#and nate's. nate. guards! get him

[charlioak]

AH GUYS FROM MY BRAIN

been working on a few new characters for a whole new story! jack, dante, and nate (more to come...) are all apart of ROACH KILLER, a death metal garage band set in the early 2000s :]

[majestyeverlasting]

the moments in between

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Summary: When Joel and Ellie arrive at the Jackson commune, his strong frame and intense gaze captivate you. But as the days pass, you lose hope that he might be drawn to you as well. That is, until the walls come crashing down and the truth finally reveals itself.

Word Count: 7.3k [slow burn]

A/N: I put a lot of love and time into this one. It's my longest fic so far but it didn't feel hard, which I like to believe is a good thing. Hope it resonates, hope you feel the feels and the yearning between these two—let me know! Hope you're well.

A breeze follows Tommy as he saunters in through the doors of the Tipsy Bison, the soft click of his boot heels echoing off the wood with each easy step. The cowboy hat on his head casts a shadow over his eyes until he takes it off, his dark hair cascading down over his ears. There’s a small smile playing on his lips that makes you narrow your eyes.

Cleaning the bartop suddenly loses its appeal, but you don’t stop, only slow down. The fresh, tangy scent of lemongrass continues to waft up from the motion.     

“We close early on Sunday’s, officer,” you tease as he climbs onto a stool. 

He frowns as he sets his hat aside. “I don’t look like a cop, do I?” You shrug, and he chuckles as his gaze roves over to the pool room. “Nate back there? Yo, Nate!” 

“Evening, Tom,” the older man calls back as he polishes a cue ball. 

“Joel’s made it into town.” There’s no overt emotion in the way he shares the news, but you can see that it’s all in his eyes as he waits for you to react.  

“Joel, Joel? As in your brother?” He nods, still in disbelief himself. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing, Tommy—right? What the heck.” He used to talk about him all the time. 

His exhale makes way for a shaky smile, “I know. Made it in not too long ago with a young girl he’s looking after,” he tells you, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “He’s outside. Wanted to come in and see if you’d let us grab a drink.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Know it’s late. Promise I��ll make up for the trouble.” He knows it’s no trouble. Not when it comes to him. 

He turns around, barstool squeaking, and waves Joel in through the window. 

You move to start working on their whiskies. “Make it up by letting me be the baby’s godmother?” The glasses clink as you set them onto the bar and begin pouring the caramel colored liquid, smirking when you meet his gaze.

Tommy isn’t completely opposed to the idea. You’d been in Jackson since the beginning, a friend to him and Maria in every sense of the word. Arguably family. “If you can manage not to tick me off until the little one gets here.” Despite his words, his eyes are fond. 

The door creaks open, and Joel strides in, scanning the room. There are pictures on the walls of American icons and landmarks, and old Polaroids of commune members. There’s a guarded confidence to the way he walks, an intensity. 

Tommy quickly leans in and whispers, “He means well. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel takes a seat beside his brother and acknowledges you with a curt nod, tugging on the collar of his shirt.  

“Welcome to Jackson,” you greet, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Joel,” he says, taking you in with a steady gaze. 

“Tommy’s told me a lot about you.” You push their glasses closer to them in an encouragement to start drinking.

Joel takes his first sip and fights back a reflexive grimace. It’s been a while, but it's good. Good enough to make him feel pleasantly warm as it glides down. Tommy drinks off his brother’s lead, and you realize just how alike they look. Joel’s hair is a little shorter and accented with streaks of gray, but they both have those same dark, telling eyes. 

They fall into light conversation, but it’s clearly not what they'd talk about if they were alone. That’s when you sense the distance. The slight edge to the space between them. It’s why Tommy resorts to drawing you in, the two of you ripping off each other as Joel listens, fine with not having to speak until this whole little ordeal was winding to an end. However, he does sit up a little straighter whenever you laugh. You pour them more whiskey when their glasses get empty.     

Eventually, the remaining light outside fades away. Tommy hisses at the sight, standing. “I gotta get home to Maria,” he says, stretching his back. Joel moves to get up too, until, “At least finish off this glass, man. You’ve earned it.” Tommy squeezes his brother’s shoulder. He means it genuinely, at least. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Joel. Thanks again for this,” he tells you. 

“Bye, sheriff,” you call after him. Tommy scoffs.  

Joel realizes just how quiet it is when you move aside to tinker with a bison trinket sitting on the counter, unsure of what to say with Tommy gone. He knows you can see him looking at you. “So, are you here by yourself?” he finally asks. 

A playful smile tugs at your lips. “That’s not a creepy question at all,” you tease, quickly gathering that he doesn’t find the implication funny. “Uncle Nate?” you call. 

“Busy!”  

You raise your brows at Joel. “Not alone.”

Nate was chosen family. The man taught you everything you know about shooting, fishing, and survival even though you gave him a hard time for it when you were younger. He was also the founder of the Tipsy Bison. He only came into the bar on the weekends when he wasn't on patrol. His time in the military all those years ago made it hard to step away from a life of service. 

“We were cleaning when Tommy came in,” you tell Joel. He takes in that information wordlessly. 

“You aren’t much for talking, are you?” Joel takes a sip from his glass. “Nothing wrong with that. Must mean you don’t miss much. Really observant.” When he doesn’t respond, you smile shyly, realizing he probably just wanted to relax after a long day. “Guess I won’t stand here and talk your ears off.” 

The floor creaks as you disappear into the recreation room with Nate, rounding the corner. Joel exhales, shoulders dropping from being drawn up. He almost misses your company. 

Nate sits hunched over a word search puzzle, using the pool table as if it's a normal desk. He doesn’t look up at you, even when you give an affectionate tug to his curly gray ponytail. It was something you’d been doing since the days you both were out on your own and had to stay quiet all the time. Back when there was no safety, no security, no commune. 

“Ouch,” he drones, unphased. 

“Are you gonna come out and meet Tommy's brother?” you ask, low so Joel can’t hear. “I feel like you guys have a lot in common: brooding and grumpy.” Pride flutters in your chest when the man’s lips twitch. 

“I’ll meet him… eventually. Gotta finish this puzzle.” You realize there’s a small hourglasses going, the sand swiftly filling the bottom portion. “There ya are—serendipity.” He circles the letters. 

Word searches were something he recently started doing. When you have a past as extensive as his, it’s always chasing after you in one way or another. Especially in those quiet moments that sneak up on you. He claimed that seeking out words from amid an ordered chaos keeps the racing thoughts at bay whenever they come rushing in. 

Joel is finished by the time you join him again, and you realize he’d waited instead of calling out. Already standing, ready to go. 

“Anything else I can get you?” 

He shakes his head. “I appreciate your hospitality.” 

Joel turns to leave but you keep talking, “So I reckon Tommy already squared you away with a house and a tour of the town?” 

He stops. “I’m across the street from him. Gettin’ the tour tomorrow.”  

“That’s great, I’m really glad you found us.” You sound so genuine that there’s a flutter in his gut. “We’re a pretty crazy bunch, but I think you’re gonna like it here.” 

“Hope so.” Those are the words he leaves you with.

Your eyes stay trained on his back as he makes his way towards the door, stride the same as when he first arrived. Perhaps a little looser. Before he exits the bar, his eyes catch a glimpse of one of the decorative license plates secured to the wall: Austin, Texas. 

Shortly after he makes it outside, his heart rate ticks up in that impending way he wishes wasn’t so familiar, breath catching in his throat as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. There’s no escaping the panic as it sets in, surging through him. A few staggering steps allow him to brace a hand on a wooden directory board. 

You see it all from inside. At first, you think he’s trying to read the sign, but then he hunches over more and grips his chest. Without thinking, you jog towards the doors. 

“Joel?” You call once you’ve broken outside. 

It’s a cool spring night, a crescent moon shares its pale glow from above. Most of Jackson is already tucked away inside or at least halfway there. But in this sliver of time, it feels like it’s just the two of you outside. Joel doesn’t let on that he’d heard you, but the moment you’re close enough, you recognize what’s going on. You press your palm to his back to let him know you’re there. That he’s still here. 

“Concentrate on your breathing. In and out, just like that,” you encourage, settling on rubbing his back in measured passes. Then you go quiet on the off chance he needs that. 

In your newfound silence, Joel is forced to focus on the shaky breaths rising from his lungs. That’s when he accepts he’s not in control. Not in the grand scheme of things. There’s a whole big fallen world just outside the gates of this haven. A world that had taken people he loved and was cruel enough to let him be the one who lived to tell the tale. The heat that rises to his cheeks is made up of frustration more than distress, crackling like pop. Like coals. 

The ground takes on a vignette as he stares at it, his vision briefly closes in. You never withdraw your touch. 

When his breaths eventually begin to steady, you remember how to breathe yourself. With a tired exhale, he straightens back up to his full height, and you take a few small steps away. Maybe this wasn’t new, but a fact of life for the man who’d rode into Jackson in an air of mystery and a young girl by his side. Maybe he never wanted you to get a glimpse at this side of him. If he feels that way, he doesn’t make it obvious. He almost looks appreciative that you’d bothered enough to care. 

“Sorry to scare you,” he rasps, not meeting your gaze even though he can feel it. You want to tell him that there isn’t much that scares you anymore. At least that’s what you like to believe. “I’m usually alone.” 

Except, tonight, he wasn’t. And maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing. 

•••

Howdy Stranger

This is Jackson Hole

The last of the Old West 

Joel reads the painted wooden sign as Tommy and Maria show him and Ellie around. There are people everywhere. Children playing outside, adults fluttering in and out of shops. All while the Teton mountains loom and watch over it all with their snow-capped peaks. He looks over at the girl when she nudges his arm, pointing to a Calico lounging on a porch. Despite her beaming smile, all he offers is a low hum. 

It was hard to be in the now when his thoughts were split between the past and future. Up until Jackson, there was no such thing as stability, and he couldn’t help but think about the day that the rug would be pulled from beneath the commune as well. Ellie’s smile fades when she notices the harsh squint of his face. He kicks himself for it.   

“Cat hater,” she mumbles under her breath.

Joel grunts and directs his attention back to his brother. 

When the tour comes to an inevitable end, Ellie sings Jackson’s praises after Tommy and Maria go their separate ways with a promise to reconnect later that day. He lets her talk as they make their way back to their new house, idly agreeing every once in a while. A few curious eyes fall on them as they walk, but Joel doesn’t pay them any mind. 

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Ellie stops walking to give him a flat look. 

“I hear you,” he insists. “Been hearing you for the past ten minutes.”

There’s no snark in his tone, but Ellie still feels the slight sting of offense. “Well, sorry for being excited about having a nice place to live for once. It’s not like I was born into hell or anything—I mean the Boston QZ.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she starts walking again, faster so it looks like they’re not together.

Joel swallows down guilt like it’s just another pill. His legs are long, so it doesn’t take much to catch back up with her.

“Hey…Kid…Ellie.” She keeps ignoring him. “This is new for me too, okay? Everybody’s got a different way of processing, can we agree on that?” It’s a fair enough proposal. He never had been forward when it came to sharing his thoughts. “Wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, deciding to take a break from her rambling for his sake. The mutual silence isn’t so bad. 

Someone he isn’t expecting to see is you. You’re wearing a backpack and ushering a line of young kids into the community center. One of the little girls stops and stretches her arms up towards you, earning a playful eyeroll before being lifted onto your hip. Joel doesn’t miss the way the afternoon sunlight catches your face. 

•••

The next day, a faint thump against the door startles Ellie as she sketches in the dining room. Rather than getting up from the table, she remains still, pencil in hand and brows furrowed. Upstairs, the spray of the shower continues as Joel lets it drown out everything else. Three light knocks eventually sound, and she musters up the courage to scurry to the front. 

She peeks out the window first, spotting you. Someone she hadn’t seen around. An amused smile pulls at her lips at the way you’ve seemingly wrestled the big basket you’re holding into a better grip than before. 

When she opens the door, you let out a relieved sigh. “Special delivery,” you say before introducing yourself. 

“That’s a really pretty name,” she compliments, already warming up to you. “I’m Ellie—is all that stuff for us?” When you nod, she excitedly steps aside and ushers you in. 

“I’m not gonna say you shouldn’t have because that’d be a lie,” she shamelessly admits. “You can put it right over here.” You follow her into the living room and place the welcome basket on the coffee table. 

A few of the ladies you volunteer with helped you put it together after your shift counseling for the spring break camp. There were cookies, seeds, natural soaps, feminine hygiene products, and even a knit blanket that looked particularly soft and cozy. Ellie wastes no time reaching out to run her fingers over it. A laugh bubbles up your throat when her jaw drops. 

“This is literally what clouds feel like.” She haphazardly pulls the blanket out the basket, wrapping it around herself like a cape. “If Joel says anything, this was specifically included for me.” 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to share if he asked nicely,” you reason, amused. Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “But to be fair, we did think you’d be the one to really appreciate it.”

She smiles at being considered. “Who made it? This is, like, next level.” 

“A woman named Emilia,” you tell her. “She actually made me one back when Jackson was first being built up that I still have,” you tell her, taking a seat on the couch and looking around. The evening sunlight pours in through the windows, casting golden streaks onto the floors. “Now she’s always got a few on standby.” 

Ellie sits beside you, reaching out to dig through the other contents in awe. “They told us the commune's only, like, seven years old on our tour yesterday,” she recounts. Think you’ll have your blanket forever?” 

“Forever’s an awful long time. It might hold up,” you think aloud. Ellie nods, contemplative. “I can take you by to meet her sometime, if you’d like. She’s the resident seamstress, so you’ll probably end up crossing paths anyways.” 

“What about you? What do you do?” she asks, giving you her full attention. 

“I mainly help coordinate community events. Been stepping in to assist with the youth spring break camp for the last couple days, though,” you say. “Also bartend on the nights that I feel like it. Just for fun, you know?” 

Ellie's face lights up. “I’ve had whiskey before.” She puffs out her chest when she says it, and you play into her pride by raising an impressed brow. The first and last time you had a sip was when you snuck it from Nate as a teen. “But that’s really cool, though. The community stuff and all that.” You can tell by her tone that she means it. In more ways than one, you’re reminded of your younger self. 

“Joel’s gonna join the patrol. He says I’m too young, but that’s just bullshit.” She says the last part lower as if he’s somewhere listening. “I’ll figure out a way to make him cave.” There’s an air of confidence to her voice that suggests she’s done it before. The thought warms a tiny portion of your chest.

“I’ve gone out with my uncle Nate a few times. It can be a lot,” you admit. “He just wants you safe, Nate’s the same way.” 

As Joel stops at the top of the staircase, freshly showered, he catches those last words. He’d know your voice even if it’d been forever. His footsteps are quiet as he descends the stairs, but you hear him coming nevertheless. Ellie’s too busy sniffing the pine soap as you straighten up and glance his way. Joel’s eyes are as observant as you remember when they land on you, seeing into you, it seems. His damp hair is combed back in a way that makes him look more distinguished. 

“There you are.” You stand up with a smile. You’d been wondering how he was doing since the panic attack.

He wishes your warmth wasn't so compelling.  

Ellie whips around to look at him. “I know you said not to open the door to strangers—which is practically everybody at this point—but she’s really nice and brought us gifts so you can’t be mad at me,” she rushes out. He clocks the blanket around her shoulders. 

He hmphs. “That’s how they get you.” He’s not being serious, but Ellie frowns, trying to read through his eternal poker face. “Treats and a friendly smile.” Your lips twitch in amusement as Ellie narrows her eyes. 

When Joel starts walking your way, she consoles herself with the fact that he would've already asked you to leave if he sensed your intentions were off. The commune wasn’t filled with questionable people like that anyways. The two of them didn’t have to be apprehensive of every soul they came across anymore. 

He’s close enough now that you can smell the cedar soap on his skin. “I’m not a stranger,” you lightly defend. “Not entirely.” You look from Ellie to Joel. 

A wall rises in real time, shutting you out right along with the night you met. It happens in his eyes just like everything does. He hadn’t mentioned you to her, and it was your mistake for believing he would’ve at least passed on a name. 

You swallow back a small lump in your throat that may not be entirely just. “Anyways, hopefully you guys will be able to put this stuff to use.” 

“Of course we will,” Ellie pipes up. “Are you leaving already?” She hadn’t missed the finality that had crept into your tone. 

You nod. “Don’t wanna take up too much of your evening. I actually meant to come by sooner.” 

“Well, are you going to the dining hall for dinner?” Her gaze flicks to Joel. “Maybe you can come with us.” 

Joel knows he’s in trouble when he hears the fondness in Ellie’s voice. It’s the same sentiment he was straining to tamper down within himself. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at you, it tried to claw its way to the forefront. The last thing he needed was another person getting close enough to see that he was a million tiny pieces being held together by the glue of whatever god was keeping him alive. 

You decline her invitation, expressing plans to go to your uncle’s place. But you give her a rain check. When you go to leave, Joel allows his eyes to flitter down the rest of your body. 

That wouldn’t be the last he saw of you. But it was always from afar, lingering on the outskirts. Wishing there was a seamless way he could fall into your orbit without sending everything spiraling out of control. 

You were always looking right back at him with hope in your eyes, holding space. Waiting for your world to be shaken. 

•••

Laughter, chatter, and music drown out the insects that usually take precedence at night. Weeks of planning had finally come into fruition. All of Main Street is lined with fairy lights that cast their warm glow down on the summer festival. There was no shortage of entertainment, games, and food. It was a time to let loose and relish the sweetness in the air along with that of life. 

Nate plays his harmonica for a group of children around the bonfire, all clapping and stomping along. A smile graces your face as you walk by, waving at him. The fullness of your heart almost overrides the ache that has settled in the arches of your feet. You’d barely sitten down since earlier that morning when preparation began. There was a sense of responsibility that came along with the orange vest you were dawned in. The pressure to assist, and guide, and answer questions wasn’t all on you, but the other volunteers were better at taking breaks. 

Tommy’s grainy voice breaks into the air through a megaphone, “Thirteen-and-up three-legged races starting in five minutes, this is your last call. Grab a partner and make your way over to the east lawn,” he says. “Again, this is the last call.”

Joel and Ellie already happen to be seated at a picnic table that gives them a perfect view of the race setup and Tommy facilitating in an orange vest of his own. Ellie had already worked through her first honey cake and was eyeing Joel’s. He pretends not to notice until she looks up at him all wide-eyed.  

“Can I—” he slides his plate over to her. “Thanks.” 

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” he lightly accuses, shaking his head. 

“What does that even mean?” She takes a bite. “Weirdo.” 

Joel just grumbles and tosses a napkin her way. She wipes her mouth and keeps staring at him. Not because she’s waiting for an answer, but because there’s amusement sparkling in his eyes. Which happens more often now that they’d had a couple months to settle into Jackson. A laugh was coming, she could feel it. 

“Quit gawking at me and eat.” There’s a tell-tale waver in his voice. 

“No.” Ellie lightly kicks his shin beneath the table and that’s what sets him off. 

He tries to bite back a chuckle, but he gives in when it doesn’t work out, shoulders shaking. Ellie starts grinning at him from across the table, and he kicks her back with the tip of his boot. 

“Hey!” She breaks into giggles and retaliates. He lets her have the little victory. 

A small smile lingers on his face when he regains his composure. They sit in a comfortable silence as Ellie finishes the rest of her dessert, taking in the festivities around them. 

It isn’t long before a girl with dark hair approaches their table. She’s a ball of masked nerves. “Hi,” she greets. “Ellie, right?” She says it as if it’s possible for her to have forgotten. As if after they sat together at last week’s movie night, she hadn’t been thinking about her since. 

Ellie get’s uncharacteristically squirmy. “Oh. Hey, Dina.” 

Joel can’t believe it.

Dina tucks a flyaway behind her ear. “My old partner bailed, so I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna do the three-legged race with me. I think we’d make a better team anyways.” Then she glances at Joel. “If you wouldn’t mind me stealing her away for a bit.” 

“Take her,” Joel quips, making Dina laugh. 

Warmth rushes to Ellie’s cheeks as she stands. “Sure, let’s go.” 

The two of them jog over to get prepped for the race. Joel watches the whole while, warmth kindling in his chest at the fact that she was slowly finding her tribe. The race doesn’t start for another couple minutes, and when it does, Ellie and Dina burst off into first. It’s intense. The whole ordeal is a mess of laughter, stumbling, and flailing limbs. In the end, the duo end up placing second, crossing the finish line only to fall into a heap of giggles with their legs tied together. 

Joel stands from the picnic table with a grunt to throw away all the empty plates. He has every intention to sit back down, but notices a few frazzled volunteers carrying mops and towels. Then his eyes rove over to the long line standing at the drink stands. Adults check their watches, children fidget. A woman in an orange vest is talking to another woman managing the stand. He doesn’t realize is you until you turn away from her and beeline towards the community center, looking stressed. 

“Hey,” he calls out to a stout man wearing an apron. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

He’s surprised Joel caught on. Everyone else was carrying on as usual, carefree and unaware. “There was a spill at the community center. You know Mr. Robertson’s special Summer Fest punch?” he asks in a thick Brooklyn accent, Joel nods because he’d heard the rave. Apparently it was made especially for the festival. “Kitchen’s flooded with it. I didn’t have time to build an ark,” he jokes.  

Joel wrestles with himself. “I’ll go see if I can help.” 

By the time you exit the community center, gaze fixed over your shoulder, you crash into Joel. He instinctively reaches out to steady you, touch firm but gentle. “Whoa, easy there.” The low timbre of his drawl is enough to draw your mind away from all the noise. “You alright? Here, let’s get out of the way.” You let him pull you aside by your elbow. 

When you look into his eyes, there’s so many things you wish it was the appropriate time to say. It’s been cordial between the two of you, but it always seemed like he was in a constant state of backing away, like an animal scared of giving into a primal craving.  

There was always a reason why he couldn’t stay in your presence longer than he did. He had to get back to Ellie, or turn in early for his patrol shift the next day, or some other excuse. Even during the game nights you hosted, he would always leave before his belly was full and the real fun was about to begin. When everyone was finally free of the day’s worries and truly ready to talk, laugh, and let everything ride on the toss of a dice. 

He’d resigned himself to enjoying you in the little here and there, the moments in between. So much so that even Ellie had begun to notice. It was in the way he never allowed himself to lean in too close whenever you were at his side. Or never fully crawled out of his shell no matter how many times you smiled sweetly or let your fingertips brush his forearm. 

“Does anything hurt?” He asks more intently. As he scans you over, he notices your clothes. The lower portion of your vest and the thighs of your flared jeans are stained with a wet, dark substance. 

“I’m fine, Joel.” You pull away from him with more force than necessary, feeling guilty for the way he swallows and takes a step back. “Sorry.” You release a heavy exhale, tears welling in your eyes with a dull sting. “I’m ruining everyone’s night.” 

Joel frowns. “No you’re not. Tell me what happened.” 

“I was trying to transfer the extra beverage dispenser onto the wagon so I could wheel it out to the drink stand, but it slipped out of my grip,” you explain. “The lid came off and the punch spilled everywhere.” You wipe your tears away quickly, as if they’ll stain too. 

“Accidents happen,” Joel’s tone is steady like scripture, tenderness peeking through just enough to cling onto. “Everybody’s fine. The world's still turning.”

Nobody had reacted in an extreme manner. There were gasps and startled jumps, but assurances came rushing in as the janitorial volunteers insisted that they’d get everything cleaned up. Everyone in that kitchen knew that there were worse things in life than spilled juice. Sure, it was upsetting, considering the time Mr. Robertson spent and the people looking forward to drinking more, but it was a small mistake in the grand scheme of things. But when your heart is already heavy and your mind is tangled with other concerns, those little mishaps feel like the most devastating ones. 

There was a directness about Joel, though, that eased away the guilt crawling beneath your skin. It was like he understood what screwing up truly was and this was many light years from it. 

Dina spots Joel in the distance and points him out to Ellie. “There he is over there.” 

Their smiles fall from their faces when they get closer and realize you’re crying. “Holy shit, what happened?” Ellie looks between you and Joel, worry etched onto her face. 

“I just made a stupid mistake.” You sniffle, trying to regain your composure, not wanting to worry them.  There was always something unavoidably daunting about seeing adults cry. 

“You girls stay here with her for a second. I’ll be right back,” Joel instructs. 

A new song starts up by the live band that’s playing. It’s an instrumental rendition of Every Breath You Take. A decent crowd has gathered, nibbling on sourdough and nodding to the melody. Some people are wrapped in each other’s arms. Joel soaks it all in as he navigates back to the racing lawn. 

Tommy claps him on the back when he makes it and Joel returns the gesture. “You enjoying yourself, man?” Tommy asks. 

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. “There was a spill at the community center, so no more punch. You think you can get everybody on the same page?” 

“Copy that.” 

Tommy’s voice carries through the megaphone as Joel makes his way back to you, the announcement fading with each step. 

“Howdy, folks. Some of you may have already heard, but in case you haven’t, there’s been a little spill and we are unfortunately all out of Mr. Robertson’s world famous punch for the night. We apologize if you didn’t get the chance to try it, but I promise we’ll figure out a way to make it up to y'all. In the meantime, I heard the lemonade and ice tea ain’t half bad.” 

His words blur into the background as Joel makes it back to you. There are a few disappointed groans, but nobody is completely devastated by the news. They keep carrying on just as he knew they would. 

Tears no longer streak your face when Joel makes it back, Ellie and Dina seeming to have lifted your spirits a little more. 

“Do you wanna go get cleaned up?” Joel suggests. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin is beginning to grow uncomfortable. You take a deep breath at the thought of walking home, away from Summer Fest, all the energy, all the fun. Joel sees the disappointment on your face. 

“I can go with you,” he offers.

•••

The walk to your house is quiet, the sounds of the night's festivities now distant. The porch steps creak gently under your weight as the two of you ascend them. Joel watches as you unlock the door, but finds himself cemented as you step inside. Confusion, appreciation, frustration, and want are all amalgamated into one look directed right his way. Without saying a word, you head further inside, leaving the door open. 

Joel’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s a live wire wrought with energy. Bugs would fly in if he didn’t do something—that’s the justification he creates. You’re halfway to the laundry room when you hear the front door shut behind him as he follows after you. 

The living room is illuminated by dim lamplight as he walks through. A quick glance into the kitchen gives him sight of one of Ellie’s more recent drawings stuck to the refrigerator door with a smiley face magnet. It's a portrait of your face that you agreed to sit for one lazy afternoon while Joel was away on patrol. 

The air smells like you. Understated and sweet, floral and earthen. Small plants line multiple windowsills despite how convinced you were that you couldn’t keep anything alive. The whole commune would be worse off without you and he’d be the first to wilter away. 

At the sound of a zipper and clothes brushing against skin, he stops his pursuit of you. Miles away even though you’re mere yards apart. All he has is your shadow, dancing in the dim light pooling out of the laundry room and into the hall with him. He backs himself into the cool wall and closes his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Up and down and up again. An SOS in the middle of a sea when salvation was right within reach. It gets quiet after a while. No more running water, or cabinet doors, or shuffling around. 

“You can let me in, you know?” comes your voice, so light it’s almost nothing. Joel releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes to the sight of you, dawned in old shorts and a graphic tee. You wish he would say something, anything. Share a fraction of what’s going on in his mind. “I’m right here, Joel.” 

“I know. I see you.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that’s wounded around the edges, as if he’s trying to accommodate the truth that burns within his ribcage, his stomach, beneath the entirety of his skin. 

“So now what?” You swallow your nerves, studying his face, his neck. “We’re just gonna keep seeing each other for the rest of our lives and that’s it? No knowing, no feeling, no experiencing?” You ask. “No loving?”  

One by one, the walls close in, until it feels like you’re standing toe to toe with nothing but words as weapons and honesty being the only way out. It’s not a fight he’s ready for. He can trek through the harshest winters, fight off monsters and all manner of men, but he’s defenseless in front of you.

There will be no victory, no rising from battle with a bloodied fist or blade, or immediate relief akin to the coming of spring. The only way out is to dig within, and he already knew what resided there. It was a matter of carving it out and laying it on an altar for you to see as you did the same. It’s not a fight at all, it's a sacrifice. All risk with probable reward. 

“I don’t want that to be all that we do.” You’ve never heard Joel speak so quietly. It’s as if there’s Infected lurking nearby and he doesn’t want to be devoured. “Think about you too much.” 

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me at all. Not like how I like you,” you say. 

Joel swallows thickly, warm all over. “How do you like me?” 

You push out of the laundry room doorway to step closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, the beating of his heart. You let it thrum against your palm until a shallow breath slips past his lips, then you move to cup his stubbled jaw, lightly brushing your thumb over his lower lip. The urge to touch you back grows so great that he finally gives in and lets both of his strong hands settle on your waist.  

Joel can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he leans in towards you, studying your face, searching for any sign that this might be some elaborate ruse. Instead, he finds something so poignant that he doesn’t have the words to define. It’s as terrifying as it is wonderful to, for once, be unable to size up what he’s up against. 

You close the space in between you with a softness that takes his breath away. Bared heart meeting bared heart. Joel’s lips are gentle and unhurried, every second savored and not a single one missed. You try to focus but it feels like you’re falling and flying all at once. Then his fingers dig into your waist a little harder, a silent plea to stay there with him, the warmth of his kiss, the firmness of his body as he pulls you closer. 

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck to play with the hair curled at his nape. The kiss deepens not in urgency but a shared understanding. A promise sealed in the way your bodies fit together. And then, slowly, Joel eases back, lips lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer until a slight space forms between you. Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours, thumb stroking tender circles on your waist. 

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, wondering if you can feel that two worlds having converged into one, buzzing with a newness that’s as beautiful as all the words you’d kept bottled inside. 

•••

It hadn’t taken much. Just a hug and a few soft kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw. When Joel’s grumbling finally subsided, it made way for the soothing ripple of the river. You’d settled along the bank and stretched out a few blankets when you first arrived. An hour seemed to pass in the matter of a few seconds, laughter, conversations and all. Now the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon up in the ombre sky. 

It wasn’t any fault of your own that you’d asked Joel if the date could extend a little longer. It’d been a month of getting to see him in this light, open and unguarded, generous with giving those slow, easy smiles. Willing to lay down across your lap like this when you asked sweetly enough. 

The small mouth of a fish breaks the surface of the water as you trace along his hairline, disappearing by the time you run the pad of your finger down his nose. His lips twitch as he continues to ward off sleep. This time, there’s no stopping a soft laugh from rising up your throat. That’s all it takes for his eyes to flutter open, blinking until they’re able to focus on the soft upturn of your lips. No sooner do they avert to the sky, assessing the fleeting light. 

“We gotta head back now,” his voice is gruff. When he moves to sit up, you place a delicate hand on the center of his chest and he settles back down with a sigh. “C’mon, sweetheart, the sun’s setting. I don’t want you out here in the dark.” 

Packing up and riding back to the commune meant this moment would be resigned to a memory. “A few more minutes won’t hurt,” you insist. 

Before Jackson and before you, every second was about enduring to the next. Life was an endless onwards, onwards, onwards reverberating through his veins. Slowing down was always a risk until you showed him that sometimes life’s most worthwhile moments were in the stillness. Somedays that was easier to remember than others, but he sure did put in an effort. 

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am anyways,” you tease. The corners of his lips quirk upwards before he can stop them. 

You continue on like that, tracing his face, occasionally glancing up at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Then an animal catches your attention across the way, lean and tall with short antlers protruding from its head. You suck in a breath of pleasant surprise, and Joel startles upright thinking the worst. His shoulders relax when he sees the creature. It bends its neck down to nibble at something in the grass until deciding to gallop away. 

“Just a mule deer.” He gives you a look. 

“I know, sorry. I get excited.” You offer an apologetic smile and he's reminded of how beautiful you look in the light of the setting sun, features aglow. He doesn’t say anything, just soaks you in here and now. An airiness fills your chest. 

He stands with a groan, extending a helping hand back down to you. When you’re steady on your feet, he takes your chin in one gentle hand and tilts your head back so he can align his lips with yours. The kiss is brief, and he follows it up with a soft peck.  

“Will you let me take you back home now?” he questions. “Ellie’s gonna have our heads if we’re late for game night. Especially when she’s choosing the line up.” 

•••

No heads roll that night. Plenty of dice do, while Uno cards are slapped onto the coffee table, and Jenga blocks fall. Tommy, Maria, Dina, and your uncle Nate, eventually file out of Joel’s house, leaving the three of you alone. Ellie feigns sleep on the couch as soon as it’s time for cleanup, and dozes off for real as you and Joel start taking care of everything yourselves. 

He steps up behind you as you’re standing at the kitchen sink, snaking his arms around your middle. A curious hum rises up your throat as you lean back into him. 

“I think somebody cheated during Jenga tonight,” he hushes against the shell of your ear, relishing the way you shiver at the warmth of his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Joel noses at the back of your head. “So you weren’t the one touchin’ me during that last round?” he asks. “Scratching my back, squeezing my thigh.” 

“It was innocent,” you insist. “It's a stressful game, I was just trying to ease your nerves. How was I supposed to know your hands would get all shaky?” 

A sudden chuckle shakes his chest, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Ease my nerves? We weren’t even on the same team.” His fingers squeeze your hips in quick, gentle pulses, making you arch into him in a spell of helpless giggles. Joel evades your attempts to grab his wrists, but shows you mercy when you turn around, looking up at him through your lashes like you could do no wrong. 

“You’re lucky I happen to like you an awful lot.” He places both hands on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in. 

You smooth your hands up his chest, admiring the soft lines by his eyes, the handsome bump of his nose. “I know. I’m the luckiest person alive.” 

“No, that’s me,” Joel whispers. 

He’s certain of it. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts, it’s my favorite thing.

[sturnsdarling]

'Stay the fuck away from her'

{based on this ask I left in @sturnioz inbox} fratboy!chris leaves shy!reader alone at a party for the first time and it goes south, quickly.

vibe check: fighting, violence etc, pressure to do drugs, fratboy!chris being a guard dog, fratboy!matt being a lil bruiser (i love him) a TINY bit of fluff bc I cant help myself and I'm a sucker for an asshole (fb!chris) with a soft spot (s!reader)

1.6k words

A/N: based on cas' fratboy!chris au. FUCK I love this. I had this idea after cas' lil blurb about jealous!fbchris and she told me to write it so mother gets what mother wants. another day another slay y'all lets fucking go. PART TWO HERE

love and cigs, merc

The frat house was nearly vibrating with the movement of hundreds of people, all moving, dancing, fucking and taking drugs in every millimetre of the house.

Chris and Matt were off doing their rounds with the freshers, Chris handing out his new stuff to all the sorority girls that pushed themselves against him before palming them off to Matt, who was just as uninterested in them but of course, made the moves to make the sale.

Tonight was a big night, it being the first party back after Christmas break so, the boys actually left you by yourself for the first time ever to make their rounds. Of course, Chris had instructed Nate to watch over you, but he was so faded that he could barely look after himself.

You were sat on a smelly couch in a back room, pressed in between two rival frat brothers to Chris' frat, both of them fawning over you as you sat there uncomfortably, shifting in your skin at the sensation of them peppering encouraging touches over you.

"come on, baby, one lil pill wont hurt you" one said, holding a small white pill in front of your face, your eyes nearly crossing as you stared at it.

"yeah, it'll be fun, and don't worry, we'll look after you" the other said, menacingly smirking at his frat brother

you shook your head, "I'm alright, I don't do drugs like that" you said, trying to crane your head back from them.

"theres a first time for everything, baby" one of the boys said, pressing his thumb into your chin, attempting to open your mouth as his friend moved the pill closer to your lips.

Nate was sat on the other side of the room, two girls draped over his lap as he sucked on one of their necks, palming the other ones ass.

"oh fuck" he said as he looked over to you, pressed between two frat boys as they waved a pill in front of your face.

He pushed the girls off him and they whined in a huff. He lifted his lips and pulled his phone from his pocket, opening it and calling Chris.

"Chris, dude, theres some guys here n'there all over your girl, touchin' her n'shit, one of them has a pill and kid is basically forcing it in her mouth" he said down the phone.

Chris didn't reply, only hung up the phone with a tsk sound and summoned Matt to follow him.

Within seconds, Chris was in the room, searching around the sea of bodies for you. He met Nates eyes first, who was once again sandwiched between two blondes. Nate pointed over to the other side of the room to you. The sight made Chris' blood boil, a villainous smile etched across his face, shaking his head and pressing his tongue to the side of his mouth as the thought of what he was gonna do to that kid raced through his mind. You were desperately trying to free yourself from the trap the boys had laid for you, squirming as they touched you and edged a pill closer and closer to your lips.

Chris stormed over, taking a long drag of his joint before tossing it to the floor. Just as quick as he arrived at the sofa, his hands were wrapped around one of the boys shirts, pulling him off the sofa and throwing him on the floor. Everyone gasped, moving out the way and gawking at the sight of Chris coming to stand over him.

"dude what th-" the guys questioning was cut off by Chris coming down on him and clocking him round the jaw with a swift punch.

"Chris!" You shouted, jumping off the sofa and grabbing his shoulders.

He shoved you off him and turned back to the kid underneath him, swinging down once more and cracking his jaw off his knuckles.

"y'think you're hard 'cuz you pressure girls into taking your shit pills? huh, kid? y'think you're a fuckin' gangsta?" Chris screamed as he laid into him.

The guy was borderline unconscious as you screamed Chris' name over and over again. Matt came up behind you, grabbing you by the shoulders, "go stand with Nate" Matt said, pushing you in Nates direction.

You nearly fell forward as you stumbled over to Nate, unable to tear your eyes of Chris as he continued to hit the boy beneath him, never letting up despite the boys pleads.

"yo, get the fuck off him" His frat brother shouted, coming to grab Chris by the shoulders. His movements quickly cut off by Matt, pulling him backwards and shoving him back to the sofa.

"watch ya hands, tough guy" Matt chuckled, grabbing the guy by the scruff of his shirt and nutting him, cracking his nose off his forehead. The guy recoiled, blood pouring from his nose instantly as his hands flew to his face.

Matt pushed him back as he stumbled, meeting him on the floor with a brutal clock across his jaw.

Chris got up off the guy and pulled him up with him, holding his bloodied and swollen face inches from his, "think you're a fuckin' big dog, yeah?" He turned and threw the nearly limp guy on the sofa.

The boy shook his head frantically, holding his hands up as Chris stood over him. "no, no, I don't, I don't, I didn't know she was your girl dude, m'sorry" He stuttered.

"well, now you do, so stay the fuck away from her, yeah?" he spat, moving as if he was going to hit him again.

The boy flinched and whimpered, running away, leaving his frat brother to fend for himself as Matt continued to pummel into him. He was relentless, near enough laughing as the boy lost consciousness underneath him.

"you wanna force girls into doing shit? you wanna be a tough guy n'drug girls jus' so they'll fuck you?" Matt said, pulling the guy up off the ground by his shirt, "hows it feel bein' a fuckin' loser, huh? tell me kid, hows it feel?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" the guy cried and Matt just laughed in his face.

Chris panted as he watched the guy he near enough battered run away. He turned round to Matt, placing a hand on his shoulder and tapping him.

"s'enough, Matt, y'gonna kill him" he said, pulling Matt off the bloodied and battered boy on the floor.

Chris eyes immediately searched for you, finding you tucked into Nate, scared shitless of what you had just witnessed. He walked over to you, everyone in the room still staring at him as he did.

When he reached you, he grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you round to face him, taking your face into his bloodied hands.

"did they give you anything? huh? did they do anything t'you?" His eyes searched your face for any signs of drugs or bruises.

"no" you shook your head, brows furrowed as tears welled in your eyes.

Chris sighed and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. It was weird, Chris never hugged you like this, but as if on instinct you sunk into him, wrapping your hands around his waist.

"m'so sorry I left you alone, y'not leaving my side ever again, okay?" he muttered into your hair.

You nodded into his chest, whimpering slightly at the sensation of Chris breaking the hug.

"and you-" Chris spat, pushing Nate by the shoulders, "y'were s'possed to look after, her not let sketty fuckin' sorority girls distract you, fuckin' idiot" Chris said, insulting the girls as if they weren't right there.

"chill man, it all turned out peachy" Nate chuckled, stepping backwards with his hands up in surrender.

"get the fuck out my face, dude, can't even look at you" Chris spat, turning back to face you, taking your face in his hand once more.

"y'sure you're okay, kid?" he asked, soft eyes baring into yours.

you nodded, leaning into his gentle touch, the smell of iron lingering on his hand as it caressed your face.

"you didn't need to go that hard, Chris, you could have gotten hurt" you said, bringing a soft hand up to wrap around his wrist.

Chris chuckled, soothing a thumb over your face and raising his brows. "does it look like that kid could'a hurt me?" he asked, a prideful grin spread across his face.

You returned his smile and shook your head, gripping his wrist tighter.

"besides, you're important t'me, or whatever, so, I wasn't gonna let that fuckin' loser be all over you like that"

"I'm important to you?" you cheesed

"yeah, whatever, kid, try not to pull a muscle from cheesin' so hard" he rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"thankyou, for protecting me, Chris" you said, tugging at his wrist slightly.

"always" he said simply, before pulling you into a soft and quick kiss, his mouth slotting perfectly over yours, the taste of weed and shit beer lingering on his breath.

You chased the taste, whimpering slightly as he pulled away and dropped his hand from your face. You were smiling from ear to ear as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"wipe that smile off ya face, kid, s'not happenin' again" Chris said, referring to the kiss as he wiped a wet spot off your lip with his thumb.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10

[sturnioz]

─────── ꒰ THE FRAT WEDDING SERIES ꒱ SPECIAL.

the fake frat wedding event between shy!reader and fratboy!chris, written in fratboy!chris' perspective─a peek inside his mind.

tw. mentions of cocaine.

shy!reader's perspective. ╰› ꒰ part one ꒱ ꒰ part two ꒱ ꒰ part three ꒱ ꒰ part four ꒱

chris doesn't want to wake up, but the loud voices echoing through the frat house left him no choice, pulling him out of sleep and into a sour mood. he can hear some of his frat brothers leaving their rooms, slamming doors behind them and running down the stairs, their footsteps pounding against the floorboards.

it's enough to give chris a headache and make his jaw clench.

for a moment, he considers burying his head under his pillow, hoping to smother the noise. but now that he's awake—and extremely pissed off—there's no going back.

sleep isn't an option for him anymore.

grumbling under his breath, he forces himself out of bed, his muscles aching with stiffness from a restless night, and his body feels heavy as he shuffles toward his bathroom. he runs a hand through his tangled, messy hair, and he stares at his reflection in the mirror.

dark circles hang under his empty eyes, and his grouchy expression somehow looks even worse this morning. nightmares, he thinks. fucking nightmares.

he goes through his morning routine quickly, brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face in a half-hearted attempt to get rid of the grogginess. he opens the cabinet above the sink and grabs an orange pill bottle from the shelf, and with ease, he pops open the lid and shakes it until a single pill falls into his palm.

the sight of the nearly empty bottle makes him scowl, and he makes a mental note to ask matt to take him to the drugstore to stock up. but for now, he tosses the pill into his mouth and leans over the sink, drinking straight from the tap to wash it down.

chris leaves the bathroom and trudges out of his room, letting out a tired yawn as he heads downstairs. he threads his fingers lazily through his hair, rubbing at his face with a groggy sigh as the sound of frat brothers snickering in the living room irks his nerves.

he ignores them, making a beeline for the kitchen, but as he steps in, he stops abruptly. his gaze lands on you, and his tired eyes narrow slightly.

"didn't know you were comin' over," he grumbles tiredly, his attention shifting to the tupperware container in front of you, filled with veggies and cubes of chicken. "what? don't have food at your place? gotta be all greedy 'n eat ours?"

you glance up at him and respond softly, "nate made it for me," there's a pause in the conversation before you ask, "what event are you hosting this weekend?"

chris furrows his brows, your sudden question catching him off guard. "nothin'—we don't have one," he replies flatly, unbothered.

without hesitation, he reaches over you to steal a piece of chicken from the tupperware, popping it into his mouth and chewing lazily. he doesn't bother to say anything else as he turns away and heads for the fridge.

opening the door, he rummages through the shelves until he spots the juice bottle he shoved in the back the night before. he unscrews the cap and takes a few gulps, the cold drink refreshing him just enough to keep him functioning for now.

as he drinks, he hears you mutter something under your breath.

"but they're planning something in there..."

chris slowly turns to look at you over the juice bottle he's currently holding near his mouth, his brows knitting together like you've just said something utterly ridiculous. which, to him, you have.

planning something? the frat isn't hosting any big event this weekend, it's just a regular party—he's positive.

"the fuck you talkin' about?" he asks, his tone flat, his eyes hard as he stares at you. before you can answer, nate bursts into the kitchen, interrupting you both as he slings an arm around chris' bare shoulder.

chris stiffens at the unwanted contact, his irritation spiking as his glare sharpens, hardly biting back a harsh remark when nate grins and starts talking, wanting him to follow.

chris doesn't move at first, his jaw tightening as he shoots nate a withering look before he reluctantly trails behind, keeping a few steps behind you. but he stops in his tracks when the three of you step into the living room, his eyes sweeping over the room.

the frat brothers are all huddled together, grinning like idiots. he notices kitty and bee are here too, but he stays quiet, his tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he leans against the doorframe, watching everything unfold.

nate grabs a hate from the coffee table and shakes it in front of you, ordering you to pull out a folded piece of paper. chris' brows furrow, his annoyance growing even more when nate grabs a second hat and strides toward him, shaking it in front of his face to prompt him to pick next.

chris stares blankly before refusing, "no."

nate clicks his tongue against his teeth, clearly unimpressed with him, but chris doesn't care. he doesn't move, doesn't even say another word as nate turns to bee to ask her to pick from the hat instead.

his patience is wearing thin.

what the fuck is going on?

chris stays quiet as nate starts counting down, and his eyes flick to you as you begin to unfold your slip of paper, the confused look that spreads across your face making his brows furrow in suspicion.

he tilts his head slightly, trying to read your expression, and then he sees it—your name, scrawled across the paper messily as you hold it up for everyone to see.

his confusion deepens when bee unfolds her slip next, revealing his own name written across it. chris' gaze hardens, slowly shifting between the two slips of paper.

something feels off.

"congrats, bun 'n chris..." he hears nate say, his voice dripping with amusement. "you're gettin' married."

chris tenses up as the room erupts into laughter and hollers. his jaw locks, his eyes widen, and a strange, unbearable ringing fills his ears, drowning out the noise. his chest tightens as his head snaps toward matt, who's already looking at him. matt's expression is calm, almost reassuring, subtly telling him that it's okay and to calm down.

but chris isn't okay.

he's far from calm.

his eyes dart back to nate, and his glare sharpens into something deadly, his nostrils flaring. his clammy palms ball into tight fists at his side, his body rigid. he notices your lips are moving too, but he can't hear a fucking word you say.

it's like the world around him has muted itself, leaving only the thoughts racing in his mind at a hundred miles per second.

finally, something snaps into place, and he finds his voice.

“m’not gettin’ married.” he growls, his tone low but firm as his body coils in tight, ready to snap. “you’re out of your fuckin’ mind.”

“you’re actin’ as if this is real, bro,” a frat brother pipes up, his tone light and amused, which only makes chris’ anger simmer hotter. “s’all fun ‘n games. it's a chance to get fucked up. and it’s part of the rules... if you get picked to do somethin’…. you gotta do it.”

“especially when your name got picked out of a hat,” nate chimes in next, his grin widening across his face.

chris' heart thumps wildly in his chest, his pulse pounding as his head slowly swivels to look back at nate. his nostrils flare again, and he takes a step forward, his hand outstretched and tone demanding.

"let me see the hat."

nate’s grin doesn’t falter as he quickly pulls the hat away, holding it just out of chris’ reach, and chris' scowl deepens, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface as he tries to grab it again.

the sound of the frat brothers’ laughter keeps ringing in his ears, making his face grow hot with anger. chris lunges for the hat again, but nate is too fast, keeping it just out of reach, and chris can feel the overwhelming heat of embarrassment and rage crawling up his neck.

something is up, chris thinks. something is wrong.

"let me see the hat," he snaps again, his voice harsh and commanding. but nate only laughs, shaking his head, his grin never faltering.

but before chris can snap completely, another frat brother calls out his name, reminding him that he needs to prep the stash for the party. that makes chris stop, and he pulls his focus away from everything around him as he exhales through his nose.

money is important, he reminds himself, his thoughts shifting abruptly. just focus on your money. forget this bullshit.

without another word, he turns on his heel, leaving the others behind as he heads toward his room. his hands still tremble faintly, his chest still tight, but he forces himself to push it all down.

one thing at a time.

the party’s coming, and he has work to do.

whether nate is playing some stupid game or not, chris doesn’t care—at least, that’s what he tells himself.

as he climbs the stairs, the ringing in his ears fades, replaced by the single thought that keeps him moving:

forget it.

just get through the weekend.

the weekend comes faster than chris expects, and now he's just a few hours away from fake marrying you for the sake of some stupid frat tradition. he doesn't understand why you and him were picked for this, and it pisses him off even more that no one considered matt and kitty—or nate and bee—actual couples who could've done this instead.

but no. it had to be him.

it always had to be him.

standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, chris exhales sharply, his stress and annoyance already gnawing at him as his fingers fumble with his tie and the stiff collar of his suit, the fabric feeling foreign and suffocating against his neck.

the suit is an old one—something he bought for prom back in high school but never actually wore. he thought he'd trashed it years ago as he vividly remembers the moment he shoved it into the garbage back home.

apparently his mom had other plans.

she must've fished it out, washed it thoroughly, and stashed it away in case he 'needed it someday'. he didn't think he would fucking need it for some fake, stupid wedding.

yet, here he is.

chris exhales again, this time more forcefully, as he tries—and fails—to tie the damn fucking tie. every time he loops it, pulls it, or adjusts it, it comes undone—mocking him like everything else today.

he glares at his reflection, considering to just ditch the suit altogether. a sweatshirt and jeans would do just fine, even some of the other frat brothers aren't even bothering to dress up properly... so why should he?

a few of them are in hoodies, ripped jeans, denim shorts and even crop tops, while others are wearing suits with goofy props purely for some dramatic effect.

the only reason he hasn't ripped the tie off and thrown it across the room is because of the screen on his phone, propped up against a few cologne bottles on the sink, showcasing a series of texts from justin who gives him step-by-step instructions on how to tie the tie properly

chris' eyes flick down to the latest message, and he grits his teeth, following the instructions as best as he can. his fingers are trembling too much, his patience wearing thin, and his irritation only grows stronger with every failed attempt.

justin had to do this too, chris remembers that. he remembers him talking about it years ago—the same frat, the same stupid tradition. justin had to fake marry some sorority chick he was best friends with.

chris remembers seeing the photos. he remembers laughing back then at how silly it all looked. he remembers smiling back then at how justin managed to make it fun.

but chris isn't laughing now.

he isn't even smiling now.

chris glances back at his reflection, and the tie still isn't right—the knot slightly crooked—but fuck, he doesn't even care anymore. he's done. he grabs his phone, typing a quick reply to justin as he walks into his room, tossing the phone onto his bed as he runs his fingers through his hair.

he looks ridiculous. he feels ridiculous. and the worst part is, it's not even about the suit, or the tie. it's about him. it's about the whirlwind of emotions crashing through him right now: uncomfortable, stupid, humiliated, mocked.

it's emotions he hasn't felt in a long time—emotions he doesn't know how to handle anymore, not without cutting up a line or two, letting the burn numb his throat, and sinking into that blissful silence where his mind finally shuts the fuck up.

but now? there's no escape. the tie feels like it's suffocating him, the stiff fabric digging into his neck and he tugs at it, his fingers curling around the knot as if loosening it will somehow loosen the tightness in his chest.

why is this happening? why the fuck is this happening?

chris' mind spins as he glares at his reflection in the mirror that's in his room, his jaw tightening. did someone put his name in the hat more than once? nah. surely not. they wouldn't do that to him. they couldn't do that to him.

he bites down on the inside of his cheek, his thoughts racing. maybe it's just his shitty luck. he always has shitty luck—it's nothing new. that's not a surprise. but still, this feels different.

chris exhales sharply though his nose, a low growl of frustration rumbling in his throat as his reflection stares back at him, mocking him again.

he feels like a joke.

chris yanks at his tie again, loosening it even more so it hangs around his neck. he doesn't care anymore. he doesn't even know why he's still wearing the fucking thing.

he stares at himself for another moment, his teeth gritted, his hands twitching at his sides. maybe it is the tie, he tries telling himself. maybe it is the suit... maybe it's the fact that no matter how much he tries to act like he doesn't give a fuck, he does.

too much.

and that sets him off.

his movements are sharp—almost frantic—as he pulls open his drawers and grabs a worn metal tin box covered in peeling stickers, his fingers fumbling as he thumbs it open, revealing his stash inside.

he rifles through it quickly, pocketing a few baggies for later, but his focus is locked on one thing—the white powder-filled baggie sitting at the bottom.

he pours some of the powder onto the surface of his dresser before he grabs his wallet and pulls out a credit card, the edge of the card scraping against the wood as he works quickly, cutting the powder into one precise, clean line.

without thinking, without even hesitating, he plugs one nostril and leans down, inhaling sharply.

the burn hits immediately, sharp and familiar as it shoots up his nose. chris tilts his head back with a quiet groan as the grainy sensation settles in the back of his throat. it's not pleasant—not really—but that doesn't matter. what matters it the lump that forms, sliding down his throat.

that's it. that's the deal sealed.

he stays like that for a second, his head tilted back, his chest rising and falling as the feeling starts working its way through him slowly. his pulse picks up, his mind clouds over, and the tension in his shoulders begins to release.

he's fine now.

he runs a hand down his face, exhaling a long, shaky breath. his reflection stares back at him, but this time, it feels more distant—less suffocating. the suit still looks ridiculous, the tie still hangs crooked around his neck, but it doesn’t matter because he's fine.

he keeps telling himself that as he grabs the tin box, shoving it back into the drawer and slamming it shut.

it’s fine.

everything is fine.

he’s fine.

chris doesn't know how long it's been since the event started. he's spent most of his time surrounded by familiar faces, collecting money as he sells his stash into hands of other frat brothers and partygoers.

he's joined in a few conversations here and there, humouring people with idle smirks and half-hearted chuckles. most of the time though, he's rolling his eyes at the outfits people are wearing at the party: fancy suits and dresses are mixed in with mishap clothing, and some are even wearing costumes.

at one point, he spots a frat brother waddling around the decorated garden in a hot dog costume.

and then he saw nick.

for a moment, chris thinks the coke has finally fried his brain when he sees his brother standing near in a snazzy suit and a camera draped around his neck.

nick—who practically refuses to set foot in the frat house, who's turned down every invite to events—is here. chris almost does a double take, blinking hard like nick might vanish if he looks away.

but no, it was really him.

he's spoken with both nick and matt now. they had found him earlier, hanging around the edge of the crowd and stayed long enough to exchange a few words. nick had seemed ecstatic, tossing out a couple of jokes while matt stood nearby, arms crossed, taking it all in with that quiet, observant look on his face as he watches chris.

they both pretty much told him the same thing: just enjoy the night. relax for once.

relax.

chris scoffed at the advice, and matt even tried fixing his crooked tie, but chris flicked his hand away with a sharp; "fuck off, man. m'fine." nick didn't even bother trying—just gave him one of those knowing looks before walking off to do whatever.

now they're both gone.

matt's probably off somewhere with kitty, and nick? nick's likely tracking you down. he's always had a soft spot for you, chris knows that much. but nick and matt being gone means chris is back to being surrounded by other people—people who don't really matter to him, people whose faces blur together as the night drags on.

chris hasn't spoken to you yet, though he's seen you around. he catches glimpses of you standing on the sidelines, keeping to yourself in that white babydoll dress. you look small, fragile, watching everything around you like a deer caught in headlights.

his gaze lingers on you longer than he means to, but tears it away once nate and nick have accompanied you. part of chris wonders what you're thinking, if you hate this as much as he does, if you want to leave as much as he does.

he will never ask though, he doesn't even know if he wants to.

but for now, he'll keep his distance—until the time comes.

and fuck, that time comes fast as the night drags on.

he doesn't bother excusing himself from the people he's been in conversation with for the past hour. he just pushes through the crowd, shoving his way toward you—who, of course, is now surrounded by all your shared friends and brothers.

"can we get this shit over with?" he snaps immediately asks as he stands next to you, his fingers tugging at his tie again, feeling like it's constricting his throat despite it already hanging loose.

no one responds, which doesn't surprise him. then he hears you hum something—soft and unsure—and it makes something in him snap again.

"m'serious. lets get this shit over with before i fuckin' lose it."

that seems to work, because you're nodding your head to agree with him, and the group finally starts moving. nate, of course, can't resist making a joking remark, but chris shoots him a glare so sharp it shuts him up.

the group walks toward the makeshift ceremony setup, and the others scatter to find their seats—and odd collections of mismatched chairs, bar stools, bean bags, whatever.

chris makes his way to the altar and scoffs, his lip pulling into a grimace as he sees the empty beer cans, red solo cups, and... is that toilet paper? draped across in a half-assed attempt.

he stands stiffly at the altar, refusing to look at you when two frat brothers walk you down the makeshift aisle. he doesn't look up when he catches glimpses of phones aimed at you both either, recording everything.

the sound of drunken giggling, laughter, and hushed whispers fills his ears, and it makes his skin crawl.

chris barely pays attention to the frat brother playing the role of the officiant, slurring his way through a speech filled with jokes that make the crowd howl with laughter. but chris isn't laughing. neither are you.

this is uncomfortable.

when it's time for the 'vows', chris feels his stomach twist, and his grits his teeth, already dreading what's coming as the frat brother coaxes you into speaking first.

you take it seriously. too seriously for him to handle.

you talk about being there for him, about being his friend when he needs one. you even try to sprinkle in little jokes of your own—soft, harmless ones that are meant to make the crowd laugh. and they do. they laugh again and again and again.

chris feels mocked.

his jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffening up as he stares at nick and matt in the crowd. they're giving him small smiles, subtly nods, reassuring glances, but the laughter from everyone else feels sharp, cutting through him like needles.

he hates it. he feels stupid. he feels humiliated. he feels awful.

why are you doing this? why are you talking about him like that? are you trying to make them laugh at him?

his blood boils, coke pulsing through his veins, making his thoughts race in angry erratic loops: this is on purpose, this is on purpose, this is on—

"bun," he speaks when it's his turn, his tone dripping with sarcasm as his jaw clenches tight. he has to fix this. he has to take everyone's attention away from the humiliation clawing at him. he can feel the heat rising in his chest, the anger bubbling under his skin.

relax. make it funny. disract them.

"i vow to keep uh... keep fuckin' you. keep makin' you scream my name."

the reaction is immediate.

the crowd erupts into cheers, hollering and howling with laughter so loud it drowns out every other thought in his head. the weight on his chest feels lighter now, the suffocating embarrassment replaced by a familiar rush of control.

chris doesn't stop there.

he rolls his shoulders back, loosening up as he keeps going, each word filthier and more explicit than the last. he talks about everything—every little thing that's obvious about your situationship, every detail that will make the crowd laugh harder and louder.

and it works.

it works because now they're laughing with him instead of at him.

chris finally finishes his speech, and he exhales slowly, finally able to relax—or at least pretend to—as the noise washes over him.

the frat brother officiant stumbles through some more slurred words, something chris doesn't even bother trying to comprehend. he feels the cold glass of a vodka bottle shoved into his clammy hands, nearly fumbling it, and the movement of a plastic tiara being placed on your head catches his eye.

he glances at you briefly. just for a second—and then you're moving.

you're pushing through the crowd as they stagger up to the altar. you're moving fast—too fast—you don't stop, and you don't look back. you're gone so quick that you're nothing but a blur in chris' vision.

chris doesn't focus on it too much. he doesn't let himself focus on it as he's too overwhelmed by the crowd swarming him now, their laughter and slurred congratulations for this fake bullshit.

hands reach out to pat his back, to clap him on the shoulder, to ruffle his hair... chris hates it.

the noise, the touches, the smiles—all of it. it's suffocating. he decides to shove his way through the crowd, muttering for everyone to 'get the fuck off him' as they try to stumble into his way.

he doesn't want them right now.

what he wants are his brothers.

chris' eyes scan around, searching for matt and nick. they've always been his anchor, the only ones who can ground him when he feels like this—overwhelmed, irritated, and on the verge of losing his shit.

but they're not here.

he spots them moving away, slipping through the garden in a hurry and heading toward the frat house. they don't even glance in his direction, and that makes chris falter, his steps slowing as his eyebrows knit together.

why aren't they coming to him?

it's close to the end of the event when matt and nick finally bother to show up, but chris doesn't even look at them: not when matt pulls out one of the garden chairs to sit beside him, not when nick plants himself directly in front of him, tapping his foot against the ground.

chris sits slouched in his own chair, a joint dangling between his fingers, the other hand flipping through a wad of cash from the stash he sold tonight.

they money keeps him focus, gives him something to do—or at least something to stop that feeling that's been sitting in his chest all night.

"are you serious, chris?" nick's voice cuts through the silence, unable to control himself. "like, are you fucking dumb?"

"what?" chris murmurs disinterestedly, still counting the rest of the money before rolling it up neatly and pocketing it. only then does he glance up at nick through the haze of smoke, taking a slow drag from his joint, exhaling a cloud in his brother's direction.

"think you took it too far, man," matt speaks up, his tone quieter, a sigh slipping through his words as he rolls his tongue across his teeth. "bun's really—"

"think?" nick cuts him off, his voice rising slightly. "you think he took it too far? he did take it too far. why would you even say something like that during the vows, chris? all that shit about bun—"

"dude, keep your voice down," matt hisses, nudging nick's calf with his shoe. his eyes flick toward the last partygoers that stumble across the lawn, planning to call ubers or to walk in groups back to wherever they're staying. "nick's got a point, though. that shit you said about bun—"

"what about me?"

chris' voice cuts through the air, sharp and loud enough to silence the both of them as he looks between his brothers, his shoulders stiff and squared as those familiar but disgusting wave of emotions slowly start returning.

"what.. what about me?" he repeats, his tone faltering just a little which makes him grimace, and he takes another hit of his joint, hoping to calm himself down.

matt and nick exchange glances, but neither of them say anything, and that makes chris shift uncomfortably in his seat. he hunches forward, pressing his elbows into his knees to keep him grounded.

"you don't..." he starts, but the words catch in his throat. he scowls and looks away from both of them, exhaling another cloud of smoke. "didn't even fuckin' bother earlier. just left me—didn't even fuckin' look at me."

his voice cracks slightly at the end, and it pisses him off more than anything. he clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth as he stares at the ground, refusing to meet their eyes.

matt lets out a deep sigh as he leans back in his chair, rubbing at his jaw. "it wasn't like that, kid. we weren't—"

"don't wanna wear it," chris mutters bitterly, cutting matt off mid-sentence. his leg bounces restlessly now, unable to hold it down with his elbow, but it only makes the movement more erratic, jostling up and down as if it has a mind of its own. "do... do you even know how..."

his voice falters, trailing off as he struggles to get his words out once again. his jaw tightens, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. his free hand twitches, fingers curling and uncurling like he's fighting to keep control.

"i... i'm uncomfortable."

that seems to grab nick and matt's attention instantly, and they both exchange a glance, their eyes wide with surprise. neither of them expected those to be the next words coming out of his mouth—especially not out here in the open.

"okay..." matt hums softly, his tone measured and careful now, like he's trying not to spook a wild animal. "what made you feel uncomfortable?"

chris can't help but scoff, his walls slowly starting to rise again, brick by brick. he prods his tongue against the inside of his cheek, "this stupid fuckin' event. i don't... don't—fuck."

abruptly, chris shoves himself out of the chair, standing tall. he drags his fingers through his tousled hair before rubbing his face with both hands, his shoulders tense and hunched.

he doesn't even notice—or care—that his joint has slipped from his fingers, now lying forgotten in the grass beneath his shoes.

matt stays seated, his worried gaze fixed on chris like he's trying to figure out how to help like he always does. nick, on the other hand, hesitates for a moment before reaching out a hand, intending to place it on chris' shoulder.

chris steps away before nick can touch him, his movements quick, creating space between them both.

he doesn't want to be touched.

not now.

"i... i understand frat traditions, 'kay? i get it. m'not stupid," chris starts again, his voice rough, his words tumbling out as his mouth feels dry and his tongue heavy. "if you get picked, you gotta do whatever bullshit is goin' on. i know how it works. but—but this...? s'fucked up. i should've been allowed to say no—you should've said somethin'..."

his eyes dart between nick and matt, but the silence they give him only makes the air feeling heavier. chris takes a shaky breath, trying not to focus too hard on the way they're staring at him—like they're waiting for him to crack.

"but nah," he continues, his voice bitter. "i had to get picked. my—my luck had to fuck me over, right? only pull my name out of a stupid fuckin' hat."

chris doesn't notice the guilty looks that nick and matt wear, their eyes flicking toward each other like they're silently deciding who should speak first. his mind is too loud, too chaotic to really paying attention to anything as he fumbles for his pockets, his hands desperate for something to ground him again.

but when his fingers come up empty, the realisation hits him like a punch to the gut.

he's out.

he sold the last bag.

fuck.

"hey," nick finally speaks up, his voice soft but strained, like he's bracing himself for some sort of impact. he scratches the back of his neck, his discomfort clear as he shifts awkwardly on his feet. "we... we need to tell you something about the hat—"

"i don't wanna hear it," chris interrupts, cutting him off with the same words he'd thrown at them earlier. he doesn't want to talk anymore. he's done. he's already too angry, too annoyed, his emotions are haywire.

he needs to go.

without another word, chris turns on his heel and stalks off, not bothering to tell nick goodbye or to tell matt he'll see him back at the frat. he doesn't owe them that—not right now.

his hands twitch at his sides as he pushes through the cluster of frat bothers still lingering around the entrance, his eyes staying locked on the ground with his jaw clenched so tight that it physically hurts him.

some of the guys call out his name—trying to talk or whatever else—but chris doesn't care. he doesn't even look back. he just keeps walking, keeps shoving past everyone until he's inside and climbing the stairs step by step.

all he wants is to lock himself in his room, strip off his suffocating clothing and crash. he doesn't want to deal with anyone's bullshit—not tonight.

but when he opens the door to his room, he stops.

you're standing at his dresser, your back to him, pulling out a shirt like it's the most normal thing in the world. (it is, but he's too far gone from the cocaine and his emotions). you're quiet, focused, not even sparing him a glance—just like matt and nick.

and chris can't help it.

he snaps.

"what is it?" chris barks, his eyebrows furrowing as he yanks the tie around his neck as you glance at him over your shoulder. but you still don't say anything, still so quiet. "huh? what is it?"

"what are you—"

"you've been weird with me all night, kid," he cuts you off sharply, managing to get that fucking tie off his neck before he hurls it onto the unmade bed. "think i didn't notice you pullin' some runaway bride bullshit?"

"you're not funny," you mutter under your breath, voice barely audible, but he hears it, and he scoffs.

"m'not tryin' to be," he shoots back, fingers moving to unbutton his shirt, feeling his heart thud heavily in his chest beneath his fingertips. chris is still on edge, his emotions running wild from everything that's happened. "you gonna tell me what the fuck is goin' on? or you just gonna keep sulkin' all night?"

chris watches as you turn slowly to face him, and for a moment, he actually tries to read your expression, to figure out why you've been acting so off—why you ran away earlier. but all he sees is that kicked puppy look on your face when you're upset.

it makes him want to scowl.

"you really don't know?"

chris pushes back immediately. "know what?"

"forget it."

he watches in disbelief as you turn your back to him, and his heartbeat grows louder, drumming in his ears as his frustration threatens to boil over completely.

maybe it's the coke he did earlier still swimming around in his system—or maybe it's something else entirely—but chris doesn't have it in him to just let it go. not right now.

he wants to fucking know.

"nah, don't pull that shit," he says as he shakes his head, his tone a lot sharper than it was before. "if you've got a problem, just fuckin' say it."

"okay," you snap at him, and chris deadpans at you, not expecting you to sound like that. "you... you humiliated me, chris. in front of everyone, you made me look like—like some joke... i—i get it, okay? this whole thing was supposed to be stupid and fun, and i know you hated doing it, but you didn't have to say all that stuff... you didn't have to make it so public and so embarrassing for me. it wasn't funny. it just... it made me feel awful."

chris blinks, catching one word quick.

humiliated.

he hears it loud and clear at first, but the other words start to sink in too, one by one, drawing his attention instead. the things he said about the two of you hooking up... that's why you're being weird? because of something so blatantly obvious to everyone around them both?

chris wants to laugh. he genuinely wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds to him, but he doesn't. he exhales through his nose instead, keeping himself steady.

"you're takin' this way too personally, kid. everyone knows the fuckin' shit we do, yeah? everyone knows we're hooking up so i dunno why you're makin' it such a big deal," he ends up saying instead, unapologetic. because it's true. "it's not that deep."

"you don't get it. i.. i know that people know. i'm not stupid. but it doesn't mean—you can't just—we—" he hears you take a big breathe in between your rambling speech. "you can't just talk about me like that in front of everyone... even if they already know, even if they assume stuff.. it's still humiliating to hear you say it in front of them."

there's that word again.

humiliating.

chris doesn't know why, but this time the word definitely sticks. it claws its way into his chest, pressing down on his ribs until it gets harder to breathe.

humiliated.

you were humiliated.

just like him.

the realisation hits him harder than he expects, and he doesn't know what the fuck to say. it's not like chris to feel guilty or hurt anymore—but the weight of that ten-letter word doesn't loosen its grip. it stays with him, pushing and pulling at his chest, making him feel so raw and exposed in a way he doesn't know how to handle.

he doesn't say anything. he just looks at you, his hands still at the half-unbuttoned shirt on his chest, the silence stretching between you both.

and for once, chris doesn't know what to do.

he takes a long moment to collect himself, his thoughts racing too fast for him to catch. he tilts his head back slightly, as if the angle might somehow help oxygen flow back into his lungs a little easier.

he doesn't want to do this.

but he has to.

he has to.

he knows how it feels.

he has to.

"i.." he starts, but the words stick in his throat, foreign and heavy. he feels nauseous, his stomach twisting into tight knots, but he forces himself to continue. "i'm... i'm sorry, 'kay?"

the apology feels clumsy and awkward on his tongue—like it doesn't belong there. he notices the silence that follows, and it makes his skin crawl as he slowly glances at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before flicking away again.

he feels awkward. he feels exposed.

he feels humiliated.

that fucking word—that feeling—he hates it.

"i didn't mean..." he trails off, shoulders tensing up as the words catch again. he swallows hard, the lump in his throat almost choking him. "didn't mean t'make you embarrassed, s'all."

he can't bring himself to say that other word. he can't even think it without his chest feeling tight.

and he can't even look at you either, his gaze staying locked on the wall. he feels so fucking uncomfortable, like he's crawling out of his own skin. this isn't him—this hasn't been him in a long time.

"thank you for apologising..."

your voice is soft, but he doesn't response. he can't. the idea of answering—of dragging on this moment any further, makes his chest ache and stomach twist even more. instead, a strangled noise escapes his throat, low and guttural, and he turns away from you.

his back is to you now, his trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. he finally gets it off, tossing the fabric carelessly onto the chair in his room. he moves to his belt next, desperate to free himself from the stuffy clothing that clings to him like second skin.

when he's stripped down to just his boxers, he slumps into his bed without another word. his body feels heavy and drained, but his mind is still plainfully active: thoughts swirling and crashing into each other.

he bures his face into the pillow, trying to block it all out and to stop that fucking nauseating feeling—he wants to forget.

humiliation.

that word claws at him, refusing to let go.

he wish it never existed.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[laser-tripwires]

what is your read on the scene in the pilot where eliot and nate are playing pool? do you think eliot was being genuinely empathetic or just making small talk? was eliot genuinely hurt by nate?

neither, and both. he wasn't making small talk, he wasn't genuinely hurt, but it's more complicated than that. that scene exists for a wide number of reasons, and very few of those reasons actually have anything to do with eliot. nate is the protagonist, and that scene is arguably the most important character exposition we get on him in the entirety of the nigerian job - BUT there's still a lot you can read about eliot and the team dynamics as a whole, as well as foreshadowing for the wider show.

the scene actually opens not with the pool game, but with hardison pulling nate over to tell him he got dubenich's financials. i call this out because - in the original pilot script? this got cut off from the pool scene by a dubenich interlude which didn't make it into the final show.

now, that's probably information management - much, much easier to focus on nate and eliot's convo if we're not thinking about what dubenich is doing, and the exposition from the dubenich mini-scene wasn't very important. but there's another reason, too -

nate smiles and claps a hand on hardison's shoulder before heading back over to the pool game. it's a fatherly moment! a lot of the nigerian job is dedicated to setting up nate's relationships with the trio (the fact that parker gets mentorship instead of fatherliness in this ep is kinda long goodbye job foreshadowing, even if likely unintentional), and this reiterates that he's gonna be a father to hardison. it's placement just before this conversation with eliot is also telling us that this relationship with the team is going to be the thing that heals nate, which eliot all but says aloud a minute or so later (i'll get there).

right, so the next beat of the scene is eliot offering nate a beer and nate refusing. which is... interesting, given as nate was practically drinking himself to death at the beginning of this episode and will spend the rest of the season doing just that. he clearly has an issue with alcohol and that's clearly being set up to be a large part of his arc. so refusing a drink is significant, and we cut from a wide shot (featuring some truly adorable parker lockpicking, parker picks locks like other people knit) into eliot and nate's game because like eliot, we're curious about this.

nate takes his pool shot - eliot looks to nate, to the beer bottle, and back to nate. he's not paying attention to the pool game because eliot is very smart and has just picked up on the thing i pointed out to all of you a second ago - that refusal of the beer is weird and significant. nate's doing better - which eliot says.

nate almost looks up at eliot but takes his shot instead, and eliot continues. nate mutters a "yeah," without looking at eliot. which eliot again notices, and points out that it bothers nate.

eliot's turned around and sat on the pool table now. his focus isn't on the game anymore, it's on nate. it's really hard to critique this scene from eliot's perspective because the whole point of the scene is to get us as the audience inside nate's head, and eliot's needling is the vehicle through which we do that - he's asking the questions and making the assumptions that we as the audience are doing here. nate's a prickly bastard.

nate does, however, admit that it bothers him. with another of those despondant yeahs. he moves away from the pool and towards eliot, but still isn't looking eliot in the eye. "I mean, this isn't supposed to feel-"

"Good?"

camera change on eliot's line there so we get a better look at eliot's face, and nate's finally looking at him. "good" is likely not the descriptor that nate would have stammered out if his sentence had been allowed to continue, but eliot's a blunt person and more importantly eliot's not wrong. he then smiles, which catches nate off-guard, and after a beat eliot continues.

"It's not hard to figure out. Dubenich screwed ya. He cheated by stealing from that other company and your good guy brain sees him as the bad guy. Your conscience is clear."

midway through that speech, we cut to nate's reaction so we're watching him instead of eliot. he's stony. everything eliot's saying is correct, and most of it is explaining subtext that the audience should already have picked up on. but, y'know. nate is a prickly bastard.

(side note on the script again - the change from "ripped you off" to "screwed ya" is a great example of the kind of edits that get made on the fly after you cast actors with certain affects. not relevant here but i think it's cool - WISH we had the scripts for the rest of the show, because the amount to which this one is useful for analysis and insight cannot be overstated.)

now's when it gets interesting. without a change in facial expression, nate asks eliot if he wants to take his shot - he's not quite interrupting, but he's also clearly trying to cut the conversation short. there's two possible meanings to that line - one, nate's meaning, of shut the fuck up and keep playing. two, the subtextual meaning and what eliot takes it as, which is; get to the point.

eliot takes another swig of beer, nods, and we cut to a close up of him as he pauses and reconsiders the tack of the conversation. i very very much read this as eliot trying to figure nate out here - he had a hypothesis about the state of things, and nate's response let him know he was on the right tack. it's worth remembering that (despite what people tend to percieve him as) eliot is an extremely emotionally intelligent character, and that's being established here as well as everything else.

so he starts out another speech, looking nate in the eye - it's the most intimate moment of the conversation so far, and that's important. "Listen, I'm sorry about your kid."

to me, it's abundantly clear that eliot could have kept talking from there, made whatever point he was about to. but he leaves the space open for nate to respond. small talk is the wrong word for this, and eliot's not exactly feeling out an emotional connection; but he is clearly and deliberately giving nate the opportunity to open up and respond, both out of genuine empathy and (as we already saw) a desire to unpick a little more of what makes nate tick. that's part of eliot's job, after all. he is being a nice person here.

and nate... well, nate's expression doesn't change. the sensible and expected thing to do here would be to say, y'know, thanks, and then move on with the game. but, as i've already said, nathan ford is a prickly bastard. worth pulling up the script again here:

because yeah, he shuts down. we're two thirds of the way through the pilot episode and once again this is serving as exposition for the viewer - nate is in a lot of emotional pain, and he doesn't exactly do touchy-feely feelings. he'd much rather hide at the bottom of a bottle than sort out his issues. anger, and grief, and anger.

now, eliot says that "everybody knows." he half whispers that line, which i think is a really great touch - it's a lot more tender in tone than the response could have been, and i don't think nate picks up on that. my reservations on them as people aside, christian kane and timothy hutton's acting throughout this scene is superb. it's hard to explain, but eliot's affect changes for the next line - "Guy like you goes off the street, a lot of people notice." he's still almost whispering, but he's trying to tug the conversation a little bit towards levity. the emphasis on "a lot" is almost jokey - people smarter than me have pointed out that eliot in early season one has a soft sarcastic vibe that isn't present for a lot of the rest of the show. it's a continuation of what we saw earlier in the episode in the hospital scene.

but once that's said, he halts, and we see his eyes soften a little - he stops quite meeting nate in the eye.

it's a soft little moment of comprehension. eliot has lost a lot of people close to him, and has witnessed the deaths of many innocent children. he absolutely does know what nate is feeling. arguably, bereavement destroyed eliot's life infinitely more than it did nate's. so we get a genuine flash of empathy here. he's thought about this, after hearing of it, maybe before even taking the job for dubenich. "And it was a bad story, too."

we cut back to nate for a second there. he's lost - trapped in a hospital in los angeles rather than a penthouse in chicago. as a first time viewer, though, we don't quite know what he's thinking.

so eliot asks. "How'd they justify that, huh? The insurance company, just... not paying for his treatment?"

and the thing is, coming from someone who's watched seven seasons of eliot being unfailingly protective of every child and vulnerable party who's crossed his path... i genuinely think eliot meant that. yeah, not as an actual question, but as comiseration and sympathy for what he can tell is an awful situation.

but this is nate's show. and we're in nate's head. so we follow nate, across three years of anger and pain and into that hospital room. we see for the first time where nate's standing here, the depths of that sorrow in the moments before it manifested.

worth noting that it's not the full scene - nate running in to grab sam's body was filmed with the pilot but cut back to be saved for the finale, which was a damn good choice. but even what we see here is enough to fully ground us in nate's backstory - we've been watching him dance around in chaos for most of an episode, clearly greiving his son, and now we see the cause of all that hurt. once again, this exchange makes much more sense from the perspective of the writers trying to establish and expand on crucial emotional beats.

when we flash back to nate and eliot, the camera angle has changed. noteable, because we were on a solid back-and-forth talking shot for a minute or so there, and this fully segments the scene instead of plopping us back where we just were.

we've just experienced first-hand the spiral that nate's thoughts have gone down. he answers eliot, still lost in thought - "They claimed it was experimental."

from eliot's perspective, that's a response to his question and an accepting of his empathy. from our perspective, it's an anguished statement of pondering, the re-rotation of a thought that's been trapped in nate's head for three fucking years. they claimed. he is, as we will see in the david episodes, so, so, so angry.

eliot smirks, then drinks. we cut back to his face and the original camera angles. his is where the pilot rewrite between scripting and shooting is the most obvious - in the original script, nate picks up the beer, and that's what prompts eliot's next line.

in the filmed episode, we stick instead on nate's face and let eliot continue. the emotional beat is identical, but it places a greater emphasis on nate's pain and eliot's powers of perception. it's an unimportant script edit, but an interesting one.

what happens next... "Should have kept one of those Monets you found, hm? You fence that -" and it's only at this point nate actually interjects.

i don't think eliot here is deliberately being insensitive nor do i think he's directly trying to just raise nate's spirits. you gotta remember that we as the viewers in nate's head for this scene, not eliot's, and from eliot's perspective the tone has just gotten less gut-wrenching, not more - but eliot's also, as i previously noted, an extremely emotionally intelligent person. it's why i've gone through the whole scene instead of jumping directly to this bit you asked me about, because i really do think the full context is needed to understand.

so, nate interrupts. "Eliot, you and I are not friends."

this is again where context is so important. it's not that he cares about what eliot's actually saying (though i could write a very different essay about how that line of eliot's is lampshading a pretty obvious plothole) but that he's just had to forcibly pull himself back to the present day and he thinks eliot's being annoying and would like him to shut up now, please. not all that different from him asking eliot to take his shot earlier, really, though i think eliot picks up on the curtness.

nate raises his eyebrows. it's a nice attempted reversal of power dynamics - yes he has just interrupted and been rude, but he also immediately attempts to swing the conversation's psycoanalysis onto eliot and why are you talking to me about this i don't know you. of course, we as the viewer can tell nate's in deflective mode, but we'd expect eliot to take it at face value -

which. he doesn't. we get this super interesting little "oh... right." face, and i think it's less eliot realising he's struck a nerve (though it also is that) as it is eliot properly clicking in to what nate's thinking here. i stress again that eliot really is a tremendously emotionally intelligent character, definitely moreso than nate is, and that's reflected in this scene. both of them bounce off one another here a little bit differently to how you'd expect them to just looking at archetypes, and it's this kind of thing that makes the leverage pilot so good.

because eliot picks up on the messaging nate's putting down, the prickly i'm-not-having-an-emotional-conversation-with-a-criminal-i-just-met facade, but he also kinda sees right through it. "...Right. 'Cause you have so many of them."

and it's again this softly sarcastic vibe that's pretty unique to early season one eliot, but it really works here in reestablishing that A) eliot's more observant than nate is giving him credit for, B) he's not going to let nate get away with being tacitly kind of a dick, C) he's really not easily rattled and D) eliot is as much of a chaos gremlin as the rest of the team. this is not the affect of a man actually hurt by what nate said.

all in all, good stuff. but now for the reason i dug the script out to begin with - the ending. it's a well-known piece of trivia that they shot the pilot without a defined ending for the next nate/sophie beat only for aldis to improv the world's best "oooooooh," but what's really fun is if you know that this is because the nate/sophie beat here was actually a late addition. in the script, eliot and nate's conversation finishes like this:

and end scene. eliot still gets the final word, so as to speak, but nate gets a lot more quiet reflection and a much more overt point that nate and eliot are at least peers if not friends right now. but here, instead, sophie presumably starts walking towards nate off-camera and eliot steps back - "Incoming."

and then we're on to nate and sophie, and the scene continues with a new focus as nate is left reeling.

but i really, really like the ending we get because it's that same establishment of peership, of eliot calling out nate's crap, but also of the fact that the power dynamics here aren't as they'd first seem. nate's greiving too much. eliot understands but isn't gonna let it get to him or impact the team. this... is all crucial as far as character establishment is concerned.

this answer got long. i think that this scene is just so, so important for establishing both nate and eliot's characters - and i think people miss an infinite amount of nuance when they take the surface-level reading that eliot said something which annoyed nate and nate was mean. that's very much not what happened, but it also kinda is, and it's what makes this so fun to pick apart. eliot and nate have a fascinating relationship, and it's one that's all too often overlooked. here's john rogers's take on it:

and... yeah!!! you can see all that really clearly in this scene. they respect one another, but that doesn't mean they have to like one another, at least not yet. it's good stuff.

[bsturnzmtts]

Laser tag - Chris Sturniolo

Based on this request!

Paring: bf! Chris x gf! Reader

Contains/warnings: smut, making out, blowjob, teasing, kinda public (in the bathroom)

Summary: You, your friends and your boyfriend went to laser tag. You and your boyfriend Chris were on opposite teams. In one of the rounds he pulls you to a corner to kiss you but you get him out…

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It’s Friday night at the triplets’ house, and you, your boyfriend Chris, and your friends Nate, Madi, Matt, and Nick are debating whether to go to Top Golf or laser tag. After weighing the pros and cons, you all eventually decide on laser tag.

When you all arrive, the teams are chosen randomly—Nate, Matt, and you on one team, and Nick, Chris, and Madi on the other. As you gear up, Chris gives you a smirk and the “I’m watching you” sign. You quickly respond with the “you’re dead” sign, locking eyes with him, ready for the game to begin.

The game starts and you quickly find a perfect spot to hide and shoot. Fully concentrated on the action ahead, you don’t notice Chris sneak up behind you. Before you can react, he pulls you into a hidden corner. His notorious smirk looking at you up and down.

“Chris! You scared me.” You say with a soft chuckle.

"I thought I'd catch you off guard," he whispers, his smirk growing wider. "You're usually the one sneaking up on everyone else." He checks his laser tag gun, making sure it's still functioning. "You know the rules, no mercy."

“Awww come onnn don’t kill me, I’m your girlfriend.” You say giving him a pout.

“Hmm fine. But only if you give me a kiss.” He says as he leans in to kiss you.

You lean in as well but just as he’s about to kiss you, you eliminate him. “Ups, should’ve known better.” You say as you laugh.

"Well well well, playing dirty?" He laughs, pretending to stumble back dramatically. "That kiss is gonna cost you later," he whispers playfully.

“Bye bye my love, gotta go find the others” you say as you leave him to go find more of the opposing team.

After a while your team ends up winning. You all meet up at the lobby laughing about the game and some saying it was unfair. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and as you're about to enter Chris pulls you in.

“Chris! Stop doing that.”

"Hey, you're the one who's been winning every game. And you didn't keep your promise about that kiss..." he teases, gently pushing you against the wall. "Plus, I need to get my revenge somehow..." In this confined space, his presence feels more intense than usual. “Don’t think I’ll let it slide that easily” he says with a smirk before pressing his lips against yours.

He kisses you passionately for a moment before pulling back slightly, keeping you pressed against the wall. "That's just the first part of your punishment," he whispers, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Ready for the second part?" he asks, leaning in closer.

“Oh, there’s more?” You ask in a teasing tone.

"Mhmm, and it's gonna be a lot more fun than just a simple kiss," he promises, his voice low and seductive. He leans in close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Get on your knees.”

Your eyes widen at his words. “Right here?”

"Right here," he confirms, his tone leaving no room for argument. "No one's gonna come in, I made sure of that." He smirks, unbuttoning his jeans with his free hand. "You've been teasing me all night, now it's time for you to take care of me."

You bite your lip as you look down at his noticeable bulge. “Chris what if-

"If what?" he interrupts, his voice growing firmer as he sees your hesitation. He hooks his fingers under your chin and lifts your face to look at him. "You really gonna make me ask twice?" He raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin.

You slowly get on your knees and pull down his unbuckled jeans with his boxers.

A low groan escapes his lips as you reveal his length. He runs his fingers through your hair possessively, gently guiding your head closer. "That's my girl," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "Show me what you can do with that pretty mouth."

You start teasing by licking his tip for a few seconds before going all in. You start sucking on him as your hands play with his balls and your wide eyes look at him.

"Fuck..." he hisses through clenched teeth, watching you intently. His grip on your hair tightens slightly as he fights the urge to thrust deeper. "Just like that, baby. You look so fucking hot like this..." He maintains eye contact, his pupils dilating with pleasure.

He starts gently thrusting his hips, fucking your mouth slowly at first. His hands remain in your hair, guiding your head and setting the pace. As he gets more into it, his thrusts become harder and faster, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each stroke. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

You pull back a little going back to lick his tip as your hand strokes his cock.

He inhales sharply, his hips bucking slightly as you tease him with your tongue. "Damn it, you're trying to kill me aren't you?" He growls, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Open wide again,"

You smirk slightly at his neediness. You obey and open your mouth wide as you look at him.

"Holy fuck..." he mutters, slowly sliding in deeper this time. "Your mouth feels incredible..." His voice comes out in ragged breaths as he controls the pace. "Keep those pretty eyes on me while you suck..." He commands, his movements becoming more intense.

"That's it, baby, take it all," he says, his voice trembling with restraint. "I'm gonna cum, fuck, I'm gonna cum so hard in your mouth..." He warns, his grip on your hair almost painful.

"Good girl," he pants, his entire body tensing as he reaches his climax. "S-Swallow it all," he manages to choke out before releasing into your mouth. His knees almost buckle as he enjoys the intense pleasure of his orgasm.

You swallow every last drop and open your mouth sticking your tongue out showing him that you did.

His eyes darken with desire as he looks at you, spent but thoroughly impressed. "Fuck me," he mutters, helping you up to your feet. He crashes his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, tasting himself on your lips. "You're perfect."

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[dreamersworldduh]

HIS AWAKENING — PART 4

MY HEART BELONGS TO YOU

• 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! FLUFF. Swearing.

WORDS! 13.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! firstly, THANK YOU all for the birthday wishes. Truly grateful for all of you! Here we are with Part 4 of Nate's journey. We have one more part we get to the finale! Sorry for my absence! Enjoy your reading!

PREVIOUS PART! — TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT

The days following Y/N's confession stretched endlessly, each hour dragging with an unbearable weight. He had thought, foolishly, that he could just push forward, slip back into the routine of his life as if nothing had changed—wake up, go to class, train until his body begged for mercy, collapse into bed, and repeat. He told himself that if he just stayed busy enough, he could pretend that he hadn't exposed his heart to someone who clearly didn't know what to do with it.

But denial only worked for so long.

Because no matter how much he tried to force his world back into its familiar rhythm, Nate was everywhere.

It wasn't just that they still shared a dorm, still moved around the same space like nothing had happened. It was the air between them—thick, charged, filled with unsaid words and stolen glances that only made everything worse. It was the way Nate looked at him, like he wanted to reach out, to say something, but always stopped himself before he could. Like he was stuck in some internal battle that Y/N was no longer willing to be a part of.

So, Y/N made the decision for both of them.

He ignored him. Completely.

No more playful teasing, no more flirtatious banter, no more searching for Nate's eyes across the room when he thought no one was looking. He shut it all down.

Silence. Cold. Absolute.

Each morning, Y/N made sure to be up and out of the dorm before Nate even stirred, slipping into his day without a single word. In class, he positioned himself as far away as possible, resisting the pull of Nate's gaze when he felt it burning into the back of his head. And during practice, he threw himself into training with an almost reckless determination—running until his lungs felt like they might burst, pushing his body to its limits, chasing exhaustion so he wouldn't have the energy to think about anything else.

But none of it worked.

Because no matter how much space he tried to put between them, no matter how much he acted like he didn't care, there was still that persistent, gnawing ache deep in his chest. A hollow reminder of everything he had wanted—of everything he was never going to get.

So, he found another way to distract himself.

Aaron.

At first, it was just a convenient escape—someone to occupy his mind, to fill the quiet Nate had left behind. But then, as days passed and their time together stretched longer, Y/N realized something surprising.

He actually liked Aaron.

Aaron was easy in a way that Nate had never been. There were no games, no mixed signals, no uncertainty. Aaron was confident, sure of himself, and most importantly, sure of what he wanted. And Y/N found that refreshing.

They started spending more time together—grabbing coffee between classes, studying in the library late at night, hanging out on the field when Aaron had a break from football. And with each passing moment, Y/N tried, with everything he had, to convince himself that this wasn't just about forgetting Nate.

Because what was the alternative?

Sit around, waiting for Nate to figure himself out? To decide if Y/N was worth the risk?

No.

He wasn't waiting anymore.

And if Nate had a problem with that?

Well, that was his issue to deal with.

Whereas Nate was sulking.

And he fucking hated it.

The days following Y/N's confession were some of the most frustrating, disorienting, and downright miserable days he had ever experienced. Everything felt off. His routine, his focus, his ability to just exist without feeling like something vital had been ripped away from him.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He wasn't supposed to care this much.

He wasn't supposed to feel this empty without Y/N's constant teasing, the sharp-witted remarks that always managed to get under his skin in the best way. He wasn't supposed to crave the late-night conversations, the unspoken tension, the way Y/N could challenge him without fear, without hesitation.

But now?

Now Y/N wouldn't even look at him.

And it was driving Nate fucking insane.

It started the morning after the confession.

He had woken up expecting some level of awkwardness, maybe even an argument—that was how things always went between them. Push and pull, a constant battle of words and wills. That was their dynamic. Their game. He had figured that Y/N would at least acknowledge him, even if it was just to be pissed at him.

But instead?

Y/N acted like Nate didn't even exist.

No sarcasm, no insults, no lingering stares. Nothing.

He had gotten up, dressed, and left the dorm without a single word, without sparing Nate a glance. And Nate had just laid there, jaw clenched, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.

That silence carried into class.

The moment Y/N walked in, Nate spotted him—he always did, like his eyes were trained to find him in any room. But today, his usual seat remained empty. And instead of taking his place beside Nate, Y/N walked straight to the other side of the room, settling into a chair as far away as humanly possible.

Nate felt his fists curl against the desk.

He hadn't expected forgiveness. He wasn't that stupid. But this? This complete and utter dismissal?

This was worse.

And what made it unbearable—what made it fucking infuriating—was that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he told himself to just let it go, to move on—

He couldn't stop thinking about him.

Y/N was in his head. Constantly.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him. The way he had looked at him in the shower, face open, raw, unguarded. His voice still echoed in Nate's skull, still made his chest tighten with something unrecognizable, something terrifying.

"Just be honest with me."

And Nate hadn't been able to do it.

He hadn't been able to say the one thing he knew was true. Hadn't been able to force the words past the tightness in his throat, the fear clawing at his ribs, squeezing until he couldn't fucking breathe.

And now?

Now he was paying for it.

And to make matters worse—because of course, it could always get worse—Y/N wasn't just ignoring him.

He was spending all his damn time with Aaron.

It was everywhere. The two of them walking to class, sitting together at lunch, standing too close near the track after practice. Laughing. Talking. Y/N looking relaxed in a way he never did around Nate, his body language easy, open—

And it made Nate's blood fucking boil.

Because that was supposed to be him.

That had been his spot.

And the worst part? The part that made him want to punch something, to wreck anything in his path just to stop the ache in his chest?

Y/N had given him every chance.

Every chance to claim that space, to be the person Y/N leaned on, laughed with, trusted.

And he had thrown it away.

The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He had never felt this way before. Ever.

Not about anyone.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Because for the first time in his life—

Nate Jacobs was afraid of losing something.

No.

He was afraid of losing someone.

Of losing Y/N.

And if he didn't do something about it soon—

He might lose him forever.

The soft hum of the diner blended with the faint clatter of dishes and the low murmur of conversation from the kitchen. The overhead lights cast a warm, golden glow, reflecting off the scuffed linoleum floors and the well-worn leather booths. Outside, the neon sign blinked in a slow, rhythmic pulse against the dark glass of the window, its light flickering across the nearly empty space.

Y/N sat alone in his usual booth near the window, absently scrolling through his phone, the words of a fanfic filling his screen. It was a mindless distraction, something to keep his thoughts occupied while he waited. His fingers idly tapped against the tabletop, the distant sound of a jukebox playing an old song making the late-night quiet feel even more still.

Aaron was supposed to be here soon.

It was just a casual hangout—no pressure, no complications. Just an easy night with someone who didn't make his head feel like a battlefield. Someone who actually knew what he wanted, who wasn't tangled up in some unspoken, frustrating mess of emotions. Y/N had been looking forward to it—eager, even, for something simple.

Then—

The seat across from him shifted.

The faint creak of the booth, the sound of someone settling into the worn cushion.

Y/N barely glanced up, assuming it was Aaron. "Took you long enough," he muttered, still reading. "I was about to—"

Then he paused.

Something was off.

The air around him felt different—thicker, heavier. Not the easy, laid-back presence Aaron carried, but something charged. Something that made his stomach tighten before he even looked up.

Slowly, Y/N's fingers stilled against his phone screen. His eyes flicked up—

And his breath caught in his throat.

It wasn't Aaron.

It was Nate.

And he didn't look like himself.

There was no smirk, no cocky tilt of his head, no smugness in his posture like he had shown up just to piss Y/N off. There was no challenge in his eyes, no teasing glint that meant he was gearing up for an argument.

Instead—

He looked different.

His broad shoulders were tense, his hands clasped together on the table like he needed to physically ground himself. The sleeves of his hoodie were slightly damp, the collar darkened where water had soaked into the fabric. His hair was still wet, like he had stepped out of the shower and come straight here without even thinking.

But what threw Y/N off the most wasn't any of that.

It was the look in Nate's eyes.

It wasn't the usual guarded confidence, wasn't the amusement he carried when he pushed Y/N just to get a reaction.

It was raw. Unsteady.

Vulnerable.

And Y/N had never seen Nate Jacobs look vulnerable before.

For a moment, he forgot how to speak.

The words were stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled up with the sudden realization that whatever this was—it wasn't normal. It wasn't their usual back-and-forth, wasn't some impulsive decision Nate had made to get under his skin.

This was different.

"...What are you doing here?" Y/N finally asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Nate exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against each other before he forced himself to meet Y/N's gaze again.

"I needed to talk to you."

His voice was low, serious. Like he'd spent a long time thinking about this. Like he had played this moment over and over in his head before finally deciding to go through with it.

And that—

That made something twist in Y/N's stomach.

Because this wasn't just Nate showing up to bother him.

This was something else entirely.

The second those words left Nate's mouth—I needed to talk to you—something inside him snapped taut, his defenses locking into place like a shield slamming down.

Because no.

Because he had already done this.

He had already laid it all out, cracked himself open, spilled every messy, aching piece of his heart at Nate's feet. He had given him the chance to be honest, had waited for him to say something, anything—and all he had gotten in return was silence.

So no.

He wasn't doing this.

Shaking his head, he shifted in his seat, fingers tightening around his phone, making it very clear that whatever Nate had to say?

He didn't want to hear it.

"No," he muttered, eyes flicking back to his screen. "Nope. Not doing this."

Nate's brows furrowed slightly. "Y/N—"

"No." Y/N cut him off, sharper this time. Firmer. "I said everything I needed to say, Nate. Weeks ago. And you—" He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head as something bitter curled in his chest. "You couldn't say anything back. You wouldn't."

Nate opened his mouth, but Y/N wasn't finished.

"I'm not doing this with you," he continued, his voice sharp but tired, like he had spent every ounce of his strength trying to move on, only for Nate to show up and pull him right back in. "You don't get to show up now—now that I'm trying to let this go. You don't get to sit here and act like you suddenly want to talk when

you had every fucking chance before."

His pulse pounded in his ears, his chest tight with the weight of emotions he had tried so hard to bury.

He needed to leave.

He shifted in his seat, pushing his phone into his pocket, already preparing to stand, to walk away before this conversation could go anywhere.

But then—

"I'm in love with you."

The words hit like a sledgehammer to his chest.

The air around them seemed to shift, the world tilting dangerously off balance as Y/N froze, his breath catching in his throat.

Slowly—hesitantly—he looked up.

And what he saw terrified him.

Because Nate wasn't smirking.

He wasn't playing a game, wasn't throwing out words like weapons, wasn't trying to manipulate him or push him into another fight just to get a reaction.

No—

He meant it.

His hands were clenched together on the table, his shoulders rigid, his jaw tight like it had taken every ounce of strength he had to force those words out.

Like he was afraid Y/N wouldn't believe him.

Like he was afraid Y/N would leave anyway.

The diner suddenly felt too quiet.

Too small.

Too fucking real.

Y/N swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as he tried—desperately—to process what had just happened.

Because Nate Jacobs—the Nate Jacobs, the same guy who refused to admit his feelings, the same guy who had let him walk away—

Had just told Y/N he was in love with him.

And for the first time in his life—

Y/N had no idea what to say.

The words sat between them, thick and unshakable, suffocating in their weight.

"I'm in love with you."

Y/N could feel them pressing against his chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to do anything other than stare at the boy sitting across from him, the boy who had spent weeks—months—years acting like feelings were something he could outrun.

But now?

Now Nate Jacobs had finally stopped running.

And he looked like he didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified about it.

His hands were still clasped together, fingers digging into his own skin like he was holding himself back from reaching across the table. His broad shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were the most unguarded Y/N had ever seen them. They weren't filled with their usual sharpness, their usual challenge, their usual dare you to look at me like I don't fucking own you.

No—

This was something else.

Something real.

Y/N swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the edge of the table, trying to steady himself, trying to process what the fuck was happening.

Because this—this—wasn't the Nate he knew.

This wasn't the cocky bastard who played mind games just to get a reaction, who pushed and pulled until Y/N felt like he was going insane.

This wasn't the Nate who had stood there in silence weeks ago, unwilling—too afraid—to give him an answer when Y/N had practically laid his heart out, raw and bleeding, at his feet.

This was someone else entirely.

And before Y/N could say a word—

Nate kept going.

"I don't want to play games anymore," he said, his voice low, steady, firm in a way that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. "I don't want to fuck this up any more than I already have."

Y/N's breath hitched, his chest tightening.

Because that—that—was new.

Nate Jacobs didn't admit when he was wrong. Nate Jacobs didn't do this.

But now?

Now he was looking at Y/N like he was afraid he was already too late.

"I want to date you," Nate said, leaning forward just slightly, his fingers flexing against each other like he was holding himself back. "For real. No bullshit, no pride, no pretending like I don't care—because I do."

Y/N opened his mouth, but Nate didn't let him speak.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" Nate asked, voice quiet but intense, like every word had been clawing at his throat for weeks, months, maybe years. "You—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You fucking challenge me. Every day. In every way. And I hate how much I—"

He stopped himself, jaw clenching before forcing himself to continue.

"I hate how much I love it."

Y/N's stomach flipped.

"I spent years thinking I had myself figured out," Nate admitted, voice rough, like he was choking on every syllable but forcing himself to say it anyway. "Thinking I knew what I wanted, what I was supposed to be. But then you—" His gaze locked onto Y/N's, burning. "You fucking ruined me."

Y/N's pulse pounded in his ears.

Because fuck.

Nate meant it.

"I tried to ignore it," Nate continued, his voice quieter now, more uncertain—which was terrifying, because Nate Jacobs was never uncertain. "I tried to pretend it was just sex, just some stupid thing between us that would go away." He let out a breathless, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "But it didn't go away."

Y/N sat there, frozen.

Completely, utterly frozen.

Because how the fuck was he supposed to respond to this?

To Nate Jacobs—Nate fucking Jacobs—sitting across from him in the middle of a shitty diner, pouring his goddamn soul out like his entire world would collapse if Y/N walked away.

To Nate admitting—out loud—that he wanted him.

That he needed him.

That he loved him.

Nate exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his leg bouncing under the table like he was barely holding himself together.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted, voice softer now, hesitant in a way that made Y/N's chest ache. "I don't know how to be good at this. But I do know that I want you. And if you—"

He swallowed, forcing himself to meet Y/N's eyes.

"If you still want me after everything I've done," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "then I swear to God—I will figure it out."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Y/N was speechless.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't have a quick comeback, didn't have some sarcastic quip locked and loaded, ready to deflect.

Because this—this—wasn't something he could just brush off.

This was Nate Jacobs, sitting across from him, stripped of every layer of arrogance, of every mind game, of every carefully crafted wall he had spent years building.

This was raw. Unguarded. Real.

And it terrified Y/N.

Because he could hear it.

The sincerity in Nate's voice, the way each word felt like it had been torn from his chest, the way he meant it.

But that didn't mean Y/N could just forget everything else.

It didn't erase the weeks of silence. It didn't change the fact that Nate had spent so much time running from this, from him. That he had ignored him when Y/N had laid everything bare, left him sitting in the wreckage of his own emotions, feeling like a fucking idiot for ever believing he had been something more than just an experiment.

So Y/N took a slow, steady breath, forcing himself to think.

To really think.

Because if he was going to answer this—if he was going to open that door again—then he needed to be sure.

He needed to know that Nate wasn't just saying what he thought Y/N wanted to hear.

That he wasn't going to fuck this up again.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N let out a slow breath and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he met Nate's eyes.

"You say you want this," Y/N started, his voice measured, careful, but firm. "You say you want me, that you love me, that you want to figure this out—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "But Nate, I can't do this if you're just going to say one thing and then do a whole other."

Something flickered in Nate's eyes—something pained—but he didn't look away.

"I've been down this road before," Y/N continued, his fingers tightening against the worn surface of the table. "I've seen people say all the right things, make all the right promises, and then when it actually matters, when it's time to prove it—" He let out a breathless, bitter chuckle. "They don't."

Nate swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Y/N—"

"No," Y/N cut him off, shaking his head. His voice wasn't sharp, wasn't angry—it was tired. Heavy with the weight of everything he had been carrying. "I need you to understand something."

Nate froze.

Y/N's voice was quiet now, but every word felt like a final, decisive blow.

"I don't do half-assed relationships. I don't do uncertainty. And I sure as hell don't do games."

Nate's hands curled slightly into fists on the table, his body tense like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower.

Y/N exhaled slowly, looking down for a brief second before meeting his eyes again.

"I need to know that if I say yes..." His voice softened, but the weight behind it was undeniable. "You're all in. That you're not just saying this because you're scared of losing me, or because you don't like seeing me with someone else." His gaze sharpened. "That you're saying this because you mean it."

Nate stared at him, his breathing slightly uneven, his entire posture stiff—like he wanted to reach out, wanted to do something, but was forcing himself to stay still.

Y/N let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "Because if I say yes, and you fuck this up again?"

His eyes were piercing now, unwavering.

"Then you lose me for good."

The words were a warning, a final line drawn in the sand.

And now?

Now it was up to Nate to decide whether he was really ready to cross it.

The chime of the diner door rang out, splitting through the thick, suffocating silence like a blade.

Y/N barely had a second to process it before a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Y/N?"

His stomach dropped.

Slowly—almost cautiously—he turned his head toward the entrance.

And there, standing just inside the doorway, was Aaron.

His brow furrowed, his stance casual but calculated, the kind of stillness that came from someone trying to assess a situation before reacting. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes—his eyes—flickered with something sharp. Something uncertain.

Something that said he noticed.

Aaron's gaze moved between them, between him and Nate, taking in the scene—the quiet tension, the words still hovering in the air, the way neither of them had moved since the second he had walked in.

The way Nate Jacobs, of all people, wasn't wearing his usual smirk.

No—Nate was watching.

Watching him.

Watching the way Y/N was about to handle this moment.

And suddenly, the weight of it all pressed against Y/N's chest like a vice.

Aaron let out a small, confused chuckle, stepping forward hesitantly. "Uh... did I... miss something?"

Shit.

Y/N's mind snapped into focus, instincts kicking in.

This could get bad. Quickly.

Aaron wasn't dumb. He was far too perceptive for his own good sometimes, and if Y/N hesitated—if he let any part of the last five minutes show—Aaron would know.

And the last thing Y/N wanted was to deal with that right now.

So, he did what he had to do.

He played it off.

Casual. Easy. No tension. No history.

Like it was nothing.

"Nah, nothing major," Y/N said smoothly, forcing a small, dismissive smile as he leaned back against the booth. His body language relaxed, controlled. "Nate just happened to be here, that's all." He waved a hand lazily, brushing it off like it wasn't even worth a second thought. "I was just killing time while I waited for you."

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between them once more.

And then—

Nate still didn't say a word.

Which was odd.

Because if this were any other time, Nate would've jumped at the chance to be an asshole about this. He would've leaned back, thrown out some smug remark just to get under Y/N's skin, maybe made some insinuation that would get Aaron just suspicious enough to make Y/N squirm.

But he wasn't smirking.

He wasn't gloating.

He wasn't even looking at Aaron.

He was looking at Y/N.

Watching him.

Watching the way he was handling this.

Watching the way he had immediately downplayed their conversation, brushed it under the rug like it hadn't just changed everything.

And that did something to Y/N's stomach that he did not want to unpack right now.

So he forced himself to focus, to keep his expression smooth as he turned back to Aaron with an easy shrug. "You hungry?" he asked, smoothly shifting the conversation. "'Cause I could definitely go for some fries right now."

Aaron hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough to make Y/N's pulse spike—before he nodded, though there was still a slight edge to his voice.

"Yeah," he said, his tone lined with something unreadable. "Yeah, let's eat."

And then he slid into the booth beside Y/N.

And just like that, the shift in energy was palpable.

Aaron's presence was solid, grounding, something real in a way that felt jarring after the raw, exposed moment Y/N had just been caught in.

And Y/N—desperate for something to cling to—picked up the menu, pretending like nothing was wrong.

Like everything was fine.

But as he stared blankly at the laminated pages in front of him, words blurring together, he could still feel it.

That weight.

That presence.

That gaze.

Because Nate was still watching him.

Still waiting.

And suddenly—

The food in front of him didn't seem so appealing anymore.

The late-night air was crisp, cool against Y/N's skin as he stepped out of the diner, Aaron right beside him. The neon sign above them flickered weakly, casting red and blue streaks onto the cracked pavement, painting their silhouettes in a haze of color. The hum of a distant streetlight, the faint rustle of wind through the empty parking lot—it all should have felt peaceful.

But the tension in the air was anything but peaceful.

The entire dinner had been awkward as hell.

Not because of Aaron.

Aaron had carried the conversation with ease, filling the silence with lighthearted stories, effortless jokes, and the kind of natural charm that should have made Y/N feel at ease.

But Nate.

Nate had lingered.

Not just physically—sitting in that damn booth, barely saying a word, his presence a heavy, unshakable force—but in every way that mattered.

He hadn't spoken much.

Hadn't thrown out a single sarcastic remark, hadn't smirked, hadn't done any of the things he usually did to get under Y/N's skin.

Instead—

He had watched.

Watched the way Y/N smiled at Aaron.

Watched the way Y/N forced himself to act normal, even though he could feel Nate's gaze on him the entire time.

Watched like he was memorizing him.

Like he was still reeling from the words he had spoken earlier in the night.

Like he was still trying to figure out what the hell came next.

And now, standing outside, the three of them lingering under the dim glow of the flickering sign, Y/N knew exactly what was coming next.

Aaron turned to him, shoving his hands into his pockets, his smile easy, natural—like he hadn't noticed the storm brewing around them. "So... I'll see you tomorrow?"

Y/N hesitated.

Shit.

Not because he didn't want to see Aaron tomorrow. Not because this wasn't exactly what he had wanted—something simple, something easy, something without the constant games.

But because Nate was still there.

Standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, shoulders tense, gaze heavy.

Watching.

Waiting.

Y/N felt it.

Felt the weight of everything between them pressing down on his chest.

Felt the weight of Nate's confession still lingering between them, unspoken but undeniable.

And for the first time since this entire mess started—

He didn't know what to do.

Because if he kissed Aaron right now—right here, in front of Nate—

He knew exactly what it would mean.

It would be a door slamming shut. A blade, sharp and final, slicing through whatever had been building between him and Nate for weeks.

And despite everything—despite the frustration, the constant back and forth, the way Nate had made him feel like an idiot—

He wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Aaron shifted slightly beside him, waiting.

Expecting.

Y/N panicked.

"I, uh..." He let out a small, forced chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've got, um, morning practice tomorrow, so..." He trailed off, shrugging, keeping his tone casual, light.

Aaron blinked.

Just for a second.

It was subtle, the way his expression barely shifted—but Y/N knew him.

And Aaron knew him too.

He knew that wasn't a real excuse.

Y/N always had morning practice. It had never stopped him before.

But Aaron—because he was Aaron—didn't push.

Didn't call him out.

Instead, he just nodded, offering a softer smile. "No worries," he said easily. "I'll see you later, then."

Y/N exhaled, nodding back. "Yeah. Sounds good."

Aaron gave him one last look before stepping away, offering a polite nod in Nate's direction—

And Nate still hadn't moved.

Still hadn't said a word.

And then Aaron was gone, disappearing into the night, the sound of his car door shutting echoing through the quiet street.

Just like that—

It was just the two of them.

Y/N stood there, his eyes on the ground, his breath slow, steady—

Too aware of the fact that Nate was still watching him.

And suddenly, everything felt heavier.

Because he had lied just to avoid kissing Aaron in front of Nate.

Because he had hesitated.

Because despite everything—despite wanting something simple, something normal—

There was still a part of him that couldn't let go of Nate Jacobs.

The walk back to the dorm was suffocatingly quiet.

Not the kind of silence that wrapped around them like a blanket, warm and safe. No—this was the heavy, leaden kind, thick as fog and crackling with an unspoken weight. It pressed against Y/N's ribs, curled in his throat, stretched between him and Nate like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap.

The night air was cool, but not enough to chase away the lingering heat of everything that had happened. Y/N's pulse still hadn't settled, his mind replaying the scene at the diner in jagged, messy fragments—the confession, the way Aaron had leaned in, the way he had hesitated. The way Nate had watched it all with an expression that had been unreadable at the time but now, in hindsight, felt like a warning.

Beside him, Nate walked with purpose, his steps falling in perfect rhythm with Y/N's, his shoulders drawn tight beneath his hoodie. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, but Y/N could tell—he was gripping his fists. Holding something in.

The silence between them was electric.

Y/N could feel it buzzing against his skin, the weight of unsaid words hanging between them like storm clouds ready to break.

And maybe a part of him wanted to let it stay that way.

Because if they spoke—if they addressed what had happened—there would be no undoing it. No stuffing it back into the box where it belonged.

And yet, just as they rounded the final corner toward their dorm, Nate's voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

"So..." The single word was drawn out, measured, but there was something sharp buried beneath it. "When are you gonna tell Aaron that you're with me?"

Y/N's feet stopped moving.

His stomach twisted, his breath hitching just slightly before he turned his head. He raised an eyebrow, forcing his voice to stay light despite the tension clawing its way up his spine. "Excuse me?"

Nate had stopped too. He stood there, his blue eyes locked onto Y/N's, unreadable, piercing. His jaw was set, his expression carefully controlled, but Y/N knew him too well to be fooled.

"You heard me," Nate said, his voice still even, but firm. "When are you gonna tell him?"

Y/N let out a small, incredulous scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. "And who exactly said that I'm with you?"

Something flickered across Nate's face—quick, sharp, something territorial. It was gone in an instant, but Y/N had seen it. Felt it.

"You are with me," Nate said simply, stepping forward just enough to close some of the space between them. His presence was solid, unwavering, and Y/N hated the way his pulse jumped in response. "You chose me."

Y/N arched a brow, lips curving slightly despite the tension coiling in his chest. "Oh? Is that what I did?"

Nate's jaw tightened, his hands still buried in his pockets. "You didn't kiss him."

Y/N exhaled, shaking his head. "That doesn't mean I—"

"Yes, it does," Nate interrupted, his voice quiet but sure. Unshakable. "You hesitated. You lied to get out of it. And don't even try to bullshit me, Y/N—I know you."

Y/N's breath caught.

Because damn it, Nate did know him.

Knew the way he thought, the way he moved, the way he avoided things that made him feel too much.

And worst of all?

He was right.

Y/N had hesitated.

Had lied.

Not because he didn't like Aaron. Not because he hadn't wanted to try something easy, something simple, something normal.

But because the thought of kissing someone else in front of Nate had made his chest ache in a way he wasn't ready to examine.

But still—

That didn't mean Nate got to just claim him.

Y/N lifted his chin slightly, crossing his arms tighter. "You don't get to make decisions for me, Nate."

Nate didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. "I'm not."

Y/N narrowed his eyes.

"I'm just telling you the truth," Nate continued, his voice lower now, calmer, but no less intense. "You're mine. And I don't give a fuck what Aaron thinks."

Y/N inhaled sharply.

Because it wasn't just the words.

It was the way Nate said them.

Like it wasn't up for debate. Like he had already decided, long before this moment, long before tonight. Like he refused to let Y/N slip away again.

Y/N inhaled slowly, forcing his expression to remain neutral even as Nate's words settled over him like a weight—heavy, suffocating, pressing against his ribs in a way that made it difficult to breathe.

Because—damn him—Nate knew exactly what he was doing.

Every syllable, every carefully measured pause, every unwavering note in his voice was deliberate. Possessive. Like he had already decided, like the matter had been settled before Y/N had even opened his mouth.

Like Y/N was already his.

And the worst part?

A small, traitorous part of him—one he absolutely did not have the time or patience to acknowledge right now—liked hearing it.

Liked the certainty in Nate's voice.

Liked knowing that, despite everything, despite the tension, despite the way they had both spent so long pretending, Nate wasn't pretending now.

But there was another part of him—one much louder, much prouder—that bristled at the very idea.

Because he wasn't some prize to be claimed.

He wasn't going to let Nate just stake his claim without actually proving that he had earned it.

So Y/N exhaled sharply, schooling his features into something firm, something steady, something that would make it very clear that he wasn't about to just roll over and accept this.

He lifted his chin, arms crossing tightly over his chest. His voice, when he finally spoke, was clipped, controlled, unwavering.

"Okay, first of all," he began, each word deliberate, "you don't just get to declare that we're together like you're calling dibs on the last piece of pizza."

A flicker of something—annoyance? Amusement?—flashed across Nate's face, his brown eyes narrowing slightly.

But Y/N didn't give him the chance to respond.

"And second," he continued, tone sharp, "if you really want to date me, you're gonna do it the right way."

That got a reaction.

Nate tilted his head slightly, studying him with that piercing gaze of his, the one that always made Y/N feel like he was being dissected, like Nate was peeling back his layers and looking for something hidden underneath.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Nate asked, his voice measured, unreadable.

Y/N let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"It means," he said, stepping forward, closing the space between them, jabbing a finger into the solid plane of Nate's chest, "that you don't just get to call me yours without proving that you actually want to be with me."

Another step closer.

"That you're not just some territorial asshole who doesn't like the idea of me being with someone else."

Nate's lips parted slightly, like he was about to interject, but Y/N wasn't finished.

"You don't get to skip all the important shit," he pressed on, voice quieter now, but no less intense. "You don't get to say 'you're mine' like that magically fixes everything. Like it makes up for all the weeks you spent ignoring your feelings, like it makes up for the way you pushed me away, like it makes up for the fact that I had to be the one to put my feelings on the line first while you sat there acting like none of this meant anything."

Something flickered across Nate's expression.

A crack in the armor.

Guilt.

But Y/N didn't stop there.

"If you really want this—if you really want me—then you're gonna have to do better," Y/N said, voice softer now, but firm, unwavering. "Because I'm not interested in being someone's possession. I want a real relationship. A real boyfriend. Not someone who only wants me now because he couldn't handle seeing me with someone else."

The words hung between them, thick, unyielding.

For the first time since this conversation started, Nate actually looked like he was processing what Y/N was saying.

Like he wasn't just reacting—wasn't just letting instinct take over—but was actually listening.

Actually letting it sink in.

And Y/N just stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady—

Waiting.

Because this was the real test.

Not Nate saying he wanted him.

But Nate proving that he was ready for this.

That he was ready to do it right.

That night, Nate lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, the faint glow of his phone screen long since faded into darkness. The room was quiet, save for the steady hum of the air conditioner, but inside his head, there was nothing but noise.

Loud. Relentless. Unforgiving.

Normally, he would have done anything to drown it out.

Mindless scrolling until his vision blurred, blasting music until the bass shook his bones, a workout so brutal it left his muscles screaming louder than his thoughts. He had a whole arsenal of ways to ignore the things he didn't want to deal with.

But not tonight.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, he let himself think.

And it was uncomfortable.

Because he wasn't filtering it. Wasn't justifying the way he had handled things, wasn't spinning half-truths in his head to make himself feel better, wasn't convincing himself that he didn't care. He wasn't running from the truth that had been there all along, staring him dead in the face.

Because Y/N had called him out.

Not with that familiar smirk, not with that teasing, infuriating glint in his eyes. No, this time had been different.

This time had been serious.

Final.

Y/N had drawn a line. A bold, unmistakable, immovable line. And he had dared Nate to step over it.

No more mixed signals. No more bullshit. No more hiding behind the excuses Nate had always been so damn good at making.

He had made it crystal clear—if Nate wanted him, really wanted him, then he had to prove it.

And that?

That wasn't something Nate took lightly.

Because if there was one thing he hated—more than losing, more than failure, more than the sick, hollow feeling of wanting something he couldn't have—it was being faced with his own shortcomings.

And tonight, as he lay there, his mind racing, he had no choice but to look them in the eye.

So he sifted through every mistake, every misstep, every wreckage of a relationship he had ever left in his wake.

Maddy.

Cassie.

Both of them had been collateral damage in his inability to handle emotions—collateral damage in the way he refused to let himself be vulnerable, the way he twisted love into something toxic just so he could control it.

With Maddy, it had been about power. About control. About making sure he was always one step ahead, always the one calling the shots in their endless cycle of push and pull. He had loved the intensity of it, the fire, the fight. But it had never been about them—not really. It had been about winning.

With Cassie, it had been about ego. About proving something to himself. About using her as an escape, a means to an end, rather than actually caring about her. He had made her feel wanted because he had needed to feel in control of something, anything, even as everything else around him spiraled. But deep down, he had known it wasn't real.

Because the truth was—he had never known how to love someone without twisting it into something else.

He had treated relationships like a game.

Like something to conquer.

But with Y/N?

It had never been like that.

It had never been about control. Never about strategy or winning.

Y/N challenged him. Pushed him. Refused to fall in line the way everyone else did. He saw through Nate's bullshit, called him on it, forced him to be better—or at least, forced him to try.

And now?

Now, Y/N was done waiting.

He had left the ball in Nate's court. Given him the choice—the chance—to prove that he was capable of something real.

Of being something real.

And for once?

Nate wanted to take it.

For once, he wanted to get this right.

No mind games. No power plays. No self-sabotage.

Just him and Y/N.

For real.

So as he turned onto his side, exhaling slowly, feeling the weight of the night settle deep in his chest, he made a decision.

This time—

He wasn't going to fuck it up.

So he started small.

Nate wasn't the kind of guy to make grand declarations, and Y/N wasn't the kind of person to fall for bullshit anyway. So instead of saying how he felt outright, he showed it. Piece by piece, little by little, until there was no mistaking what he wanted—who he wanted.

It started with walks.

Every day, without fail, Nate would find Y/N after practice, waiting outside the locker room or leaning against the fence near the field, like it was coincidence. Like he just happened to be there at the same time. Y/N had side-eyed him the first few times, suspicious, waiting for Nate to make some sarcastic remark or turn it into a joke.

But he never did.

He just walked.

Listened.

Let Y/N talk about whatever was on his mind—annoying professors, upcoming games, his favorite show—without interrupting or making it about himself. The more he did it, the more Y/N started to accept it, his posture relaxing, his voice losing that guarded edge.

Then came the lunches.

Nate would appear out of nowhere, sliding into the seat across from Y/N at the dining hall or nudging him toward a café off-campus, offering to pay but never making a big deal about it. Sometimes he'd bring Y/N's favorite order before he even had the chance to ask, setting it down in front of him with a casual, "Eat."

And Y/N did.

Because as much as he pretended not to notice, he saw the way Nate made sure he ate something after long practices, the way he waited just long enough to make sure Y/N finished before getting up himself.

But the flowers?

That was what really threw Y/N off.

It was after a particularly grueling practice, one of those days where exhaustion clung to his body like a second skin. He'd barely made it back to his dorm, ready to collapse, when he saw them.

A small bouquet. Simple. Fresh. Sitting neatly on his desk like it belonged there.

No note. No explanation.

Just flowers.

Y/N had turned slowly, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "You serious?"

Nate was sprawled out on his bed, scrolling through his phone like he hadn't just upended Y/N's entire evening. He barely spared him a glance. "You said you like flowers."

Y/N frowned. "I said that once."

Nate shrugged, his lips twitching. "I remembered."

Y/N didn't say anything, but he also didn't throw them away. Instead, he picked them up, hesitating just long enough for Nate to notice before setting them on his nightstand.

That was enough.

But it didn't stop there.

It was the little things. The things Y/N would never outright ask for but always seemed to need.

Like Nate remembering his favorite snacks and tossing them at him without a word. Like stealing one of Y/N's hoodies and wearing it just to see how long it would take for him to notice. Like setting a water bottle beside him after practice, nudging it closer until Y/N rolled his eyes and took it.

They weren't big gestures.

They weren't flashy or loud.

But they mattered.

And the more Nate did them, the more Y/N started to believe it.

Started to trust it.

Started to trust him.

And that?

That made every second worth it.

Y/N wasn't the only one who noticed the shift in Nate's behavior.

It started small—so small that, at first, it was easy to brush off as coincidence. The way Nate always seemed to be there, hovering at the edges of his space, never overbearing but always present. The way he walked with him after class, after practice, after late-night study sessions at the library, like it was just something he did now. The way his gaze lingered a little longer, the way his expression softened in moments when he thought no one was looking.

But soon, other people started to take notice.

The first time someone pointed it out, it was Elliot, lounging beside Y/N on the dorm couch, idly scrolling through his phone before side-eyeing Nate, who was sitting across from them, arms crossed, pretending not to listen.

"So," Elliot had said, smirking as he nudged Y/N's knee with his foot. "When did you and Nate become a package deal?"

Y/N had scoffed, rolling his eyes, but before he could respond, Nate had shifted in his seat, fixing Elliot with a sharp look.

"Mind your business," he muttered, voice low, even.

Elliot had just laughed, shaking his head. "See? That. That right there." He gestured lazily at Nate. "You're all brooding and possessive now. It's kinda hot, honestly."

Nate had glared. Y/N had shoved Elliot's leg off the couch. But the comment lingered.

And Elliot wasn't the only one who noticed.

Kat had caught on, too. She had been the one to point out the way Nate's entire body language shifted whenever Y/N walked into the room.

"He does that thing," she had said one afternoon, perched on Y/N's bed as she scrolled through TikTok.

Y/N frowned, tilting his head. "What thing?"

Kat smirked, not looking up. "The boyfriend thing."

"The what?"

"You know." She gestured vaguely, as if that somehow explained everything. "The whole subconscious, territorial, always-aware-of-you thing. The way he adjusts his posture when you're around. The way he watches you when you talk, like he's actually listening instead of pretending to. The way he glares at any guy who so much as breathes in your direction."

Y/N had snorted, shaking his head. "Nate always glares at people."

"Yeah, but this is different." Kat finally looked up, arching a knowing brow. "This is soft glaring. Protective glaring. 'That's mine, don't touch' glaring."

Y/N had waved her off, muttering something about her reading too much into things, but deep down, he couldn't deny that maybe—maybe—she had a point.

Because the truth was?

It wasn't just other people noticing the change in Nate.

Y/N noticed it, too.

Not just in the way Nate showed up for him now, not just in the way he hovered a little closer, but in the things he didn't do.

He didn't push Y/N away anymore.

Didn't throw up walls the second things got too real.

Didn't treat him like some fleeting thing he could keep at arm's length.

Nate had become more affectionate, and it was impossible not to notice.

It wasn't just the small things. The kind of things that might have gone unnoticed if Y/N wasn't paying attention. The way Nate's touch lingered longer than it used to, the way his presence felt constant, like he was always there, always close.

At first, it had been subtle.

A hand on the small of Y/N's back when they navigated through crowded hallways. A knee brushing against his under the cafeteria table, staying there instead of moving away. The absentminded way Nate would hook a finger into one of the belt loops on Y/N's jeans when they stood around talking, like he needed the reassurance of that tiny point of contact.

But as the days passed, it became more obvious.

In the dorm, it was the casual intimacy of it all.

The way Nate would drape an arm over the back of the couch when they watched movies, fingers brushing against Y/N's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he pulled Y/N's hoodie sleeve over his knuckles absentmindedly, like he liked the feel of the fabric between his fingers.

The way he leaned in closer now, his head resting against Y/N's when they sat side by side, his body language open in a way it had never been before.

And when they were alone?

That's when it was the most noticeable.

Because Nate wasn't just affectionate—he was deliberate about it.

He would tug Y/N onto his bed with zero hesitation, lying back like he expected Y/N to stay there, to settle against him like it was second nature. And maybe it was becoming second nature, because Y/N never fought it. Never wanted to fight it.

Nate would run his fingers absentmindedly through Y/N's hair, tracing slow, lazy patterns against his skin, like he wasn't even thinking about it—like it had become instinct.

And in public?

That was where the biggest change had happened.

Because for all of Nate's history of keeping people at arm's length, of keeping his emotions bottled up where no one could see them—he didn't hide this.

Not anymore.

Not when he walked into class and automatically dropped into the seat next to Y/N, his body angled toward him like he wasn't even aware that he did it. Not when he reached out, tugging Y/N's hoodie string between his fingers, toying with it while they talked, his expression unreadable but his touch gentle.

Not when they were lounging around campus, stretched out in the grass or leaning against the walls outside the library, and Nate would let their arms press together, let his fingers brush against Y/N's hand like it wasn't something to be ashamed of.

He wasn't over-the-top about it.

He wasn't flashy.

But the change was there, undeniable, in the way he existed in Y/N's space now.

Like he belonged there.

Like he had no plans of leaving.

Y/N had to admit—he was actually enjoying this new version of Nate.

At first, he had been wary. Skeptical. Waiting for the inevitable shift, for the moment when Nate would revert back to his usual self—closed-off, distant, untouchable. He had expected this to be temporary, a fleeting effort, something Nate would try for a while before retreating into old habits.

But that moment never came.

The other shoe never dropped.

And that? That was almost more surprising than anything else.

Because Nate hadn't just changed in one way—he had changed in every way that mattered.

He was consistent now. Steady. Present.

And Y/N could feel it in the smallest things.

In the way Nate showed up, every time, without fail—waiting outside his dorm in the morning, his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, looking effortlessly cool but also just... there.

In the way he walked Y/N to class like it was second nature now, like it wasn't even something he had to think about. Like he wanted to do it.

In the way he paid attention—really paid attention—to everything Y/N said, even the little things that didn't seem important. Like when Y/N had mentioned offhandedly that he liked the caramel macchiato from the coffee shop near campus, and the next day, Nate had silently set one down in front of him without a word.

In the way he touched him now—not just in the privacy of their dorm, but everywhere.

A hand pressed against the small of his back when they were weaving through a crowded hallway. A knee brushing against his under the table, lingering. A finger looping around Y/N's belt loop, absently tugging.

It wasn't suffocating. It wasn't overbearing.

It was just Nate.

And for the first time, Y/N realized—this wasn't an act.

It wasn't some calculated move, wasn't some temporary performance meant to prove a point.

Nate was actually trying.

And not just for Y/N.

But for himself.

Because the old Nate—the version Y/N had spent months trying to crack open, the version who had kept his emotions locked away like they were a weakness—would have never done any of this.

He would have fought it. Would have pushed Y/N away the second things got too real.

But this version?

This version wanted to be here.

Wanted this.

And Y/N—fuck, Y/N had been waiting for that for so long.

And now that he had it?

He wasn't about to let it go.

The only real competition Nate had was Aaron.

And unlike the others—the people who had flirted with Y/N in passing, the ones Nate had silently glared at until they got the hint and backed off—Aaron wasn't just another guy.

Because Aaron had built something with Y/N.

Something real.

It wasn't just a couple of conversations or fleeting glances across a crowded room. It wasn't a half-hearted attempt to win Y/N over just to see if he could. No, Aaron had been there—talking to Y/N late at night, making him laugh, listening when he needed someone.

And that? That made him a problem.

Because Aaron wasn't going away.

And now, with Nate stepping in—claiming space that Aaron had thought belonged to him—it was starting to get to him.

At first, he had brushed it off.

Had told himself it wasn't serious, that Y/N and Nate were just hanging out, that whatever this thing between them was, it would fade as quickly as it had appeared.

But then he started seeing it.

Seeing the way Y/N leaned into Nate's space without hesitation. Seeing the way Nate touched him without thinking—small, natural gestures, fingertips brushing, shoulders knocking, a quiet kind of possessiveness that Aaron hated because it meant that Nate was comfortable in Y/N's orbit now.

And worse?

Y/N was letting him stay there.

It boiled over one afternoon when Aaron spotted them outside the library—Nate leaning casually against the brick wall, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching Y/N with a look that Aaron recognized too well.

Because it was a look that meant something.

Y/N was talking, hands gesturing as he spoke, but Aaron barely heard a word.

Because all he could see was the way Nate was looking at him.

And when Y/N laughed at something Nate said—an easy, unguarded laugh that made something sharp twist in Aaron's chest—he snapped.

He didn't wait. Didn't hesitate.

He crossed the courtyard in a few quick strides, his jaw tight, his pulse pounding, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stopped right in front of Y/N.

"We need to talk," he said, voice low, steady, but heated.

Y/N blinked, surprised. "Aaron?"

Aaron ignored the way Nate subtly shifted beside him—didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge the silent tension radiating off him.

Because right now?

He didn't give a shit about Nate.

He needed answers.

And he needed them now.

Soon Aaron and Y/N found a quiet spot in the courtyard, away from the steady buzz of students passing through. The air was cool, the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the pavement. Y/N settled onto the bench first, hands clasped loosely between his knees, exhaling slowly as he tried to gather his thoughts.

Aaron sat beside him, posture tense, his fingers tapping against his thigh in a steady, restless rhythm. He wasn't the type to sit still when something was bothering him, and right now? Something was definitely bothering him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Y/N could feel the weight of Aaron's stare, heavy with unspoken questions, with frustration, with something that almost felt like hope—hope that maybe there was still a chance for whatever they had built together.

And that? That made Y/N's chest ache.

Because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Aaron.

Aaron had been good to him. He had been patient, steady, present in a way that Y/N hadn't expected but had come to appreciate. He had made Y/N laugh, had been someone he could talk to when things got overwhelming, had made him feel wanted in a way that wasn't complicated or suffocating.

And if things were different—if Nate wasn't a factor—maybe this conversation would be going in a completely different direction.

But things weren't different.

And Y/N couldn't pretend they were.

So he took a slow breath, forcing himself to meet Aaron's gaze head-on.

"I don't want to drag this out," he started, voice quiet but firm. "I don't want to lead you on or give you some half-assed excuse, because you deserve more than that."

Aaron didn't say anything, but his jaw clenched slightly, like he was bracing himself.

Y/N hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "I care about you. A lot. And I meant everything I said before—about enjoying being around you, about feeling comfortable with you. That was real for me."

Aaron's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—something that made Y/N's stomach twist with guilt.

"But," Y/N continued, his throat tightening, "I think we both know that whatever this was... it wasn't everything it could've been."

Aaron's fingers curled into his palm, a quiet exhale slipping through his nose. "Because of him."

It wasn't a question.

Y/N swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah."

Aaron let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the bench, his gaze shifting toward the sky. "You know, I knew it. I knew from the second I saw you with him that I didn't stand a fucking chance."

Y/N's chest tightened. "Aaron—"

"Don't," Aaron cut in, turning to face him again, his expression unreadable. "Just... tell me the truth. Is he really what you want?"

Y/N didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

And that? That was the most honest thing he had said all day.

Aaron stared at him for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line before he exhaled, nodding slowly, like he was trying to make peace with something he didn't want to accept.

"Okay," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay."

Y/N shifted slightly, his voice softer now. "I didn't want to hurt you. I swear I didn't."

Aaron huffed out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well. Too late for that."

The words stung, but Y/N didn't argue. Didn't try to make himself feel better by saying something meaningless like I never meant for this to happen or you'll find someone else.

Instead, he just sat there, letting the silence settle between them, waiting to see if there was anything left to say.

Eventually, Aaron let out a slow breath, shaking his head before offering Y/N a small, tired smirk. "For what it's worth, I hope he's worth it."

Y/N met his gaze, steady and certain.

"He is."

And for the first time, Y/N felt sure of that.

Though Aaron and Y/N had talked, though everything had been laid out in the open, the conversation didn't erase the frustration burning under Aaron's skin.

He was mad.

At Y/N, sure—but more than that, he was mad at Nate.

Because deep down, Aaron knew that if Nate hadn't inserted himself, if he hadn't stepped in the way he always did, things could've been different. Y/N might have been his. He might have had a real shot at something with him, something solid, something real.

But instead, Nate fucking Jacobs had taken that from him.

And Aaron wasn't the type to just let that shit slide.

So when he spotted Nate in the football gym later that evening—alone, wrapping his hands for what looked like a punching bag workout—something inside him snapped.

The gym was mostly empty, the scent of sweat and old gym equipment thick in the air. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the weight racks and training stations. The sound of a distant treadmill droned in the background, but otherwise, it was quiet.

Aaron didn't hesitate.

He strode forward, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface, hot and ready to spill over.

Nate barely looked up as Aaron approached, his focus still on taping his wrists. "What?" he muttered, voice flat, uninterested.

Like he didn't already know.

Like he hadn't expected this.

Aaron clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "You really couldn't help yourself, huh?"

Nate finally glanced up, his blue eyes cold and unreadable. "The hell are you talking about?"

Aaron scoffed, shaking his head. "Don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about."

Nate held his gaze, unfazed. "If this is about Y/N, then I don't know what to tell you."

Aaron took another step forward, his shoulders squared. "Then don't tell me. Just own up to it. You knew I had something with him, and you still couldn't keep your hands to yourself."

Nate exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "You had nothing with him."

That was it. That was the last straw.

Before Nate could react, Aaron shoved him—hard—both hands slamming against his chest, sending him stumbling back a step.

The air between them shifted, the tension snapping tight like a live wire.

Nate stilled, his expression darkening, his jaw ticking. Slowly, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back, his entire posture shifting into something dangerous.

"You wanna do this?" Nate asked, voice low, controlled—but there was heat behind it.

Aaron's breathing was heavy, his anger boiling over. "I should do this," he shot back. "Because you don't get to just take whatever the fuck you want, Nate. That's not how this works."

Nate tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering across his face for a brief second before disappearing just as quickly. "That's rich, coming from you."

Aaron didn't wait.

He swung first.

The punch connected with Nate's jaw, the impact sharp, reverberating up Aaron's arm.

Nate barely flinched.

Instead, he turned his head slightly, rolling his jaw, a slow smirk creeping onto his face—like he had been waiting for this.

Then, without a word, he swung back.

The force of Nate's punch sent Aaron stumbling, his shoulder colliding with the weight rack, dumbbells rattling from the impact.

And then, just like that, it was a full-blown fight.

Fists flying. Bodies colliding. Grunts and curses filling the empty gym as they threw punch after punch, adrenaline drowning out everything else.

Neither of them cared who landed the harder hit.

Because this wasn't about winning.

This was about something else entirely—something primal, something angry, something that had been simmering for too long.

And neither of them was willing to back down first.

Y/N was stretched across his bed, scrolling through his phone, when the door to their dorm creaked open. It was late, the air outside crisp with the first hints of evening chill, but Y/N barely looked up—until he heard the faint click of the door shutting and the unmistakable sound of heavy, uneven footsteps.

Something felt off.

His gaze flicked upward, and the moment he saw Nate, his stomach dropped.

Nate stood in the doorway, his broad frame tense, his breathing slightly heavier than usual. The dim dorm lighting cast shadows over his face, but it didn't hide the damage—his bottom lip was split, a thin trickle of blood still clinging to the corner of his mouth. His cheekbone was darkening with a fresh bruise, the kind that would only get worse by morning. His knuckles were raw, the skin torn, like he had been swinging just as much as he had been hit.

Y/N's phone slipped from his fingers, landing on the comforter with a dull thud as he shot to his feet.

"What the fuck, Nate?" His voice came out sharp, alarmed, but Nate just exhaled through his nose, shaking his head like it wasn't a big deal.

"I'm fine," he muttered, voice low and tired as he kicked the door shut behind him.

"Fine?" Y/N let out a disbelieving scoff, already closing the space between them. "You look like you got your ass handed to you."

Nate huffed out something that might've been a laugh if he weren't too damn exhausted for it. "I got a few hits in."

Y/N ignored that, his irritation climbing. He reached up, fingertips brushing along the bruised side of Nate's face before he could think twice about it. Nate flinched—not from the pain, but from the unexpected touch—and Y/N felt his body stiffen.

His lips parted, words sitting heavy on his tongue, but then his eyes caught the raw scrapes on Nate's knuckles.

His stomach tightened.

"Who did this?" Y/N demanded, stepping back just enough to get a better look at him.

Nate hesitated.

And in that hesitation, Y/N knew.

He let out a slow, steady breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Aaron." It wasn't even a question.

Nate didn't confirm it, but he didn't deny it either.

Y/N groaned, shaking his head. "Jesus, Nate. You seriously got into a fight with Aaron?"

"He threw the first punch," Nate muttered, flexing his fingers, as if testing whether his knuckles were stiffening.

Y/N crossed his arms. "And you just had to throw one back?"

Nate finally met his gaze, something dark flickering in his tired blue eyes. "I'm not gonna let him talk shit and do nothing about it."

Y/N took a breath, steadying himself. "You know this doesn't fix anything, right?"

Nate didn't respond. Didn't need to.

Y/N sighed, rubbing at his temples before grabbing Nate's wrist and tugging him toward the bed. "Sit."

For a second, it looked like Nate was going to argue, but one sharp look from Y/N shut that down real quick. With a low grunt, he finally gave in, dropping onto the mattress.

Y/N turned toward his desk, rummaging through the drawer until he pulled out the small, half-used first-aid kit. He grabbed a clean washcloth, dampened it in the sink, and then moved back to where Nate sat, dropping down into a kneeling position in front of him.

The tension in the room was thick, but Y/N focused on the task at hand.

He started with Nate's lip, carefully dabbing away the dried blood, his touch firm but careful. Nate stayed still, his sharp eyes watching him closely, unblinking, unreadable.

"This is stupid," Y/N muttered, voice quiet as he worked.

Nate huffed out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well."

Y/N ignored him, reaching for an antiseptic wipe. "This is gonna sting."

Nate smirked slightly. "Not my first time."

Y/N rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He pressed the wipe against Nate's lip, watching as his jaw tensed briefly before relaxing again.

And then—

It happened.

Nate's hands moved without thinking.

His fingers skimmed Y/N's sides before settling around his waist, firm and familiar, like it was instinct, like it was normal.

Like he had done it a thousand times before.

And the truth was—he had.

Y/N barely reacted.

Didn't flinch, didn't pull away. He just let him.

Because as much as things had changed between them, this hadn't.

The quiet, familiar weight of Nate's hands on his waist, the slow, absentminded way his thumbs brushed against the fabric of Y/N's hoodie, the easy closeness of it all—it had always been them.

Even after weeks of distance, of unspoken words, of tension so thick it could be cut with a knife—this? This felt the same.

Y/N swallowed, his focus flickering for just a second before he forced himself to keep working. He dabbed at Nate's cheek, ignoring the warmth curling low in his stomach at the feeling of Nate's grip tightening slightly.

His voice was quieter when he spoke. "You didn't have to fight him."

Nate's thumbs pressed just slightly against his waist, grounding.

"Yeah," he murmured, voice low, steady. "I did."

Y/N pulled back slightly, searching Nate's face for something—an explanation, a reason, anything. "Why?"

Nate was quiet for a beat, his sharp blue eyes scanning Y/N's face, like he was considering how much he wanted to say.

Then, finally—

"Because he doesn't get to talk about you like that," Nate muttered, his tone low but steady.

Y/N blinked. "Like what?"

Nate's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing slightly against Y/N's waist before he let out a slow exhale. "Like you were his," he said simply. "Like he lost something. Like you were some prize that he had a right to be pissed about."

Y/N stared at him.

Because, fuck.

That's what this was about?

Aaron's words?

Nate rolled his shoulders slightly, wincing at the stiffness. "He was running his mouth, acting like I stole you from him, like you belonged to him." His eyes darkened slightly, his fingers curling tighter into Y/N's hoodie. "And maybe I shouldn't have let it get to me, but I did. Because he doesn't get to talk about you like that. Like he ever had a chance."

Y/N swallowed, something thick sitting in his throat.

Because it wasn't just anger in Nate's voice. It was possession. It was certainty.

And it wasn't just about the fight.

It was about them.

Nate took a slow breath, his grip firm against Y/N's waist. "I meant what I said before," he murmured, voice quieter now but no less intense.

Y/N furrowed his brows. "What?"

Nate held his gaze, unwavering. "That I love you."

Y/N's breath hitched slightly, his chest tightening.

Because Nate said it so easily. Like it wasn't something he had spent months denying, like it wasn't something that should terrify him, like it wasn't something that could break him if he let it.

And Y/N—fuck, Y/N didn't know what to do with that.

Nate must have noticed his hesitation, because his grip softened just slightly, but his voice stayed sure.

"I know you think it's too soon," Nate said, "but I don't." He exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering over Y/N's face, like he was memorizing every expression, every reaction. "I don't care how long it's been. I know what I feel. And I know that I'm done pretending I don't."

Y/N opened his mouth, but Nate kept going, his fingers tightening again.

"I'm gonna prove it," he promised. "Every day. Every chance I get. I'm not gonna give you a single reason to doubt me, to doubt this." His voice softened just slightly, but there was still steel beneath it. "I know I fucked up before. I know I wasted time trying to push this away. But I won't do that again."

Y/N's throat felt dry, his pulse hammering against his ribs. "Nate..."

Nate shook his head. "I want you. And not just in the easy way, not just when it's convenient, not just when it's something I can control." His fingers slid along Y/N's waist, a slow, steady movement. "I want you for real."

Y/N inhaled sharply, his heart lurching in his chest.

Because Nate wasn't bullshitting.

This wasn't just some possessive instinct, wasn't just about beating out Aaron, wasn't about winning.

This was real.

And Nate meant it.

Y/N swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're really not gonna let this go, are you?"

Nate smirked slightly, his grip firm, grounding. "No," he said simply. "I'm not."

Y/N inhaled slowly, grounding himself, and then—before he could second-guess it, before he could let doubt creep in—he leaned in and kissed him. It wasn't rushed, wasn't desperate, but sure. Deliberate. A slow press of lips, firm and real, like a decision being made in real-time. And Nate—fuck, Nate melted into it, his fingers flexing slightly against Y/N's waist before pulling him closer, like he needed the reassurance that this was actually happening.

When Y/N finally pulled back, his lips hovered just above Nate's, his breath mingling with his, his hands still resting lightly on Nate's jaw. A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth as he met Nate's gaze, something teasing in his expression, but something serious behind it. "So... does this mean you're my boyfriend now?"

Nate let out a breathless huff, his lips twitching like he wanted to smirk but was too busy memorizing the feel of Y/N against him. "I better be."

Y/N grinned, brushing his nose against Nate's in a way that was both playful and intimate. "Good. Because I really think we should work on that whole 'I love you' thing." His voice was teasing, but there was weight behind it—acknowledgment of Nate's confession, of the fact that Y/N hadn't said it back yet. Not because he didn't feel it, but because it was something he wanted to mean when he finally did.

Nate swallowed hard, nodding slightly. "Yeah. We should."

Y/N pulled back slightly, his fingers still gripping Nate's hoodie as he arched a brow. "But first..." He gave Nate a pointed look. "If you ever think about skipping straight to sex again before you take me on a proper first date, I will personally make your life hell."

Nate smirked at that, leaning in just enough that their lips nearly touched again. "Oh yeah? Define proper."

Y/N rolled his eyes, swatting Nate's chest before stepping back toward the table, eyeing the food. "Dinner, movie, something cute. I don't know, surprise me."

Nate watched him for a moment before shaking his head with a smirk. "You're such a pain in the ass."

Y/N grinned, reaching for a plate. "Yeah, but I'm your pain in the ass now."

Nate exhaled through his nose, something soft flashing in his expression. "Yeah," he murmured. "You are."

And somehow, that simple statement made Y/N's stomach flip harder than the I love you ever could.

[camzeecorner]

𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙸𝚂, 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃, 𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙴₊˚ෆ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑

smut ღ dividers → @bernardsbendystraws ฅ^._.^ฅ

part one here

Nicole was sprawled across her bed, her slim legs kicked up in the air, swinging back and forth with a restless energy as she scrolled through YouTube on her phone. She flipped over onto her stomach, trying to find a comfortable position, but no matter how she moved, that strange feeling just wouldn’t fade away. Frustration bubbled up inside her, and she groaned, burying her head into the soft pillow, hoping to escape the discomfort that lingered.

She was puzzled by the unfamiliar sensation, her mind racing as she tried to decipher what was wrong. Thoughts swirled around, and in a moment of frustration, she mentally slapped her forehead, recalling a faint memory from a month ago. The details were hazy, but the feelings associated with it were beginning to resurface, urging her to confront what she had been trying to ignore.

“and remember, if you ever get that weird feeling down there again..” Matt spoke pointing between her legs, “just use the tricks we showed you okay?”he spoke softly caressing my cheek. I nodded at him frantically.

I slowly sat up, my fingers brushing the screen of my phone as I turned it off, the room falling into a quiet stillness. I leaned back against my pillows, tugging my shorts down a bit for comfort. With a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, I started to mimic the movements Chris and Matt had shown me, but the sensations just didn’t match the intensity I had hoped for. Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I let out a soft whimper, applying more pressure, desperate to find that elusive feeling. But still, nothing changed. I threw my head back against the pillows, silent tears spilling down my cheeks as I grappled with my disappointment.

“What if it doesn’t work?” I pout. Nate got up walking over, sitting next to me. “Then..call us! And we’ll help you again.” He spoke cheerful smiling at me. Matt and Chris nodding along.

I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I opened our group chat. A wave of hesitation washed over me; uncertainty gnawed at my mind, making me question whether I should really reach out. I took a sharp breath, feeling the weight of my decision, and finally began to type, the words flowing from my fingertips as I poured my thoughts into the message.

Best kids to live

colie : hi guys! are you free? Or is this a bad time?

Mattress: hi princess, it’s never a bad time for you

chrizzy : hi doll you okay?

nation: lowkey just shit but I’m chillin, what do u need pretty girl

colie: it’s happening again, I can’t make it stop

nations: what do u mean mama

*chrizzy and mattress emphasized nations message*

Colie: that feeling is back, I tried to rub like you guys said but it’s not helping. It’s really uncomfortable, can you please help me again?

mattress: we’ll be there in 10.

*END OF CONVERSATION*

I sat on my bed, the anticipation building as I patiently waited for the boys to arrive. After what felt like an eternity, about twelve minutes later, the sound of my front doorbell echoed through the house. Jumping up, I quickly slid my shorts back on and made my way down the stairs, my heart racing with excitement. As I reached the living room door and swung it open, I was immediately greeted by the familiar faces of Matt, Chris, and Nate. A warm smile spread across my face as I stepped aside, inviting them in with a welcoming gesture.

“Hi guys!” I chirp happily, my voice bright with excitement. I start walking up the stairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing behind me as they follow closely. Entering my room, I hear the door click shut behind us. Nate, always the energetic one, quickly strides over to me, gently pushing me down onto the bed. The sudden movement catches me off guard, and I let out a surprised gasp. “Don’t worry, mama, we’re gonna make that feeling go away... okay?” he reassures me, settling onto his knees in the same spot he had occupied last time. I gulp, my gaze dropping to the floor as a rush of emotions floods through me, feeling my shorts dampening with a mix of anxiety and desperation.

Matt settled onto my bed, positioning himself close but still leaving a comfortable space between us. Chris took a seat in my chair, which was positioned across from my bed, creating a little distance yet still keeping the atmosphere intimate. They both sat there in silence, their eyes fixed on me, as if I were the main event of a show they were eager for. The stillness hung in the air, charged with anticipation, making me acutely aware of their gaze.

Nate began tracing small circles on my thighs, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me. I tossed my head back, surrendering to the sensation of his touch. It was strange how the same actions felt so different when they were directed at me; their hands had an electric quality that I found utterly intoxicating. As Nate leaned in closer, a soft whine escaped my lips, and I shook out a breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. He started to pepper kisses along the inside of my thigh, each gentle press of his lips igniting a fire within me.

I let out a shaky whine, my breath hitching in my throat. Shutting my eyes tightly, I tugged my lips between my teeth, trying to steady myself. He slid his long fingers to my waistband, the anticipation making my heart race. With deliberate slowness, he tugged them down, maintaining his dominant composure throughout. A soft groan escaped my lips as the cold air hit my skin intensely, sending a jolt through my body that heightened every sensation.

He smirked, glancing up at me with a playful glint in his eyes. “Still the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he spoke lowly, his voice smooth and teasing. I felt my cheeks flush at his words, warmth creeping up as I turned my head to the side, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Thank you…” I murmured softly, barely above a whisper. He responded by blowing lightly against my skin, each breath building more wetness and heightening the tension between us.

I grind my hips up slightly, only to be pushed back down as Nate wrapped his strong arms around them, holding me firmly in place. He sank his head further in, and I felt a rush of anticipation. When his tongue made contact, a cry escaped my lips, raw and unrestrained. “N-Nate…” I whispered, breathless and overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

He hummed against me, keeping his head lowered, his focus entirely on me. His tongue was a masterful force, licking and devouring every inch of me, making sure to savor every drop of sweetness with deliberate care. I reached my hand down, tugging gently at his brown locks, feeling the warmth radiate from him. He groaned against me, pushing his head in deeper, intensifying the sensations. My body responded with soft whines and whimpers of pleasure, each sound a testament to the overwhelming delight coursing through me.

Feeling the strange tightness in my stomach, I instinctively bucked my hips forward, a wave of sensation crashing over me. I panted softly, my head tossing and turning as I tried to process the intensity that was almost overwhelming. “You gonna cum?” Chris spoke lowly, his voice laced with anticipation. I nodded my head quickly, breathless and unable to form a coherent sentence, lost in the moment.

Feeling the orgasm wash over me, I cried out, the intensity of the moment consuming me. I was breathing hard, my chest heaving with each rapid inhale. Sweat dripped down my forehead, causing loose strands of hair to cling to my skin. I whimpered softly as Nate pulled away, his gaze lingering on me. He licked his lips, savoring every drop, a satisfied smile playing on his face. His hand rubbed my thigh gently, and he asked, “You okay, mama?” “Uh huh,” I replied softly, still catching my breath. I blinked a few times, wiping away the tears that had escaped, feeling a mix of satisfaction swirling within me.

Nate shifted from his spot as I watched Chris stand up, his movements deliberate and confident. Nate settled into the chair that Chris had just vacated, a knowing look passing between them. Chris walked over to me, positioning himself between my legs, his presence both comforting and electrifying. He rested his hand on my knee, gently rubbing it in soothing circles. “Think you’re good for two more rounds?” Chris asked, his gaze flickering between me and Matt, a hint of mischief in his eyes. Excitement bubbled within me at the thought of feeling even better, and I nodded eagerly. “Yes,” I replied, a smile breaking across my face as I giggled softly.

“Okay…” he spoke lowly, pulling me closer to the edge of the bed before sinking down to the floor. His hands began to work magic, gently rubbing circles on me that made me shudder with anticipation. He maneuvered his fingers in ways that sent me spiraling into another universe, each touch perfect, hitting every spot I desperately craved. “This might hurt, okay? Just let me know if you want me to stop, alright?” I gulped lightly, a wave of nervousness washing over me. “O-okay…” I managed to speak, my voice hoarse and trembling.

Feeling small rubs on my shoulder, I turned my head to meet Matt’s soft gaze, his eyes filled with reassurance. “It’ll be okay, just relax… the pain will be gone quick,” he spoke in a calming voice, and instantly, I felt a wave of comfort wash over me, easing my tension.

Turning my attention back to Chris, I sucked in a breath as I suddenly felt a finger entering me slowly. I shut my eyes at the unexpected pain, a soft whimper escaping my lips. “It’s okay, baby…” I heard Chris coo softly, his voice soothing. Matt ran his fingers through my hair, the gentle caress helping me relax into his touch. “O-oh,” I breathed out, feeling his finger move back and forth, slow and steady. Gradually, some of the pain was replaced by pleasure, and I couldn’t help but groan at the new sensation.

“M’gonna add another, okay?” Chris spoke, looking up to meet my eyes, his expression full of desire. I nodded at him, releasing a shaky breath as anticipation coursed through me.

He sank another finger in, stretching me lightly, and I rolled my hips upwards, feeling the pleasure build within me. I could feel his fingers curl, plunging in and out faster, each thrust gaining speed and intensity. I squeezed around him, relishing the new sensation that coursed through me, too intoxicating to resist. “O-oh my…” I breathed out, feeling my legs trembling softly beneath the wave of pleasure. I felt Chris add his thumb to the mix, rubbing slow, deliberate circles on my soft pink clit that sent shivers down my spine.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat, causing me to choke out a moan that echoed in the air. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming me completely, so much so that I couldn’t focus on anything else. I tuned everything out, zeroing in on the exquisite sensation of Chris's fingers working their magic. I began to move my body against his, instinctively matching his rhythm, lost in the intoxicating dance of our connection.

“You gonna cum baby? Hm.. you gonna make a mess on my fingers.”Chris said hungrily, locking his intense gaze onto mine, igniting a fire within me. I grunted as my eyes began to roll back, my mouth parting slightly in a gasp. “Eyes on me,” Chris commanded, his voice firm as he softly slapped my cheek, bringing me back to the moment. I whimpered, feeling the pressure build inside me. Then, he began to move at an ungodly speed, pushing me to arch my back, a scream escaping my lips in the process. “C-chri-chris!” I cried out, desperately clutching onto his arm, lost in the overwhelming sensations.

I came hard, feeling myself clenching and squeezing his fingers. My eyes rolled back, making my vision fuzzy. Feelings his fingers slow, he began to stiff his movements allowing me to ride out my high. Slowly pulling his fingers out before sucking them clean.

“So fucking sweet” he mumbled.

“My turn!” Matt exclaimed, laughter bubbling up as he jumped to his feet. It wasn’t long before I felt the familiar rush of excitement wash over me again. Matt sauntered over, looking down at me with a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you so good…” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Fuck me?” I asked, confusion knitting my brows together just as I felt a sharp slap on my pulsing pussy, making me shriek in surprise. “Don’t say that…” Matt warned, pointing a finger at me with a mock-serious expression. I nodded slowly, surrendering to his playful commands, the anticipation swirling around us.

Matt started by lifting his shirt off his head, the fabric gliding over his skin before he tossed it casually toward my door. With a confident grin, he began unbuckling his belt, the metal clinking softly as he pulled it free from the latch. He swiftly unbuttoned his pants, the sound of the button popping echoing in the room. In one fluid motion, he yanked them down, stepping out of them with an air of nonchalance, leaving a trail of excitement in his wake.

I glanced over his body, taking in every detail. It was stunning; he was truly a piece of artwork. His faint abs were subtly defined, and his tattooed arm was a canvas of intricate designs, all covered in deep black ink. A chuckle above me pulled my attention up, and I found Matt grinning down at me. “You like what you see, doll?” he teased. I nodded slowly, my eyes trailing down his body until they landed on a hard-looking lump covered by his black boxers. “What’s that?” I asked, moving my hand up to touch it gently. I heard Matt stifle a moan, his breath hitching as he sucked in a sharp inhale. “Shit,” he murmured, the tension in the air thickening. “Mm..that’s my cock..” my eyes stuck to his cock, I tilt my head to the side showing my confusion. “What’s that?” I asked. “It’s like the boy version of a vagina” he spoke calmly. “You wanna touch it baby?” I nod my head fast smiling up at Matt.

He spun around swiftly, directing his attention to Nate and Chris. With a quick nod, he beckoned them over before turning back to me. “You wanna touch theirs too?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes. I nodded eagerly, a smile breaking across my face. “Yes, please,” I replied sweetly, hoping my polite request would earn me the permission I desired.

“Go on... take my boxers off,” Matt said in a chilling voice that sent a shiver down my spine. I reached up, my fingers trembling slightly as I tugged at the fabric of his briefs, pulling them down slowly. Matt exhaled sharply, tossing his head back in a moment of surrender. “Shit,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a mix of surprise and pleasure. I couldn't tear my gaze away from the sight in front of me. “You like it?” Nate asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched my reaction. “Yes,” I replied, my voice steady, not daring to look away. I gently ran my hand up and down, feeling the tension in Matt’s body as he let out a deep groan.

Pulling my hand away, I turn to nate and Chris seeing them already with their own cocks in the hands. They were all so big. I reach up pressing my palms against them both. “Fuck” Chris groaned shutting his eyes, followed by Nathan moaning.

“Alright, mama, enough touching...” Matt said, his tone both playful and commanding. Nate and Chris strolled around the bed, settling against my wall, their gazes fixed on me with an intensity that made me feel like the center of their attention, as if I were a feast laid out before them. Matt gently pushed me down, his hands rubbing against me in a way that sent a thrill through my body, blending teasing and tenderness in the most tantalizing way.

I whine softly at his touch, exhaling gently as a wave of sensation washes over me. His hand finds mine, interlocking our fingers in a firm yet comforting grip. “This might sting a little, squeeze my hand,” he murmurs softly, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes my heart race. He positions himself, aligning his tip with my entrance, and as he slowly moves in, I instantly feel the stretch, the pressure making me squeeze his hand tightly. I breathe in and out slowly, trying to steady my breath amidst the overwhelming sensations. “Let me know when to move, okay baby?” he prompts, and I nod, focusing on getting used to the feeling before I finally signal him to start moving.

Starting with slow thrusts, he moves deliberately, savoring each moment. “You okay, princess?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. “Y-yea... you can speed up,” I reply softly, my heart racing. As I feel his hips gain momentum, the rhythm intensifies, his body hitting against mine with increasing force. After a few minutes of teasing slowness, I begin to whimper lowly, lost in the sensation. The sound of Matt’s skin slapping against mine sends my mind spiraling, making everything around me fade into a blissful haze.

“S-shit..taking my cock good” Matt groaned above me, the sound vibrating through the air as his movements quickened. It felt as though he were reaching deep inside me, a sensation that made my stomach flutter. He leaned his head back, sucking in a breath, his pleasure palpable. His hand reached down to rub my puffy clit, the gentle touch sending jolts of electricity through my body, making me twitch involuntarily. “Oh Matt... feels so good,” I breathed out, completely lost in the moment.

“Yea? You gonna cum?” I nod my head, arching my back up into the air. I whine loudly, the pleasure taking over my body. I begin grinding my body against Matt’s adding to the pleasures running through my body. I felt like I was in heaven. Hearing his whimpers and moans making my head spin. My body was shaking uncontrollably under Matt, his thrust getting sloppier. “Want you to cum s’bad baby.. can you do that?” He asked as his hips still pounded into mine. “Y-yes” I speak, I could feel the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

Looking to the side i noticed Chris and Nate. They were playing with their cocks, heads thrown back and soft noises leaving their mouth. I loved the sight, feeling heat rise to my face. “Yea you like that? You like seeing your friends get off to seeing you fucked?” Matt asked me with a smug look of his face. My lips were puffy and covered by my own spit. My eyes rolling into the back of my head.

I could feel the tension in my stomach, I was so close. So so close. I just needed more, I craved more. I’ve never felt this good before, and I was addicted to it. The pleasure was so intense I began crying. Feeling the tears leak onto the mattress. “Wanna cum so bad” I pleaded, my voice sounding strained. “Cum on this dick baby.” Feeling my legs shake, I tossed my body around. “Oh mat.. Matt Matt Matt” I shouted as I came hard. The white liquid spilling onto Matt, he came shortly after with a long groan. “Fuck..” I heard Matt pant. Feeling my body shake, Matt pulled out of me slowly. My cum oozing from me. “Shit” Chris spoke, his cum flying onto his chest. Nate was soon to finish, his hot sticky cum landing on his lower stomach.

“How was that for your first time baby?” Matt asked me tucking strands of hair behind my ear. I smiled loosely. “Felt amazing” I said tired.

Tags - @shaquilles-0atmeal @midsturn @sturniolo-girl hope you like!

[wordsofwhimsy]

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part Thirteen

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Mark definitely is starting to let his crazy show - so possessive/toxic behavior

Tags: Angst

Word Count: 2,857

Chapter Synopsis: Emily has to give you The Talk™ about toxic relationships as Mark’s behavior starts to spiral.

a/n: appreciate everybody's feedback on my poll from last night!! glad to hear the majority of people are wanting this to keep going with me - i do *vaguely* have an idea for how i'd want it to end but, y'know, how we get there is a whole other conversation lmao

Part Twelve

It happened between classes.

You’d just peeled Mark off you long enough to grab a snack from the student union—he’d insisted on coming with, of course, because “there’s creeps on this campus”—when Emily finally cornered you.

Like, physically. One second you were reaching for a vitamin water, the next, Emily had spun you gently by the elbow and tugged you just out of earshot.

Mark was still in view. Still watching. He was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on you like a trained predator in a college hoodie. The tension in his shoulders only relaxed when you looked back.

Emily waited a beat. Then crossed her arms. “Okay,” she said, voice low. “So, uh, not to be the Greek chorus in your feral love story or anything, but… can we talk?”

You blinked. “Sure?”

She hesitated, like she was trying to pick the words that were least likely to get her vaporized by your boyfriend. “I know he’s hot,” she began, “and like, very feral. And says things like he’d fight a black hole for your smile—”

“He would,” you said automatically.

Emily nodded, exasperated. “Exactly! That’s kind of the point! He’s obsessed, babe. Like, full tilt. You’re his reason now. Which I know seems sweet but, that’s a lot of gravity for one person, y’know?”

You glanced past her at Mark, who—upon sensing the briefest dip in your attention—tilted his head with laser focus, brows furrowed like he was trying to decide whether to interrupt.

You looked back at Emily. Soft. Sure. Not even a flicker of hesitation. “Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

Emily blinked. Once. Twice. Then she tilted her head. “Do you, though?” You frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?”

She let out a slow breath and looked down at her shoes, like she was wrestling with something heavy. “You know that guy I told you I dated last year? Nate? Worked at the rock wall?”

Your eyes sparked with recognition. “The one with the thing about protein powder?”

Emily snorted. “Yeah. That one.” She was quiet for a moment, then met your eyes—steady now, serious in a way she rarely ever was. “He was obsessed with me.”

You got a bit stiffer.

“I thought it was cute at first. He showed up with coffee. Memorized my class schedule. Carried my bag. Always knew where I was.” Her voice was soft, but the memory made her face tense. “I didn’t even notice how weird it got. Not until I tried to go somewhere without him. Tried to get some space.”

You didn’t say anything.

“He lost it,” she continued, shrugging one shoulder like she could shake off the ghost of it. “Started showing up at my shifts. My friends’ dorms. Told me it was my fault, that I made him that way. That he couldn’t function without me.”

You listened, doe eyed.

“I had to block his number. Report him. And even then, for months after, I felt like I had to keep looking over my shoulder.” Emily’s voice didn’t waver. She wasn’t telling you this to scare you. She was telling you because she cared. “Now imagine that—times a thousand.”

You pursed your lips.

“Because your guy?” she nodded toward where Mark still stood across the way, arms folded and eyes tracking you like a hawk. “He’s obsessed and Invincible. Do you understand what that means?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… yeah. He’s—strong.”

“No,” she cut in, gently but firm. “Not strong. Not ripped. Not intense. I mean… he could crush someone’s skull like it was a soda can. He could punch a hole through a building. He could wipe an entire block off the map just by a miscalculated landing.”

You felt a prickle of something cold slide down your spine.

Emily took a step closer, voice soft but urgent. “Do you get that? Like really get it? He’s not just powerful—he’s limitless. If he lost it, if he snapped… no one could stop him.”

You didn’t look at Mark now. You didn’t have to. You could still feel his presence across the room like heat on your skin.

“I’m not saying he’s gonna hurt you,” Emily added quickly. “God, I hope to hell he never would. But obsession? Possession? That’s a fragile line, babe. And guys like that…” She hesitated. “They don’t break. They break things.”

A silence settled between you. And then—quietly, honestly—you said, “I know.”

Emily searched your face, like she was still trying to find some crack in the understanding. Some sign you weren’t seeing the whole picture.

“I’m serious,” she whispered. “It doesn’t take evil to do damage. Just too much love. Too much fear. One bad day. One wrong word. And someone ends up bleeding in a parking lot.”

Your throat felt tight.

“Now imagine that person’s made of steel,” Emily said. “And imagine he thinks losing you is the same thing as losing everything.”

You were still staring at her, those words—he could wipe a block off the map—echoing in your head, when a shadow fell over your shoulder.

“Everything okay?” His voice was low. Controlled. Too controlled.

You turned, and there he was right behind you, his hand ghosting the small of your back. His posture was stiff, like he was holding himself in place by sheer force of will.

You lit up like always, completely unaware of the tension crackling under his skin. “Yeah, of course. Just having some girl talk.”

Emily looked at you with softened eyes, then hardened immediately when she glanced at Mark. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a look. A clear, pointed warning.

“I’ve got another class,” she sighed, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “See you tonight, okay?”

You nodded, and Mark just stared. When she disappeared around the corner, the silence between you and Mark stretched.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just watched the space where Emily had been like he was still listening to something you couldn’t hear. Then, finally, almost too casual, he says, “I think you should get a different roommate.”

You blinked. “What?”

Mark shrugged, shifting his weight, but his fingers tightened slightly against your back. “I just… I don’t think she’s a good influence. She doesn’t really get you.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What are you talking about? she’s my best friend. She’s funny, and she looks out for me, y’know? Kind of protective—”

His eyes flicked down to you, dark and unreadable. “You don’t need protecting. That’s what I’m here for.”

You smiled, trying to brush it off. “Exactly. So what’s the problem?”

Mark didn’t answer right away. His thumb brushed your spine like a reflex, like he was soothing himself more than you.

“I don’t like the way she talks about us,” he said quietly. “Like I’m some kind of threat. Like I’d ever hurt you.”

You paused—just barely—but he noticed it. Had he been listening to your conversation?

When you didn’t answer fast enough, he leaned in, voice softer now, more intimate. “Maybe it’d just be better if we had our own place. You’d get more sleep. More space. I could take care of you without her butting in all the time.”

You frowned, something about the way he said take care of you setting off a quiet little alarm in the back of your head.

“Mark…” you started, careful.

But he was already cupping your face, already smoothing your hair back like you’d agreed without saying anything. “Just think about it,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours as his thumb brushed over your cheek. “We could fall asleep in the same bed, every night... Wake up slow... I’d cook you breakfast—burn half of it, probably—but I’d try. For you, I’d try.”

You gave a soft little laugh, and his smile deepened, all fondness and fake innocence. “I’d learn how to make your coffee exactly the way you like it. You’d steal all my hoodies. I’d walk around half-dressed just to distract you while you study.”

“Mark—” you laughed again, cheeks warm now, a little dazed.

He moved in closer, his lips brushing against yours. “I’d keep you safe. Always. You’d never have to lift a finger if you didn’t want to. Just let me take care of you. Like you deserve.”

Your pulse stuttered.

The earlier unease was still there—lingering like a shadow—but it dulled under the way he looked at you now. Like you were sacred. Like you were home. Like he’d crawl through fire if it meant he could brush your hair behind your ear just one more time.

“You really want all that?” you asked, voice soft.

Mark leaned his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “I want you. However I can have you. But if you gave me that?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, tender, reverent. “I’d never let you go.”

There was something in the way he said it. A deeper note beneath the sweetness—one you didn’t quite catch. You just smiled, humming a light sound that made him hold you tighter.

“Oh yeah?” you teased softly, nudging your nose against his. “Maybe once I graduate and land my dream job, we can get a nice place together. You know—two bedrooms, maybe a backyard. Definitely a dog.”

Mark went still for a beat.

You laughed like it was nothing, like it was just pillow talk made in daylight. “A big dumb one,” you continued to muse. “Something that knocks over mailmen and eats socks.”

He was still looking at you, but it wasn’t quite a laugh he gave back—it was quieter. Something deeper. “Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “A dog.”

You giggled again, not even noticing the way his eyes never left yours. “I’ll spoil him rotten. He’ll love me more than you.”

“He’ll love you. Of course he will.” You smiled, leaning into him with a content sigh. You didn’t see the way his eyes cut across the quad. The way they narrowed.

You didn’t feel the way he clenched his jaw when he spotted a guy yards away glance a little too long in your direction.

You didn’t see it.

But he did. The guy didn’t even know he’d looked at you. Just some sophomore in a ratty varsity jacket, tossing a football to a friend across the lawn. You weren’t even the one he was aiming for. But his eyes skimmed you. Lingered half a second too long.

That was enough.

Mark didn’t move right away. His arm was still around you, his chest still warm where your cheek rested against him. But his whole body had shifted—just slightly. A subtle straightening of his spine. A twitch in his jaw. That still, dangerous quiet that only came before a storm.

You felt his grip flex against your waist, gentle but firm, and for a second it felt like nothing. Just a small squeeze. Comforting. Reassuring.

But Mark was looking past you. Past the trees. Past the crowd. Straight at the boy who had already turned back to his game like he hadn’t just unknowingly pissed off a demi-god in sweatpants.

“Hey,” you said, voice light, hand brushing against his chest. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

His gaze broke. It took effort—like he had to pull himself away from the target. But he did. Slowly. Eyes falling back to you, softening instantly.

“Nothing,” he said, brushing a knuckle down your cheek. “Just… thinking.”

You gave a curious hum. “About what?”

A beat. Then: “You.” You smiled. God, you were so easy to disarm when he said it like that.

But something in his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

—

That evening, Emily didn’t say anything when you came back to the dorm with Mark trailing behind you. She just glanced at him, then at you, and then made a silent decision to go study in the common room.

Mark barely noticed.

He was already pulling you into your bed, curling around you like armor. You barely managed to change into pajamas before he was tucking the blanket around you both with a kind of military precision, like the rest of the world didn’t exist unless it was this bed and you inside it.

Pesto chirped from the windowsill. Mark didn’t even flinch. “Not tonight,” he said flatly. Pesto stared.

You yawned into his chest. “Are you mad?”

He paused. His voice, when it came, was soft. “No.” But he didn’t elaborate.

You let yourself drift, still feeling the warmth of him, the steady thump of his heart under your ear. But you couldn’t quite shake the weight of Emily’s words from earlier.

They don’t break. They break things.

“You’d never hurt me… right?” You didn’t mean it as an accusation. Not really. Just a sleepy, half-murmured question, floating up between the folds of his arms and the soft warmth of the night.

But the second the words left your mouth the mood changed. Mark went still. Not his usual still, either. Not that calm, gentle quiet you’d come to associate with him when he was relaxed. This was different. This was rigid. Like you’d just pulled a pin from a grenade without realizing it.

His arms around you didn’t tighten. Didn’t shift. They just froze—tense, unmoving, like he’d forgotten how to breathe. You blinked, your sleep-fuzzed brain starting to catch up. “Mark?”

He didn’t answer at first. His jaw clenched, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes wide and dark and too awake now. Something flickered behind them—panic, almost. Disbelief.

“…Why would you ask me that?” he said, and his voice wasn’t angry. Not sharp. It was scared.

You straightened instinctively, suddenly alert, reaching up to touch his face. “Hey. I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“Who said something to you?” It came out fast. Too fast. His fingers curled around your wrist—not rough, but firm. Desperate. “Did someone tell you to ask that? Did someone put that idea in your head?”

“No one—Mark, slow down—”

His grip dropped instantly, like he’d just realized he was holding on too tight. His hands hovered midair for a second before pulling away completely. He stood, backing off the bed in one fluid motion, pacing the small dorm room like he couldn’t sit still. Like he was too full of motion to contain.

“I’d never hurt you,” he said through tight teeth. “Never. You know that. You know that.” You sat up, the blanket pooling around your waist, watching him.

“I do. I do know that.”

“Then why ask?” he demanded, voice cracking around the edges. “Why—” He stopped short, running both hands over his head, chest rising and falling like he couldn’t get a full breath.

There was something raw in him now. Splintered. Like just the idea that you could be afraid of him had yanked something loose. “I just meant—” you started softly, but he cut you off.

“Emily,” he said, and this time it wasn’t a question. You hesitated. He scoffed—more hurt than angry—and turned away again. “She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t get what this is.”

“She’s just worried,” you said gently. “She’s seen some stuff—she’s not trying to tear us apart—”

“She thinks I’m dangerous.” You paused. He looked back at you now, eyes wild and vulnerable and sharp all at once. “She thinks I’m a threat. That you’re not safe with me.”

“I am safe with you,” you said quickly, standing now too. “I trust you. That’s not—”

“Then why did you ask?” he said again, and this time it was quiet. Barely above a whisper. He wasn’t asking to be accusatory. He was asking like someone who’d just felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

Like you were his foundation. And someone had just cracked it.

You stepped forward slowly, reaching for his hand. He let you take it. Clung to it, even. Like a lifeline. “I asked because… because I’m not stupid,” you said softly. “Because I’ve seen what you can do. I know how strong you are. And yeah, maybe it scares other people. But not me. Not really.”

His eyes searched yours, frantic.

“You’d never hurt me. I believe that. But I also know you could. And that matters too.” His breath hitched. “I don’t think love is ignoring that. I think it’s being honest about it. Not pretending.”

Mark’s face crumpled slightly—just for a moment. Like something cracked under the weight of that. He stepped into you, wrapped both arms around you like he was scared you might evaporate, and tucked his face against your neck.

“I wouldn’t survive it,” he whispered. “If I ever hurt you. I wouldn’t survive it.” He didn’t let go for a long time. And when he finally pulled back, there was something heavier in his eyes. Softer. Sadder. “Let me stay tonight,” he said. “Please.”

How could you ever say no?

———————

Part Fourteen

———————

Taglist! @maddyb-rapps | @sweet-3-whispers | @moradogreen | @rayaaa4444 | @luvvcharxo | @byteme05 | @rivalriotrenegade | @1abi | @onlybatsyy | @heiankyonoeiyuukun | @dillybuggg | @am-3-thyst | @mikevi | @sadest-bookshelf | @rayaaaaalt1

[starboye]

pairing: nate jacobs x male reader

request: Nate Jacobs learns that Male reader is a new student, and he tries to have a one-night stand with him or something, but male reader immediately shows his dislike towards Nate. This catches Nate off guard, and he tries to "be friends" with him, but Male reader declines or simply walks away from Nate causing Nate to be furious and more determined to get in bed with him, however, Nate soon realizes he catches feelings for Male reader and wants to him to be his boyfriend?

warnings: fluff, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing

you had just moved to california after your dad got a big promotion so of course you were the new student at east highland highschool, you heard some good and bad things about it (mostly bad things) but nonetheless you went and of course they assigned you a school guide, some guy named nate jacobs and immediately he wanted you.

he showed you around the school, showing you the great wonders that came with the highschool in the most monotone voice but from time to time he'd glance over to admire your ass, that luscious ass he wanted to fuck so badly "hey wanna come to a party, its happening later tonight if you wanna swing by" nate asks trying to appear nonchalant "yeah id be down" you say mimicking his nonchalant.

and with that you and nate finished the tour and said good bye to each other, but for some reason you couldn't escape nates mind, no matter how hard he tried to think of something else the thought of you always bounced around in his mind, was it maybe that he actually liked you no impossible he just wants to fuck you that's it nate lied to himself as the bell rang and school ended.

you entered the house party to the sound of loud ruckus, people yelling, and music blaring, with the overwhelming smell of alcohol, but luckily you noticed nate as he waved you over "50 bucks says i fuck this slut by the end of the night" nate says to his friends as you walk closer "ill take that bet" mckay says before nate walks over to you "wanna get some drinks" nate asks leaning over to near your ear so you could hear him better "yeah sure" you yell back before walking over to a more quiet part of the house.

"so what's a sweet thing like you doing here all alone" nate asks sipping on his drink as you lean onto a wall "no friends" you reply looking up at him with disinterested eyes "well wanna make a friend tonight" nate smirks placing his hand beside you head on the wall and leaning over you "is this your way of flirting" you ask snickering a bit.

"what" nate questions leaning back up "if you wanna sleep with me just ask" you chuckle taking another sip of your drink "well then wanna have sex with me" nate asks thinking he's about to easily win his bet but his hopes are killed when you respond with no "why don't you wanna sleep with me" he asks "because you look like a total douche" you say before walking away to get another drink, nate watched as your fine ass walked away from him, he was now determined to have sex with you.

after that day you caught him watching you, whether that be in his truck as you walked home from school or from afar while you were doing school work, he'd even sometimes buy you expansive gifts with handwritten notes that you're sure he got from pinterest but you shut him down every time "c'mon just once" nate pleas "no nate, not now and not ever" you say giving him the diamond bracelet back and walking away as he was forced to watch that ass walk away for the hundredth time.

nate sat up at night wondering why he wanted you so much, why he needed to sleep with you so badly, was it because he felt something deeper for you and wanted to try and push that feeling out by sleeping with you but it would inevitably come back up... no it couldn't possibly be that, but the thought was to much, he got up and drove to your house in the middle of the night.

"you up" nate texted your number (he had got it from you on the first day of school) "what do you want" you text back "come outside" he texts, you look outside to see his truck on the other side of the street and huff before putting on some clothes and walking out to his car, seeing him with a little smile on his face you get into the passenger seat "what do you want nate" you ask slightly agitated as nate just woke you up.

"okay so i- ive been thinking right and... i don't know how to say this but..." nate stammers over his words making you even more annoyed "just spit it out" you say leaning over the arm rest to kiss him, his lips lightly chasing after yours "uhm i was gonna ask will you be my boyfriend" nate nervously asks "yes" you smile finally seeing the nate that isn't a sex hungry animal "so does that mean we can fuck now" nate asks.

"one step at a time you horny fuck" you say before opening the door to get out the car but nate pulls you back one last time to kiss you, this kiss more passionate and heartfelt than the last, maybe fucking him wouldn't be the worst thing ever

taglist: @spermeboy @mailmango @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat

[flshsticks]

Pair!: knight!nate Jacob’s x prince!ftmReader

A/n: here’s a fic since I’m feeling a bit sad today and I just wanna post at least something and I had this in my drafts for a while..

Warnings: ass slapping, rimming, hair pulling, creampie, top Nate, bottom reader, gay. Idk if this is how he act but I tried my best?? Mention of pregnancy

Pronounces: he/him

[Requests open!!]

You swore you were gonna cry. Your parents are arranged you to marry some random prince you’ve never met?? You didn’t even know anything about her. Who he was what he was. Or what he did, is he ugly or is he hot? Not like that would make you marry her. Looking in the mirror with sad puppy eyes. Sighing You got changed in some pjs. Opening your door slightly to peek at the hot guard who was talking to a butler. You couldn’t lie but you had a bit of a crush on him..what was the guards name though?? Nathan? Ew no dosent suit him..Norway? No that’s a country idiot..oh Nate!! God he was so handsome to just be a lousy knight. You had only seen his face and only parts of his body like his hands..ok that’s it. Honestly you wished you’ve seen every crevice of his body. OK NOT IMPORTANT.! But seriously. You’ve had a massive crush on him ever since you met him. You’d think about him at night and would shove a huge dildo in your sweet tight pussy every night just thinking of him. Moaning his name and biting into your pillows to hide your whimpers. Everytime you would pass him you’d feel something warm in your belly grow. You then decided to finally talk to him instead of stalking him.

Opening the door to your room and closing it. You slowly shuffle beside him and tap his iron shoulder. He turns around and stiffens “y-your highness! What brings you here at night?” He says you just smile at him. “Just wanted to see how my favourite knight has been..?” You said tracing the patterns in his armour. Blushing he stutters with his words and expressions. “I-I..I’m fine..” you grabbed his hand and caressed your thumb over it. It caught him off guard, staring down at you. “Do you want to go somewhere..quiet?.” You replied. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t leave my po-..you know what? Yeah..I’d like to.” Grabbing his arm you lead him inside your room. Locking it. “So..why do you need me in here fo-“ he suddenly gets pulled in a heated kiss. At first he was hesitant but then he closed his eyes and started roughly kissing you back. Tongues smashing into each other saliva mixing and spit running down both your guys chins. He started groping your fat ass. Kneading it like dough and squeezing it likes it his own personal royal stress toy. You begin to remove every part of his armour. Taking his chest plate off and the others. The metal clanking on the floor when they got dropped. Just a pile of iron on the ground. Nate pushed you onto your king sized bed and got ontop of you. “Is this too much?..you are getting married tomorrow..” you didn’t care and kissed him again. “I don’t care..” he shrugs. Ripping off your clothes and pants. He spreads your legs and starts spreading your pussy, he licks his lips. Spitting on to your sweet pink clit.

His tongue diving in to you. Lickin up all the juices from your pussy. Your pussy was so sweet it was like eating candy. Moaning and pulling on his hair. “Mm..be a good boy and moan for me..” your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Back arching, feet curling, his cock grows hard from the moans and whines bouncing off the walls of your room. He stops and grips onto your hair. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue..” you obeyed and stuck out your tongue. He spits on your tongue and you happily swallowed it. He smacks his huge cock on your cheek. It was way bigger than the dildos you had. And way bigger than your head. It made you anxious but so excited. You started sucking on his tip licking up all the precum and smearing it on his slit. He groans and lets go of your hair. And you start to deepthroat his giant cock down your throat with ease. “No gag reflex- ngh! You must be..popular with the guys.” He said smirking down to you. too busy worshiping his cock you get his dick wet and slippery. His loud groan could be heard across the hall. When you were done getting his cock ready for your pussy you lay face down ass up ready for his massive cock to abuse both holes. He spreads your pussy and slowly inserts half his cock in before slamming completely in. He lets out a deep groan feeling how your pussy squeezes and gets so tight when he enters. You moans getting louder than before. He starts thrusting in and out. Feeling how slippery your pussy got from just a few thrusts. He moans quietly. Slapping your ass and admiring how the fat flesh jiggles from just a tiny smack. He slaps it again and again. You yelped from every spank. He smiles and cobtinues to slam into you.

His thusting begins to get very hard. Gripping onto your hair as a handle for him. One hand gripping your hair and another on your ass. Squeezing the round flesh and playing with it. A few hours go by and you have already cummed about 5 or 6 times. Your juices getting all over your expensive fluffy sheets but you couldnt care right now. You were too focused on nates huge angry cock. He starts panting like a dog. Sweat starting too running down his chin and dripping down onto your back. Your legs giving out for the fith time already, shaking and begging for a break. And your pussy burning up like an oven, Nate’s thrusts begin to get sloppy and very messy. He stops and was about to pull out but you tightened on him. “Cum inside please.." you whined. He hesitates but does it anyways. " you want be to breed you hm?.. " you get more excited and nod. He starts thrusting again and moans. " fucking take my load slut!" he says groaning as he finally cums in you. Filling you fully making sure to get every last bit of his cream in you. The thought of you walking around with hid babies just sloshing around in your big belly. Speaking of big belly your belly was so big from the cum. It looked lime you were already pregnant.

Nate kissed your forehead. Pushing a buttplug to make sure all his cum wouldnt gush out and splash onto the ground. Some of his cum dripping down your thighs. He licks your thighs up. Licking the cum off your thighs. Getting some cum with his finger, he shoves his finger in your mouth for you to lick it all up.

He lays down beside you and brings you close. “You know we can’t be together..” he said looking at you. “We can’t just run away together!” You said he just smiled and kissed you. “Maybe we could..let’s just see what I can do..we can’t run away together and live somewhere far..far away..”.

A/n: (Yay I’m done!! Maybe I’ll make another story based on this but I think I might disappear for another week or two..we will see!!)

[sturnswiftie]

matt's first mistake is thinking that was the last time he'd see you...

⤸ 『two』 ⟶ 『four』

his second mistake is thinking you’d take a hint.

you don’t.

it starts small. an occasional run-in at chris’s place when he stops by. then, suddenly, you’re there at random hangouts, always lingering just close enough to be noticeable but never outright in his space. matt ignores you at first—he’s good at that. but the more it happens, the more it grates on him.

like today.

he steps into chris’s apartment, fully intending to drop something off and leave. it’s not that he minds spending time with his brother, but apparently it’s a full house tonight. finding nicole there is one thing; you are another.

he finds you on the couch, curled up next to your best friend, wearing one of those sweet little cardigans you seem to like so much. at the sight of him, you light up almost immediately.

“oh, hey, matt!”

the boxer barely acknowledges you, his gaze shifting to the appearance of his triplet brother entering from the kitchen. he tosses chris the envelope he came to drop off.

“that’s the cash. give nate his cut.”

while matt doesn’t necessarily have a coach or a manager, nate and chris would be considered his team if he had one. once he really started to get good in the ring, and known locally, nate was the one to set up fights with other boxers; everyone wanted to get a chance at the hometown kid making his way up. and chris, being the loud mouth that he is, had no problem rallying up the crowd as far as betting went. he’s always been good at talking people into shit, and so far he’s been pretty successful at convincing spectators to bet in his favor.

chris nods, flipping the lip of the envelope open to count through the bills, but matt can feel your eyes on him like a heat lamp, and when he finally looks, you’re smiling—bright, sweet, and way too enthusiastic for a conversation that hasn’t even started yet (and one he’s entirely trying to avoid.)

“you’re here early,” you chirp from your spot on the couch, that smile never dimming.

matt squints. “y’live here now, or what?” he asks.

you blink, caught off guard, then laugh a bit uncomfortably. “no?” you answer, but it comes out as though you’re unsure, and he wonders if it’s just because of him.

“then what’s it matter?”

chris snorts from the side, obviously entertained, but nicole is quick to reach out and slap his arm, shooting him a stern look.

“you know,” she starts, her irritation focused on matt now, “if you were ever nice for more than five seconds, maybe girls wouldn’t be scared to talk to you.”

again, chris has to disguise a laugh into his elbow, and matt bristles. “i don’t want ‘em talkin’ to me,” he insists, watching as nicole rolls her eyes but says nothing else.

to his surprise, and everyone else’s, you finally break your silence once more. “good thing i’m not scared then,” you say with ease, swinging your legs over the side of the couch as if getting comfortable for whatever this is. that bright little smile you’d worn when he first walked in returns, and matt has to stop himself from looking at you like some sort of alien that’s just come from the goddamn sky—nobody can be that optimistic all the time. right?

he exhales through his nose, locking his jaw. you aren’t scared—that much is obvious. and you should be, at least a little. he’s been short with you, dismissive and disinterested, but it’s like you don’t even register it. he doesn’t fucking understand.

chris’s girlfriend nudges your side. “we were just about to grab food. you should come with,” she insists, smiling at the way you brighten instantly, eyes flicking to matt before he can even shut it down.

“no thanks,” he mutters to the unasked invitation, already turning toward the door.

“oh, come on!” you chirp instead, standing from the couch like you’re about to stop him. “what, you don’t eat?” you tease him. a muscle in his jaw twitches.

chris smirks. “oh trust me, he does.”

matt flips him off. your giggle is immediate, and he curses himself internally because he shouldn’t notice how nice it sounds.

“come with us?” you try again, tilting your head at him. “you don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

despite your offer, however, you deliver it like you know something he doesn’t—like you’re sure there’s no way he wouldn’t want to talk to you. it annoys matt as much as it confuses him, as much as it makes him want to know more—like what the hell is wrong with you.

the brunette studies you for a long moment, like he’s already trying to figure you out, but he comes up completely empty. there’s no way you’re just... like this. bright, soft, eager, and—for some stupid reason—focused on him.

it’s annoying.

but despite everything, he still ends up at some cheap diner an hour later, sipping black coffee and watching you through narrowed eyes as you talk animatedly about something to nicole.

you catch him staring once. smile.

matt exhales sharply.

yeah. you’re gonna be a problem.

©sturnswiftie

divider by; @thecutestgrotto

[bratzsturns]

again and again.

warnings; smut, angst, no happy ending. not proofread; lowercase intended.

part two of disregard.

the next week was absolute hell. your brother avoided you, acting as if you were completely fucking transparent every time he walked by you in the hallways of your shared home. that didn’t happen much anyway, you spent most of your time in your bedroom.

you sobbed into the sheets once shared with matt, holding onto the shirt that contained his lingering scent. you felt disgusted with yourself every time you heard matt’s words replay in your head. the worst part though? you didn’t hate him, god, no, you fucking missed him.

your memories on snapchat haunted you, filled with photos of you and matt. you two laughing at nate, watching movies together, or even just him sleeping on your bare chest before you woke him to leave so he didn’t get seen by nate. your gut twisted every time you opened your phone unaware to whatever heartbreak you would encounter today.

finally you were resting. your sleep schedule had been so fucked from all the nights you spent staring at the ceiling, wondering where you fucked up. you were woken up by a text message. the notification caught you off guard. as your eyes adjusted to the bright light of your screen, the contact name finally focused into view.

‘matt 💘.’

you checked the time: 3:25 am. the moonlight shining into your room as your brows furrowed while you clicked on the message. your heart pounded in your chest, what could he want?

‘u up?’

oh. could be worse. you typed back a response, nails clicking against the illuminated screen.

‘yea’

your reply was short and simple. as you finally started to wake up, your phone went off again. you couldn’t help the way you opened his message immediately, it was almost like it was instinct.

‘alr wyd’

was he serious? he completely destroyed you, and now he has the fucking nerve to ask what your doing? anger didn’t flood your body, instead feelings of confusion took over. you couldn’t hate matt, you didn’t have it in you. you knew you couldn’t stand on business, matt did too. he abused his power over you, using it to manipulate his way back into your life multiple times.

‘just woke up, hbu?’

the next few minutes are long, you sit at your phone waiting for a reply. you know he read the message, so why go MIA now? you sigh, setting your phone down and picking at your nails. after a while of staring up at the ceiling, your phone pings again. you fumble to pick it up, shocked when you see not a text from matt, but instead a video.

matt’s holding the camera at angle that allows you to see all the dirty details. his jaw lingers at the top of the screen while his hands fist his cock desperately at the bottom. his tips red, hand working at a speed you’ve never seen before. his groans filling up the sound of your room while you turn up your volume.

wetness pooled in your panties immediately. you felt filthy. you were broken away from that thought by matt’s voice. ‘f-fuck- miss you so much baby. can’t cum the same way i do when im with yo-you’ he whines out. you can feel your face go red as you keep yourself from reaching down into your soaked panties.

‘’m so- so sorry for everything sweetheart’ he cries out, biting his lip to contain his groans. ‘wanna show you how sorry i am, please’ his tones apologetic, but it’s covered by his need. matt’s jaw clenches whilst his thumb rubs over his tip.

‘shit- ‘m so close baby. can’t stop thinking about you—how pretty you are when you take me. can’t stop thinking about the way your eyes roll back while i eat that pussy; my pussy.’ the camera pans up a bit more, allowing you to see matt’s flushed expression.

‘just-‘ a whine escapes his lips ‘just kiss you, everything about you. ‘m gonna c-cum! fuck-‘ the video cuts. your soaked, thighs pressing together as your body begs for some sort of relief. you break, typing back a response as quickly as possible.

‘come over, i’ll let you in the back door’

read 3:37 am.

after 15 minutes pass, you receive a message from matt that he’s outside. you walk out your room, carefully sneaking down the steps and to the back door in your kitchen. outside the door stands matt, in just grey sweats and a baggy hoodie.

‘matt, i mi-‘ your cut off by matt’s lips on yours. he puts one hand on your cheek, using the other one to close the back door quietly. his kiss is hungry, tongue slipping into your mouth as you kiss back. his hands now travel to your waist.

he pulls away, tightening his grip on your waist. ‘jump’ he speaks, tone demanding. you listen, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he holds you against him tight. he kisses you again, leading you up the steps into your bedroom. he pushes your door open quietly, using his foot to close it.

he practically throws you onto the bed, throwing his hoodie over his head and onto the floor. he leans down and pulls up your small top, the way your tits bounce captivating him for a moment. ‘fuck, missed this so much’ he mumbles, placing kisses down your chest until he reaches your nipples. he pops the sensitive bud into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it.

your back arches off the soft sheets beneath you. ‘fuck- matt’ you tangle your hands into his hair and tug on it softly. he releases your nipple with a soft ‘pop’ sound, kissing his way down your stomach. ‘lemme show you how sorry i am, please sweetheart?’

you nod, working with matt to remove the small shorts you had on. your panties and shorts are discarded into the pile on the floor, matt kissing your inner thigh. you feel his stubble rubbing against you, the feeling only adding to your desire. ‘please’ you beg, legs already threatening to shut.

matt suddenly grips your thighs ‘keep your fuckin legs open.’ his grip is so tight your sure you’ll have his finger marks on you for the next 2 weeks. ‘’m sorry’ you whine, looking down at the blue eyed man between your thighs.

‘good girl’ he finishes kissing up your thighs, tongue coming into contact with where you desperately need him. soft whines slip past your lips as he works his muscle in between your wet folds. he groans out against you, the vibrations sending you to another dimension. ‘taste so sweet, missed this fuckin pussy’ his voice is muffled by your wet cunt, your juices already covering his mouth.

‘fuck- feels so good matt’ you mewl. you hated the way you missed his tongue, fuck you just hated the way you missed him. matt took your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. the action was small, but it made the moment feel much more gentle, and genuinely intimate.

as matt continued to work his tongue in your folds, your orgasm crept its way up. with a final flick of his tongue, the coil in your stomach snapped. your nails scratched against his scalp as a loud moan escaped your mouth. you couldn’t give two fucks about your brother who was only two rooms over.

matt came back up, his skin glistening with your arousal. he releases your hand to cup your face gently, pulling you into a kiss. your saliva intertwines with a mix of his and your own cum, the taste sitting on your tongue.

matt pulls back and fumbles with his sweatpants, not even bothering to take them off. he pulls out his cock, which still shocks you just as much as it did the first time. he takes his leaking tip and rubs it against your wet slit, using it to mix together his spit and your cum.

you gasp at the touch, body jolting with pleasure. ‘please matt, jus’ put it in’ you beg, voice barely above a whisper. matt lets out a low chuckle at your words. ‘speak up sweetheart, can’t hear you.’

you repeat yourself, this time louder ‘put it in i nee’you so bad.’ he smirks, ramming his length into you. you cry out, arching your back off the sheets. you reach up, digging your manicured nails into the soft skin of matt’s shoulders. you run your hands down his arms, leaving faint red marks along his biceps.

‘fuckin missed this—missed you baby’ he groans out, putting his head down beside yours to kiss your neck. matt continues pounding into you, leaving red marks on the soft skin of your neck. he inhales your scent, a mix of perfume and sex sitting on your skin. your perfume alone was enough to make him cum, but he held it— wanting to enjoy this moment for as long as possible.

‘’s too much! matt- fuck! ‘m sensitive’ you whine into matt’s ear, soft moans slipping past your lips. the room was silent, aside from the sounds of skin slapping together. matt’s hips pounded into you, making your brain go fuzzy.

it was all too much, the overwhelming sensations making you completely brain dead. the only thing you could focus on was the sounds of matt groaning in your ear. ‘sound so pretty, keep making those pretty noises baby- fuck’

your orgasm was approaching quickly. every thrust with matt’s tip kissing your cervix had you clawing at him. he held your hips in place with a firm, harsh grip. he didn’t care if it hurt you, he couldn’t have you running from him.

as matt continued to fuck into you, pulling up your ankle and placing it on his shoulder, he hit a new spot. you cried out, eyes rolling back as drool dripped down the side of your chin. your body began to tremble, thighs practically vibrating.

you felt an unfamiliar and unexpected sensation; almost like you needed to pee. you tried to claw your way out of matt’s grip, pushing back on his chest but his grip was just too tight. before you could warn him, a clear liquid gushed out of you.

‘holy shit- that’s fuckin right squirt f’me baby. such a good girl’ his voice sent shivers down your spine as he continued his thrusts. matt’s orgasm followed almost directly after yours—pumping you full of his cum.

filling you up another two times, matt pulled out. your ass was still in the air as his cum leaked out of your wet cunt. matt admired his work, spreading your folds to look at the mess he made. ‘shit- look at that. look how pretty this pussy is when i breed it.’

your face turned red as you sat up. you were spent, you don’t think you even had another orgasm in you. but matt? still rock hard. he noticed the way your eyes wandered down to his hard cock that was pressed flush against his stomach. ‘wanna suck me before i go baby? have me cum all on that pretty face?’

you shake your head, you had an even better idea in mind. you push your tits together, leaning down and pushing matt’s wet dick in between them. ‘what are you-‘ matt’s cut off as you start to move up and down, using your tits to get him off.

‘that’s it baby- fuck- look at me.’ he growls, grabbing a handful of your hair and making you look up at him through your eyelashes. there was something about the way your eyes looked so dazed, so fucked out, that drove matt insane. he stared down at you hungrily, thrusting his sensitive length to help him finish faster.

hot, thick ropes of cum shot out of matt’s cock, landing on your chest and your face. matt let out a long and desperate whine, continuing to fuck your tits through his orgasm. as he pulls back, he stands and grabs a towel from the corner of the room, wiping his cock off. he tosses it onto the bed while beginning to put his clothes back on.

‘i’ll let myself out’ his tone is cold, completely different from the honey-laced voice he had just a moment ago. ‘oh,’ you mumble ‘i missed you-‘ matt doesn’t even listen, walking out of your bedroom.

the nose of your bedroom door woke up your brother. nate wasn’t a light sleeper, but his body always naturally woke him up early. he rolled over, noticing the time on the clock; 6:25 am. he wondered why you’d be up so early. stretching, he stands up out his bed when he hears the front door shut.

nate’s room was almost directly above the front door, his window giving him a perfect view of the sidewalk in front of his house. he peeks out the blinds, noticing not you walking but his best friend. you’ve got to be fucking kidding him.

fuming, nate walks over to your door. he knocks to make sure you’re decent. you walk to the door, hair messy and back into your pjs from before ‘huh?’ you pretend to rub the sleep out your eyes. nate’s jaw is clenched and so are his fists. ‘who just left?’

you try to act confused, but your brother knows you better than anyone. ‘no one?’ you question, a look of mock confusion taking over your features. ‘don’t bullshit me kid, who just left?’

‘nate, you’re fucking crazy—no one was here’ you go to shut the door, but nate uses his foot to block it. ‘matt was here. i just watched him drive away, how are you gonna fuckin deny that?’ he raises his voice, his angry tone now showing.

‘he’s not shit—you know that right?’ nate scoffs in disbelief at you ‘he literally told you to your face you didn’t mean shit to him, and you just let him over? are you so fucking serious?’

‘you don’t understand shit nate, i love him and he loves me. you don’t have to like it, it just is what it is.’ you push nate’s foot and slam your door. you climb back into your bed, grabbing your phone to text matt.

‘nate saw u leave he’s pissed’

read 6:29 am.

‘i missed you so much’

read 6:29 am.

‘matt??’

read 6:29 am.

silence. you know he read the messages, why wasn’t he responding? you try to call him, hoping that’ll get you an answer.

(3) outgoing call; ‘matt 💘.’

6:30 am.

6:32 am.

6:45 am.

finally, a notification.

‘bro stop blowing my phone up. i don’t want you 😂’

part three here.

angel speaks 🪽; lowk might make this an au and a series idk

[sturnioz]

ok you def don’t have to answer or go along with this idea but… imagine like bun and kitty and whoever are all having a convo about faking orgasms and chris is there not really contributing just barely listening and kitty asks bun if she’s ever faked one and she just kinda timidly shrugs and tries to change the topic. well that catches his attention and later when they’re alone chris asks if she’s ever faked with him and she just sorta shrugs again. then he makes it his mission to make her cum as many times as possible.

"i faked it, like, once or twice," you hear bee admit to kitty one morning, her voice cutting through the quietness of the kitchen. you glance up from your cereal bowl, spoon halfway to your mouth, blinking at them both with little curiosity as bee continues. "sometimes i can't be bothered, y'know? like, just wrap it up already."

kitty lets out a soft laugh, her fingers curled around a steaming mug of coffee. she takes a sip before she nods in agreement. "it takes me longer to finish, and sometimes matt knows what he's doing but other times? i just need it to be over 'cos i'm not getting anything out of it."

you remain quiet as you watch them, slowly chewing on your cereal, unsure if you should talk or not. the thought of talking about your own sexual experiences makes your cheeks feel hot, and you don't really want to embarrass yourself so early in the morning.

kitty notices your silence, and she raises an eyebrow at you. "what about you, bun? ever faked it?"

the question aimed at you catches you completely off guard, and you almost choke on your cereal. you quickly swallow as your eyes dart toward chris, who's lounging on the couch in the living room.

"uh..." you stammer, struggling to find your words. instead, you opt for the safest response possible—a slow and noncommittal shrug.

kitty grins over the rim of her mug, "is that a yes, or a no?"

your cheeks burn hotter, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your cereal bowl, stirring the milk absently. desperate to change the subject, you quickly ask, "a-are you, um... are you both doing anything later? are you still going to the store?"

"OH!" bee gasps dramatically, smacking her palm against the counter as if you've just reminded her of something. she digs into the pocket of nate's oversized hoodie, pulling out her phone and unlocking it with rapid taps as she rambles about the list of things she needs to get that's in her notes app.

the weight on your chest lifts as the conversations shifts, grateful the attention is no longer on you. kitty joins bee in a discussion about running errands, and you take the opportunity to sneak a quick, cautious glance toward chris.

he's sitting sitting on the couch, manspreading, his face buried in his phone as he scrolls mindlessly. relief washes over you in waves, thankful that he wasn't listening in.

or so you think.

it's when you're in his room, rummaging through clothes in search for something to wear to join kitty and bee on their day, you hear the door click shut behind you.

you glance over your shoulder to see chris leaning against the doorframe, his eyes trained on you. he doesn't say anything at first, he just tosses his lighter onto the desk with a dull thud.

searching for something to wear to join kitty and bee on their day out, that you hear chris walk in, his eyes trained on you as he closes the door behind himself.

"have you?" he finally asks.

your brows knit together as you turn to face him fully, blinking in innocent confusion. "have i what?"

"faked it, kid."

the question hits you like a slap, and your face heats up instantly as the realisation sets in. when you thought he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings... he did hear.

your lips part as you try to come up with something—anything to say—but all that comes out is a jumble of stuttered words that make absolutely no sense. completely incoherent.

finally, you resort to the same answer you gave before—a slow shrug of your shoulders.

chris huffs out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head as he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightens as he keeps his eyes on you, his sharp gaze making pulse quicken.

"right," he mutters, his voice low and unreadable.

it all happens so fast—one moment you’re being stared at, and the next you're pressed against the bed with a sticky mess between your thighs.

you're gripping the bedsheets tightly between trembling fingers, a choked squeal leaving your drooling lips as his hips smack harshly against your ass he he fucks into you brutally, giving you what seems to be your third or fourth or fifth orgasm.

honestly, you have no idea. you've lost count.

"c-chris! mmph—i ca—ah!!" you're unable to form a coherent sentence, your body bouncing against the bed with each thrust, your thighs flailing as his grip on your hips tighten, pulling you back repeatedly against him, driving his cock further into your snug warmth.

"shruggin' your shoulders," he scoffs to himself with a shake of his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as one of his hand dips around the front of your body, pressing his thumb against your sore, swollen clit. "y'funny if you think you can fake shit with me, bun."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 9

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, tension, mentions of drinking and being hungover

I glance at the bouquet one last time, the petals now frayed with bits of trash throughout it. With a sigh, I place it gently back in the bin. Keeping it would feel.. strange. Too much. But the card.. that’s something I can’t seem to leave behind. I place it back in the envelope and slip it into my pocket before picking up the box I’d left on the floor and putting it in the trash before heading back inside.

My mind is elsewhere as I make my way to Chris’s room. I knew I needed to get the company card to get Chris a new phone, I’ll have to order it today to make sure its here before he heads to Hawaii.

I push open the door and see Nate falling asleep in Chris' bed. He looks up as I step inside.

“Hey” I whisper, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m looking for the company card. Have you seen it? He usually keeps it on the desk”

Nate furrows his brows and shakes his head. “I haven’t seen it. You’re right though they all usually leave their things on their desk, I didn't see it though.”

“Exactly” I mutter, scanning the desk for any signs of the card. Nothing.

“Maybe it’s in Matt’s room” Nate suggests with a shrug, trying to go back to the sleep I just brought him out of.

I exhale sharply, already feeling the tension creeping in. “Of course it is” I mumble, more to myself than to him. “Thanks, Nate.”

Leaving Chris’s room, I climb the stairs, my footsteps heavier now. The closer I get to Matt’s room, the more I debate what to do. It’s not like I haven’t been in there before, but I still feel like I'm intruding, it was.. complicated.

I stop in front of his door, my hand hesitating on the handle. Taking a breath, I tell myself to stop overthinking. It’s just a debit card. Get in, grab it, and get out.

I push open Matt’s door cautiously, the slight creak of the hinges sounding louder than it should in the stillness. I make my way over to his desk in the corner of the room and scan over it. No card there either. Where could Chris have put this?

My eyes wander around his room. Then I notice it. Perched on his bedside locker, standing upright and slightly tilted as if placed deliberately, is the thank you card I gave him.

It oddly makes my heart skip a beat.

He kept it? Not only that, but he put it on display? I stare at the card, feeling a mix of emotions swirl in my chest. It must mean something to him, right? I gave it to him on a whim, thinking he’d either forget about it or toss it in the trash without a second thought. But here it is, sitting there like it’s important.

Next to the card is a silver metallic bag. It catches the light, sleek and reflective, and my curiosity flares. A gift bag? Then I notice other memorabilia and cards.. Maybe that’s just where he keeps things people give him? For a moment, I picture him tossing everything he’s been handed into one spot without a second glance. The realization makes me pause, a wave of doubt creeping in. What am I still doing in here? I shouldn’t be snooping around, especially not in Matt’s room. It feels invasive, like I’ve crossed an invisible line, yet I can’t seem to stop myself.

My gaze flicks back to the thank you card, and for a brief second, I remember those rare moments when Matt wasn’t a complete asshole, when he’d let his guard down and show an ounce of kindness. Those glimpses of him were few and far between, but real. It made me curious if there was more to him, buried beneath the layers of anger and arrogance.

I clutch the envelope from the flowers in my hand tightly, feeling its edges dig into my palm. It suddenly feels heavy, like it’s holding more meaning than it should. What does it all mean? I shake my head, snapping myself out of it. This is too much. Too personal. I need to leave before I lose myself in this train of thought. I turn on my heel, heading back to the door, but my feet feel heavier with every step, like I’m leaving something unresolved behind.

I sit on the couch in the living room, I put the small envelope in my pocket and take out my phone. My thoughts spiral as I decide to scroll through the thread of messages Matt and I exchanged earlier. Did I really want to text him for answers? Our last messages to each other were.. tense, to say the least. His frosty replies and my final comment about it being the “last time” we’d texted each other still lingered in the back of my mind. 

Why am I even considering this?

Wait, I actually need to text him again.  My mind is getting so caught up in hidden meanings I’m forgetting what I actually have to do. Chris wasn’t reachable, and Matt was the closest connection I had. I sighed, composing myself as I typed out a message:

"Can you tell Chris the business card isn’t in his room?"

I hit send and waited, the seconds feeling like minutes. A response popped up almost immediately:

Matt: "Thought you weren’t going to text me again."

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. Of course, he couldn’t resist. I typed back, my fingers moving quickly:

"I don’t have a choice when you’re my communication with Chris."

I pull out the envelope from my pocket to read the card again, the words on it now etched in my mind. Y/n, I’m sorry for last night. I went too far, and you didn’t deserve that. The difference between his words to me at times was crazy. There’s something about the simplicity of the note, paired with the effort it must’ve taken to even organise it, that makes me pause. I wanted to bring it up to him. What had changed between the moment he decided to buy those flowers and when they ended up in the trash?

Maybe it was an accident? The thought feels washy, but I cling to it.

Before I can second guess myself, I snap a picture of the card, my hand shaking just enough to blur the first attempt. I steady myself, retake it, and attach the image to a new message. My fingers hesitate on the keyboard, then type:

"Apology accepted."

I press send before I can change my mind. The message bubbles with the photo of the card and those two simple words feel heavy in my chest as I sit back and wait for a response. My phone remains silent, the screen mocking me with its lack of activity.

It’s in that quiet moment that Nick’s voice cuts through my thoughts, yelling my name from somewhere upstairs.

I sigh, putting my phone in my pocket. Whatever Matt’s response might be, it will have to wait.

 I hear Nick shouting my name from his room, his voice brimming with excitement. “Y/n! Come here! I’ve good news!”

Curious, I quicken my pace and climb up the stairs and into his room. He’s sitting on his bed, laptop in lap, grinning like a kid with a secret he can’t wait to spill. His enthusiasm is contagious, but I still raise an eyebrow. “What’s going on?” I ask, crossing my arms with a small smile.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I laugh, already skeptical. “What kind of surprise?”

“A fun one!” he teases, leaning back dramatically.

“Okay, spill it, Nick.”

“You’re coming to Hawaii with us!”

I blink at him, waiting for the punchline, but it doesn’t come. “What?” I finally manage to say, my voice in disbelief.

“You heard me” he says, beaming. “I just bought a plane ticket for you. You’re staying in the same villa with us. It’s all set.”

For a moment, I just stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s pulling some elaborate prank. “Are you serious?”

“Dead” he replies, his grin never faltering. “You deserve this.”

I laugh nervously, shaking my head. “Nick, you’re messing with me. There’s no way.”

“I’m not messing with you!” he insists, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I booked it already. Ask Chris if you don’t believe me. I brought it up to him the same day he invited Nate and he immediately agreed.”

The sincerity in his voice starts to sink in, and my disbelief slowly gives way to shock. “Wait.. you and Chris talked about this?”

“Yeah” Nick says, his tone softening. “Look, we both know you’ve been through a lot lately. Between the apartment, Ethan.. well, life in general, you deserve a break. You’ve been working so hard for Chris too, so we figured, why not?”

I take a step back, the weight of his words hitting me. “Nick, that’s.. that’s so nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t have to” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “But I wanted to. You need this, Y/n. And honestly, it wouldn’t feel right going without you.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat, a mix of gratitude and shock making it hard to speak. “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you, Nick. Seriously.”

“Don’t thank me yet!” he says with a laugh. “Wait until we’re sipping cocktails on the beach.”

I laugh with him, shaking my head in disbelief.  I take a deep breath, trying to process everything. A trip to Hawaii? It feels surreal, and the fact that they thought of me, that they wanted to include me, it’s overwhelming in the best way. I just wasn't sure everyone on the trip feels that way.

“Okay, okay. But, uh.. I’m going to need clothes. And a bigger suitcase, considering I don’t have much anymore. I’m practically down to my last jumper already.”

Nick smirks, getting up from his bed and walking to his closet. “I was hoping you’d say that. Shopping trip tomorrow? My treat.”

“Nick, you really don’t have to do that-”

He cuts me off, holding up a hand as he pulls a jumper out from his closet. “Oh, I absolutely do. You’re going to Hawaii with me, and there’s no way I’m letting you go with just whatever’s left from the wreckage of Hurricane Ethan. You need new outfits, bikinis, something cute for dinners, sandals, sunglasses. Everything. Also, take this for the minute so you have an extra jumper.” He says, passing me a yellow Ralph Lauren jumper. 

I blink at him, both surprised and slightly overwhelmed by his enthusiasm. “Nick, I can’t let you spend all that money on me.”

“You’re not ‘letting’ me do anything” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve already decided. Besides, think of it as a business expense.” Giving me a smirk.

I narrow my eyes at him. “A business expense?”

“Yeah! You’re part of the Fresh Love family, right? Consider it an investment. Plus I have the company card right now” He winks, clearly proud of his reasoning.

My mouth drops. “Oh my god you had it all this time!” I laugh.

“Yeah I ordered Chris a new phone too, he should be grateful.” He says raising his eyebrows. “And let’s be real, you deserve it. You’ve been working nonstop for weeks, and I don’t think you’ve treated yourself to anything in forever. So tomorrow, we’re hitting the mall. Clothes, a suitcase, anything else you need, we’re getting it.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, fine. But promise me you won’t go overboard.”

“We’ll see” he says with a mischievous grin. “Tomorrow, 11am. Be ready.”

I sigh, knowing there’s no point arguing further, but deep down, I’m touched by his thoughtfulness. “Alright, deal. But only because you’re so annoyingly persistent.”

“You love it” he teases, as I walk out of his room. I sit on the edge of my bed, yellow jumper in hand, shaking my head. Nick could be over the top sometimes, but moments like this reminded me why he was one of my closest friends. I placed the jumper on my bed and smoothed it out, the vibrant yellow popped against the neutral tones of my duvet. It wasn’t my usual style, but it felt cozy, and I couldn’t deny I needed it.

As I set it down, the faint scent wafted up again, warm and slightly spicy. It made me pause. For some reason, it gave me the strangest sense of deja vu, but I dismissed it just as quickly.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking my train of thought. Hopeful, I took it out, but it wasn’t a notification from Matt. I opened our thread anyway, checking to see if he’d responded and I’d missed it.

Read.

The message I sent, sat there unanswered. It was petty of me to even care, but I couldn’t help it. He’d gone to the effort of sending flowers and attaching a note, yet he couldn’t bother to say anything back?

I tossed my phone onto the bed with a sigh, the screen still glaring at me with his name.

Whatever. I don't know why I bothered with Matt at all. I wasn’t going to let his silence ruin my mood after the news Nick gave me.

I picked up the jumper again, pressing it against my chest. It was soft, comforting even. I folded it carefully and placed it in the top drawer of my dresser, smiling faintly at the thought of having something new to wear tomorrow, well, new to me, anyway.

Matt's POV

After Chris ended the call with Y/n, I felt like absolute trash. The hangover was kicking my ass, my head pounding every time I moved. Christina and Rachel had left a couple of hours ago, thankfully leaving Chris and I to just sit and recover in peace.

We were sprawled out in the living room, the TV playing some random movie in the background. Chris was trying to nap, meanwhile, I was doing my best to ignore the lingering pit in my stomach from last night’s events.

My phone buzzed on the armrest next to me. I lazily picked it up and saw a text from Y/n.

Y/n: "Can you tell Chris the business card isn’t in his room."

I sighed and looked over at Chris, who was dozing on the couch. “Hey, Y/n says the business card isn’t in your room.”

Chris perked up slightly, scratching his head. “Shit.. maybe it is in my wallet” he mumbled, checking his back pocket.

I turned back to my phone, typing a short reply.

"Thought you weren’t going to text me again."

The message delivered, and I leaned back into the couch, not expecting much more. My phone dinged almost instantly, though, and I glanced down.

Y/n: "I don’t have a choice when you’re my communication with Chris."

She had got me with that one. But then another message popped up, and this one made me sit up straight.

"Also, I found these."

It was followed by a picture of the card I’d attached to the flowers I sent, sitting in her hand.

"Apology accepted."

My face burned instantly. Embarrassment clawed its way up my chest and settled in my cheeks. Fuck. I can’t believe she found them. I hadn’t even planned to explain myself, it was impulsive, throwing them out, but it also was something I thought she’d ignore or pass off without a second glance. And yet here she was, calling me out on it.

Chris looked over, raising an eyebrow at my sudden movement. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing” I muttered, trying to compose myself.

I stared at her text for a moment, my mind racing. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing out a response.

"Thought Nate could get you some instead."

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the send button. Debating on whether ot not to press send.

a/n: sorry this took so long to put out, i was super busy and now im sick soooo hopefully i get over it quickly and part 10 is out soon, this is also kinda short n kinda shit so apologiesssss

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[kindredspiritsandgoodomens]

"Even memory is an act of imagination, you never tell the same story twice, not even to yourself" ~ Michael Burkard

This quote showed up on my dash and reminded me of The Rashomon Job and how interesting I find it that many people can watch the episode and walk away with the impression that we've been told the 'correct' or 'true' version of what happened that night, specifically by Nate.

And I get why. The team certainly lets him have the last word, and structurally we are used to the 'Nate's Eye View' dénouement being the point where we see a complex web of events finally make sense as a designed structure. But the multiple thefts of the dagger weren't part of a unified whole arranged by Nate, or by anyone - so maybe we should approach the usual conceit of revealing the scheme as seen through the eyes of the mastermind rather differently in this episode.

As an audience, we depend on Nate's ability to pull off the impossible just as much as the team do, and even though we (and the team) may roll our eyes at his god complex it's important for our continued investment that we (and they) manage to almost believe he's Just That Good. But the tell that his version of this particular story is not entirely without colour is that it's all just a little too neat.

When the storytelling starts, Nate's delighted. The minute he realises he can scoop them all, and even retroactively be the mastermind who puts it all together, he's just pleased as punch. "Why don't you all come over and I'll tell you what really happened." He says. You know, like a liar.

The first thing of note about Nate's Version is that he never went into the party, but still takes it upon himself to give them an authoritative reconstructed version of what went down based entirely on his own sense of how it would have happened, based on his understanding of the team and his assumptions about their behaviour. Naturally in Nate's Version Eliot and Sophie don't flirt even a little. Naturally in Nate's version it's going to be Eliot who takes Sophie's adulterated champagne glass, intended for Hardison, from Parker's tray, despite nobody else having specified anything about this detail (Eliot - the gastronome - wouldn't remember spitting out foul tasting champagne? Sophie wouldn't have noticed a key part of her plan going awry?). But this way it fits it all together like one of his plans, so naturally it's all going to be nice and neat.

Not content with imagining the entirety of the party sequence, he also entirely constructs a conversation between Coswell and the securty guard locked in the store room. Based on Nate's own description of his movements there's simply no way for him to know what went down in that room. We know from Parker that Coswell made his way into the vents, and we know how he got the climbing equipment, but would the Coswell of Nate's Version really go climbing into ducts? It's neat, but it's thin.

Coswell is really where we have to question the neutrality and authority of Nate's version the most. Not only because - even if we allow that IYS jackass Nate Ford did in fact perceive this security guy (probably most security guys) as an ineffectual irritant - he's clearly reacting to Sophie's contemporary jibe about Coswell's potentially superior intelligence by making the man a buffoon in his retelling. But, also, because believing him about Coswell's buffoonery requires us to accept that Parker, Eliot, Hardison and Sophie all massively overestimated an opponent on a job. Is that really plausible? Even if we allow for a percentage of exaggeration because they're thieves swapping stories in a bar, it doesn't add up. Hardison and Parker, who were young and mostly there for clout, maybe. Eliot and Sophie? No.

When they describe Coswell as brusque, efficient, and suspicious - and they corroborate each other, we should be very wary of Nate's entirely re-written character sketch of the man. Especially the idea that his behaviour could all be explained because he had a crush on Sophie. Sophie Devereaux - who can pick a mark's weakness of a driving license photo - not notice when the head of museum security has a crush on her? Not bloody likely.

Everything Nate remembers Coswell as actually saying could just as easily have been said by the version of Coswell the others describe. For instance, "I don't know much about gold but I know it's not meant to do that." Could be silly - could be sardonic. Nate thinks he's an irritating pleb, so it's recounted as silly. But even in Nate's Version Coswell makes a good point about the dealer running. Again, it's neat, but it's thin.

As for the idea that the dagger fell from a vent directly into his hand? Well, as Hardison says, nobody's that lucky. Nate's showboating. He's embellishing and neatening his recounting of his own (biased) recollections just as much as the others, and he's doing it to reinforce his team's (and maybe his own) perception of him as slightly beyond the laws of chance, reason, and even physics. This episode is also one of the last times he denies that he's a thief - a tell if ever there was one.

Eliot and Sophie both express reservations, but they let him have it, because on some level they know that they need him to be that lucky. The whole house of cards only stays up if Nate really is That Good.

Plus, of course, none of the team's versions are without colour - and they all know it. Firstly, all perception is shaped by biases. So Sophie remembers different details than Eliot or Parker, because they look at the world differently and prioritise different kinds of contextual awareness, reasoning, and value judgements. Secondly, and more importantly, they're not just remembering and recounting what happened that night - they're all thieves telling stories to other thieves, to friends they want to wind up (the accents getting worse and worse, Sophie saying Coswell was maybe even smarter than Nate), impress (Hardison being the centre of female attention, Sophie getting a round of applause), or correct (Eliot and Sophie both claiming the other was the one doing all the flirting, when if we take Hardison's word...) But their descriptions of the sequence of events all line up reasonably well.

Ultimately they're all right about parts of it. Nate's probably right about Coswell being ineffectual by IYS standards. Sophie's probably right about his personality. Hardison's probably right about Eliot and Sophie flirting outrageously. Parker's probably right about her encounter with Coswell in the vents (she's not going to misremember vents). But we, the audience, don't see the One True Version of what happened that night.

That's why it's so nice when the episode ends with them all going to steal the dagger, properly, together. Because that's where the truth is. The truth that they're all thieves, telling stories in a bar. Even Nate. But when they're stealing things together they can defy the laws of chance, reason, and even physics. That's where they'll really see and understand each other, and that's what matters.