#they love each others space so much and need to be there

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.

[bi-writes]

I’m sooo curious, how did John and his young wife meet if you have an idea?

I read a young price fic where she was his son’s nanny and now I’m curious if you have lore for them too!!!

-anasdump

they are the most obnoxious group of oxygen-stealers you've ever seen, and they're in fucking uniform.

taking up all the bar counter space. hogging the pool tables. throwing the darts so hard, they nearly took out some poor man's eyes. if they laugh and holler and spill one more fucking speck of beer on your leather purse, you're going to wind it up and smack them up the throats with it.

you approach the bar for a refill. you crane your neck as you look for a spot to grab the bartender's attention, but they're all shoving each other and slamming their hands on the wood and getting in the way. you huff, stepping up to a couple of them.

"hey, you need to move. no one can order if you're just gonna take up the whole counter."

the biggest one turns to look at you head-on. you glare a little, motioning with your hand for them to move, but he just leans back against his elbows. he's got the ugliest army haircut, and he wears his dog tags out in front like it's some kind of medal. you doubt he's ever seen anything outside of whatever stupid base he came off of.

"sure, we'll move. but it'll cost ya."

he looks you up and down, and you purse your lips when you meet his eyes.

"no. move over. i'm asking nicely right now."

"oooo," he laughs a little, nudging his friends with his elbows. they laugh, too. "i'm terrified, love."

you decide to just move them yourself. you shove your way between them, but when someone grabs your arm and tugs you backwards, you don't think. you just swing.

your knuckles connect with that asshole's face, and he cries out as he steps backward into his friends.

"don't fucking touch me!"

"you cunt--"

"oh, you did not just fucking call me that, you stupid, brainless piece of shit--!"

"easy," a low voice says behind you. you're almost glad for the interruption. your fist would falter with another punch you think, already bruising around the knuckles.

he's weathered, this new man. you would smell the military on him from a mile away, but he's older in a way that speaks volumes to you. he has the hands of someone that only knows hard labor, and the lines in his face have been warped not by time, but by decisions. he wears a beanie and a scruffy beard, and by the way the other men shuffle in his presence, he must be someone important.

when he steps in front of you, he blocks the view of wandering eyes. you peek around his arm, and every single one of those idiots has their gaze on the floor, and they stand at attention.

"you're an embarrassment to the crown, you lot," he mutters. "supposed to be examples. supposed to enact...some sense of duty in others, and yet all i see are a line of fucking boys that never learned their manners in primary." he laughs, "i mean...to call a lady a cunt?"

you rub your knuckles gently, looking down.

"i expect all of you to report to lieutenant riley at 0600 tomorrow. and your weekend passes are hereby revoked."

the whole pub is a little more relaxed once they're gone. you take a seat at the bar, and the bartender gives you a solemn smile before going to make you another drink.

"i uh..." you stiffen when you hear him behind you. "i want to apologize on behalf of them. tha's no way to treat someone, especially a woman."

"especially a woman," you laugh a little, shaking your head as you pick up the drink set down in front of you. you take a long sip of it, turning to face him. "i can handle myself, thank you very much."

"i can see tha'." he nods to your hand, which looks a little raw. you hide it under the counter, taking another sip of your drink.

"you know, i think you have a lot of other things to worry about," you snap. "like the band of assholes you apparently are in charge of."

"i'm sorry about them," he says again. "you won't see them here or anywhere close to you ever again. tha' i can promise you."

"you listen here--" you turn in your seat to face him, poking his chest with your finger. you try not to think about how your finger doesn't even budge, hitting a thick, pelted chest that has no give. you glare up into those baby blues. they're so bright--gorgeous. your breaths shake, but you steel yourself. he looks anything but afraid of you, no, he looks amused. "you all bring nothing but shit tracking in those boots of yours."

he sniffs, tilting his head to the side. "not a fan of servicemen, are you?"

you laugh, shaking your head.

"i'd spit on you, but even that's too good for you."

he grins. a full-blown smile, and when he leans into your space, you don't move. your finger on his chest flattens, your entire hand pressing there in the middle of his chest.

"i'm john."

you look him up and down. his pretty eyes, the dated but kept beard, the smile lines, the warm and solidness that sits under your hand. he's a teddy bear under that, but you're not fooled. this man isn't like the others--he's wise. experienced. it means he's trigger-happy, and it means he has blood on his hands.

you give him your name anyway, and he repeats it, low enough and close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

"i need another drink," you say, putting a finger on his lips and pushing him backwards. "and you're gonna buy it for me. buy me a few, actually."

john chuckles, taking his jacket off. he drapes it over the back of your chair, and you try to avert your gaze when you see big, burly biceps and coarse hair. his arm stays there, behind you.

"you understand me, john?" you coo, and he smiles big. he nods.

"yes, ma'am."

[eiightysixbaby]

eat your heart out

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

in which eddie masters valentine’s day through the art of eating pussy

cw: 18+ ONLY — SMUT oral (f receiving)

a/n: an early valentine from me to all of u. mwah mwah hope u enjoy ❤️

Eddie Munson doesn't really know what to do when it comes to Valentine's Day.

It's not like he's an idiot; he understands that typically a romantic dinner or a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates are the perfect show of appreciation and affection.

But those things are typically reserved for your girlfriend, and you're not his girlfriend.

But you're also, like, not not his girlfriend.

Eddie doesn't really know what you are, and that's the issue. It started off with you guys just hooking up. Late nights in his van parked behind the school or in a dark part of some neighborhood. Quickies in the bathroom during a break in Hellfire sessions. But it's slowly started to morph into... something else? Eddie isn't one hundred percent sure, but he's noticed that you come over more often, and you don't just want to jump his bones and leave.

Sometimes you guys don't even fuck anymore. Sometimes you invite him over just to watch movies, or he'll ask you to go for a drive with him. You hold his hand under the table when you go out to Benny's diner with the friend group, and Steve keeps waggling his eyebrows at him suggestively every time he catches you two sitting extremely close to each other. Which just makes Eddie blush like a loser.

And, every time you two are about to part ways, you look like you really want to kiss him before he goes.

And sure, you guys have kissed before. He's not about to hook up with you without at least kissing you stupid first. But this is different. You've been looking at him like you just want to kiss him, with nothing to come afterwards.

It all makes him sweat if he thinks about it for too long.

So for now, in the midst of his anxious unwillingness to ask you the horrifying 'What are we?', he's simply decided to show his appreciation for you on Valentine's Day with the one thing he's certain you'll love. He can deal with his feelings and stuff, later.

Your hand fists its way into his hair, fingers gripping his unruly curls like they're the only thing still tethering you to earth. His knees press into the worn carpeting of the trailer, his mouth latched to your cunt while his hands keep the fabric of your skirt rucked up at your waist.

You’re standing with your back pressed against the kitchen counter, your sneakers still on. He barely gave you a moment to settle yourself upon arrival before he was on you like a bad rash.

What can he say? When it all comes down to it, he’s a simple man, and you’re his favorite meal.

“Eddie,” you sigh, tilting your head back in bliss.

His tongue swipes its way through your folds before finding your clit and sucking on it. He can feel your body tremble, your knees nearly buckling with the overwhelming sense of pleasure.

His big brown eyes chance a glance up at you, at the exact moment you’re looking down at him. Your lips part in a moan, his tongue flicking rapidly at your clit, though he’s not sure if it’s that or the eye contact that forced the sound from you.

He’s guessing the latter, because something in your gaze feels different. The entire moment feels different.

Before, being intimate with you felt reckless, hot. Now it’s like he’s spilling every word he hasn’t said to you into the space between your thighs, hoping you’ll read his secret code. Hoping desperately that he’s not seeing this wrong, that you actually do like him as much as he realizes he likes you.

He needs to chill before he whispers an I love you right here on his knees.

He breaks your gaze after a moment or two, letting his eyes fall closed once more. He can taste how wet you are, he’s lapping up your arousal with every swipe of his tongue, and he honestly would kind of be okay with dying right here. His face is completely buried in you, nose bumping your clit, tongue on a mission to be as deep inside of you as possible.

You let your hips buck, nearly grinding on his face as he licks and sucks and bites, his ringed fingers squeezing the meat of your ass now.

“Eddie, ohmygod,” you cry, your white knuckle grip on the countertop keeping you from collapsing.

“What is it, baby?” he asks sweetly, kitten licking your sensitive bud before taking it between his lips and sucking.

That’s another thing, he’s started calling you all of these pet names lately. And the more he does it, the more he finds he doesn’t want to stop. He might actually be physically incapable of stopping.

“Feels so good, I—” you gasp at the sudden intrusion of two of his fingers. “I fucking love you,” you rasp out, your body reaching its peak at the exact moment the words escape you.

Eddie’s eyes shoot up to look at you, going impossibly wide. Yet he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, he brings you fully through your high until you’re shaking all over. Your words did nothing but spur him on, more determined than ever to bring you crashing down around him.

Only once you’ve come down do you seem to process what you said, and for a minute all you can do is stare at each other.

“Eddie, I—” you scramble, but he’s quicker.

“No. Don’t backtrack. Don’t do that,” he says, still on his knees before you. Still tasting you on his lips, still feeling you beneath his fingertips.

He rises to his feet, hooking a finger under your chin. You’re giving him that look again. The one that makes it seem like you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.

And so he gives in. Lips smashing to yours, in a completely different context than any of the times before. He hopes you can feel everything he feels just through this kiss. Hopes he’s getting his point across.

The way you pull him flush up against you to deepen the kiss gives him the idea that his point was received.

Eddie Munson is great at this whole Valentine’s Day thing.

[purifiedclitoris69]

Statements

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Shield agent!reader

Summary: Assumptions are made about the relationship you have with Natasha, so you took it upon yourself to make a statement :)

Your relationship with Natasha is built on years of trust, mutual respect, and an unspoken understanding that comes from living in the shadows of espionage. You met when she first joined SHIELD, and while she was still finding her footing within the organization, you were already established as a specialist sniper—someone who worked alone, took the impossible shots, and disappeared before anyone even knew you were there.

At first, your relationship was purely professional. You recognized each other as dangerous and highly capable, but there was always a quiet pull between you. Over time, through shared missions, late-night debriefs, and the rare moments of quiet in a world full of chaos, that pull became something more. It wasn’t dramatic or rushed—it was a slow burn, a natural evolution of two people who understood each other better than most and yearned to show one another a genuine love.

Now, after almost 3 years together, your bond is unshakable. While the Avengers see you around the compound, they don’t truly know the depth of what you and Natasha have. They assume your relationship is casual, just a convenience in a life full of uncertainty. But in reality, Natasha loves you fiercely, and you love her just as much. You’re her safe place, the person she trusts with the parts of herself she doesn’t show anyone else. When the world feels too heavy, she turns to you—not for protection, because she doesn’t need it, but for the rare comfort of knowing she’s not alone.

You don’t need grand gestures or constant declarations. Your love is in the quiet moments—the way she always finds her way to you after a mission, the way you instinctively reach for her hand under the table, the way she relaxes against you when no one is watching. To the outside world, you might just be another agent who occasionally lingers at the compound. But to Natasha, you’re home.

—————————-———

Wanda was the first to recognize the depth of your relationship.

It was early—early enough that most of the team was still asleep or barely functioning. The compound was quiet, save for the soft hum of the coffee machine in the kitchen. You stood by the counter, leaning against it, eyes still heavy with sleep as you waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

Natasha, still in her sleep shorts and one of your old SHIELD t-shirts, wandered in with a yawn, her hair slightly tousled from sleep. She didn’t say anything as she approached—you felt her presence before you saw her. Without hesitation, she walked straight into your space, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face into your chest.

"Mm. Too early," she mumbled against you.

You huffed a quiet laugh, your hand instinctively coming up to rub slow, soothing circles on her back. "You say that every morning, but you’re always up before me."

She hummed but didn’t respond, just tightening her grip around you as if she could steal some of your warmth. You didn’t mind. In fact, moments like this were your favorite—the ones where she let her guard down, where she wasn’t the Black Widow or an Avenger, just Natasha, just yours.

Neither of you noticed Wanda standing by the doorway, frozen mid-step. She had come in for coffee but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Natasha—fierce, guarded Natasha—melted completely against you.

Wanda had always assumed your relationship was casual. Everyone had. You weren’t around often, and Natasha never entertained deep conversations about her personal life. But standing there, watching the way she clung to you, the way your hand moved over her back with the kind of practiced ease that spoke of years of familiarity, Wanda realized they had all been wrong.

This wasn’t casual. This was love—deep, unwavering, and so achingly real.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but eventually, Natasha stirred, tilting her head up to look at you. "Coffee ready?"

"Almost," you murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. The gesture was so gentle, so natural, that Wanda almost felt like she was intruding.

Before Natasha could move away, you leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Go sit. I’ll bring you a cup."

Natasha didn’t argue, just gave you a sleepy, content smile before releasing you and making her way to the kitchen table.

Wanda finally decided to make her presence known, clearing her throat as she stepped fully into the kitchen. "Morning," she greeted, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips as she grabbed a mug and you unpromptedly filled it for her greeting her with a kind smile and filling Nat’s next, starting another pot for anyone else who might want it.

Natasha, already seated, just raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Wanda glanced between the two of you, then just shook her head, her smirk widening. "Nothing. Just... you two are cute," she blew on her coffee.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. Meanwhile, you simply handed Natasha her coffee before grabbing your own along with d the morning crossword, completely unfazed.

Wanda took a sip of her drink, still smiling to herself. Maybe the rest of the team had been blind to it, but now she knew the truth—Natasha Romanoff was hopelessly, completely in love.

—————————-———

The next person was Steve. You had gone on another lengthy mission; it had kept you away for weeks longer than either of you liked. You had kept in touch when you could, brief calls and cryptic messages, but it wasn’t the same. And now, finally, you were back.

Steve wasn’t looking for either of you when he entered the common room. He had just been passing through, planning to grab something from the kitchen before heading to the gym. But as soon as he stepped in, he stopped in his tracks.

The lights were dim, the soft crackle of the old record player filling the space. An oldie—something slow, something familiar. And in the center of the room, barely swaying to the rhythm, was you and Natasha.

She was pressed against you, arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, her fingers idly playing with the hairs at the back of your neck. Your hands rested on her waist, holding her close as if you needed to feel her warmth to believe this moment had finally come after weeks of waiting.

Neither of you spoke. There was no need. The way Natasha clung to you, the way you held her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, it said everything.

Steve had never seen her like this. Sure, he had seen her care about people, had seen her protect and fight for those she loved. But this? This was different. This was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, completely at peace. Safe. Home.

He felt like he was intruding on something sacred, so he took a quiet step back, turning to leave—only to nearly bump into Bucky.

“what’s with the face?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at the look on Steve’s face.

Steve exhaled, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. “Nothing, just—” He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Bucky. “You and Sam better stop checking Nat out so much.”

Bucky scoffed. “What? We don’t—”

Steve gave him a knowing look.

Bucky shifted. “Alright, maybe Sam does. I just—y’know, appreciate a good—”

Steve cut him off. “Don’t.”

Bucky smirked. “Okay, but why the sudden warning?”

Steve shook his head again, that small smile still lingering. “Because they’re in love. Like, really in love.”

Bucky frowned. “I mean, yeah, I figured they were serious, but—”

“No,” Steve interrupted. “Not just serious. Not just together. In love.”

Bucky studied him for a second, something unreadable passing over his expression before he nodded. “Alright,” he said simply.

Steve gave him a final glance before clapping him on the shoulder and walking off, leaving Bucky standing there, a little quieter than usual.

Because if what Steve was saying was true, then it wasn’t just Natasha they had underestimated. It was you.

—————————-———

The true statement was made in the compound gym.

The gym was alive with movement—punching bags swinging, the clatter of weights, and the rhythmic sound of fists meeting training dummies. You had just finished some shooting drills when you decided to swing by, knowing exactly where Natasha would be.

Sure enough, there she was, moving like a force of nature. Every strike was precise, every kick sharp. She was a sight to behold—dangerous, powerful, and effortlessly graceful.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought so.

You noticed Sam and Bucky standing off to the side, arms crossed, observing her with a little too much focus. Eyes tracked her every movement, and while you weren’t necessarily the jealous type, and were well aware how gorgeous Natasha is; people couldn't help but be enamoured by her, however weren’t about to let this slide.

You strolled up beside them, tilting your head. "Enjoying the view?"

Bucky, to his credit, immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, don’t look at me. I was admiring the technique, alright?" He nodded toward Natasha. "She’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen."

You eyed him for a second before nodding, accepting the explanation. Bucky was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dumb enough to cross that line.

Sam, however—

"Look, I’m just saying," Sam started, his eyes still trailing Natasha as she wiped sweat off her forehead. "It’s not my fault she moves like that. That’s a distraction."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Sam glanced at you, then seemed to realize way too late that he had just said that to the one person who could make him regret it. "Uh—"

"You know what?" You rolled your shoulders, tossing your towel aside. "I feel like I haven’t sparred in a while. What do you say, Wilson? A little one-on-one?"

Sam hesitated, looking between you and Bucky, who just took a step back, clearly enjoying the fact that he wasn’t involved.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Sam asked, crossing his arms. "I mean, no offense, but I’ve got wings, I’ve fought aliens—"

"You’re standing here watching my girlfriend train. I just want to see how you train too." you cut in, smirking.

The room went silent for half a beat before Bucky let out a low chuckle. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Clint grinned, nudging Wanda. "Five bucks says Sam regrets this immediately."

Natasha, who had been too focused on training to notice the exchange earlier, finally turned toward the group, eyebrow raised. "What’s going on?"

Wanda smirked. "Your sniper just challenged Sam to a sparring match because he got caught staring at you."

Natasha let out a small laugh, tossing a towel over her shoulder as she walked closer. "Oh, I have to see this."

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "Y’all are ridiculous. But fine. Let’s do this."

You stepped onto the mat, rolling your shoulders as Sam joined you. He gave a cocky smirk. "You sure you wanna do this? I am pretty fast, you know."

You just smirked back. "We’ll see."

Steve, ever the responsible one, clapped his hands. "Alright, keep it clean."

The second Steve gave the go-ahead, you moved—fast.

Sam barely had time to react before you were already in his space, effortlessly dodging his first strike. You didn’t just block—you controlled. Every punch he threw was sidestepped. Every kick, redirected. You weren’t just fighting Sam. You were toying with him.

The smirk on his face started fading as frustration crept in. "Damn," he muttered, throwing another punch. You caught his wrist, twisting him off-balance before sweeping his legs out from under him.

Sam hit the mat with a grunt.

From the sidelines, Bucky let out a whistle. "That looked like it hurt."

Clint was grinning beside Nat.

Wanda shook her head in amusement. "He walked right into that one."

Sam groaned but pushed himself back up. "Alright, alright—lucky shot."

You didn’t respond. You just motioned for him to try again.

This time, he put more effort into his attacks, but it didn’t make a difference. Every move he made, you were already three steps ahead. You parried, countered, redirected—all with ease.

After a few more humiliating takedowns, Sam finally dropped to the mat, breathing hard, lying flat on his back. "Damn. Alright. Message received."

You crouched down beside him, grinning. "Good. Maybe next time, you’ll keep your eyes to yourself playboy"

Sam exhaled, closing his eyes. "Noted."

You stood up, offering him a hand. He took it, groaning as he got to his feet. "You really don’t like people looking at her, huh?"

You shrugged, "I know she can handle herself, I just felt like making a statement today," you smiled stepping off the mat and walking to Nat

"Possessive looks good on you," Natasha said with her signature smirk

Without a second thought, you grabbed her by the waist and kissed her—really kissed her—right in front of everyone. It was slow, deep, and left no room for doubt. Natasha, normally composed, melted into you, gripping your bicep to steady herself.

When you pulled back, she was a little breathless, a rare blush dusting her cheeks.

You smirked. "See you at dinner, love."

And with that, you walked off, leaving Natasha still catching her breath.

Clint let out a low whistle. "Damn."

Wanda smirked. "That was a statement,” Natasha throwing a towel at her, mumbling out a whatever and heading to the lockers

Bucky clapped Sam on the shoulder. "So, you still gonna stare?"

Sam rolled his eyes taking a tired seat on the bench "I hate you all."

[promptedwordsmith]

Please mayhaps could you write something cute of Mc/Reader falling asleep while laying on their chest listening to their heartbeat 😭

inspired by this dialogue from Zayne I just got 🙈

Love your writing btw, I binge read all your stuff earlier…😭

Aww thank you!

Caleb

The night was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city in the distance. The stars stretched endlessly above you, faint against the glow of streetlights filtering through the window. The air was cool, a soft breeze shifting the curtains, but the warmth of Caleb beside you made the world feel impossibly small, like the only thing that mattered was the space between you.

You hadn’t meant to stay this late.

It had started with a casual visit—an excuse, really. Just an evening spent together after days of missing each other between missions and responsibilities. You had barely managed to steal moments alone lately, both of you too caught up in the demands of your work, your Evols, your duties. And now, here you were, hours later, lying on his couch, wrapped up in his presence as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Caleb sat against the cushions, his black and orange jacket tossed somewhere over the armrest, leaving him in just a simple t-shirt. He had one arm resting lazily behind his head, the other draped across your back. Your body was half on top of him, your cheek pressed against his chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he took.

The sound of his heartbeat filled your ears.

Strong. Constant. Safe.

You hadn’t planned on falling asleep like this. But after everything—after the exhaustion, the weeks of pushing forward without rest—this felt… inevitable. Like gravity pulling you down.

Caleb hadn’t moved much since you’d settled there, just enough to shift comfortably, to make sure you had the space to breathe. His fingers ghosted over your back, absentminded, soothing. He wasn’t speaking, but he didn’t need to. The warmth of his body, the solid presence of him beneath you—it was enough.

You felt his chest rumble slightly as he let out a breath, a soft chuckle you almost missed.

"Didn’t think you’d get this comfortable with me so soon."

You made a small noise in protest but didn’t lift your head. It was too much effort, and you were too content.

His fingers brushed against the curve of your shoulder, warm and slow. "Not that I mind," he murmured.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, letting your body mold more against his. “M’not comfortable,” you mumbled sleepily, words muffled against his shirt.

"Oh?" Amusement colored his voice.

"M’just… too tired to move."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Right. That’s it."

You didn’t argue. You barely had the energy to think, much less banter with him. The steady thump-thump of his heart was lulling you under, making it hard to focus on anything but the warmth beneath your fingertips.

A few minutes passed in silence, peaceful and undisturbed. Caleb wasn’t one to stay still for long, not with the kind of life he led, but right now, he hadn’t moved an inch. Maybe he didn’t want to wake you. Maybe he just liked this as much as you did.

And then, in a voice quieter than before, he spoke again.

"Feels nice."

You made a questioning sound, but you didn’t open your eyes.

His fingers traced a slow, lazy path down your back. "Having you here like this."

Your heart skipped.

It wasn’t like Caleb to say things outright. Not when it came to feelings, anyway. He showed his affection in actions—through protection, through thoughtfulness, through every quiet way he looked after you. But every now and then, he let things slip.

And for some reason, this moment felt more intimate than any of the ones before.

You swallowed, suddenly more aware of how close you were. His heartbeat, still steady beneath your ear, was the only thing grounding you.

You exhaled. "I like it too."

His hand stilled for half a second, then continued its slow, absentminded movements.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, saying nothing at all.

Time didn’t matter.

The world outside didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the way his heart beat for you, with you.

And eventually, before you even realized it, you drifted into sleep, safe in his arms.

Caleb had lost count of how long he’d been lying there, unmoving, just watching you.

You had fallen asleep so easily against him, so naturally, as if you had always belonged there. Your breaths were soft, steady, barely more than a whisper against his skin. And your weight—light but present—felt right.

He exhaled, staring at the ceiling.

He should’ve moved. He should’ve carried you to bed, tucked you in properly, maybe even left the room to give you space.

But he didn’t.

Because some part of him—some deep, selfish part—couldn’t bring himself to let go.

His arms tightened around you, just slightly. He felt the way you shifted in response, curling closer in your sleep, like even unconscious, you knew you were safe with him.

That did something to him.

He had spent so long protecting you, making sure you were okay, keeping his distance where he thought you needed it. But now, here you were—sleeping soundly on his chest, trusting him without hesitation.

And it undid him.

His fingers traced absent patterns against your back, slow, thoughtful. He didn’t know if you’d even remember this in the morning, if you’d be embarrassed, if you’d pull away and act like it hadn’t happened. But he’d remember.

He’d remember the way your breathing synced with his, the way your body had fit against him like it was meant to be there. He’d remember the warmth of you, the way you had melted into him without fear.

And, more than anything, he’d remember the moment he realized—he never wanted this to end.

He exhaled, tilting his head just enough to press the lightest of kisses against your hair. A whisper of a touch, something you wouldn’t feel, something just for him.

"Sleep well," he murmured against your temple. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

And for once, he truly meant it.

Rafayel

Rafayel always ran a little warmer than most, his body heat like an ember refusing to die out. It was comforting in a way that made it difficult to resist curling up beside him, though you rarely admitted that out loud. He’d be insufferable if you did, teasing you with that lazy grin, calling you clingy despite the fact that he was the one who draped himself over you like a heavy blanket more often than not.

Tonight was no different.

It had been a long day—one of those days where exhaustion settled into your bones like a permanent weight. The kind of day where even lifting a hand to wave away Rafayel’s usual antics felt like too much effort. You had barely managed to shuffle into his home, kicking off your shoes in a haphazard heap by the door before collapsing onto his couch without so much as a greeting.

Rafayel, ever the dramatic one, had let out an exaggerated sigh as he flopped down beside you, slouching against the cushions as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “You look like you’ve fought an entire army and lost.”

You hummed in response, not even bothering to open your eyes.

That wasn’t enough for him, of course. He prodded your arm with a single finger, then two, then your cheek, then your forehead—until you swatted weakly at his hand, cracking one eye open to glare at him.

“If you don’t let me rest, I’ll—”

“What?” He smirked, all sharp teeth and amusement. “Throw me out? I live here.”

You groaned, rolling onto your side to put your back to him, but it was no use. Rafayel was persistent when he wanted to be. His arm slung itself over your waist, not quite pulling you in, but making sure you couldn’t wriggle away either.

“Stay up with me,” he murmured.

“No.”

“Rude.”

You huffed a small laugh, but the exhaustion was winning. You felt the weight of his arm shift slightly, and before you knew it, he was adjusting, coaxing you effortlessly into his embrace as if it was second nature.

You barely resisted.

His chest was warm beneath your cheek, rising and falling in an easy rhythm, his heartbeat a steady thump-thump against your ear. You listened without thinking, without meaning to, letting the sound ground you in a way that nothing else could.

“Comfortable?” Rafayel’s voice was softer now, lacking his usual teasing lilt.

You made a vague sound of agreement, nuzzling just a little closer.

His fingers skimmed lightly over your back, absentmindedly tracing little shapes into your shirt. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“Mhm.”

“You weren’t supposed to agree.”

You smiled sleepily.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of the warmth of his body, the scent of sea breeze and something faintly sweet, the quiet lull of his breathing.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

You wondered if he even realized how soothing it was. If he knew how easily he could lull you to sleep just by being there.

His hand stilled against your back, and for a moment, you thought maybe he had fallen asleep too. But then, his voice—softer now, barely above a whisper—broke the silence.

“You do this a lot.”

You hummed, half-asleep already. “Do what?”

“Listen to my heartbeat.”

Your eyes cracked open just enough to peek up at him, but his expression was unreadable in the dim light. His gaze was focused on the ceiling, his lips pressed together in quiet contemplation.

You shrugged, your fingers absentmindedly curling into the fabric of his shirt. “It’s… nice.”

Rafayel let out a small breath of amusement, though there was something thoughtful in the way he tightened his grip around you, as if trying to pull you just a little closer. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before.”

You blinked sleepily. “Really?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering it. “Most people don’t get close enough to notice.”

That made sense, you supposed. Rafayel was not an easy person to get close to. He could charm his way into any room, could captivate entire crowds with his talent and confidence—but when it came to true closeness, true intimacy, he chose his moments carefully. He built walls around himself, kept his distance from the world even as he stood in its spotlight.

But with you…

You weren’t entirely sure when it had changed. When the teasing had shifted into something softer, something real. When he had stopped keeping you at arm’s length.

Maybe it had been gradual, like the way the tide reshapes the shore over time.

Or maybe it had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.

His fingers resumed their absentminded tracing against your back. “Does it make you feel safe?”

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah.”

Rafayel exhaled, a breath that sounded far too heavy for such a simple conversation. But he didn’t say anything else.

His heartbeat continued its steady rhythm beneath your ear.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

You sighed, letting your eyes drift shut again. Sleep pulled at you like a tide, warm and steady.

You didn’t know how long you lay there, tangled up in each other, before Rafayel finally spoke again, voice so quiet you almost thought you imagined it.

“…Good.”

And then, as if nothing had happened, his fingers continued their slow, lazy patterns against your back, lulling you further into sleep.

The last thing you felt before drifting off completely was the faintest press of lips against the top of your head.

Rafayel didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

Sylus

The night was warm, the kind of heat that settled under your skin and refused to let go. The air carried the faint scent of rain from earlier, mixing with the smoky tang of the fire burning low in Sylus’ study. You had been sprawled across the couch for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, but no matter what you did, rest wouldn’t come.

You huffed, rolling onto your stomach, cheek pressing into the cushion. Across the room, Sylus sat at his desk, flipping through a dossier with the kind of effortless focus that made you want to be a distraction. He had been watching you from the corner of his eye for a while now, though he hadn’t said anything—probably waiting for you to admit defeat first.

"You’re brooding," he finally murmured, flipping another page.

You groaned. "I don’t brood."

His lips curled slightly, but he didn’t look up. "You do when you don’t get your way."

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

He turned a page with an infuriating level of ease. Smug bastard.

"You heard me," he mused. "Something’s bothering you. You don’t want to admit it, but you also want me to figure it out for you. You’re restless, and I don’t like it."

You scoffed, pushing yourself up. "You don’t like it? Oh no, whatever shall I do?"

Sylus sighed, finally looking up at you, his crimson gaze dark and knowing. "Come here."

You sat up fully, arms crossing over your chest. "No."

His expression didn’t change, but you saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "No?"

You smirked, lifting your chin. "You want me? You come get me."

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if weighing his options. Then, without warning, he moved.

You barely had time to react before a shadow loomed over you, arms slipping around you with the kind of effortless strength that made resistance seem laughable.

"Sylus!" you yelped, squirming as he lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing.

"Problem, kitten?" he murmured, the warmth of his breath brushing against your temple as he adjusted you against his chest.

You kicked your feet, half-heartedly shoving at his shoulder, but he didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he sank back into his chair, pulling you down with him, settling you against him.

Your back rested against his chest, his arms lazily draped around your waist, as if holding you there was the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re ridiculous," you grumbled.

"And yet," he mused, resting his chin lightly against the top of your head, "you always end up right where I want you."

You huffed, about to argue, but then—you heard it.

The steady, unshaken rhythm of his heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Slow. Certain. Unyielding.

For a moment, you forgot why you had been restless in the first place. The world outside faded, the tension in your limbs melting into the warmth of his body. His heartbeat filled the silence, a constant, grounding sound that made everything else feel so small.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—his warmth, the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his fingers had started tracing small, absentminded circles against your ribs.

"You’re listening," he murmured, voice quieter now.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

His heartbeat was so steady, so sure. A deep, resounding thing that made you realize just how erratic your own had been all night. But now… now you were matching him, falling into the rhythm of him.

A breath.

A beat.

A moment.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve, gripping just a little tighter.

"...You’re annoying," you mumbled.

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh, his fingers slipping up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just enough for your eyes to meet his. "And you’re a brat," he murmured.

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Because his gaze wasn’t teasing anymore. It was soft. Intense in a way that made your stomach twist and your pulse stutter, despite the slow, grounding rhythm of his own beneath you.

"...Don’t do that again," he said after a moment.

Your brow furrowed slightly. "Do what?"

"Try to deal with things on your own when you don’t have to." His voice was low, serious. Final.

You swallowed hard.

Sylus was not a man who needed anyone. He was self-sufficient, independent, a lone wolf who had built an empire from the shadows. But with you, he let himself be different.

And this? This was him asking you to do the same.

You let out a slow breath, turning your face back into his chest. His heartbeat was still there, still steady, still constant.

Your fingers loosened against his sleeve, your grip no longer desperate, but something else. Something trusting.

"...Okay," you whispered.

Sylus let out a quiet hum, satisfied with your answer. His arm tightened just slightly around you, and for the first time that night, you weren’t restless anymore.

You listened.

To the crackling fire. To the distant city.

To him.

To his heartbeat.

And slowly, carefully—you matched it.

Xavier

The steady rhythm of Xavier’s heartbeat was the only sound you could focus on. A soft, constant thump-thump, thump-thump beneath your ear, grounding and unwavering. It was late—too late—but exhaustion had long since settled into your bones, making your eyelids heavy.

You hadn’t meant to end up like this, curled against him with your cheek resting over his chest, legs tangled loosely. It had started as a simple evening together, the two of you stretched out on the couch, basking in the rare quiet. The mission earlier had been grueling—physically and mentally draining—and you had been too sore to move much, content just to exist in Xavier’s presence.

He had been the one to pull you close, an arm draped lazily around your waist as if it was second nature. And now, as you lay against him, your body melting into the warmth of his own, you realized how easy this felt.

His fingers traced light, absent-minded patterns against your back, the touch featherlight, almost reverent. You could feel his breath ruffle your hair every now and then, slow and even. The city lights outside cast a faint glow across the room, flickering against the walls, but neither of you made a move to turn on the lamp.

"You're quiet," Xavier murmured. His voice was deep, a little rough, the kind of tone that made something inside you settle. "Tired?"

You hummed in response, nuzzling just slightly into his chest. "Mm. Comfy."

A soft chuckle rumbled beneath you, and you could feel his amusement more than you could hear it. "So, you're just using me as a pillow, then?"

You smirked but didn’t open your eyes. "You make a good one."

Xavier huffed, but his hand on your back didn't stop its slow, lazy movements. "Lucky me."

There was no teasing in his voice, though—just something warm, something fond.

It wasn’t often that you got to be like this with him. Unrushed. No missions, no battle wounds, no chaos pulling you in opposite directions. Just you and him, together.

And God, it felt good.

His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, a quiet, comforting rhythm that made the exhaustion settle even deeper in your body.

Xavier didn’t push you to stay awake, didn’t urge you into conversation. He just let you rest.

And maybe that was what made it so easy to finally let yourself relax.

At some point, you started drifting.

It was slow, like sinking into warm water, the world softening around the edges. You could still hear him breathing, still feel the rise and fall of his chest, but everything was beginning to feel lighter.

And then—

A soft voice, close. "You gonna fall asleep on me?"

You made a vague noise of acknowledgment but didn’t move.

Another chuckle. "That’s a yes."

You felt him shift slightly, adjusting his hold on you, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, as if anchoring you to him.

"You’re warm," you muttered, your voice sluggish with exhaustion.

Xavier huffed out a breath. "You're barely awake and that's what you choose to say?"

You smiled against his shirt. "Mhm."

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, softer—quieter—"Good."

You might have imagined it, but his hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. A touch so light it almost wasn’t there at all.

You sighed, content, before finally letting yourself fall.

When you woke up, you weren’t sure how long you had been asleep.

The first thing you noticed was that you were still on Xavier’s chest, still curled up against him like you had never moved. The second thing you noticed was that he hadn't moved either.

His arms were still wrapped around you, one hand resting at your lower back, the other still tangled lightly in your hair. His breathing was deep and even, but you weren’t sure if he was actually asleep or just resting.

You shifted slightly, tilting your head to glance up at him, and—

He was awake.

His blue eyes, always sharp and focused, were soft as they met yours. There was no teasing smirk, no witty remark. Just quiet warmth, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

"Morning," he murmured.

You blinked, still groggy. "Is it?"

A small, amused huff. "No. But you’ve been out for a while."

You exhaled, stretching slightly but making no effort to move away. "Why didn’t you wake me?"

Xavier’s fingers ghosted against your back again, tracing idle shapes. "Because you looked peaceful."

You stared at him for a moment, then rested your head back against his chest. "...Still comfy."

This time, he laughed—a soft, real laugh, not one of his usual teasing chuckles.

"You just gonna stay here forever, then?"

You hummed. "Might."

His heartbeat was still steady beneath your ear, his warmth still pulling you under. And God, if it was up to you, you wouldn’t move at all.

You must have fallen asleep again, because when you woke up next, the lights outside had shifted. The city was still glowing, but the colors were different—softer, cooler, as if the night had settled deeper.

You yawned, stretching slightly before blinking up at Xavier again. He was asleep now, his face more relaxed than you had ever seen it.

And something about that made you pause.

Xavier never truly let his guard down. Even when he was exhausted, even when he was resting, there was always something about him that remained sharp. Always aware, always prepared for whatever came next.

But right now?

Right now, he was peaceful. His lips were slightly parted, his expression free of tension, his breathing slow and even.

And you realized, with a quiet pang in your chest, that he had fallen asleep because he trusted you.

Carefully, hesitantly, you lifted a hand to brush a strand of silver hair from his forehead. Your fingers barely grazed his skin, but he didn’t stir.

You swallowed, something unspoken tightening in your throat.

You were safe with him.

And maybe—just maybe—he was safe with you, too.

You smiled, small but genuine, before settling back against him.

"Sleep well, Xavier," you whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear you.

Then, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, you let yourself drift off once more.

Zayne

The world outside had slipped into an almost unnatural silence, the kind that only seemed to happen in the late hours of the night when everything around you had finally fallen still. The air was crisp and cool, but inside, the warmth of the apartment wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You had spent the evening together—dinner, quiet conversation, and some small talk that had faded into comfortable silence. Zayne’s usual stoic nature had softened somewhat, allowing you a glimpse of the ease he usually kept hidden behind the layers of his professionalism.

The clock on the wall ticked slowly as you settled beside him on the couch. Zayne sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, his back straight despite the fact that he had obviously spent long hours at work. His three-piece suit was loosened now—the jacket discarded, the top button of his shirt undone, and his glasses resting casually on the coffee table in front of him.

You noticed the tension in his shoulders, how he unconsciously worked his jaw, as if the stress of the day was still weighing heavily on him. Even after everything he had done, the hours he had put in, he still couldn’t seem to let go.

Without a word, you shifted closer, your body naturally gravitating toward his warmth. Zayne didn’t seem to notice at first, absorbed in his own thoughts, but when you rested your head gently against his chest, you felt him pause.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet in the room was broken only by the soft hum of the city in the distance and the low sound of Zayne’s breathing.

Then, you heard it.

Thud-thud.

His heartbeat.

Slow, steady, and constant.

It was like a pulse that reverberated through his body, steadying your own. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it, how much you needed to hear it, until now. There was something about the sound of his heartbeat—something reassuring. Something grounding.

Zayne shifted, his hand slowly moving to your back, his touch light and hesitant at first, as though unsure whether he should be the one to initiate any sort of contact. But when he felt you settle against him, the tension in his fingers eased.

“You’re tired,” he whispered softly, his voice low and warm.

You hummed in response, not sure if you wanted to admit how exhausted you truly were.

“I know,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Zayne’s hand moved slightly, his fingers brushing gently against your back, tracing light patterns across your shirt. There was no hurry in his movements—no urgency, just a simple, soft touch that seemed to say more than words ever could. The rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear grew louder, the thudding echoing in your mind as you closed your eyes, allowing it to lull you further into the moment.

His fingers brushed the nape of your neck, the motion tender, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the warmth of his touch in places you didn’t know you’d been longing for. The affection in his actions, the unspoken connection between you, was enough to make you feel more at ease than you ever had before.

Zayne was never one to show too much emotion, at least not outwardly. His professional demeanor kept him composed, distant even when he cared deeply. But in moments like this, where the world outside faded into a blur, it was as though his true self could breathe, and you could feel the softness beneath the armor he wore so often.

Thud-thud.

It was so constant, so unchanging. A reminder that no matter what the day had thrown at either of you, here, in this moment, things were calm. You were safe.

You pressed your ear a little closer to his chest, your cheek resting on the fabric of his shirt. The steady beat of his heart was becoming something you could depend on, something more constant than the passage of time.

“I’ve got you,” he said after a long pause, and even though it was a simple statement, it was one that carried the weight of his every unspoken promise.

You felt his hand move up, brushing softly through your hair, the action slow and deliberate. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t forceful. It was just him, being present. Being there.

“I know,” you whispered back.

The room was so still, so quiet. Zayne didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. His presence, his heartbeat, was enough to keep you tethered to the moment, to him.

You allowed yourself to settle even further, your exhaustion beginning to take hold in a deeper way now. But there was something else there too—a feeling of peace, of contentment that you hadn’t realized you were craving. His touch was the anchor that kept you from drifting into sleep completely.

When you let your eyes fall shut, the warmth of his body against yours seemed to blanket you in comfort. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the subtle movement of his body, and the weight of his hand against your back. Everything about him—the rhythm of his heart, the quiet of his breathing, the soothing motions of his hand—wrapped you in something that felt like home.

“Stay with me for a little longer,” Zayne murmured, his voice a soft plea in the dim light of the room.

You didn’t answer immediately, simply nuzzling closer, breathing in the familiar scent of him—clean, calm, and grounded.

There was no rush. No need to go anywhere.

It was just you and him.

The thud of his heartbeat was all you needed. It was enough to lull you deeper into sleep, into dreams where his presence remained close.

Thud-thud.

The rhythm of his heart.

And in that moment, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

[gf2bellamy]

hiii!

i was wondering if you could write spencer x reader, where she’s having a really bad day but spencer is coming home from a case and is exhausted, mentally and physically so she feels guilty that she would bother him with her mood

So she just hides away and is on the verge of a panic attack and spencer finds her and is all “you save me, so pls let me save you” and just comforts her (and calls her angel because 🫠)

thankyouuu so much (you dont have to do it if you dont want! no pressure at all!) i love your writing, it’s so incredibly cute and endearing <3

exhaustion — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying a lot , reader feeling guilty / tired / exhausted, spencer calls reader angel a/n: hii thank you so much for your request !! i hope you like this <3

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. You sat on the couch, curled up in one corner, staring blankly at the empty space in front of you. The TV was off, the big overhead light was off, and the only light came from the small lamp on the side table.

You hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, your mind swirling with the events of the day. It had been one of those days—the kind where nothing went right, where every little thing seemed to pile up until you felt like you were drowning under the weight of it all. 

You missed Spencer. A lot. Especially right now.

He had a way of making everything feel better. You longed for his comforting hugs and the way he’d listen to you ramble about your day.

But he wasn’t here. He was at work, buried under mountains of paperwork and case files.

The sound of keys jingling in the lock snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped up from the couch, your heart leaping in your chest as you hurried to the door.

Spencer stepped inside, looking disheveled and exhausted. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his bag by the door with a heavy thud, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into a tight hug. 

You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck as you buried your face in his shoulder. He smelled like coffee and faintly of paper. For a moment, you just stood there, holding each other.

“I missed you,” Spencer mumbled into your hair, his voice muffled but sincere. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to let go, but after a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks.

“Today was horrible,” he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he let go of you to shrug off his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than you’d seen him in a long time. 

You bit your lip, hesitating. “What happened?” you asked softly, following him as he moved further into the apartment. 

He sighed again, sinking onto the couch and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Just… paperwork. So much paperwork. And then Garcia’s computer crashed, so we lost half the files we needed, and Hotch wanted everything reorganized by tomorrow morning…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It was just one thing after another.” 

You sat down next to him, your heart aching as you watched him. He looked so drained, so unlike his usual self, and you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about burdening him with your own problems.

Today had been hard for you, but it sounded like it had been even harder for him. The last thing you wanted was to add to his stress. 

So instead of talking about your day, you reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That sounds awful.” 

He gave you a small, tired smile, his fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s okay. It’s just… one of those days, you know?” 

You nodded, your throat tightening. You did know.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Instead, you shifted closer, pulling him into another hug. He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“How was your day?” Spencer mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy as he leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him.

You settled against his side, his head still resting on your shoulder as your fingers continued to gently card through his hair.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment, your hand stilling briefly before you forced yourself to keep moving. 

“It was… good,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. You tried to inject a note of cheerfulness into your tone, but it came out sounding hollow, even to your own ears. 

Spencer hummed against your shoulder, seemingly too tired to notice the slight falter in your voice. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his words muffled as he nuzzled closer to you. His warmth was comforting, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest. 

After a moment, he shifted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before slowly sitting up. “I’m going to get changed,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before standing and heading toward the bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch. 

As soon as he was out of sight, the lump in your throat returned, thicker and more suffocating than before. You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill all evening.

But it was no use. The dam broke, and before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, hurrying toward the bathroom. 

You shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another.

Soon, you were crying , your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. You muttered curses under your breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to hold it together. 

“Get it together,” you whispered harshly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The tears kept running, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.

You felt like a mess, your face hot and your chest tight. But just as you were about to try to pull yourself together, you heard footsteps outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock. 

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice came through the door, gentle and concerned. “Can I come in?” 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to do. Part of you wanted to tell him to go away, to spare him from seeing you like this, but another part of you desperately needed him.

You muttered a curse under your breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand before slowly getting to your feet. 

You opened the door just enough to peek out, your eyes meeting Spencer’s. He was standing there, his expression soft but worried. His hair was still a mess, but his eyes were focused entirely on you. 

“Hey, hey,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” 

You sniffled, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I—” you started, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, unable to continue.

How could you even begin to explain? Everything was wrong. The entire day had been wrong, and now you felt like you were falling apart. 

Spencer didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was so tender that it only made you cry harder.

“Come on,” he said softly, his hand slipping down to take yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling you with him, leading you out of the bathroom and down the hallway. 

You followed him numbly, your fingers intertwined with his as he guided you to the bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. 

“Talk to me, angel,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?” 

The nickname made your heart ache, and you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “You had such a bad day, and I didn’t want to make it worse.” 

Spencer’s expression softened, his hands moving to cradle your face. “You could never make my day worse,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re never a bother. Not to me. Not ever.” 

You shook your head again, your hands gripping his wrists as you tried to steady yourself. “But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to—” 

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You save me, I save you. That’s how this works, remember?” 

You nodded slowly, your breath hitching as more tears spilled over by just hearing those sweet words. Spencer leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

You went willingly, burying your face in his shoulder as he held you close. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you felt some of the tension in your chest begin to ease. After a while he slowly let go, but his hands remaining on your arms.

“Tell me about your day,” he said after a while, his voice soft but insistent. “What happened?” 

You hesitated, but the way he was looking at you—so patient, so understanding—made it impossible to hold back. So you told him. You told him about everything that had gone wrong.

And he listened, his hands never leaving yours, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

When you were done, he pulled you into his arms again, holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. But I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.” 

You nodded, your face buried in his shoulder as you clung to him. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. 

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Always, angel,” he said softly. “Always.” 

[linoxpudding]

Morning Cuddles - Kim Seungmin

*gif credit goes to owner*

summary: the first time waking up in each others arms after confessing your feelings

pairing: kim seungmin x reader

genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers

word count: 856 words

a/n: this is based on this request ♡ friends to lovers is so minnie coded, I love this puppy sm

-

morning cuddles series:

Chan Lee Know Changbin Hyunjin Jisung Felix I.N

Masterlist

~°~

Your woke up feeling your head was nestled against something firm yet comfortable, and as your senses slowly caught up, you felt the steady rise and fall of Seungmin’s chest beneath your cheek. His arms were loosely wrapped around you, his hoodie bunched up slightly where your fingers unconsciously clung to the fabric.

And then it hit you.

Last night.

Heat crept up your cheeks as the memories came flooding back.

~

You had been sitting right here, on this very couch, knees almost touching, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of your hoodie. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the TV long forgotten as the weight of unspoken words filled the space between you.

“I need to tell you something,” Seungmin had said, his voice unusually hesitant.

You had swallowed hard, heart pounding, already sensing what was coming. “Me too.”

His fingers tapped anxiously against his knee. “You first.”

You had shaken your head, nerves tangling in your stomach. “No, you.”

A pause. And then, in a breath so soft yet so powerful, he had whispered, “I like you.”

Your breath had caught in your throat. “You do?”

Seungmin had let out a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. A lot. And for a really long time.” His cheeks had been dusted pink, eyes flickering between your gaze and the floor. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to mess this up.”

Your heart had swelled at the vulnerability in his voice. “You could never mess this up,” you had assured, your voice just as shaky.

A beat of silence. Then, barely above a whisper, you had confessed, “I like you too.”

The relief on his face had been instant, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. “You do?” he had echoed, as if he needed to hear it again just to make sure.

You had nodded, mirroring his bashful grin. “A lot. And for a really long time.”

And just like that, the dam had broken.

~

You had spent hours talking, rediscovering each other in a way you hadn’t allowed yourselves to before. Every nervous laugh, every hesitant brush of fingers had felt like stepping into something both thrilling and terrifying.

There had been giggles when Seungmin had admitted he had planned a whole speech but forgot all of it the moment you looked at him. There had been playful nudges when you had confessed how many times you almost told him but chickened out. And there had been warmth—so much warmth—when he had shyly laced his fingers with yours for the first time.

And at some point, wrapped in the comfort of each other, exhaustion had settled in.

Now, in the hazy glow of morning, you realized neither of you had moved. Your legs were tangled, his hoodie still loosely hanging off your shoulders where he had draped it over you when you got cold. His cheek rested against the top of your head, his breathing deep and even.

You shifted slightly, just enough to tilt your head up, and nearly laughed at the sight.

Seungmin was awake, his eyes barely open, cheeks dusted pink as he stared at you—caught red-handed watching you sleep.

“Were you just staring at me?” you teased, voice thick with sleep.

His eyes widened slightly before he groaned, burying his face into his hoodie. “I wasn’t.”

You giggled, poking his side. “You totally were.”

Seungmin peeked out from behind his sleeve, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Okay, maybe I was.”

Your heart melted at the admission.

Neither of you moved to untangle from each other. If anything, Seungmin’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “So,” he murmured, voice still husky with sleep. “This means I get to call you my girlfriend now, right?”

Your face heated at the way he said it—soft, teasing, but with an underlying fondness that made your stomach flip.

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. And I get to call you my boyfriend.”

A real, genuine smile stretched across his face. “I like the sound of that.”

You sighed happily, nestling back against his chest. “Me too.”

Seungmin’s gaze lingers on you, studying your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Then, without hesitation, he buries his face against the crook of your neck, his warmth seeping into your skin. “This is weird,” he mumbles, voice muffled.

You laugh softly. “Which part?”

He exhales, the warmth of it sending shivers down your spine. “The part where I wake up next to you, and you’re not just my best friend anymore.” His fingers tighten slightly around your waist. “The part where I get to hold you like this.”

Your heart flutters at the quiet confession. Turning in his arms, you meet his gaze fully, your hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Does it feel bad?” you ask, teasing.

Seungmin huffs, lips twitching. “No,” he admits. His voice softens as he tugs you closer, tucking you beneath his chin. “It feels… right.”

And just like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the rest of the world could wait.

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 1

Caleb x Mc Fanfiction

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she’s pregnant.

She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Part 1| Part 2|

Caleb and you usually get along quite well. Ribbing each other, demanding little favors, holding things hostage until the other breaks down in laughter as you keep them in suspense.

This was not one of those days though. He was set to leave tomorrow but all of your emotions about him leaving for 4 months, leaving you behind again with no communication.

It was too much.

You should be better than this, you should be able to just tell him like an adult. But something about Caleb always brought out the dependency in you.

He was the one who danced around the conversation about finalizing what your relationship was.

He was worse than you in this.

So instead of following him to the living room to help him make breakfast one last time before he leaves. You stayed in bed, you didn’t make a peep when he pulled away from cuddling you to go out.

“Baby?” Caleb brushed your hair back but you didn’t answer. Pretending to still be dead asleep.

He sighed affectionately and kissed the corner of your mouth before leaving the room.

Opening your eyes to stare out the window, you let a small tear slide out. But you hastily wiped it away, he was being stubborn. He was the one who refused to communicate and talk out exactly where you wanted to go in life together.

That was your justification to yourself, why you felt like you had to pull away a bit.

A small voice still whined inside to go hug him like a koala and beg him not to leave you. The voice got thoroughly smushed by your inner realist.

It was his job but you still hoped he’d say something, anything.

You sat up and stretched but that brought about a new problem. The world tilted as you instantly felt nauseous.

A bit of bile slid up before you quickly swallowed it. Coughing now, you reached for the water on the side table to soothe your stomach.

“You okay?” Caleb called out to you from the other room.

“I’m fine!” You call back, yeah you’re just peachy.

Sighing once more, you let the melancholy hold you for just a second more before you head out the door too.

“Good morning!” He turns to look at you with a bright smile before turning back to his task of making breakfast.

The smell turns your stomach, your nose wrinkles as you heave a bit into your hand.

He turns at the sound so you quickly assume a neutral face.

You were upset with him still so you didn’t need Caleb to turn on his safety above all else mode.

Knowing him, he’d probably try to keep you in the Fleet’s medical ward and monitor you through channels. Even while he was away.

Stupidly overprotective man who can’t even tell you that he wants you to be his girlfriend.

“Your food is served milady!” He makes an over dramatic bow and places down dishes onto the table.

You sit down thinking that this is where you usually respond with something along the lines of- oh good sir, you flatter me!

Caleb and you usually love to ham it up together, it’s what makes life together so fun.

Staying at his house for stretches of time before going back to your own place for work.

He won’t be here for a while though and everything that reminded you of what you’ll be missing, just made you depressed. So you just sit down at the table silently, picking up a small bowl of rice with your chopsticks. Caleb stares at you for a moment before asking quietly

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you think Caleb?”

He sighs deeply as he takes his seat across from you. The food looks delicious but the smell and the turmoil of it all sent your stomach twisting. You swallowed back a gag but he noticed your discomfort.

“What do you want me to do? I wish I could stay home but-“

“I get it. I’m just tired of you not talking to me. That’s all.”

“Not talking to you? What do you call this?” He flicks his finger between the two of us with a half grin, but his eyes are a little panicked.

“Talking out of your ass is what it is…” you mutter barely audible even to yourself.

“What was that pipsqueak?”

“Nothing!….panty sniffer.” You give him an over the top toothy grin while saying the last part just loud enough for him to hear.

“Hey! That was once!”

“You mean the only time I caught you?!”

“I-I well don’t call me that!”

You sniffed derisively, “Don’t call me pipsqueak then.”

He glares at you a bit for bringing it up in the first place before reaching over and yanking your hair a bit.

“Childish much?” You scoff at him, just nibbling at your rice, not really touching much else.

“Says the one who won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“So the pot calls the kettle black! I did tell you what’s wrong.” He narrows his eyes at you

“There’s more to it.”

“Yeah, you keep avoiding me when I want to talk about our relationship.”

Caleb waves his hand dismissively

“What’s there to talk about? I love you and you love me right?”

“There’s more to this than that Caleb! You’re just scared of something. Are you really that scared of committing to me?!”

“Of course not!”

“Then what’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

He wilts like a flower in the hot sun

“I just can’t.”

“Because of the fleet? Because of the chip? Because of the professor?”

Caleb stiffens with each word you spit at him.

“Do you really think that I don’t know? I’m not stupid!”

“I never said you were.”

“Well you sure treat me like I am. Keeping me in the dark for my own safety. I’m sick of it!”

“Sick of me, you mean?” He’s angry at this, standing up from the table and leaning over it, muscles taut. You can tell he’s not trying to intimidate you because he’s looking at his hands, quivering a bit.

“I never said that.”

“It sure sounded like it to me.” He spits this but not towards you, more to himself. The thought of you leaving has always terrified him.

You didn’t mean to make him feel like that, but it won’t get him out of the conversation you needed to have.

“I’m sorry if that’s how it came across. However, I just want to talk about this. Properly. Please….” You beg him a bit, standing up and laying a hand over his trembling one.

You sit in silence for a minute, just looking at his faraway eyes. He can’t look at you in the face as he says quietly

“I just can’t right now.”

You pull away from him, distraught now. He’s leaving for 4 months and this is how he acts? Fine.

“I can’t do this.”

You walk away, not giving him a chance to reply as you latched the door behind you. Your ears caught the end of a choked sob come through the wood of the door.

Hearing him cry makes you want to cry. You really just want to go out there and hug him, cry it out together. But you know that he would still find someway to weasel out of discussing it again.

Using your sympathy to keep you to himself for the day. Not acknowledging the problem.

So for the rest of the day, you ignored him. Staying in the room. His bag was already packed and in the living room so you never even bothered opening the door.

It hurt your insides but you wanted to be firm about this. But you knew that he’d be leaving early tomorrow. You might not have a chance to say goodby if you don’t go out now.

Your pride keeps you in the room though. Caleb’s presence lingers by the door a few times. Feeling like you could see him through the wood, raising his hand to knock but stopping just before.

The quiet and the sadness stretching long between you, permeating the air of the house.

You don’t break.

Night falls, you can hear him opening and closing another door in the house. Presumably to sleep in another room.

You go to bed that night, heart, head, and stomach empty. Tears soaking into your pillow.

You don’t sleep well, so you can hear the startup of Caleb getting ready to leave. The engines thrumming outside the house.

Wait! You bolt up and skid out the door. Flinging the front door open, you start waving your arms frantically but it’s too late.

He’s already in the air.

He starts to fly away. You don’t know if he glances back to look but you wave your arm as you yell

“I love you!”

He fades into the distance, leaving you alone with a hole in your stomach.

Going back into the house after a minute, you notice a small piece of paper left on the coffee table. Picking it up, you notice his handwriting immediately.

‘I’m sorry’

You fall to your knees, sobs wracking your body. Heaving a bit as the nausea in your stomach hits you with a vengeance.

Please come back safe Caleb.

Let me know what you thought! I’m going to make this a series, it’s also on AO3. Thank you for reading🤗

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22

[baphometsss]

I'm also going kind of insane over the romance description for Solas in the customise Inquisitor section of the CC. Like what do you mean 'even the Dread Wolf did not know what it would mean to fall in love'?? I'm frothing at the mouth!!!!

I mean, now it's had a few months to stew, it actually makes perfect sense. Solas doesn't seem to forge relationships in the same way as an elf as he did as a spirit. We know he loved Mythal and Felassan, but his relationships with both had rather different dynamics. Mythal had known him for the longest, and understood his spirit nature better than anyone. They spent a long time reflecting each others' spirits back and forth. Felassan we can assume was another Wisdom spirit (going by his eye colour), which once again tracks because Solas seems to connect with other Wisdom spirits very intensely. Nonetheless, there's a distance between them; they need each other and they share a common cause, and although Solas loved Felassan dearly, he was still able to kill him in The Masked Empire.

However, the thing that these two relationships have in common is that they both relate to Solas's spirit-self. All the dynamics are some kind of echo of how he behaved and related as a spirit. The person he is at the beginning of DAI is who he has been for a very long time. He is, despite everything, a little stagnant.

With the Inquisitor, he literally doesn't have a choice but to change, to connect not just as a spirit but as a man. Prior to that though... remember how spirits are asexual, like Cole is if you don't make him more human? Yeah. I don't doubt that Solas had physical relations with others after manifesting, but I think the feelings would've been absent as he doesn't connect romantically with them; a legacy from his spirit self, which he clings to dearly.

Weirdly enough, I think that this lack of romantic or relationship experience is what the romance in Inquisition actually hinges on. He's only able to take that chance specifically because he doesn't know what romantic love feels like. He may be a manifested Wisdom spirit, but this is something that must be experienced to be understood. He takes the chance in the end because he doesn't know how deeply it will affect him. Also as Wisdom, he can't help but be curious anyway. Clearly he underestimated how much of an impact it would have on him. He didn't expect to be known and loved so fully for who he was, after a life of being forced away from his purpose, who he truly wanted to be. To be given the space to exist as Wisdom is one thing, and certainly it would've been enough for him to maintain his love for his friends in the Inquisition alone, but to be loved for it? To be able to express these new, very earthly and yet somehow still spiritual feelings of love? Everything lining up, singing the same? Things he could never have experienced as a spirit? It's a union of the spirit and body that he likely never felt before. That has to have been overwhelming, a beautiful gift he never expected to receive. 'In all Thedas I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade'--quite literally, 'I never thought I would want such an earthly thing'. I'm not surprised he almost threw away his plans for it. It's like a whole new world opening up.

It also makes his 'I would not have you see what I become' line more poignant. He doesn't want this beautiful, unique thing he's found to be marred by the actions he will take. He doesn't want his heart to see the wounds in his soul. So when the Inquisitor says they want to join him, it literally stuns him. When he warns them that he's got a lot of terrible things waiting for him in the Fade, it's his last, weak attempt to make them reconsider before they see the wounds on his soul laid bare. By responding that it won't be so bad if they're with him, the Inquisitor is also saying that being together will heal him, that those wounds will not be so terrible when shared.

That line from the elven poem Trick wrote from Solas to Lavellan: 'do not be sad, my heart, our love's endurance is a blessing, our love will be our joy' everything is so new to him brb crying :'<

[tsukumomei]

OKOKOK in my mind in the “puppy love” fic, reader is moving to spain

and then three years later sae comes to spain cause he gets scouted by re al you know the story

and so they meet again ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 (they have cute “dates” if you will, where she shows him around spain and what not 🤭)

now idk if you’re taking requests at the moment, or even want to write a part two for this, but i (and many others i feel like) would LOVE to see this!

no force though, if you do wish to write it take your time, and if you don’t it’s all fine too!

much love, xoxo 💋

a/n: This is actually insane because this is EXACTLY what I had in mind for a bonus part! I was originally going to end it when they saw each other again, but I took your request and wrote about their dates too. Enjoy! Mwah! I wouldn’t consider this a part 2, though—if I ever write one, it’ll still be from Rin’s POV. But I’m open to writing more bonus parts for this fic, so feel free to send me an ask! ^^

—RIGHT WHERE WE LEFT OFF

ft. Sae Itoshi

a bonus chapter for Puppy Love

synposis: Sae moves to Madrid after getting scouted by Real, but he has two problems. One—he hates it. The city feels unfamiliar, foreign, nothing like home. Two—he’s determined to forget about you. But the harder he tries, the more his own mind betrays him—because no matter what he does, everything leads him right back to you. wc: 3.1 k

The shuffling in Sae’s carry-on grows more frantic as he impatiently searches for that notebook from you.

It was the first thing he stuffed into his bag.

Flipping through the worn pages, his eyes finally land on the last one—covered in messy scribbles, but the only thing that stands out is a single line written in red ink at the bottom:

"Wait for me. ❤️ Y/N"

Sae presses his thumb against the words, as if touching them could somehow bring back the past. Could somehow make you feel real again.

He leans back into his seat, staring out at the endless stretch of sky beyond the plane window, but it’s not Madrid he’s thinking about. It’s you.

This morning, back at the house, he’d been kicking a soccer ball around the backyard, the steady thud of leather against concrete filling the quiet air. Rin was there too, watching him with a knowing look before finally speaking up.

"Nii-chan, it was just puppy love."

Maybe it was. Maybe Rin was right.

But if it was just puppy love, why is it still lingering?

Why did he still worry—that if you ever came back, that you’d be mad at him for not being there?

It’s been three years.

The chances of seeing you again were close to impossible.

—

Sae steps into his new apartment in Madrid, rolling his suitcase inside as his manager gestures around the space.

“This is your living room,” his manager begins, flipping on the lights. The apartment is modern, minimalistic—exactly what Sae expected. “Kitchen’s over there. Fridge is stocked for now, but you’ll need to do your own groceries after this week.”

Sae nods, setting his bag neatly by the couch.

“The bedroom’s down the hall,” the manager continues, walking ahead. “Bathroom’s connected. There’s a desk if you need to study or review game footage. Wi-Fi’s already set up.”

Sae peeks into the bedroom—plain, clean, nothing extravagant. Just a bed, a nightstand, and a small window overlooking the street below.

“You’re across the hall?” Sae asks as they return to the main area.

“Yeah,” his manager confirms, crossing. “If you need anything, just knock.”

Sae scoffs lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

His manager gives him a once-over, then exhales. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to settle in.”

With that, the manager steps out, leaving Sae alone.

The moment the door clicks shut, Sae gets to work. He unzips his luggage, methodically putting his clothes away, setting his toiletries in the bathroom, and neatly stacking his training gear by the closet. He takes mental notes of what he needs—more food, basic supplies, maybe an extra pillow.

Once everything is in place, he pulls out his phone and dials home.

His mother picks up almost immediately. “Sae?”

“I just landed and got to the apartment,” he informs her, his voice steady. “Everything’s fine.”

“That’s good,” she says warmly. “Have you eaten?”

“I will soon.”

“Don’t just eat whatever’s fastest. Make sure you’re getting proper meals.”

Sae hums in acknowledgment before adding, “Tell Dad I made it safely. And Rin, too.”

“Of course,” his mother says. There’s a brief pause, then a softer, knowing tone in her voice. “It feels real now, doesn’t it?”

Sae leans against the counter, staring at the empty space around him. His new home. His new life.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

After a few more exchanges, he hangs up, setting his phone aside.

His eyes drift to his carry-on, to the one thing he hadn’t put away yet.

The notebook.

The worn cover, the slightly frayed edges—he traces them with his fingers before flipping it open once again. The pages are filled with your handwriting, messy yet familiar, scrawled with thoughts and doodles from years ago.

It’s ridiculous, really. He hasn’t seen you in three years. He has no idea where you are, if you’re still in the same country, if you even remember him the way he remembers you.

But memories flood in anyway. The afternoons spent at the park, your determined expression when you first crashed his soccer game, the way you always talked too much but somehow, he never minded. The way you scribbled on his arm once with the same red ink you used to write—

"Wait for me. ❤️ y/n"

Sae exhales sharply and shuts the notebook.

Maybe it really was just puppy love.

He stands, grabs his wallet, and heads for the door.

He needs to get out, get familiar with the city. He’s going to live here now, after all.

—

The city is foreign, unfamiliar—Sae hates it.

He was never one for traveling. The only reason he’s here is to play soccer at an international level, but outside of that, it feels suffocating in a way he never expected.

The streets are too loud yet too quiet at the same time. He doesn’t understand the conversations happening around him, the unfamiliar syllables blending into meaningless noise. The people pass by in a blur, all strangers, none of them acknowledging him beyond quick  glances.

It’s not like he’s stupid enough to get scammed—he’s careful, always aware of his surroundings. But that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t change how frustrating it is to have all this free time and nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

The city is alive, buzzing with movement, but it only makes the loneliness feel sharper.

—

Today marks his second week in Madrid.

Sae realizes just how useless he is when it comes to directions.

The sun is already beginning to set, casting a golden glow over Madrid, and he has no idea where he is.

The street signs might as well be in a foreign language—which, technically, they are. He squints at them, but the unfamiliar words blur together, useless in helping him find his way. And as for Spanish? Well, he knows about as much as a toddler forming his first sentence.

Great.

Of course, it’s at a time like this that he remembers you.

Because you were always the human GPS between the two of you, navigating streets like you had a built-in map inside your head. You always knew the right turns to take, the fastest shortcuts.

And right now? Right now, he is the one most in need of that skill.

Rin thinks Sae is perfect, so he probably doesn’t even know about this little flaw of his.

Sae scoffs to himself, shaking his head. It’s ridiculous that, even now, when he’s supposed to be moving on, he still finds himself thinking about you.

He exhales sharply, pushing the thoughts away.

Enough.

With renewed determination, Sae steps onto the crosswalk, telling himself—again—that it’s time to leave his childhood love in the past.

But by the time he reaches the middle, doubt creeps in—just enough for him to hesitate, just enough for him to misstep.

And just enough for him to accidentally bump into someone walking from the opposite direction.

"Perdón," the girl mutters, barely sparing him a glance—until she does.

She stops short, eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh."

Sae blinks.

"It’s you."

For a moment, the city fades into the background. The people rushing past, the hum of conversation, the faint honking of impatient drivers—it all disappears.

You look different now. Your hair is dyed, a little wavier than before. A stylish bag hangs off your shoulder, outfit effortlessly put together in a way that makes you stand out even in the middle of Madrid.

But to him, you’re still the same stubborn girl who once barged into his soccer game with Rin, the one who never asked for permission—just demanded a pass like you belonged there. The one who never looked at him like everyone else did.

Your eyes are the same. That’s what catches him the most. Time has changed a lot of things, but not that. They still hold the same warmth, the same quiet confidence.

Sae wonders if he looks different to you, too. If you notice the way his shoulders have grown broader, the way the exhaustion lingers under his eyes. If you can tell that beneath all the fame and titles, there’s still a part of him that never stopped waiting for you.

Neither of you speak. Just stood there, caught in something neither of you were prepared for.

Sae exhales, then—without thinking—extends his hand toward you

But before you can take it, a sharp whistle cuts through the air.

"¡Oye! Move it!"

The traffic officer’s whistle cuts through the air, snapping both of you out of your daze.

Startled, you both turn at the same time, realizing the light has already turned green—and you’re still standing in the middle of the crosswalk.

Reality has always had a way of interrupting you two, hasn’t it?

Sae clenches his jaw, frustration flickering across his face. Meanwhile, you weren’t handling it any better—because instead of just walking away like a normal person, you were flipping off the traffic officer and hurling a wooden spoon at him.

Where did you even get that? Sae has no idea. And honestly, he’s not sure he wants to.

But then he feels you grab his arm, yanking him across the street as you break into a run—both of you fleeing from the traffic officer, who Sae can only assume is cursing you out in rapid Spanish.

And just like that, his expression softens.

—

“Whew, that was close,” you say between heavy breaths, still catching your breath from all that running.

Sae glances at you, unimpressed. “Maybe if you didn’t throw a spoon at him, we wouldn’t have to run.”

You roll your eyes, waving him off. “Oh, please. That guy already hates me. This isn’t even the first time, you know.”

Sae raises a brow. “Not surprised.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Hey! Rude.”

He exhales sharply, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “What did you do to piss him off before?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sae gives you a look—unamused but intrigued nonetheless. “I would, actually.”

You grin, pretending to think. “Let’s just say… it involved a churro cart, an old lady, and a very, very unfortunate slip on my part.”

Sae stares at you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re a menace.” 

You flash him a cheeky smile. “And yet, here you are, running away from traffic officers with me.”

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Because, somehow, you’re right—because he’s relieved that he can finally talk to someone other than his manager, and just as relieved to see that you haven’t changed at all.

Isn’t it ironic? The very day he decides to finally let go of your memory, fate throws you right back into his life.

But something nags at him. You haven’t asked about Madrid, about why he’s here. It’s like you’re not surprised at all, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to bump into him on the street.

Sae narrows his eyes slightly before speaking. “Hey, you’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what?” you blink at him, confused. Then, as if remembering something, your face lights up. “Oh! Where are my manners?”

Before he can react, you throw yourself at him, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

Sae stiffens, caught completely off guard. But before he can say anything, you sigh dramatically against his shoulder. “I missed you so much! I can’t believe you followed me all the way to Spain. Oh, you really do love me.”

He clicks his tongue, exasperated. You’re being an idiot again—definitely pushing it.

But he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, after a brief hesitation, he exhales and wraps a single arm around you, listening as you ramble on like no time has passed at all.

—

“Maybe I should put a tracker on you.” you tease, walking a step ahead of Sae as you lead him through the narrow streets of Madrid.  

He exhales sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I would’ve figured it out eventually.”  

You throw him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, sure. After getting lost for another three hours.”  

Sae doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, he follows as you turn into an alleyway, stopping in front of a small, unassuming café tucked between two buildings. 

“This place has the best tostada con tomate in the city,” you say, nodding toward the café. 

“The old man inside—Rafa—he always yells at me for ordering too much, but then he sneaks me an extra pastry for free.”  

As if on cue, the door swings open, and an elderly man steps out. His eyes land on you, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “¡Ah, mira quién es! La niña que me arruina el negocio.” (Ah, look who it is! The girl who’s ruining my business.)  

You laugh, stepping forward to greet him. “Don’t lie, Rafa. You love me.”  

Rafa scoffs but affectionately ruffles your hair before turning to Sae, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “¿Y este quién es?” (And who’s this?)  

“My amigo,” you reply smoothly, though there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. “He just moved here, so I’m showing him around.”  

Rafa studies Sae for a moment before nodding in approval. “Bien. Come inside. I’ll make sure he eats something decent.”  

Sae barely has time to protest before you’re dragging him through the door, the scent of warm spices and grilled meat immediately filling the air. The restaurant is small, a little tucked away from the busier streets, but it’s lively, filled with laughter and the soft hum of conversation.

When the food arrives, you dig in without hesitation, taking a bite and immediately letting out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my god,” you moan, clutching your chest like you’ve just ascended to heaven. “This is it. This is what happiness tastes like.”

Sae raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You sound ridiculous.”

“You sound jealous,” you retort, shoveling another bite into your mouth. “You haven’t even touched your food.”

Sae watches you for a moment. The way you eat so shamelessly, without a care for how you look, is something he vaguely remembers from when you were kids. Some things never change.

“I’m just letting you be the poison tester,” he mutters, finally picking up his fork.

You roll your eyes. “Please. If Rafa wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it years ago.”

Rafa, passing by, snorts. “She’s not wrong.”

Sae sighs, finally taking a bite. He won’t admit it, but it’s good. Really good.

Just as you’re finishing your plate, you glance at your phone and stand abruptly. “Be right back. Don’t go running off without me.”

Sae only scoffs in response, watching as you disappear towards the bathroom. The moment you’re gone, Rafa leans against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to Sae with a knowing smirk.

“She talked about you before, you know,” Rafa says casually.

Sae tenses slightly. “Did she?”

Rafa nods, chuckling. “Not by name. Just 'some guy I used to know who’s hopeless with anything besides soccer and even worse with emotions.'”

Sae huffs. “Sounds like something she'd say.”

Rafa shrugs. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you better get used to her dragging you everywhere. She’s got a habit of making lost people feel at home.”

Sae doesn’t respond, just looks at him, expression unreadable. Rafa only chuckles, shaking his head as he wipes down the counter.

A moment later, you return, eyes narrowing the second you spot them. “What’s this?” you ask suspiciously, sliding back into your seat. “What were you two talking about?”

Rafa smirks, tilting his head towards Sae. “Oh, nothing much. Just sharing stories.”

You gasp dramatically, pointing a finger at Sae. “You weren’t talking bad about me, were you?”

Sae finally speaks, deadpan. “Wouldn’t need to. You embarrass yourself enough.”

You scoff, reaching over to steal a piece of food from his plate. “Unbelievable. I leave for one second, and you two become best friends conspiring against me.”

Rafa laughs. “Don’t worry, querida. He’s not that easy to befriend.”

You nod sagely. “That’s true. I had to force him to like me.”

Sae rolls his eyes. That was true for most people, but definitely not for you.

He liked you from the get-go, like there was a gravitational pull towards you that he just couldn't escape from.

The day continues like that.  

You don’t take him to the usual tourist spots—the grand plazas or famous museums. Instead, you show him the Madrid you love.  

A tucked-away bookstore where the owner lets you sit and read for hours without buying anything. A tiny family-run tapas bar where the food is cheap but incredible, and the owners greet you like family. A rooftop spot where you swear the sunset looks better than anywhere else in the city.  

Everywhere you go, you introduce him like he belongs there.  

By the time the sky turns golden, Sae realizes something.  

This isn’t just a city to you. It’s a home.  

And for the first time since moving here, Madrid doesn’t feel so unfamiliar to him anymore.  

Maybe it’s because he’s finally seeing it through your eyes.

And maybe that so-called puppy love Rin kept telling him about is beginning to grow into something more.

a/n: "Puppy Love" is the one and only beloved Sae Itoshi fanfic franchise that will remain untouched by despair. I wholeheartedly believe that at some point during his four years in Spain, Sae had his dreams crushed and utterly heartbroken. But in this au? nah. no angst, no career-crushing disappointments, Just endless, tooth-rotting fluff and relationship bliss. The kind of soft, sweet moments Sae would never admit he enjoys. Because for once, he deserves to have something go perfectly right.

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every (Other) Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 27: Blocking . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

In case you don't know what this is, Blocking is the process in which filmmakers determine where actors/models are positioned in the camera frame. This is not done by accident and usually has an intentional message to subconsciously send to the viewer.

Blocking is seen by the audience in an implicit way, and is supposed to be done to further present the idea of two characters being a duo, a trio or a group. For Byler, they are constantly being blocked together, even while canon couples are being blocked. The directors actively choose the positions of these characters on our screens, they don't just ask the actors to sit wherever they want.

In Season 3 we have Byler, Lumax and El constantly being blocked together, which makes sense because El is seen as the independent leader of the pack in the season.

Mike's not even in front of Will, nearest to El. They could have had her near El like Max is, but instead they chose to have him behind Will. This image here is clearly orchestrated.

Again, with El's protective arm, she could have been protecting Mike, but instead they chose her to be protecting Will and Max.

It's crazy that they literally blocked all the couples together. El is seen as the independent leader of the younger kids, while Jancy are the protective teens of the group. Lumax are literally in between El and Mike ever being seen next to each other again.

I mean, it's really giving blocked like a trio or a love triangle where one has set out to fight the evil, leaving the other two to fall in love.

Another case where Mike and El could have easily been placed next to each other while still having Byler blocked together, but no, the directors still decided to have Mike stand away from El and closer to Will.

The blocking of Mike and Will in Season 3 is telling because of their arc that season. While they have little interaction with each other past episode 3, the audience still sees them as a duo that have conflicts they need to work out, or sees them as important together because they are still being blocked together.

This one is obviously the craziest. Lumax standing on their own, Jancy standing on their own and Byler sitting together with barely any space left between them. It's interesting that they haven't actually verbally made up from their fight atp, but directors still chose them to sit together.

Which reminds me of another scene.....

This scene in Season 4 is right after they fought, showing that when Mike is worried about something, he prefers to stand with Will. He's worried and anxious about El and he's supposed to be mad at Will, but who does he choose to stand with in times of distress?

They could have positioned Mike, Will and El in many different ways to show that El is alone, they could have had Will and Mike separate because of their fight, showing how all three of them are fighting. But no, they still had Mike and Will standing together. It's strange that Mike chooses to stand with Will when they're fighting but chooses to stand away from El when they aren't even fighting yet. SHE'S JUST BEEN BULLIED??? And wasn't he hell-bent on finding her a few moments ago?

Then we have these...

...instead of it being Mike that chooses to stand with Will, it's El that chooses to stand alone. Or rather, the directors choosing her to stand alone. I've already talked about the ending shot of S4, but truly, it is one of the most intentional ways of blocking couples I've ever seen.

I'll do a separate post on love triangle imagery but goddamn there is so much of this -- all there to tell us what to pay attention to, who to root for, whose intimacy is more believable.

[wrongbodies]

A Wanted Exchange

When I first met Oren I would never have thought where I'd end up with this beautiful twink. We ran into each other at a club, a loud and hectic joint that had many sweaty, dancing bodies pressed up against one another in pinkish lights. I was there, carving out a space with my broad shoulders and muscular frame.

And there was Oren. He wasn't intimidated by me. He was bold, swooping right into my space, and then he was upon me. Grinding against me, I could feel his lithe body almost flowing around me like water. But there was an aggression there, almost like he wanted to throw his weight around, boss and bully me. All 120 pounds of his tiny body.

I was intoxicated right then and there. I wanted him. At first I thought it was just in the typical carnal fashion. But I realize now it was so much more.

I took him home of course. We tangled togther far longer than expected. He tried to push and pull me in ways his body and tiny muscles just could not handle. I was gentle. I have always been something of a gentle giant.

Growing up my father was a harsh one, and forced me to play football from 7, and all throughout the rest of my school career. Even in college, it was verboten that I quit. I remember coming out, well after finishing my degree mind you, and how he coiled back in disgust. I was his manly son, his juggernaut of an athlete. But inside I always wanted something else.

Which brings me back to Oren. Our hookup was not the end of our interaction. He found my gentle nature endearing, as I in turn found his domineering ways attractive. I so desperately wanted to submit to him, but our physical dynamic was just too skewed. I couldn't help but toss him around if I wasn't careful. And he hated being on the bottom, or receiving.

After weeks of trying, we realized we weren't truly happy. And in the breakdown of our disappointment, we both admitted what we wanted. He lamented his tiny, perfectly lithe body. I too bemoaned my broad, powerful body. It wasn't to say we weren't proud of ourselves, both being healthy young men. Rather, it was a sort of melancholy about not being able to experience what the other had, and admittedly - we were so envious of.

And so, when the advertisements for a scientific study came out, asking for willing subjects to try a new technology... we jumped at it. It seemed like something from a science fiction novel, but the way the doctors explained it we were properly convinced it was real.

They asked us many questions about our health, our relationship, and then what we wanted. Over the weeks we were subjected to different tests, they asked us the question we both were secretly hoping they'd put forward.

"What if this is permanent?" The nasal-voiced doctor had asked. I was alone, Oren being interviewed in a different room. I'd learn later he responded much the same as I had. But when I responded, it was an enthusiastic confirmation - that would be perfectly fine.

The day of the procedure came, and we were inserted into coffin like tubes, our heads covered in wires and such that looked like what one might use for a brain scan. I suppose that was part of the procedure, anyways. After the all clear was given, it took moments for me to black out. And in that time we were out, it was nothingness... a void.

But when I awoke, everything was ALIVE. I knew what to expect, understanding that I'd be groggy from the anesthetic. However, I pushed through the fog in my excitement. I needed to feel it all. Even before they opened the tube, I was feeling my arms, my chest, and then my face. Nothing prepares you for the sensations. There is no earthly equivalent to it... awakening in another persons body.

What followed was euphoric. Despite the initial hiccups, like learning that your brain still thinks you have limbs longer than this new body, or forgetting you are significantly lighter and weaker. Limitations that I never had before were daunting, at first. But then I came to love them. I was finally free to be the person I always felt inside. A man with a body more aptly described as pretty, and not rugged. With fingers soft and supple, unblemished by years of tackling and tossing a ball.

Oren felt the same, in reverse. We were hesitant at first to resume our relationship. It wasn't right away that we tried anything, sexually. But the first interactions were indicative of our blossoming romance. He would take my new, delicate face in his - my former - rough hands. Guiding my lips to his, where he almost hungrily kissed me. His bear hugs engulfed me, at times sweeping me off my feet. I was the willing waif, powerless to stop it, but desperately wanting it.

When we did finally return to the bed, entangled in one anothers embrace, there was a sort of epiphany. The realization that we got exactly what we wanted, and that looking back - albeit not much of an issue before - was perished. We did not need to even question it - I NEEDED to be Oren. And he needed to be me.

As for all the other details, since we began dating, we assimilated into one anothers lives. Our families and friends were never made aware of what transpired in that experiment. And save a few follow up interviews and information gathering sessions, the deal was sealed. Oren and I were never happier with our lives than now, when in truth... we weren't living our lives, but one anothers. How freeing it was for us to become the thing we always wanted. And through that, to find love. It was strange to kiss my former face, but knowing it was Oren behind those eyes, and happier for it, made it all too easy to love him.

I'm never going back.

[doodle-pops]

Married Life With Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin Would Include…

Request: Hi, can I request some group fluffy headcanons for Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin with asexual!reader? Like about their domestic life. I like to imagine they would give reader some extra care and make them feel valid and loved, and when someone tries to stick their nose into their relationship, they just be like: "Yeah, me and my partner don't have bodily union, but we're bonded by stars, so get lost". Thanks in advance (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

A/N: Always a pleasure to answer your requests. Enjoy!

Synopsis: What your married life with them as an asexual person would entail.

Masterlist | Navigation

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Fëanor

➽ Fëanor, being Fëanor, does not give a damn about what others think of your relationship. In fact, he thrives on the scandal it causes amongst the more traditional elves.

➽ If anyone so much as dares to comment on the lack of physical intimacy between you two, he scoffs, waves a dismissive hand, and says something like, “What, you thought I, Curufinwë Fëanáro, needed to do what every other lovesick fool does? I am bonded beyond flesh. And if you don’t understand that, I won’t waste my breath explaining it to you.”

➽ He is extremely protective of your comfort. If someone is prying or making you feel invalid, he will eviscerate them with words alone. “Your ignorance wounds me,” he’d say in a tone so dry that it leaves the offender squirming. “And here I thought the Eldar were supposed to be enlightened.”

➽ You are the only one allowed to touch his hair without protest. The sight of you braiding it is enough to make his sons do double takes because their father, the very Fëanor, sits still and lets you work without a single complaint. If you ever want yours braided in return, he takes to the task with precision—his fingers work like a master jeweller, and he will not accept anything less than perfection.

➽ If you’re feeling insecure about your identity, he brings you into his forge and makes you something to remind you of your worth. A Silmaril of your own, set with a stone that captures the first light of Telperion and Laurelin. “No one questions the worth of the Silmarils,” he murmurs as he fastens it around your neck. “And you are far rarer, far more precious. So do not let lesser minds make you doubt.”

➽ When the two of you sit together, he always ends up with an arm slung around your shoulders or your fingers intertwined with his. It’s never possessive—just a quiet reminder that you belong to each other. He likes to rest his forehead against yours sometimes, eyes closed, breathing in your presence. “This,” he says softly, “is enough.”

➽ Maedhros and Maglor have learned not to comment on your relationship because every time they do, Fëanor launches into a dramatic speech about how the two of you share a connection beyond mere physicality, an eternal bond forged in the core of Arda itself, something that transcends mere bodily desires. Eventually, his sons stop bringing it up because he won’t shut up.

➽ If he catches anyone looking down on you for your sexuality, he leans in and murmurs in a deceptively friendly tone, “If you insult my beloved, you insult me. And you would not dare to insult me, would you?” Cue the offending party quickly finding somewhere else to be.

➽ He has a terrible habit of stealing your clothes when they’re left unattended. You’ll come into your shared space to find him wearing your outer robe like a lordly cloak, completely unbothered by the fact that it’s clearly not his. “It smells like you,” he says with a shrug. “And I happen to like that.”

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Fingolfin

➽ Unwavering in his devotion, and when he loves, he loves with his whole being. He understands you, accepts you, and never lets you feel less than cherished. Whenever someone questions your relationship, he just raises an eyebrow and says in his calm, unshakable voice, “What I have with my beloved is eternal. It does not need to be explained.”

➽ He is an incredibly attentive partner. He notices when you’re overwhelmed, when you need space, when you need reassurance. If you ever doubt your worth, he takes your hands in his and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “You are enough,” he tells you. “Always.”

➽ If someone tries to insist that your love is somehow ‘incomplete’ without physical intimacy, Fingolfin gives them a look so cold that they immediately regret opening their mouth. “And who,” he asks, voice laced with steel, “gave you the authority to define love?”

➽ He enjoys quiet domestic moments. Sitting beside you as he polishes his armour, reading together beneath the trees, walking hand in hand through the city—these are the things he treasures. Sometimes, he just gazes at you with a small, private smile, as if he still cannot quite believe you chose him.

➽ His siblings have very different reactions to your relationship. Fëanor, predictably, scoffs at the idea of his half-brother finding happiness but secretly respects how fiercely Fingolfin defends your bond. Finarfin, ever the peacekeeper, is simply delighted to see you both happy. “True love is rare,” he tells you one day with a warm smile. “Never let anyone tell you it must look a certain way.”

➽ Whenever you sit in court beside him, he unconsciously seeks you out, his hand resting lightly on yours, a subtle anchor in the storm of politics. Even in the most heated debates, his touch remains grounding and comforting.

➽ When he prepares for battle, he always ensures you have something of his—perhaps a finely wrought bracelet, a token of his love. “I will return to you,” he vows, fingers brushing against yours. “And should I fall, know that I have loved you beyond all reckoning.”

➽ He is a surprisingly good cook, but only for you. If one of his soldiers asks for a meal, they get standard fare. If you ask? He’s suddenly making a feast fit for a king. “Favouritism?” he echoes, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Finarfin

➽ He is utterly devoted to making sure you always feel loved and validated. He is patient, understanding, and the first to shut down any nonsense about what a relationship should look like. “Love is not measured by the expectations of others,” he says simply. “It is measured by what we build together.”

➽ He is incredibly gentle with you. If you ever feel overwhelmed, he simply pulls you into his arms and lets you lean against him, no words needed. His presence alone is a comfort, warm and steadfast.

➽ He enjoys creating things for you—whether it’s intricate jewellery, embroidered garments, or even composing a song that captures the depths of your bond. “It is not the work of a great minstrel,” he says with a soft smile, “but it is yours, and that is enough.”

➽ Whenever someone pries into your relationship, he doesn’t get angry. He just tilts his head, gives them a polite but firm look, and says, “I fail to see how this is your concern.” Somehow, that is more effective than any argument.

➽ If you ever feel insecure about your identity, he reassures you with quiet conviction. “You are as the Valar made you,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “And who am I to question their wisdom?”

➽ He enjoys domestic routines with you—sharing meals, walking through the gardens, reading together in companionable silence. These small moments mean everything to him.

➽ His children adore you. Even if they don’t always understand your perspective at first, they respect you deeply. Galadriel and Finrod in particular are protective of you, and anyone who dares to mock your relationship will find themselves on the receiving end of Galadriel’s sharp tongue.

➽ When he speaks about you, there is always warmth in his voice, a quiet reverence. “My love,” he says one evening as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “the world may not always understand us, but I need only your understanding. That is all that matters.

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[zwombiekochan341]

♡ YANDERE SUGURU GETO & YANDERE SATORU GOJO FIGHTING OVER YOU ♡

- Obsession & Rivalry -

Both Gojo and Geto fall hard for you, but their ways of expressing love are very different.

Gojo is openly possessive—he constantly flirts, invades your space, and makes it clear that he’s the only one you need.

Geto, on the other hand, is quietly obsessive—he watches you closely, subtly manipulating situations so that you rely on him.

They both see each other as the biggest obstacle standing between them and having you all to themselves.

- How They Treat You -

Gojo: Smothers you with affection, constantly teasing, touching, and making sure you never forget he’s around.

“C’mon, why would you even look at him when you have me?”

Geto: Plays the long game, making you feel safe with him, subtly convincing you that he’s the only one who truly understands you.

“Gojo treats this like a joke, but I actually care about you. You know that, don’t you?”

- Manipulation & Mind Games -

Both of them are master manipulators, and they use their skills to turn you against the other.

Gojo: Makes you feel like Geto is too serious, too controlling, and that you’d have more fun if you stayed with him.

“Why do you wanna hang out with him? He’s so boring! I’m way more fun, don’t you think?”

Geto: Makes you feel like Gojo is reckless, unreliable, and doesn’t truly care about you the way he does.

“Gojo only wants you because he can’t stand losing. I, on the other hand… I love you.”

In the end, they both mess with your mind so much that you don’t know who to trust.

- Extreme Possessiveness & Control -

If you try to distance yourself from one of them, the other immediately takes advantage of the situation.

Gojo might sweep you away, teleporting you to some unknown place, just to prove you belong with him.

“Aww, you’re upset? Here, let’s go somewhere far away where it’s just the two of us~”

Geto might subtly manipulate your life, making it impossible to function without his help.

“I warned you about Gojo, didn’t I? He’s reckless. But I’ll protect you.”

- How Far Would They Go? -

If one of them tries to take you away, the other wouldn’t let it slide.

Gojo would act like it’s all a game—until Geto actually succeeds in keeping you away. Then, he’d get dead serious.

“Okay, Suguru, that’s cute and all, but you know you’re not keeping them away from me, right?”

Geto would act like he’s in control, but deep down, he knows Gojo is the only person who can match him.

“You’re powerful, Satoru, but you’re reckless. You don’t deserve them.”

They would fight over you, but their shared history and twisted bond make it complicated. Neither wants to kill the other outright, but if it comes down to you, neither is above doing whatever it takes.

- Kidnapping & Endgame -

At some point, one (or both) would decide that you need to be taken away for good.

If Gojo wins, he whisks you away somewhere completely isolated. You’ll have everything you want—except freedom.

“Relax, babe~ You don’t need him. You’ve got me, and I’m never letting you go.”

If Geto wins, he makes sure you’re completely dependent on him, keeping you in a place where no one—not even Gojo—can reach you.

“Now that you’re finally safe with me, you’ll understand… You belong to me.”

But no matter who wins, the other will never stop looking for you.

- True Horror: A Shared Possession -

If they somehow come to an agreement, things get even worse. Instead of fighting over you, they decide that you belong to both of them.

Gojo keeps things lighthearted, acting as if this is all a fun game, while Geto enforces the idea that resisting is pointless.

“See? Now there’s no need to fight~ You’re ours. Forever.”

[dreamersworldduh]

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.

[sylusvrse]

LEAST TO MOST LIKELY TO . . . get along ?

which of the love and deepspace men would get along if they met? ⸺ ㅤpurely interactions between lads love interests! no mentions of mc, so i’m avoiding the jealousy trope.

LEAST LIKELY TO

rafayel + xavier

it’s not that i think they won’t like each other. it’s just that rafayel needs someone to match his energy and challenge him, while xavier seems just okay with being passive when interacting with other people. rafayel needs his full attention while he’s ranting, so if xavier falls asleep, they’re done.

not to say xavier is dumb— he’s very intelligent when he wants to be, but he comes across as someone with a one track mind. i’m not sure he’d understand what rafayel is saying half the time, but he’s very polite and understanding about it.

sylus + caleb (pre farspace fleet)

outwardly, they would get along. they look like the perfect picture of brotherhood: an arm swung over the other’s shoulder and a loud promise to get drinks sometime.

in reality, they’re running background checks on each other the moment they’re out of the other’s earshot. sylus knew there was something darker beneath caleb’s charismatic gaze and caleb definitely picked up the fact sylus wasn’t telling him the full truth of his profession.

zayne + rafayel

zayne is a man very comfortable in his space. rafayel is a man very comfortable in zayne’s space. the artist thinks zayne is too uptight and tries to get him out of his office and have some fun, but the doctor is clearly not interested in that.

rafayel would never push it and make zayne uncomfortable. he’d simply except that the other man was happy with where he was. there’s no tension between them, but they just don’t compliment each other. no hard feelings.

MOST LIKELY TO

zayne + xavier

there’s a quiet understanding between them. zayne is a little concerned about xavier’s health if anything. obviously, they don’t become best friends, but they do get along.

i don’t think either of them are the greatest with expressing their feelings and neither of them are interested in talking about it. they recognize that in each other and find the most solace knowing that neither of them are expecting anything more from the other.

rafayel + sylus

two rich men with an appreciation for the finer things in life… they would 100% get along. rafayel wouldn’t judge sylus for the things he’s done— he’s probably done worse anyway.

i imagine they met at one of rafayel’s art exhibition and started talking. there’s something so refreshing about the way rafayel describes his art, much better than the suffocating corporate speak sylus is forced to hear every day.

sylus is invited to all of rafayel’s next exhibitions and and rafayel happens to be sylus’ occasional plus-one to auctions. they’re besties now sorry i don’t make the rules. i could talk about them forever

note: i didn’t include as many caleb pairings because his lore is genuinely so intertwined with the mc that i had a hard time coming up with any ideas. also, even the most sociable people like sylus or rafayel are perceptive enough to see there’s more beneath the surface. they notice that caleb is actually… kind of off putting? love caleb though!

obviously there are some more interactions i missed like zayne + sylus. they probably wouldn’t like each other, maybe they would, and i don’t know when it would make sense for them to meet… sylus gets a check up i guess <3 old men yaoi