd be moving on to university or working. He tried to live a life where the choices he made he'd regret the least, but he wasn't really living up to those words.

He was deeply and madly in love with you, his childhood friend, and has yet to confess. Every waking moment was spent fixated on you, all his choices were linked to you and everything he liked. He adored you and you'd become such a massive part of his life. Before he knew it, he'd fallen hard for you.

Soft singing broke his messy thoughts and made it clear. He followed the pleasurable singing until he reached the most beautiful view. You were in the middle of an opening of the trees lined with flowers and a small creek. You were dancing and singing to yourself as you enjoyed your little world.

You twirled around as you sang and noticed Levi watching. You squealed before stopping and yanking your headphones off. "Levi! Hi!" Your heart raced. "Was not expecting you." You gulped a little. "Kind of embarrassed."

He moved closer to you. "I liked it."

"R-Really?" You shifted as Levi got closer. "I-I'm not the best dancer and singer."

"It was cute."

You looked up at him. "C-Cute?"

He nodded as he played with your hair. "It was cute. You're cute."

"I ah." You felt dizzy, this was a dream coming true for you. Your childhood friend, whom you loved more than a friend, was calling you cute. "Th-thank you."

"Can I dance with you?"

"S-Sure."

He took his jacket off. "Could we use your phone for music?"

You placed your headphones on his jacket and played some softer music. "Here. This okay?"

He pulled you close and started slow dancing. "Yeah...ummm." His cheeks burned. "S-Sorry if I'm not good. I've never done this before."

"First time slow dancing?"

"Mm."

You smiled at him. "Me too." You nibbled your lip. "If it means anything, I think you're really good."

"Th-thanks." He danced with you but kept gazing at your lips. Everything within Levi was telling him to kiss you, but he wouldn't dare just do it. "Hey, um...can...could...uh." He cleared his throat as nerves prickled his body. "I want to kiss you." He looked away from you as a blush consumed him. "I want to kiss you so bad 'cause I've liked...loved you for so long. It's okay if you don't want to."

You cupped the side of Levi's face, turned his head so he looked at you and then you kissed him lightly. You pulled back and whined. "I love you too. I've wanted to kiss you for a long time. I'm sorry if that was bad, it was my first kiss."

His heart raced. "It was mine too."

You gripped his shirt and hummed. "Do you want to do it again?"

He wrapped his arms around you. "Fuck yes. I ah...I mean, yes please."

You giggled. "Don't ever change, Levi."

He tilted his head and leaned closer. "I'll do my best."

The two of you kissed in the middle of the clearing, and the world around you faded away as you shared a clumsy kiss that soon became filled with love and confidence. The kiss went from sweet and innocent to something more passionate causing your bodies to tingle with delight.

Finally, you were together.

Tags under

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @dreamerofthewest @abiatackerman @minminroie

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juullllssss · 1 day ago

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Knightorder 141 x f!reader

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

You never felt as guilty as right now, sneaking into this Office. At the back of the room is the huge wooden Desk, lined by the shelves of documents and books. You beeline towards the desk, knowing this is were your father would keep his little secrets. Just hoping that Price would be the same.

At first you find nothing, just documents which don't interest you. You grow impatient and nervous. What if someone comes into the Office? A stupid thought, in the middle of the night, but one you can't shake of. The drawers are what is left, and in the last one is something interesting. You pull a stack of Papers out, some as small as a note others nearly as big as reports. Your Fingers are skimming trough the notes. And the more you read the more confusing it gets. The Information leaving you flabbergasted.

Notes on everything that is....you. Your dresses, what you ate, your mood for the day even where you were each day. Listed like a diary, sometimes even with little sketches. The handwriting changing ever so often. Things writen down you yourself had long forgotten. You look trough the Papers again. It has been months, it started so long ago. There were Details about your most Private matters. Suddenly you have to catch your breath. Every Privacy being taken from you in this one Moment. You could not even deny it, you knew exacly who wrote these notes. They were always there because they always knew were you would be. They always gave you perfect presents because the knew, studied what you liked.

In shock and disbelieve you make your way back to your room. One question stays. What was their reason for doing this?

----

They must have felt the change in you. You were confused, shying away from their hands, their touches. Even starting to avoid them. It hurts to see the pain in Johnnys eyes or how dissapointed Kyle is when you decline one of his presents. You have to hold yourself back inviting Simon in, when he comes to your room. And for the first time you realize how familiar their touch has become to you. You were never aware how close they got to you, until you pulled back.

But you can't keep it up for long. One day it seems as if the men had enough. Price cornering you in your room.

"My Lady you seem distant as of late..." his eyes never leaving your face. What you would have shrugged of as politness is now leaving a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. He is watching you, calculating.

"I am not, i just have much on my mind..." You can't meet his eyes, looking towards his broad chest instead. With a gloved hand he slowly raises your chin, making you look him in the eyes. Those blue eyes never leaving yours.

"Why don't you tell me what is troubling you? It is my duty to serve you after all." His voice seems so sincere, trust worthy. For a moment you consider it, it must be a misunderstanding. Maybe just duty taken to far. Protection meaned to keep you happy.

"I found some notes, detailing myself..." your voice trailing of in the end when you see his expression. Oh no, this was a mistake. He freezes, his hand staying completly still.

"Did you now?" But it doesn't sound like a question. His hand sinks down and for a moment he is contemplating. His eyes meet yours again. His gaze soft just like you know it.

"How about we have some tee, my Lady. I will explain everything." With a firm hold on your lower back, he is already directing you towards the small couch in your room. His usual smile and his demeanor make you think that you overreacted. You must have seen wrong. It must have been an misunderstanding. Everything will be sorted out.

----

When you wake up again you are disoriented. Your body feels heavy and your mind is heazy. You try to move but something is keeping your hands up by the wrists.

"There you are my Lady." The four Knights are standing at the front of your bed, looking at you with warm, soft eyes. Taking your form in. But this time you can see what else is there. The way they look at you with raw hunger, their smiles nearly to gentle. You can feel the tension in the room when they start to get closer. Like Wolfs closing in on the prey. And now you remember, that one smile Price gave you all those moons ago. Back at the Tournament, it was just as gentle and just as dangerous.

#cod men #task force 141 #cod 141 #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod

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gingerteafairy · 7 hours ago

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𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

Some things drag on for too long.

tags n warnings: carmy berzatto x reader, language, longtime friends, suggestive, slow burn past. word count: 2.4k masterlist

Everyone knew Carmy was a little bossy. Well, it was part of his job. Maybe he didn’t like giving orders, especially when they often ended with someone yelling or feeling desperate. However, your relationship with him seemed too close to be labeled as authoritarian abuse, free therapy sessions, or toxic interactions. Damn, you had known him for so long. You’d gone through so many seasons together—trends, wines, changes. Everything seemed to evolve except for the complex dynamic between you and Carmen Berzatto.

“That’s wrong.” Carmy’s voice cut through the kitchen noise, as if he could telepathically sense you skimping on a few sealing seconds out of sheer laziness.

“I know,” you replied without looking, reigniting the flame and moving forward. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be good enough.

"God, Carm,” Marcus grumbled, drying his hands to return to his station beside the chef. "Chill."

“She knows how I am,” was all Carmy needed to say, putting a quiet end to the conversation. Each of you returned to your tasks. "She has known me for a long time. Knows how i work."

“Hands!” you called, plating the dish in the designated container. Everything was just as perfect as Carmy had wanted.

“Chef, can you grab my knife from the other station, please?” Carmy asked, lifting his head just enough to meet your eyes.

“I’m only doing this because I love you,” you teased.

You smiled as light as a feather, heading to the sink to wash your hands before fetching what he needed. The air in the kitchen thickened—though perhaps it was floating rather than heavy—because everyone could see the shared sweetness in the smiles you and Carm exchanged over that dish he was finishing with Marcus.

Handing him the knife, your fingers lingered on his for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the sugary tension in the air, and an involuntary smile tugged at your lips as you returned to your station. Maybe you had known Carm for too long to change anything now.

Carmen found himself watching your back, like he was trying to figure out what expression you were wearing without having to ask. He knew you were focused. The little curve of your lips when things didn’t turn out how you wanted. The way your brows knit together before you relaxed, remembering how frowning could cause wrinkles. He even pictured you mentally griping about your oily skin and how no cream ever seemed to help. The worst part? He was dead-on. And like you, he felt like he’d known you too long to want anything to change.

You could feel his eyes on you. Your cheeks warmed—not from the kitchen’s heat, but from the sparks in Carmy’s blue eyes. You knew his tells: how he scratched his nose when he was nervous, or how Marcus teased him for staring at you too long for just a boss.

Everybody knew. You both knew.

This unspoken game always made time fly. Maybe just the idea of being close to Carmy was more addicting than the idea of actually being with him. Fear of rejection? Probably. Mostly from him.

As the shift wound down, he quietly set a small slice of pie on your workstation and slipped off to check something in the fridge. His shoulder brushed yours as he passed—so subtle, but deliberate.

You found yourself smiling as you packed up and finally rewarded your taste buds with another one of his masterpieces. You’d wanted to go to Copenhagen with him. Not just for the work. You wanted to share those nights on that tiny boat. To bump into him while moving around, bicker over who got the bathroom first, and watch each other over morning coffee.

You took your time with every bite, savoring each piece like it was gold. In the fridge, Carmen lingered. He tried cooling his body, his mind—maybe his whole life. He worried the pie had come out too dense. He didn’t realize he’d been gone too long until the silence got heavy, and he timidly twisted the lock.

You were still there, pie half-finished.

Damn. Too dense. His chest tightened at your slow chewing, not realizing it was for the opposite reason—it was light as air, like the curls brushing his forehead. You just wanted to savor every second.

“Hey, you wanna head out?” His voice was soft as he scratched the back of his head. He often drove you home after work, but tonight it felt… different.

“Sure.” You took another bite, speeding up to finish. Not a crumb left behind.

“Where to?” He cleared his throat and rubbed his nose. Definitely nervous. That was rare for Carmy. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw him this jittery around you.

“I’ll go wherever you go.” You pulled off your apron, stepping toward the lockers.

“Cool. Follow me.”

“I will.”

It felt like a familiar song—something you’d heard a hundred times but never got sick of. Carmy followed you, your lockers side by side. You bent to grab your bag, and his stubborn gaze followed before he quickly looked away as you stood. You both exchanged smiles before heading to his car.

He’d driven you countless times, yet it always felt new to him. You climbed in, and he started the engine. The destination felt as unclear as it did certain—a pull leading you both somewhere.

“There,” you pointed toward a park. He nodded.

It wasn’t too dangerous—people still strolled here at this hour. You gave a small, awkward smile, realizing couples often came here to kiss or lean on each other under the trees. But this was Carmy. What could you do?

He parked and turned off the engine. Neither of you moved. Realizing it, he switched on the heater and reluctantly turned to you. You’d already been looking at him for a while.

“How you doin’?” His voice broke the quiet. You paused, then turned toward him.

“Good. I think.” You didn’t want to overthink it. Life wasn’t bad—just… monotonous. “What about you?”

“Good.” He shifted in his seat, hands gripping the wheel. Then he exhaled. “Actually, no. I’m good, but I’m nervous. I’m always so fucking… wired.”

“Same.” You sighed heavily. “You still in therapy?”

“Yeah… Actually, AA. I told you.”

“That’s right. Sorry, I forgot.” You unbuckled to sit more comfortably. He did the same, resting his hands in his lap. You pulled out your phone. “How are you today?”

The app showed a smiley face that changed with his input. Carmy chuckled, sliding the bar to neutral. Neither positive nor negative. But when he looked at you again, he changed it to a smile. "Good day."

“Where’d you get that?”

“Found it when I was feelin’ pretty low and wanted to track it,” you explained, tucking your phone away. “You’d be surprised how many neutral faces are logged in there.”

“I wouldn’t be any different.” He let out a soft laugh. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with my future. Makes me anxious.”

“Same.” You laughed, though it felt more bittersweet.

Carmy’s phone buzzed. He checked it, shaking his head with a smile.

“What’s up?” You leaned in. He lowered his phone.

“Richie. Sending pictures of half-naked dudes and saying happy birthday. And it’s not even my birthday.”

“That’s your idea of ‘heavy’?” You teased as he put his phone away.

“Yeah… guess it’s not heavy.” His smile lingered as he ran a hand over his face, trying to smother the laugh bubbling up.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What do you think about dating?” Your heart wavered, but your voice stayed steady. Carmy clicked his tongue, seeming to chew over the question.

He scratched his head, sighing before answering. “I never got far enough to have an opinion. You know that.”

“I know.” You responded, feeling a little more awkward this time. “Have you had your first kiss?”

“Yeah. Actually… I had my first kiss when I was, like, 3.” He laughed, the ridiculous memory shaking through his body. “I was trying to copy… I dunno… something I saw on a soap opera.”

“What were we thinking, huh?” You chuckled with him, the mood lightening, opening up a little more. “I’ve had a few. But I dunno. It’s like, when things start heating up, I kinda lose interest. Like, ‘well, I’m here now.’”

“Yeah… exactly. There are highs—everything’s great for a minute, then…” He traced a sudden dip with his hand, shaking his head. “It just disappears. And I’m stuck there, same as before.”

“Feels like the idea of being close is way more interesting than actual closeness.” You said thoughtfully, and he stopped, snapping his fingers.

“That’s it.” He licked his lips, glancing around before settling his gaze back on you. “We’re cut from the same cloth.”

“Yeah…” You exhaled, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence. “Wanna kiss?”

“Sure.” He laughed, the sound growing louder as you puckered your lips dramatically. “What’s that?”

“A kiss.” You laughed, blowing him an air kiss that he caught and pressed to his chest. Then his hand moved up, pressing to his lips. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Kiss.” He whispered, resting his hands back on his lap. His lips insisted on curving into a smile. You turned your head to hide yours, just like he did.

For a brief moment, you wanted the playful game to continue—wanted something different. But who knows? Maybe that moment had come and gone. Maybe it had stretched too long.

The silence stayed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something unspoken hung in the air—heavy with expectation. Carmy let out a long breath, rubbing his hands on his thighs like he was trying to work out some kind of nervous energy.

“You think we’ve been putting something off?” he asked, his gaze fixed straight ahead, like he couldn’t bring himself to look at you.

Your heart jumped at the question. Of course, you’d thought about it before, but hearing it from him made it feel real.

“Maybe,” you answered, softer than you intended. “But if we are… what do you wanna do about it?”

Carmy finally turned his head toward you. His blue eyes locked on yours—intense, but laced with uncertainty. “I’m not good at this. Like, saying what I want. What I feel. It’s just easier when I’m working.”

“What if it doesn’t have to be perfect? What if it just… happens?” you suggested, hoping to ease the weight pressing on his chest.

A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips—one of those rare, genuine smiles. “You always make things sound simpler.”

“Maybe because sometimes they are. We just make ‘em complicated.”

You held each other’s gaze for a long moment. The warmth of the car heater wrapped around you both, making the space feel even more intimate. Carmy’s hands tightened on the steering wheel before he let out another deep breath.

“Wanna take a walk?” he asked, his eyes flickering away for a second before landing back on you.

“Yeah,” you said with a soft smile, sensing the shift in the air.

You stepped out of the car together, walking along the park path. Distant sounds of footsteps and laughter filled the night air, mingling with the occasional rustle of leaves. Conversation came easier—work stories, childhood memories, even a few half-formed plans for the future.

After a while, Carmy came to a stop. He turned to face you, hesitation mingling with a newfound determination in his expression.

“Can I try somethin’?” he asked, voice low and careful.

“Yeah. You can.”

He stepped in closer, the distance between you shrinking until the air felt charged, heavy with unsaid words and possibilities. The sounds of the park faded into the background—the faint rustle of leaves and distant footsteps no longer mattered. The only thing you were aware of was him.

Carmy hesitated, his gaze searching yours as if silently asking for permission. There was a vulnerability in his eyes—an openness he rarely let anyone see. His hand twitched slightly at his side, as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure he should. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned in.

Time seemed to slow down. His breath mingled with yours, warm against the cool night air. He moved with that same mixture of care and uncertainty that was so distinctly him—measured, cautious, but also raw with emotion.

When his lips finally brushed yours, it was gentle—like he was afraid to break something fragile. Yet there was a quiet intensity beneath it, a weight carried by all the moments you’d both left unspoken. The kiss lingered, neither of you willing to let it end too soon, hands taking a slow path to each other's side, gripping gently on your waist.

When he pulled back, his eyes stayed locked on yours, his breathing slightly uneven. He didn’t move far—just enough to study your face. He was searching for something—for regret, hesitation, or anything that might tell him he’d misread the moment.

But there was nothing like that. Instead, your gaze held his, steady and sure. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips—a silent reassurance that you were exactly where you wanted to be. And slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to ease.

“Was that… okay?” he asked, his nervous smile giving him away.

“It was more than okay.” You reached out, your fingers lightly grazing the back of his hand. “It was… how do you say? Ottimo?”

“Yeah, ottimo.” He chuckled, roaming your face, his eyes resting on your lips.

“Ottimo.” you echoed, trying to suppress a terrible fake italian accent coming through. “Did I do great?”

“Attagirl. Molto bene."

“Yeah… whatever this is.” you laughed, licking your own lips, umid on his taste. For the first time, it felt like all the waiting—all the second-guessing—had finally led you both to the right place.

He took a deep breath, like a weight he’d carried for years—maybe even decades—was finally lifted off his shoulders. He clicked his tongue, glancing around to check for any strangers or suspicious movement nearby. But there was nothing—just the warmth radiating from both your bodies.

“I feel like a hypocrite now,” you teased, his hand resting firmly on your hip, giving a gentle squeeze as you chuckled.

“How come?”

“Intimacy doesn’t seem so bad anymore,” you admitted, letting yourself get carried by the lightness of your laugh.

“Doesn’t seem bad at all.” His smile softened, shy as ever but now intertwined with something deeper. Everything you hadn’t said to each other—but that the whole world seemed to know—hung between you. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer before he finally spoke again. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

“Okay.”

The way he said it wasn’t just casual. It was a quiet promise—a subtle acknowledgment that something had shifted. And as you both started walking back to the car, it was clear: things wouldn’t be the same after tonight.

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