#learn how to make my own fabric and string

[batshikns]

gosh im so excited to live on the land.

[dragoneyelashart]

under investigation

smut ୨ৎ warnings: g!p billie, daddy kink wc: 2.1k

the case board stretches wall to wall, red string tangled in chaotic brilliance, notes scrawled in billie’s narrow, slanted handwriting. names, timestamps, surveillance photos, scribbled quotes, and maps pin together like the nerves of a monster only she can tame. her eyes flick across it like she's reading something no one else sees.

she stands before it now, half-lit by lamplight, black slacks riding low on her hips, the sleeves of her white button-down rolled up to her elbows. her dark hair’s been pulled back messily, loose strands stuck to the sheen of sweat along her neck. one pen rests behind her ear. another twitches between her fingers, not because she’s nervous. billie never gets nervous. she vibrates on a different frequency. always calculating. always coiled.

you’re supposed to be working.

instead, you’re watching her hands. the way they flex when she gestures. the way her fingers twitch when she’s mid-theory, when the storm is building behind her eyes. you’re watching how her mouth wraps around words like “staging” and “intent.” they way she chews on her pencil when she’s trying to think. how, sometimes, when she forgets you’re in the room, she murmurs thoughts under her breath, fast, obsessive, brilliant. the sound always makes your skin prickle.

you’ve spent enough time in her orbit to know this isn’t just case energy. tonight, she’s restless in a different way. controlled tension radiates off her like heat from the pavement after rain.

and she knows you’re watching her. she’s letting you.

“the victims weren’t meant to be found when they were,” she says suddenly, slicing through the quiet. she lifts one arm and gestures to a map dotted with red pins. “the watches weren’t trophies. they were time stamps.”

you shift slightly on the couch, the leather warm under your bare thighs. you’re cross-legged, your notepad forgotten in your lap. “and the barefoot thing?” you ask, voice low, measured. you’ve learned to keep your tone steady around her. she pounces on anything that cracks.

she turns to you. sharp. that signature, hungry smile curls at the edge of her mouth, the one she uses right before she proves someone wrong or pulls a confession out of thin air. “that’s where you come in, y/n.”

you roll your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. “you say that like i’m not the one who flagged that both scenes had talcum powder near the bodies.”

she hums, low, approving,  and strolls toward you, slow and languid, like a cat circling prey it already owns. “mm. my brilliant little assistant.”

her voice dips on the last word, almost a purr.

heat flares in your stomach.

you don’t move as she approaches. you don’t have to. billie likes to close the distance herself, likes to see if you’ll hold your ground, if you’ll let her invade your space without protest.

you always do.

she stops just in front of the couch, towering over you even without heels. her gaze flickers to your lips, your throat, your exposed knee. she leans in, one hand bracing against the wall behind the couch, the other ghosting near your temple — not touching, just close enough to feel the air shift.

her knee presses between yours. your legs part instinctively. she notices.

“you know,” she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “you’ve been sitting there for over an hour looking like you want me to pin you to the board.”

your throat tightens. your heart kicks hard in your chest.

you wet your lips. “maybe i do.”

she studies you, unreadable, calculating, for a beat that stretches too long.

then her mouth is on yours.

it’s sudden. fierce. a collision of heat and want and unspoken understanding. her hands grip your waist, strong fingers digging into your hips as she pulls you up, off the couch, with practiced ease. your notepad falls to the floor. her body is already flush with yours by the time your back hits the edge of the desk, cool wood biting through the thin fabric of your shirt.

you gasp into her mouth as her hips slot between your thighs. her kiss deepens, harder, wetter, and you feel yourself unraveling by the second.

she breaks from your lips to trail kisses down your jaw, biting lightly just beneath your ear. her breath is hot against your skin.

“you always taste like trouble,” she murmurs, voice low and ragged.

you try to reply, something witty, sharp,  but your brain short-circuits as her hand slips beneath your shirt, palm splayed across your stomach, fingers sliding upward, dragging the fabric with them. her mouth is at your throat now, kissing, sucking, nipping.

and then her hand moves lower.

she doesn’t bother with finesse, not now, not with the way your breath’s hitching. she presses her palm firmly between your legs, cupping you through your clothes, and rubs slow, deliberate circles that send white-hot sparks up your spine.

you moan, hips jerking forward.

her voice darkens with amusement. “so eager, already?”

“billie— daddy—” you try to catch your breath, try to stay present, but her touch is a fuse, and you’re already burning.

she grins against your neck. “that’s what i thought.”

she kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand gripping your ass, the other slipping beneath your waistband to press where you’re already soaked. your legs tremble. her fingers stroke lazily, expertly, teasing you right to the edge of losing control.

then, just as your breath hitches, just as your knees nearly give out—

buzzzz.

the shrill ring of the desk phone slices through the tension like a blade.

you both freeze.

billie exhales a low groan against your neck. “oh, for fuck’s sake—”

her hand stills, but doesn’t move away.

you blink, dazed. “ignore it,” you whisper.

but she’s already turning toward the phone, lips parted in irritation.

the caller id flashes.

inspector heller.

you groan. “tell him to get a life.”

billie reaches for the receiver, but she doesn’t move her hand from your waistband. if anything, her fingers press harder.

as the phone rings again, she glances at you with a look you’ve come to recognize: cold calculation, tempered by something far more dangerous.

a smirk.

she picks up the receiver.

“heller,” she says crisply, voice cool and composed, as if her hand isn’t currently shoved down your pants, as if her thumb isn’t making slow circles over your most sensitive spot.

your breath catches.

you try to squirm, to hold back the moan threatening to escape, but billie pins you with a look that says don’t even think about it.

then she frees herself.

long. thick. flushed at the tip, already dripping.

you’ve felt it before, pressed into your thigh, your stomach, teasing between your legs. but seeing her like this, cock heavy in her hand, shadows flickering over her skin, voice smooth on the call, it knocks the breath out of your lungs.

she jerks her chin.

“under,” she mouths.

your heart skips.

you slide down slowly, knees hitting the hardwood, and crawl beneath the desk. the space smells like cedar and paper and sex. her thighs part. her cock rests against one, throbbing faintly, sticky with pre-cum.

you don’t hesitate.

your lips wrap around the head, soft and warm. leaving soft kisses on her sticky tip. her taste is clean, faintly musky, and your tongue swirls slowly, deliberately. above you, her breath catches.

but her voice doesn’t falter.

“yes,” she says smoothly into the receiver. “tox reports from both scenes. what about blood panel analysis?”

your mouth works rhythmically, your hand stroking the base in time with your tongue. her fingers slide into your hair and tangle tight, not pushing, just holding, a leash made of want.

her hips twitch forward once.

you hum.

billie’s breath stutters.

“timestamp data,” she says, almost too quickly. “i want the autopsy reports cross-referenced with the surveillance pull.”

you take her deeper, hollowing your cheeks, your hand stroking faster. she pulses against your tongue, leaking, jaw tight. her hand tightens in your hair.

she snaps suddenly, “no, i didn’t mean you, just send the fucking files heller.”

she covers the mouthpiece. looks down.

her voice drops lower.

“gonna make me cum on the call, fucking pathetic,” she rasps. “so fucking desperate to please me. come on keep going.”

you moan around her, wet and needy, pushing deeper until your throat burns. her thighs are shaking now. you know she’s close, her grip in your hair tightens, her breath going ragged, jaw flexing.

she finishes the call just barely holding herself together.

the second she hangs up, she pulls you out from under the desk with one hand and hauls you into her lap. you’re straddling her now, her cock hard and slick between your thighs.

“oh, poor baby,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “you’re soaked. look at you. wet from just sucking me off under my desk. that’s fucking pathetic, princess.”

you whimper, grinding down on her. her hands find your hips, bruising grip.

she slides your panties to the side and drags the head of her cock through your folds.

“beg for it.”

“daddy, please,” you breathe, barely coherent. “just want you to ruin me.”

she slides inside, slow and deliberate, filling you inch by inch. you cry out, the stretch, the fullness, the heat. she holds still for just a second, letting you feel it.

then she starts to thrust.

deep. slow. controlled.

each stroke sends shocks through your core. her hand slides to your throat, cupping it lightly, not squeezing, just there. claiming.

“taking me so good, baby,” she pants against your mouth. “so fucking tight. so perfect.”

“please, daddy, cum in me. please. need it, need you” you whimper, the words slipping out, raw and messy.

she growls.

“gone that fucking dumb on my cock, baby? just need me to fill you with my babies, hm?” she murmurs, soft and low in your ear.

your head nods fast, broken strings of “yes’s” falling from your lips.

your nails drag down her back as your orgasm crashes through you. she holds you tight, fucking you through it, hips relentless, voice hoarse.

and when she spills inside you, hot and deep, she bites your shoulder to keep from moaning too loud, your eyes rolled as far back as possible.

you’re both panting.

“next time heller calls,” she breathes, voice rough, “i’m putting him on speaker.”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp @too-sapphic-to-function | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[ash5monster01]

reader riding drew starkey face for the first time

a/n: I switched this to Rafe because it made more sense in my head for the brief plot. I hope you don’t mind <3

Something New

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, foreplay, oral, head (receiving), anxiousness, no strings attached, no use of y/n

Summary: Rafe wants to try a new position and despite your fears you agree, which turns out to be the best decision you could’ve made.

word count: 1.1k

Masterlist

Being with Rafe the first time was intimidating. The islands bad boy with the reputation of a good lay. When he directed his interest in you it was no surprise you were nervous. Why wouldn’t you be when he was deemed some legend and you were well, just you. Yet it happened anyway, lustful gazes turning into long nights curled in each others arms. He had lived up to his reputation and then some. You just prayed you were enough. That one day he wouldn’t decide to find better and move on when you were already down so bad for him.

“You smell so good” Rafe mutters against the shell of your ear, hard body pressed against your own. You could already feel his erection growing against your ass, making you thankful that the people at this party are too drunk to pay attention.

“Sounds like someone had too much to drink” you tell him despite the fact you brush your ass against his length, indicating you were into it too.

“Only one baby, I need you more” he mutters into your hair, fingers digging into your waist. You’ve learned that Rafe always told the truth, at least to you, so knowing he only had one drink and was this desperate for you already made your heart flutter.

“You trying to get out of here?” you ask and Rafe answer by grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the house. It didn’t matter this was his party, he needed you more. So when you’re both shut behind the locked door of his bedroom, you flash him a pretty smile while he takes off his clothes.

“Well what’re you waiting for baby, take that dress off” he tells you and you giggle, trying not to dwell on the pet name, while your hands pull the fabric up and over you’re head. When your bra is disregarded and your fingers push down the hem of your panties, you eye with curiosity as Rafe climbs into the bed.

“What’re you doing?” you ask, confused why he lays against his pillows as if he’s going to sleep. Normally he’d have you pressed against the wall before you ever made it to his bed.

“Getting comfortable” he says with a suggestive grin but you still haven’t caught on. You don’t have time to ask because he’s already motioning his hand for you to join him.

Panties now abandoned you crawl onto the end of the bed, moving up his form and trying your best to ignore how impossibly hard he is already. When his length meets your inner thighs you prepare to settle in his lap, expecting to ride him due to his request. Already dripping in need for him anyway.

“No, higher” he commands, body shuffling further down the pillows. Scooting up you meet his torso and he shakes his head with a grin. As if you were doing something wrong and he found it cute.

“Not much further I can go Rafe” you tell him and he rolls his eyes, hands settling on your bare waist, giving a teasing squeeze.

“Ride my face baby” he tells you and you can’t hide the shock that paints your features. Rafe wants to laugh but he’s more interested in seeing how this will play out.

“I don’t want to crush you, let me ride you normally” and you cringe at the words that leave your mouth. Yet his strength tightens around your hips, lifting you further up him while you fight the panic that rises in your chest.

“It’ll be fine, I just need to taste you” he beckons and you wriggle in his arms, hands grasping at the head board to steady yourself. When your core is perfectly centered over his face you do your best to look calm about the situation. The idea of even fully sitting your weight on him made your chest hurt but it fully contradicted how wet you were with the sight of him between your legs.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, hoping this confident facade you had built up wasn’t crumbling over a silly position like this. You had just never ridden anyone’s face before. It was already out of character becoming fuck buddies with the islands most eligible bachelor, you couldn’t crack under pressure now.

“God yes” and then Rafe’s grip on your hips pulls you down, your weight landing on him as his tongue immediately dips between your folds. It’s so euphoric your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head, whimpering everytime his nose bumps your clit.

You’re certain you’re making a mess all over his face. The pleasure is so intense you nearly forget the position you’re even in. Pretty soon you’re unable to stop the roll of your hips, grinding over his mouth and nudging your clit into his nose over and over again. When his hands glide from your hips to your ass, you’re fully riding his face like a desperate woman. You can feel his smile grow between your legs and as much as you want to scold him for being cocky, you’re to turned on to care.

“Oh God, right there Rafe” you whine, one hand leaving the headboard and falling to his head. He squeezes your ass at the praise and you start grinding into him faster. When you lower your hips just right he sucks harshly at your clit and you feel your orgasm begging to be released. You can’t tear your eyes from your knuckles which are white against the headboard and your torso shakes above him.

When one hand leaves your ass and reaches for your breast, you know he’s telling you to finish. It’s when he pinches your nipples between his fingers you feel it let go. The coil snapping as you finish above him. You feel your orgasm seep onto his chin and he continues to eat you through it. A very happy man indeed. When you’ve calmed enough to think you can move, you lift on shaky legs and roll beside him. He looks so smug, smile wide as you spot how hard he is. Pre-cum leaking everywhere from his angry red tip but he doesn’t even seem to mind.

“That was hot” he tells you and your heart flutters in your chest, cheeks tinting pink.

“Better than me riding you?” you tease, hand dipping down his stomach and closer to his length. His heavy cock twitches at the sensation and you’re fairly certain you’re about to become the smug one while he’s a whimpering mess.

“Anything is good when it’s with you” and you grin at the sentiment before wrapping your hand around his length and meeting your lips with his own.

[lieslab]

I wouldn't wanna be too much

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: You're grieving a breakup when your best friend finds you.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Whoever requested this, I hope your breakup hurts a lot less now. Breakups are horrible and terrible things. Evil and unimaginably cruel. I hope this makes you feel a tiny bit better <3

_ _ _

The worst part about being in any kind of relationship is how quickly feelings change. Romantic relationships are no different. Cracks appear in the pavement. People lose their balance, stumble and fall, and suddenly they’re no longer holding the steady hand of their lover. They’re face down, wiping blood off their chin, trying to push themselves back up and begin again. 

The things a person once loved, they shift. Thoughts and feelings change. One day, someone is the love of your life and after a handful of actions, they become someone your psyche steers you away from. A barrel of a burden separates the two of you and you’re left seeing one another in a different image. 

You knew love could be tough. When you began dating your significant other, you knew the pros and cons. You knew the rights could go wrong so easily, but in your head, all the pros heavily outweigh the cons. You knew it could crumble at any moment, but what’s a life without trying love? Without trying, without fighting for the good, without attempting to create a warm and welcoming intimacy between someone else, what’s the point? 

With all these people, isn’t love the point? To grow? To change? To learn new things? Rely on one another, show the best and worst parts of yourself, string up the memories, and try to enjoy what little time we have here on earth? 

Through the sweeping storms, the icy roads, and the hot summer days, we have one another to lean on. Physically, mentally, emotionally, platonically, romantically, and sexually. What is life without the basic fundamentals of it all? 

So you pushed yourself out of your shell. You tried your best, you really did. You fought to make it work, but life can be funny sometimes. When your significant other broke up with you, maybe deep down, you knew it could happen, but right now? So suddenly? Too much and way too soon. 

You balled yourself up in your apartment doing all the things that people try to do when getting over a relationship. You watched movies to rip out your own heart. Watching hurts unwind, so the feeling of betrayal shattering your own heart made it easier to cry and grieve. When the tears stuck and drowned your heart, the sad movies made them flood your cheeks instead. 

Damp cheeks, teary eyes, and sniffling every few moments, that’s how your best friend found you. Bang Chan had known you for so long, he had a key to your apartment. After announcing your breakup via text message, you turned off your phone and sank into the couch. 

The old fabric soaked your tears. It kept your body steady when the weight of the world left you in unmanageable pieces. For hours, you faded in and out of sleep, trying to cope with the hurt biting your heart. 

When you opened your eyes at some point, you felt a new warmth brush across your face. Your lashes fluttered open to find concern written all over Chan’s face. He took one of your wash rags and gently wiped away your tears. “Hey, there.” 

“What are you doing?” You weakly croaked. Dried tears clumped your dark lashes together. Your sinuses were clogged with congestion. 

“I’m taking care of you. I stopped by after work because you didn’t answer my messages. I was worried about you.” 

“I’m okay.” 

He chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t have to do that, you know? I know you’re not okay. Can you close your eyes?” 

You followed his instructions. The soft rag ran across the top of your eyelids, wiping off the dried tears and remnants of sleep. You sniffled and sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, so maybe I’m not okay. I’m trying to be, but it’s somewhat difficult.” 

“I figured.” He pulled the rag away, leaned forward, and pressed a soft kiss to the center of your forehead. Your eyes stayed shut, soaking up the gentle gesture. It made your heart flutter in your chest. “You should stop watching the Titanic, it’s only going to make you feel worse.” 

“I needed to have a good cry.” 

He pulled himself away and stood up. “Have you had anything to eat? Crying can make a person hungry and dehydrated.” 

“Does drinking my tears count?” 

He glanced over at you, unamused. A weak noise fell from the depths of your throat. His body turned to fully look at you. For whatever reason, that did it. The concern on his face, the damp rag in his hand, and the realization that he showed up without asking. 

In the background, Rose’s hand shook. She pulled the whistle to her lips and weakly blew it. So desperate to find help in the middle of the freezing cold ocean. As her lips turned blue, the skin that lost color, she fought for her own survival. 

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. Chan’s face fell and he hurried over, tossing the rag onto the coffee table. “Oh no. Please don’t cry, you know how I feel about you crying. Your crying makes me want to cry.” 

“I-I’m sorry.” You croaked out, trying to keep it together. “I don’t know if I know what I did. I really liked them and I-” Your bottom lip quivered and you couldn’t stop it. Your eyes squeezed shut, producing another wave of salt-coated tears. “I-I thought they were the one.” 

He gently helped you up, slipped behind you, and wrapped his arms around your waist. He held you tight, like if he let go, you might slip into the cold depths of the sea. “I know. I know you tried. You did everything right.” 

“Not if they broke up with me.” 

“And that’s their loss. You’re a great person with a lot of strength. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, you’re smart, you’re talented, and that’s their loss. Anyone would be so lucky to-” 

Your head shook. “I’m the worst person in the world. I’m not good enough or talented enough. I can’t do anything right. I can’t even keep a relationship and I-” 

“You still have me.” 

“Everyone hates me!” 

“That’s not true.” 

“You don’t get it.” Your eyes reopened, proving just how much of a mess you were. Webs of irritation made your eyes red. Tears steadily trickled down the bottom lids. “Everyone loves you. You have thousands of people worshipping the ground you walk on and I have-” 

His hand found your chin and he pulled it back in his direction. Before you could ask, the warmth of his lips met yours. Salted tears, snot, and all; he didn’t care. He didn’t care how messy your hair fell around your head or how you hadn’t showered in over twenty-four hours. 

At that moment, he wanted to prove it to you. The world burned so bright when it came to you. The stars aligned, the flowers bloomed, and the birds chirped louder. The hue of colors grew brighter. His heart quickened. All for you, always for you, never anyone else, besides you. 

When he pulled away, you sat with wide eyes in shock. “What was that for? What did I-” 

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand hearing you talk about yourself that way. I’ve liked you for a long time now. You can’t ever talk about yourself that way ever again. I love you so much and you don’t even know the half of it.“

Your heart skipped a beat. Fluttering wings brushed against the base of your stomach. Your heart melted into a liquid goo. “You mean it?” 

“Of course.” 

“I-I think I-” You sucked in a shaky breath. “How long? For how long have you liked me like this?” 

“Uh…” He trailed off, not sure if he wanted to admit the truth. “Quite a while, I suppose.” 

“And you stayed quiet because?” 

“Because the last thing I wanted to do was destroy a relationship with someone you truly loved. I was okay sitting on the sidelines and being your friend. You mean a lot to me and I didn’t want to do anything to compromise the friendship.” 

You blinked, trying to take in his words. His eyes went to the floor and red burned his cheeks. Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you and maybe he should have stayed quiet, but he couldn’t help himself. “Did I ruin the friendship?” He whispered. 

“No. I think I want to kiss you again, but I also just broke up with someone. I never thought dating you would ever be an option, so this is a lot to take in. Can you give me a while to sort out my feelings? I want to fix this grief before I jump into another relationship.” 

“So I didn’t ruin the friendship?” 

“I think we’re going to be a lot more than friends.” 

“Is now a good time to tell you that I bought you a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bag full of your favorite snacks? I left them out in the kitchen. I thought you could use a pick me up.” 

“Thank you.” You relaxed, allowing your body to sink back into his chest. He leaned over, grabbed the rag, and began to wipe away the remaining tears again. 

Maybe your romantic relationship ending with your ex meant the start of something greater awaiting your arrival off in the distance.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[dreamersworldduh]

HIS AWAKENING —PART 3

TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT

• NATE JACOBS x MALE!READER

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

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

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

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 9.7k

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

PREVIOUS PART! — HIS AWAKENING PART 2

NEXT PART! — MY HEART BELONGS TO YOU

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

Mornings were different.

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

And Y/N had.

Classes were different.

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

You looked good this morning.

Caught you staring. You're not subtle.

Meet me after practice. No excuses.

Afternoons were different.

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

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

Nights were the most different of all.

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

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

But they hadn't talked about it.

Not once.

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

And maybe that was the most interesting part of all.

Because neither of them seemed ready to bring it up.

And neither of them seemed willing to stop.

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

He knew better than to let himself catch feelings.

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

And Nate?

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

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

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

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

It was the way Nate said his name.

It was the way Nate looked at him.

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

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

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

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

Not unless Nate gave him a reason to.

Not unless Nate said it first.

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

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

Until then, Y/N was single.

And if Nate thought otherwise?

Well, that was his problem

Whereas for Nate, everything about this was uncharted territory.

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

But with Y/N?

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe it didn't—to him.

But to Nate?

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

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

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

It pissed him off, honestly.

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

Like Nate was just a roommate.

Like Nate was just a good fuck.

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

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

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

Nate exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

He needed to get a grip.

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

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

So he bit his tongue.

Swallowed every confession before it could leave his mouth.

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

Because the truth?

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

He wanted him in his life.

And he had no fucking idea how to say it.

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

To his left, Nate was struggling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, their whispered exchange hadn't gone unnoticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron.

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

And Nate didn't like what he was seeing.

Not one bit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then the air really shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, Nate's smirk vanished.

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

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

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

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

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

That was the smirk of someone ready to play.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nate's smirk dropped.

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

But then, just as fast, Nate recovered.

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

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

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

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

He never backed down from a challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N didn't correct him.

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

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

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

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

But today, something was different.

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

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

He shouldn't have cared.

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

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

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

He didn't look at Nate again.

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

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

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

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

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

There was no argument.

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

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

Which, of course, meant Nate was there too.

Y/N wasn't surprised.

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

So, of course, he was tagging along now.

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

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

That was just coincidence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nate had stolen Aaron's fucking seat.

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

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

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

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

Y/N's jaw clenched.

Oh, this was a game now.

Fine.

Game on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N smirked, about to fire back—

Until he felt it.

A large, warm hand settling casually on his thigh.

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

Slow. Deliberate.

Inching higher.

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

Fucking Nate.

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

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

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

Up.

And up.

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

And then—enough was enough.

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

Nate finally reacted.

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

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

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

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

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

This was a battle of control.

And Y/N was not going to lose.

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

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

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

But then Y/N started to move.

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

Nate didn't tense.

Didn't flinch.

Instead—he smirked.

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

And then—Nate adjusted himself.

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

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

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

But two could play at that game.

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

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

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

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

Nate still didn't react—not outwardly.

But Y/N felt the shift.

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

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

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

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

A thrill shot through Y/N's spine.

But still—Nate remained calm.

His breathing never changed. His posture never faltered.

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

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

But Y/N felt it.

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

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

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

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

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

Because Nate wasn't annoyed.

Wasn't flustered.

He was enjoying this.

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

It pissed Y/N off.

And turned him on.

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

He kept going.

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

And Nate?

Nate just smirked wider.

Because Y/N had fallen into his trap.

And he knew it.

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

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

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

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

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

But it was.

And Nate knew it.

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

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

Nate clenched his jaw.

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

Only to be denied.

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

Not just any guy—Aaron?

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

He didn't move, didn't speak.

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

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

Nate's jaw ticked.

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

Fine.

Two could play this game.

And Nate never lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N smirked. "Just roommates."

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

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Good?"

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

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

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

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

A date.

An actual date.

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

Something simple. Something normal.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, without much hesitation, Aaron leaned in.

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

to.

But he didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He should feel excited.

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

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

Nate was there.

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

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

"Where did you and Aaron go?"

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

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

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

That answer wasn't good enough for Nate.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, slowly, Nate took a step forward.

Y/N didn't move.

Another step.

Y/N stood his ground.

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

Y/N swallowed.

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

So, instead of acknowledging it, he pushed back.

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

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

But Y/N saw it.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

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

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

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

Aaron.

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

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

The door creaked open.

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

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

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

Nate didn't answer.

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

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

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

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

The tension in the air thickened.

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

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

That made Nate pause.

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

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

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

Then—

Nate moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But words weren't enough.

Not yet.

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

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

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

Y/N had had enough.

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

Too bad.

Because Y/N was done playing this game.

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

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

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

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

That shut Nate up real quick.

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

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

So Y/N kept going.

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

Nate's jaw clenched.

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

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

Nate's eyes were burning into his.

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

But still—Nate said nothing.

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

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

But just as he pulled it open—

"You haven't admitted anything either."

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

Y/N froze.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N's chest tightened.

Because... fuck.

Nate wasn't wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

And Y/N hated him for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nate was silent.

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

The words hung between them.

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

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

He just stared at Y/N.

And Y/N waited.

Because this was the moment.

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

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

[ghostmoon1]

Puppy Soap Week

Day Six - Nesting

CW : None, fluff.

Word Count : 1.1k

A/N : I managed to get this out even after a really long day at work, I'm glad!! One more to go, and oh boy I'm excited for the next one...

“Johnny?” 

There was a rustle inside his rooms, a string of curses and a crash following. Simon’s hand hovered over the door handle, unsure if he should enter at all. It was his room, of course; he was able to… he just wasn’t sure if it was safe to.

The sounds of frustrated huffs continued on the other side of the door, followed by the sounds of fabric ruffling. He sounded agitated, so he let his hand fall to his side with a small sigh. 

“Oi, Simon!”

He turns to see Kyle, jogging up to him with a grin. “C’mon, Cap wants a hand with a few things.”

He hesitates, looking back at the door before deciding to follow Kyle, thinking it may be best to leave Johnny by himself for a while, to give him a chance to get through whatever has him so on edge. Maybe he could squeeze a nap in; naps always seemed to help him feel better.

With a sigh, he turns to follow Kyle down the hallway, leaving Johnny and whatever his current activities were in his room. He concentrated on the soft thumps of his feet against the flooring, Kyle’s steady breathing, as well as his own. Anything to take his mind off Johnny, not being able to help but worry about him. He would often become agitated and throw things around sometimes, but he didn’t like it when he did that alone.

“So… why’d you need my help?” he mutters, raising his brow as he glances at Kyle past the mask.

“The recruits… they are. Being a pain… I suggested you could scare them into line.”

Simon rolls his eyes, huffing out a small laugh. “Oh really, that scary, am I?”

“To the newbies, yeah.”

He laughs softly, squinting as they walk into the sunlight. It was a refreshing feeling compared to the weeks of fog and rain they had been receiving. He’d have to get Johnny to come out and get some fresh hair, maybe it’d help him feel better.

Simon continues to follow behind Kyle until they reach the training ground, where Price is standing in front of a line of recruits with his arms crossed over his chest. His brows were furrowed in annoyance as he watched multiple of the recruits on the ground doing pushups.

The both of them need to hold in a laugh as Price turns to them, his face scrunched up in annoyance and frustration. “You wouldn’t believe how… difficult these are,” he mutters, having to restrain himself from saying anything else.

Simon’s gaze fell on the recruits, watching as some snickered and laughed, bumping each other's shoulders as their eyes fell on Simon and his mask, while others' eyes widened with uncertainty, taking a step back in precaution. At least some had a brain.

Simon takes a step forward, watching as silence falls on the recruits, and they all start to look worried. Some straighten their backs a little more, while others make sure their faces are facing the right way while standing at attention. He chuckles softly, watching them tremble like prey.

“Alright, you lot. If you don’t wanna listen to the Cap…you’re listening to me,” he commands, his voice dropping to something akin to a growl. “You’re all gonna drop and give me 20.”

He chuckles behind the mask as a chorus of groans and complaints follow, watching as they all drop down and start their pushups. Kyle watches closely, while Price just shakes his head and laughs.

“Making sure they’re fit, aye L.T.?” Kyle mutters with a laugh.

“Punish them all, and then they start to put the misbehaving ones in place themselves. They’ll learn.”

“Or make them hate you, whatever happens first.”

He shoots Kyle a look, raising his brow as Price just shakes his head and takes a step back, waiting to see how he’ll deal with the recruits. 

He spent the next few hours barking orders, watching as they scrambled to run back and forth until they were close to collapsing. He then turns to Price, a smirk hidden underneath his mask. “Now, if they misbehave, make 'em run another lap.”

He doesn’t miss the looks of pure panic on their faces at his words, their bodies aching and screaming at them to stop. Price nods and laughs, shaking his head as he steps up and replaces Simon’s place in front of the recruits. Simon gives them both a nod before his mind goes back to one thing: Johnny.

He rushes back out of the courtyard and into the hallways, almost breaking into a jog as his door is revealed. Pausing outside of his door, he listens, waiting for some sort of noise. But only silence greeted him. He quickly entered, eyes widening as he witnessed the mess of blankets and pillows over the bed and floor.

“Johnny?” he murmured, his voice cracking lightly as he stepped towards the pile of blankets. His heart reaches his ears as he gently pulls at a lump in the blankets, revealing Johnny’s curled-up form.

He let out a sigh of relief, thankful he was still here and hadn’t left. His eyes soften as Johnny whines softly, trying to pull the blankets up over himself again. “Lemme sleep…” he slurs, struggling to put words together.

“Shh, love. C’mon, be careful not to overheat yourself,” Simon murmured, kissing his forehead before lifting the covers slightly, pausing and watching his reaction. When he doesn't resist, he slips under with him, huffing lightly as he immediately curls up beside him, feeling safe in his nest. “You got enough blankets?” 

He answered with a small nod and a small kiss to the shoulder. He nods and continues, “You got some snacks and water? Need me to grab anything?”

Johnny huffs softly and nods, pulling Simon in closer. “Need you.”

Simon pauses, his heart lurching in his chest as he tries to speak, heat flooding his cheeks. He knew Johnny would get overly clingy while nesting, he felt safe like this. But he never quite prepared himself for these situations. “Yeah… I’m right here. Right here, Johnny,” he whispers, tightening his grip on him and pulling him in a little closer.

Johnny let out a small sigh, his tail wrapped around his legs. Simon knew these times were important to him for his comfort and relaxation. He would never admit how much they meant to him, being able to cuddle with the one he loves the most until they both drift to sleep. He almost needed it more than Johnny.

“Shh.. sleep, pup. I’m here, always.”

[thearttolifesdistractions]

Should’ve Known Better

description: a messy friends-with-benefits situation leaves you begging for more. every touch, every laugh, every moment feels like it could mean something, but you’re trapped in the fear of taking that leap. because what if it is all just delusions? what if it doesn’t mean anything? you’ve been fine with it, learning to deal with the consequences of your own decision, until one night, you can’t.

warnings: overuse of the word f*ck (LOL), mid/rushed writing, happy ending (i hate sad endings i’m sorry)

a/n: i’ve been really busy with school lately so i kinda rushed this & it’s a bit short… ngl i do NOT like this one… but i’m posting it anyways!! my next post will be better i promise 🤞 (also i was watching sex & the city and got to the part where carrie told big "what do i want from you? nothing, i don’t want anything from you" and lowkey that was my inspo for this one) ALSO i think i figured out requests??? idk LOL go check that out and lmk (also pls request HA)

wc: 5,238

pairing: hozier x fem!reader

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Summer nights here are usually a gift. On most nights, there’s a breeze rolling through, rustling the leaves just enough to show you that the world is still alive. But tonight is the exception. Tonight, the air is thick and sticky, humid with the storm that passed through in the day. There’s no breeze to break it up, no stars shining through the dark clouds overhead. 

And yet, here you are, sitting in a folding lawn chair, tugging at the sleeves of the sweater you shouldn’t have put on, given the weather. But, it’s his, and you thought maybe the familiarity of it would bring comfort. The fabric is too warm against your skin, trapping the heat in and making you feel restless and suffocated.

It’s not the first time you’ve spent the night. In fact, it’s the fourth time this week. But this time, it feels different. Or maybe that’s just what you keep telling yourself.

But, this also isn’t the first time you’ve convinced yourself that something more is going to happen, that this is leading somewhere beyond tangled sheets and whispered nothings. But it never does. It never will.

You don’t know how you got yourself into this mess. Well, no, that’s a lie. You do. You can trace it back, every step, every choice that led you here.

It was only a few months into your friendship with Andrew. There was just something about him. Something that made you feel at ease just by being around him. You got comfortable. And then, one night, it just happened, though it’s not like you didn’t want it to.

One too many drinks, and suddenly, his mouth on yours, hands grabbing whatever they could, bodies pressing together in a way that felt as natural as your friendship. 

It could’ve been a one-time thing. It should’ve been. You both should’ve known better. He had just gotten out of a serious relationship a month before, and you… should’ve known not to. You should’ve paid more attention to that flutter in your chest every time he looked at you, should’ve known it would lead to pain.

But, of course, you’re both fucking idiots. Instead of walking away, instead of swearing it off as a mistake, you both agreed to be stupid. No strings attached. Just fun. Just physical. But that was months ago.

You should’ve known better. And yet, you let it happen again. Again. And again. And again. You know it’s stupid, reckless even. You know that the way your heart skips when he laughs, the way your stomach tightens when he brushes his fingers against yours, the way you stay up after he’s fallen asleep just to look at him, or anything that you feel, really, none of that fits into the rules you set.

And now, here you are. Outside at three in the morning. Trying to convince yourself that tonight is different. That you’re not just setting yourself up to fall from a greater height.

Most nights, you deal with it. As much as you can, anyway. You tell yourself it’s fine, that you’re fine. That this arrangement, this thing between you, doesn’t mean anything. That you can handle it.

But tonight is different. Either it’s different, or you are. Maybe it’s just the cold. Maybe it’s just because you’re tired. Or maybe it’s because your silly feelings have turned into something deeper, something impossible to ignore. 

This was never casual, at least not for you.Not when you haven’t left his house all week. Not when he knows exactly how you take your coffee and makes it for you every morning without asking. Not when he holds you close as you both fall asleep. Not when you wake up to find him already awake, watching you, and pressing the softest kisses to your forehead like it means something. Like you mean something.

The door creaks open behind you, interrupting your thoughts. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. You feel the warmth of his presence before he even speaks.

It’s annoying, really, how he manages to calm you without doing or saying anything. It’s just him. Just his existence. And that really fucking bothers you.

“Baby, you okay? What are you doing out here?” His voice is rough, still heavy with sleep, and that makes it worse. Makes your chest feel tighter. Because, of course, he sounds perfect. Of course, he makes something as stupid as waking up in the middle of the night seem attractive. Of course, your heart still flutters.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling deeply, forcing yourself to push past the uncomfortableness in your lungs as you breathe in the muggy air. You want to say something, want to tell him everything you’ve been feeling. But how? How do you even begin to put this into words?

You can’t. Because the truth is, there’s no right way to say it. No version of this conversation where you walk away unscathed. So, instead of trying, you do what you do best… pretend. “‘m fine,” you murmur, keeping your voice even, steady. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a beat of silence, but you know he isn’t going to give up so easily. “Come inside,” he says, not quite asking nor suggesting. “You’re not gonna cool off out here.” You swallow hard. He’s waiting for you. HIs voice is tense, like he’s trying to be patient, but you know he’s desperate to go back to bed.

His warmth behind you leaves briefly, and for a moment, you think he’s given up. But then he comes into view, kneeling in front of your chair to meet your gaze. “Please, come back to bed with me,” he says again, quieter this time. His voice is softer, like he thinks gentleness will work better on you. 

Or maybe he thinks just the way he’s looking at you will convince you, gazing up through his lashes, brows furrowed. His hair’s tossed into a messy braid, one you’d done earlier in the day. His beard is a little longer than usual, but it doesn’t look out of place. He looks ethereal in the warm porch lighting.

 It always gets you, and tonight is no exception.

You don’t say anything as you step past him, barely even offering him a glance as he follows closely behind. The cool air in the house should be comforting after the sticky air outside, but you’re feeling overwhelmed with the sudden change. 

You don’t go to his room. Instead, you sink onto the couch, curling in on yourself. Maybe if you put just a little bit of space between you, it won’t hurt as much.

Andrew exhales behind you. “y/n…” His voice is almost pleading now. “Please just come back to bed. It’s late.”

And that’s when it happens. Something inside you snaps, the anger finally breaking through. “No.” The words come out so harsh, and if words were poisonous, he wouldn’t stand a

chance. 

He freezes. “What?”

You shake your head, the tightness in your throat making it hard to get the words out. “I said no.”

There’s a pause, and then his voice hardens, wary and guarded. “Why?”

You let out a bitter laugh as you turn to face him. “Why? Are you serious?”

Andrew shifts, clearly unsure where this is coming from. “y/n—”

“No, don’t.” You cut him off, voice trembling. “You keep acting like this is fine, like this is all okay. But, you know it’s not. It hasn’t been for a while.” 

You’re not being fair, you know that. You agreed to this too, it’s not like he ever promised to give you more. It’s not like you’ve even told him that you want more, but you know he knows. And the hurt you’re experiencing doesn’t exactly leave room for reason.

His eyes flicker with something, guilt, you think. But his guard goes up fast. “We agreed—”

“I know what we fucking agreed to.” Your voice is sharper now, frustration bubbling over. “No strings attached, just fun. Trust me, I know.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Then what are we even talking about?” He looks tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of you, maybe. 

Your breath is shaky as you stare up at him. “I just… I thought that maybe after a while–” You stop yourself, hating how small you feel underneath his gaze. “I don’t know.”

Andrew’s shoulders tense, his gaze leaving yours for a second before he meets your eyes again. “y/n…”

“You just aren’t changing, Andrew.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

His jaw clenches. “Baby–”

The pet name that once felt like proof he wanted something more now only fuels the fire in you, a cruel reminder of everything you let yourself believe. “No, don’t.” You cut him off, voice cracking. “I just, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t hurt.”

An emotion you can’t name hides behind his eyes, but his expression is blank within the second. “What do you even want from me, y/n?” His voice is rougher, and a bit quieter.

His words have you physically flinching, wanting to put as much space between you two as you can. You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, only something depressed and aching. “What do I want from you?” You shake your head, blinking quickly, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“You know what?” Your voice is barely above a whisper now. “I don’t want anything from you. I won’t ask you for anything, Andrew,” you scoff, shaking your head. “I know better than that. But you don’t get to stand there and act like you care. You don’t get to make me coffee in the morning and hold me at night and kiss me like it means something.” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. Hate how vulnerable you’re being in front of him. You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to keep going. “You can’t act like this is nothing while doing everything to make me believe it’s something.”

His hands are on his hips now, the tension in his body obvious. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?”

Andrew drags a hand through his hair, hands shaking slightly. “You knew what this was from the beginning.”

“Yeah,” you snap, voice rising, “but that doesn’t mean it didn’t change for me. And you—” You shake your head, letting out a scoff. “You had to have known. You’re not fucking stupid, Andrew. You had to have noticed.” His jaw tightens, and he looks away. That’s it. That’s your answer. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His entire body tenses. “You can’t do what?”

“This whole thing,” you motion between the two of you. “This is bullshit. Whatever this is, it’s over.”

It takes him a second to react. He just stands there, eyes focused on you like he’s trying to process what you just said. And then, suddenly, he’s grabbing you, his grip on your wrist firm but not tight. “Wait. No, y/n, wait.” His voice is rough, unsteady. “Don’t you think we should talk about this? Just sleep on it. Spend the night, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

You shake your head, refusing to give in, not this time. “Let me go, please. I don’t want this anymore”

The silence that follows your words is overwhelming. He just stares at you, his breath uneven, like you just knocked the wind out of him. You think that maybe he’s going to say something, something that will change everything, something that will fix this. You really are an idiot sometimes.

Because then he laughs. “You know what?” His voice is quiet, but it’s sharp, laced with a harshness you’ve never heard from him before. “Maybe this is for the best.”

You freeze. It is for the best, but why the fuck is he saying it like that? “What?”

He exhales harshly, looking away for a second before meeting your gaze again, his once soft features now distant and cold. “You’re acting like I fucking forced you into this.” His voice is still quiet, but it feels like you’re being yelled at. “Like I made you crawl into my bed every night. But you didn’t say no. You never said no.”

It’s a low blow. He knows it. You know it. Your stomach twists, heat rushing to your face, purely from humiliation. “That’s not fair,” you choke out, voice trembling.

The laugh he lets out is bitter. “No? Because it sure as hell feels like you’re blaming me for something we both agreed to.”

You shake your head, trying to blink away the tears forming in your eyes as his words settle over you. “I’m not–I just–” You trail off, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

Andrew steps back, running a hand through his hair, looking at you like he doesn't know you anymore. “I don’t even know what the fuck you want from me.”

You press your lips together, inhaling sharply. “I don’t want anything from you, Andrew,” you whisper, echoing the words you said before. Only this time, they hurt you more.

He nods once, jaw tightening. “Good,” he says, voice void of any emotion “then you won’t be disappointed.”

And just like that, the version of him that you loved is gone, tainted by whoever this is. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest aches. You want to say something, but there’s nothing left.  You’ve already said everything, and it still wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough.

And this time, when you turn to leave, he doesn’t ask you to stay.

The house is quiet without you. He’s trying to figure out the exact moment where everything between you two went wrong, but he knows things have been falling apart for a few weeks. He knows you’ve been wanting more, because, you’re right, he’s not stupid. He’s just a fucking coward.

Andrew sits at the edge of the couch, staring at the empty space where you should be. He doesn’t move.  He hasn’t moved since you walked out the door.

He should have stopped you. That thought has been replaying in his mind, the feeling of regret doubling it. He should have said something, anything. He should have given you a reason to stay instead of just standing there, too stubborn, too afraid, too fucking proud to admit what you already knew. 

But, he let you go instead, let his own fear swallow the words before they ever had a chance to leave his mouth. And now, he’s stuck replaying every second up to the way your face fell, the way your shoulders stiffened as you realized that he wasn’t going to fight for you, that he didn’t want you to stay, that he didn’t want you. Maybe he is stupid, or just a liar.

"Maybe this is for the best." “

He closes his eyes as the words play over again in his mind. He hadn’t meant them, but he knew the second they left his lips that it didn’t matter. The damage was already done. You were begging him to give you a reason to stay, but he gave you another to leave. 

The silence in the house is suffocating. He’s gotten used to you being here, you spend five out of seven days of the week here, with him. He should leave. Get in his car, drive somewhere, anywhere, just to get out of his own head. But he can’t, because coming back to this empty house without you in it might ruin him completely. Instead, he stays where he is, staring at the floor like it might offer some kind of answer. It doesn’t. He’s alone with his thoughts, with the truth he’s been avoiding for too long.

He’s known for weeks that you’ve been slipping through his fingers, that you were getting tired of pretending this was enough. And he let it happen. And he doesn’t even know why. Maybe he’s just scared. Scared of what it would mean to let you in, to fully have you, to love you the way he already does. Because if he loves you, he could lose you. And if he loses you, he’s not sure he’ll be able to put himself back together again.

His fingers dig into his palms, nails pressing into his skin. He knew better than to let it get this far. This was supposed to be simple. No expectations, no strings, no promises he couldn’t keep. But nothing about you is simple. And it was really stupid of him to assume that he could keep his growing feelings at bay.

He shouldn’t have brought up the proposition in the first place, he should have known better. He should have told you the truth from the beginning. From the first night, he should have told you exactly how he felt about you. 

But how could he? How could he promise his time and attention to you? He had just been broken up with because he wasn’t there. Because his career demanded so much of his time that he couldn’t give any to his own relationship. 

That relationship had been over months before he even met you. They were both holding on to the threads that held it together, hoping that something would change. Nothing did. He swore off of relationships after that, at least until things died down with his new album that just came out. 

Of course, things changed when he met you. He had feelings, that’s not something he could just swear off. But he wasn’t going to act on them. Until he did. Until he crossed the line.

He told himself it was the alcohol. It was just easier that way. Easier to pretend that the warmth in his chest, the way his hands fit perfectly around your waist, the way his mouth felt against yours, was all just a moment of weakness. Just bad judgment. Just one too many drinks. But even as he thought it, even as he used the excuse the next morning, he knew it was bullshit.

Because the truth was that he had wanted you. Sober. Drunk. In every possible way he could. And the alcohol didn’t create those feelings, it only loosened the grip he had around them. It gave him just enough space to let go of the fear for once, just enough room to pretend that for a night, there was no risk, no inevitable loss.

Maybe that’s really what he was chasing. Not just the taste of you, not just the way your hands tangled in his hair or the way you moaned his name like it was something sacred, something meant only for you to say. Or maybe it was the way you looked at him afterward. The way your fingertips traced absent patterns against his skin like you wanted to keep him even when morning came. Maybe it was the way you relaxed next to him, the way you fit so perfectly at his side, like you belonged there. And maybe the problem was that you did belong there. And he knew it.

So maybe it was the idea that he could have you without the fear. Without the expectation of commitment complicating things, what it would change, what it would ruin. And he could lie to himself all he wanted, but the fact that he kept coming back, the fact that it happened again, and again, and again. That wasn’t alcohol. That was him. That was his own selfishness, his own weakness, his own inability to let you go.

Maybe, for a while, he thought he could keep pretending. That he could have you without having you. That he could press his lips to yours, tangled in his sheets, hear your breath hitch in the dark, and still convince himself that nothing had changed.

But everything had changed. And he knew it from that very first night.

The quiet in your life is unbearable. You thought it would be a relief, stepping away from him, but the silence here only makes the words seem that much louder.

"You’re acting like I fucking forced you into this. Like I made you crawl into my bed every night."

You’ve spent the past few nights trying to forget. Staying out later than usual, keeping your phone on silent so you don’t have to see that he still hasn’t called. It shouldn’t hurt this much. You should’ve expected this from him. Because Andrew isn’t good with feelings. 

He’s told you this, confided in you that he’s never been the best at expressing himself. That he’s not the best at committing, at holding onto things that feel real. And you still let yourself believe you could be the exception. That, maybe, he wouldn’t run from you. That you could be something he didn’t have to escape, something he didn’t have to pull away from when it got too real.

Deep in thought, you weren’t expecting the knock at your door. Your confusion grows, not sure who to expect so late. You briefly recall the late night take-out order you placed a few moments ago, realizing that’s likely who’s knocking. It’s a bit weird considering that they usually call once the order is on its way, but mistakes happen.

You rummage in your purse for your wallet, calling out, “coming!” to the door so they know you’ve heard them. When you open it, you’re not met with the usual deliverer that works late nights, whom you’ve become quite familiar with over the last few nights.

Instead, it’s Andrew that’s standing there. His hair is messier than usual, and a bit frizzy from the humidity. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in days. You want to take care of him, pull him inside and ask him why he looks like he’s not getting enough sleep, but you don’t let yourself.

You grip the edge of the door. “What are you doing here?”

He breathes. “You left with my sweater.”

You let out a dry laugh. “That’s why you’re here?”

His jaw twitches. “No.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with tension. He shifts his weight, he looks awkward. You know he has something to say, and as upset as you are, you still want to hear him out. You step aside to let him in, walking to the living room, well aware of how closely he follows behind you.

"Just say what you came to say, Andrew." Your voice is sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. 

His jaw tightens slightly. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Your stomach tightens, a fresh wave of anger forming in your chest, hot and overwhelming. “Oh, really?" you bite out, "which part?”

His brows furrow and he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek like he’s searching for the right words. “All of it.”

A bitter scoff escapes you,  “yeah? That’s really easy to say now, huh?” Your arms tighten around yourself. You’re angry, so fucking angry. He can’t just show up with a half-assed apology and expect you to welcome him with open arms, to pretend the past few days didn’t happen. 

He exhales slowly. “I was angry.”

“At me?” You can’t stop the laugh that spills out of you, your frustration bubbling over. “Angry at me for being honest with you?” 

His throat bobs. “At myself.”. Andrew shifts, like he’s struggling to find the right words. “You were right. I knew,” he says finally, voice quiet. “I knew how you felt. Maybe not at first, but I knew.” He drags a hand down his face. “And I still let it happen. I still let you stay.”

“So, what? You feel guilty?” You’re feeling embarrassed now, and that’s not mixing well with the anger.

He doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does, it’s barely a whisper. “You weren’t the only one who kept coming back.”

You shake your head, trying to hold yourself together. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you standing there acting like this is just something that happened to you. Like I’m the only one who could’ve stopped it.”

“You should have, Andrew.” Your voice rises, cracking slightly. “You knew I wasn’t going to , and you could have stopped this before it got this bad. Before I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip so hard it stings. Before I fell in love with you.

He lets out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I tried,” he murmurs. “Christ, Y/N, I fucking tried. I told myself it wasn’t real. That I didn’t–” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “But then, I’d forget how to lie to myself.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, your voice barely above a whisper. “That you didn’t what?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze never leaving yours. “That I didn’t have feelings for you too.” Andrew steps even closer now, slow enough to give you time to move away, but you don’t. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Your lip trembles, tears threatening to spill. “Then why did you?”

And then, for the first time, you see it. The fear. The hesitation. The part of him that never healed from the things that came before you.

His voice is quieter now. “And what would happen when I’m gone?”

You blink, confused by his question. “What?”

“What happens when I’m gone, Y/N? When I’m across the world for weeks at a time, when I miss birthdays and holidays and every moment in between? When you wake up and realize you’re alone more than you’re with me?” He shakes his head, frustrated. “You think I don’t want this? That I don’t—” He cuts himself off to let out a sigh. “I’d give you everything, all of me. I just don’t think it’d be enough.”

You’re not just angry anymore, you’re heartbroken. Your voice shakes as you reply, “You don’t get to make that decision for me.” You step closer, eyes burning. “You don’t get to stand there and tell me how this is going to end before we’ve even tried. You don’t get to decide that I’ll leave you before even giving me the chance to stay.”

Your mind is racing with thoughts, and before you can say anything, the softest voice stops you, “I love you.” Andrew’s voice is steady, the most confident you’ve heard him tonight. “I think I have for a while. I just didn’t know how to deal with it.”

You stare at him, at the man who has spent months making you feel like you were always two steps behind, always hoping for something he would never give you. And yet, here he is. You could leave, you should leave. You should tell him that it’s too late, that those three words aren’t going to fix the months of hurt you’ve had. But you don’t want to.

You want to believe him. But part of you is still afraid. Because words are easy, and he’s hurt you before. Because you don’t know if you can handle hearing him say he loves you, only for him to turn around and run when things get hard.

Andrew must see the hesitation in your eyes, because he takes a step closer, like he’s approaching something fragile. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “I just needed you to know.” He swallows, eyes flickering over your face, searching for something. “And I know I fucked up. I know I let you think I didn’t care, but I do. I always have. And I know that doesn’t fix anything, but I—” His voice catches, and he presses his lips together, forcing out a quiet laugh, one that lacks humour. “I can’t lose you.”

He looks terrified that you’ll walk away. And maybe you should. Maybe you should make him work for it, make him prove it, make him fight as hard as you have been for months. But you don’t want to.

So instead, you reach for him, hands shaky as you lay them flat against his cheeks. “You’re such an idiot,” you whisper, voice shaking.

And then you kiss him, and he kisses you back. His hands finally move, grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, like he’s afraid to let go. It’s different this time. There’s no pretending this doesn’t mean something. 

When you pull away for air, your forehead pressed against his, his hands stay tight on you, like he’s afraid to let go. “You’re not losing me,” you whisper, your voice confident now. “But if you ever make me feel like this again, I will kill you.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips. “That’s fair.”Andrew smiles, his hands still resting on your waist as he leans in, voice low and warm. “You know,” he murmurs, “we could finish this conversation somewhere more comfortable.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And where would that be?”

He tilts his head slightly, his nose brushing against yours. “Bed seems like a good option.”

You roll your eyes, though you don’t move away. “Real subtle.”

He chuckles, hands squeezing at your waist over your sweater. “Just a suggestion.’ He presses the softest kiss to the corner of your lips and then– Knock knock knock. You both pause. Andrew exhales slowly. “You have got to be kidding me.”

It takes a second before realization dawns on you. Your eyes widen. “Oh, fuck. The takeout.”

Andrew pulls back slightly, giving you a teasing look. “The takeout? It’s one in the morning.”

You wince, face flushing with embarrassment. “I know, but in my defense I didn’t know you were coming!” You groan, pushing your face into his chest as another knock rings though your apartment.  “Fuck, I probably missed the call while we were talking.”

His head drops back atop of yours with a groan. “You’re unbelievable.”

You bite back a smile and squeeze his arm before removing them from around you. “Give me a minute, I’ll be quick, I promise.”

As you open the door, the delivery guy stands there, looking mildly unimpressed but not too tired to care. “Order for Y/N?”

You nod, exchanging cash for the bag with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about the wait.” The delivery guy barely offers you a nod before heading off.

You close the door and turn back to find Andrew watching you, arms crossed, lips pressed together like he’s holding back a teasing comment. “What?” you ask, setting the food on the large coffee table in front of your couch.

He sighs, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. “All that build-up and tension, and instead of a heartfelt moment, I get takeout.”

You laugh as you hand him a container, settling on the couch. “Oh, shut up. We’ll eat first, then we can see what happens later tonight.” You give him your best wink, but you’re not so sure it was attractive, and both eyes might have closed.

He groans but takes the container anyway, sitting next to you and nudging you with his shoulder. “You’re lucky I kinda love you.”

Warmth spreads through your chest at how casually he says it, you could listen to him say that over and over and not get tired of it. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I guess I am.”

[kittycatpopprincess]

***

“Now, dear, would you like to choose a name?”

***

The voice filled its head as it slowly came to. Its eyes were open, it was sure of that; Yet it could not yet see the face of the person humming the sweet lullaby reaching its ears. As it began to struggle in panic, a hand came to rest on its shoulders.

“You’re already awake,” the voice spoke in a soothing tone. “I must apologise, I spent so much time stringing you up. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Please, wait here, I’ll put in your eyes right away.” Just like that., she waked slowly to somewhere farther in the room, before returning to its side, getting to work. The cold sensation of a metal instrument surprised it as its bottom lid was stretched out a bit, and a small, round object was carefully inserted in one eye, then the other.

“There,” the voice spoke again, “try to blink a few times. It will be uncomfortable at first, even in this dim light. You’ll be seeing with those eyes for the first time, after all. You’ll need time to adjust.”

It blinked, and blinked again, and slowly, vague shapes and splashes of colour came into its view, some reds and yellow. It blinked a few more times. The details were fuzzy, blurring together no matter how hard it tried. Noticing the discomfort, the woman spoke up again in a worried voice.

“Oh, are you having trouble seeing, dear? Eyes are such a finicky little thing, they’re hard to get just right. I tend to make mine near-sighted.” Saying this, she took off her own glasses, flipping them and placing the temples upon its ears carefully. It blinked some more; Its eyes strained a bit as its vision gradually became clearer. It was in an opulent room: Heavy curtains of red velvet and golden thread barred the light of day outside from coming in. The fabric covered the furniture as well, a fainting couch in the corner and an arm chair in front of the fireplace. Its attention, however, fell upon the face of the one to whom the voice belonged. A mature-looking woman, her kindly gaze fixated upon it, observing its reactions with some careful apprehension.

“Back to the matter at hand. You will need a few days to learn everything again,” she explained. “How to move, how to speak, it will all take some time. In the meantime, you can try and think of a new name, if you wish. I’d be delighted to name you myself. But you’re not just any old doll, dear. It would be cruel of me to not let you decide upon your own name if you want.”

A doll. With some effort, it tilted its head downwards. There, in its lap were folded a pair of cream-coloured porcelain hands. And sure enough, in lieu of knuckles lied fragile balls, each allowing the fingers limited movement for now. It tried to grasp at its emerald green dress, then let go again. Grasp, and let go. It repeated the movement a couple of time, slow and hesitant.

“Ah, but I have yet to introduce myself!” Exclaimed the woman, drawing the doll’s gaze back up. She carefully held its hands in hers. “My name is Hélène, dear doll. I like to think of myself as my dolls’ mother.”

***

Learning the piano was no simple task for anyone. Least of all a doll who had just awakened. Yet, here it was, sat in Hélène’s lap, its fingers hesitantly hovering over the keys, carefully coming down, almost fearing a wrong note. A timid chord rang out through the large and empty concert hall, barely more audible than the metronome ticking away next to a doll.

“That is very good, dear.” Hélène praised her doll, gently running her fingers through its hair. “Now, try to keep time. One, two, three, one, two, three…” She instructed, as the doll shifted its gold-streaked fingers into position for the next chord. The doll had already broken its fragile fingers by accident, and Hélène had spent much time putting great care into piecing the porcelain back together, leaving thin ring-like cracks filled with gold. Another timid chord. “That’s it, dear. Relaxed and loose. Now, try to sing the words.”

A doll reared its head, minding its posture, mimicking a habit no doubt retained from its previous life. Yet, as the next measure came, no sound was heard. Hélène pressed a kiss atop of the doll’s head.

“A doll is sorry, mama.” It spoke in a whisper. It was still so strange, speaking let alone singing through its closed, immobile lips.

“What for, dear? A doll did nothing wrong.” She reassured it. “I am certain your voice will be beautiful when you find the courage to sing. And, when you are more familiar with your body, you will have my opera house all to yourself, so you can practice as much as you want.” The doll remained silent, slowly retracting its hands back onto its lap. “Should we maybe get some fresh air? Would you like another tea party on the beach?” A doll slowly acquiesced.

***

The waves were calm today. Despite the soft pitter-patter of rain upon the sand and the umbrella covering them both, there was little wind. All things considered, it was a beautiful day for a tea party. A doll sat on a blanket, its poofy navy dress outfitted by Hélène for the occasion. It held the fragile cup in both its hands, the heat from the undrinkable tea only a distant sensation. Despite its glasses, a doll had trouble discerning the cup’s edge: It seemed to merge with its own hands, waxing and waning, where a doll’s own porcelain would seem to overtake the cup.

“What are you thinking of, dear?” Hélène asked a silent doll, its eyes fixated on the cup in its hands. “Have you chipped your fingers again?” She continued as her gaze turned worried, carefully grasping a doll’s hand to examine the delicately sculpted limb. With a hesitant voice, a doll finally spoke up.

“Mama, what was a doll’s old body like?” Hélène fell silent for a second, thinking of how to word her answer in a way that would not upset the doll.

“Why are you asking, dear?”

“A doll’s body still feels odd, and not quite like its body. Yet this feels familiar.” At a doll’s word, Hélène fell silent. “Has a doll ever felt at home in its body, mama?” Her fingers shaking a little, Hélène leaned forward, cupping a doll’s face in both her hands, and pressing a kiss upon its forehead. Like clockwork, a doll’s eyelids fell closed.

“I cannot say for certain, my doll. I only know of the body I found you in,” She whispered against its porcelain skin. “It was a beautiful thing, however. A deep blue shimmering under even the dimmest of light. It was like looking up at the sun rays from deep into the sea.”

“Was it really so beautiful, mama?”

“Of course. A doll looked so pretty, in this body you haunted for so long.” A doll kept its eyes closed, trying to imagine the look of such a body. “You know,” Hélène continued, “I have kept your old body. To me, it holds the fond memory of me finding you.” A doll was silent, unsure of what to say, and as it tended to do in those moments, its limbs started to grow limp and it started to fall forward. Hélène caught a doll in her arms. The teacup escaped its hands, the now lukewarm liquid spilling over and leaving a faint spot upon the dark fabrics of both their dresses. She gently giggled, patting the top of its head. “I meant to say that, if you are curious, I could show you this old body of yours,” she murmured to it. The rain had stopped, and over the horizon, the clouds had started to part, revealing the timid rising moon in the distance. Its body still limp in her arms, it merely murmured back. “I would like that, mama.”

***

This was increasingly natural to it. If at first, it would tense up as soon as it felt itself slip away, a doll came to find, day after day, that falling limp, relying on its mama and the bands inside itself to hold a pose, was the most relaxed it had ever felt. Naturally, it felt perfectly at peace as Hélène handled its hands with great care, resting them around the small porcelain urn. It was small, round and heavy, and sealed by shimmering resin. The dark porcelain indeed felt familiar to a doll, and as Hélène got to work at her easel, capturing the odd family picture (as she had described it to a doll), it looked down, pondering the surface. It was indeed a beautiful object, a body it could only now appreciate after haunting it for… How long exactly? It couldn’t remember. Nor could it remember if it ever had haunted any other body, besides the one now in its hands. Again, it felt its vision falter, the urn becoming part of itself once more. It didn’t mind, however. Such a beautiful thing was not unpleasant to be. A doll caught the faint reflection of its doll face upon the smooth surface, and found itself amused as it wondered: If it was both the doll and the urn, then what was it really, the reflection of its face or the one beholding it? It giggled at the thought, as it started to imagine one case then the other, back and forth.

“A doll is always beautiful, you know,” spoke Hélène. “Dolls are such pretty things, no matter what.” Careful, practised strokes of the brush applied large strokes of colour on the canvas, the hair letting out a faint, gentle rustling along Hélène’s steady motions. “There is little, in this world, more precious than a doll’s joy as it gazes upon its own body; Than a doll who loves its own beauty, as it is loved by others.”

“Then, mama,” a doll tilted its head, “Do dolls sometimes learn to make dolls as well?” Hélène’s smile grew fonder at the question, and she acquiesced.

“They do, dear doll. I have known dolls who, once they had learnt my craft, chose a new name, crafted a new doll, and enchanted it to inhabit it.” She picked up a finer brush.

“They must have been beautiful…” A doll sighed, trying to imagine how it might fashion its own body.

“They were indeed.” Hélène nodded, returning her attention fully to the canvas. Slowly, another question bubbled into a doll’s mind, one it was unsure how to even formulate. Still, it spoke up, more timid than before.

“Why do you love dolls so much, mama?” She paused, taking a long glance at the urn tucked into a doll’s hands, a gleam of light in her gaze as she thought of how to best answer her doll.

“I suppose I am still a bit childish,” she answered, visibly amused at the realisation. “There is a singular beauty in dolls. Rather, one that dolls embody perfectly.” She paused once more, now observing a doll in full. “There is beauty in creation, I think. And thus beauty in all constructs.” A doll fell silent, thinking over the answer, as Hélène returned to her painting. It weighed the words, slowly, repeatedly. “There is beauty in creation,” it repeated to itself, focusing, and soon forgetting all other thoughts, all other sensations, until it fell asleep with one last echo of these words.

A doll woke up sometimes later, to its mother kissing the top of its head, gently rubbing its shoulders. Rousing from its sleep, its eyes opened, and through the glasses atop its nose, its gaze fell upon the easel, now turned to face it, mounted with a coloured canvas. It peered at the portrait, noting how the gold shimmer of its fingers drew the eyes to the midnight blue hue of the urn, blending into the folds of its assorted dress. Finally, the thin, golden glasses framing its face, so similar to mama’s own. It had seen its own face before, of course. And yet, seeing each of its details so carefully captured by a caring hand… Yes, this was its true self. And looking at the painting, and being looked at the self in the painting, it felt pretty.

[lostinlovingrevery]

van’s inbox is open, you say?

shocker shocker. it’s me!

haven’t been in a smutty mood lately so. no feral cas today i fear. instead you have tired cas (ft his also tired boyfriend)

but anyway. logan. pookie.

mayhaps. with a reader who is autistic/has sensory issues?

i hope you’re having a good day!!! and getting some good rest and thinking about pookie 😌

a logan for you :)

CAASSSSSSS, and also hi Teo!!!!!!!!

Not smutty mood is valid- sometimes you just need the fluff, the comfort, the fun!!!!

(been aching for old man logan fluff lately. ugh he just pulls my heart strings...)

ALSO i gotta say I love how we all simulataneously began calling logan pookie. LIKE EVERYONE CALLS HIM IT NOW. The moment i see the word pookie I'm like !!!!! Logan!!!!!!

I am FINALLY resting (I know you sent this last night but that should tell you how long ive been going all week lol) and I am DEF thinking a lot about logan....

I did this in a headcanon format for now, but I am going to make a fic eventually too!!! I love writing fics for different types of readers (with a stutter, mute, deaf, etc). I'm actually planning to write an extremely indulgent fic with a hearing loss reader soon to make myself feel better after multiple extremely awkward things that happened this week that happened BC of my hearing loss...oops.

A few Logan with an autistic reader headcanons!

I honestly believe Logan would be perfect partner regarding this

i mean i think he would be perfect in general

one, he got his own things, loud noises bother him, certain sounds and places set him off into a rage. so he gets it if you have sensory stuff

logan is the type of partner to notice the little things. he notices you don't like a particular fabric purely bc your face just twinged into digust after touching it by accident (I HATE microfibers fabric just the word makes me squeamish)

he'll also notice your triggers, crowds, noises, food, lighting, etc etc

sometimes even if you do your best to avoid said triggers, they can still happen. Logan will be there 100 percent to support you and help you regulate yourself again.

i just know a hug from him would make everything feel better- however if touch isn't your thing, he will do whatever it is you need (get you out a crowd, reduce noise or light levels, etc etc)

will meet you with your food preferences.

will actively cook your food preferences too.

i think he would just be so respectful about it and its ironic bc logan is this big mean sass guy and hes gruff and complains but hes also very compassionate and once he warms up hes nothing but caring

will indulge in your special interests

be it a fandom, hobby, fav activity etc. He may not always get it but there's a lot of things out there not to understand. will do things like listen to you ramble on about said interests

ask questions and "mhm" to make sure you know hes listening. he'll be smiling like an idiot too bc he loves seeing you so happy

will support by buying the things related to interests (maybe if you're in a fandom?)

any hobbies or activities he'll try to take part of. He may not always enjoy them himself but hey you do things with him so he'll do it just to see you smile- maybe he'll even learn smth new about himself, i know hes the type willing to try anything once esp considering he's lived so long

won't sweat things, say you just need to be alone, or get upset just from overstimulation- he gets it, and will do whatever you need. sometimes he needs the alone time too-

[diamondoffaith]

The Doll Filled with Love (I'm Stitch Dot Analysis/Theory)

roma :(

full eng lyrics

LYRICS

This is honestly tricky to clearly put into words but the general idea is that Romarriche is (like) a doll. Whether it's to be taken literally or not isn't clear. He is like Marroncream's doll, a product of her love (which also explains why her kingdom sees her as more of a "mother"). As a doll, he can't express the same emotions back to her, but he appears almost desperate to do so.

"Why is man born sewn together? As it covers up the chest" = Why can't a doll show it has a heart, already being sewn with a complete/covered up body

"Stitches" are how Romarriche shows his love, as he can't express them naturally like a regular fairy would. Each thread filled with his inner thoughts and tenderly putting something back together or connecting with someone.

But his own stitches also make up his wounds. He gives himself these wounds as a reminder of what "love" feels like

The cat's cradle could be talking about that infinite string game, meaning Romarriche could be doomed to always eventually forget what love is.

A bit similar to Ever Red - " "Once the ribbon is tied, the knot marks are still there." Once pain is inflicted, the wounds and memories are still there. "

Except this time the wounds are intentional, a permanent memory of love, something Romarriche needs to keep.

"I'm Stitch Dot" = Romarriche is filled with these threads/wounds of "love", but is that really enough to fully express genuine love? The threads could still unravel and break, making Romarriche lose everything all over again. He needs to unravel himself, learn of the real heart inside the doll.

VOICE DRAMA DETAIL

The thing is. after noticing these things it's easier to see how "emotionally flat" Romarriche is in the voice dramas now. He's always calm and gentle with occassional laughter and tonal changes, but overrall it's hard to decipher what emotion he truly feels. Even when fighting the seed he didn't sound all that angry he was kinda just like. "You. Get out. Now."

MV

The mv is scattered with roses (most obviously because it's a symbol for Marroncream's kingdom). Outside of romance, red roses symbolize hope, passion, admiration, and deep commitment. Similarly, white roses symbolize purity and loyalty.

The red threads in the 1st image also look similar to spider webs. Each string is needed to keep the entire web stable, which can represent the experiences and lessons Romarriche (the web itself) has been through on his goal to express true love.

The backgrounds in most of the mv are patchwork fabrics, showing the various aspects that make up "Romarriche" as a whole.

BONUS

PURUROMA W ROMA STRUGGLING WITH EXPRESSING EMOTIONS VS PURUTH BEING THE EMBODIMENT OF THE EMOTION OF JOY IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-

If taken literally and Romarriche PHYSICALLY IS a doll (created by Marroncream), he can be considered as Marroncream's masterpiece and she has pictures of him hanged up everywhere 🥹

YOU KNOW HOW I USED TO PUT LYRICS AT THE END OF MY ANALYSIS POSTS THAT START TO HIT HARDER AFTER READING THE ENTIRE THING. WELL I JUST DID THAT AND GOT ANOTHER THOUGHT. Marroncream is saying the line below, saying she'll fix Romarriche up everytime he wants to relearn love 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

I'll sew you my love over and over again

[mc-critical]

Along with how her immediate reactions differ each time, Mahidevran's changing feelings on Hürrem's pregnancies (and how that informs her overall progression) show through her going from "I hope you die in childbirth" in E06, to "I hope she suffocates" in E11, to "Allah, you're almighty. Please, help us. Please, make her give birth to a girl" in E17, to "How do you know it'll be a son?" in E25, to, finally, "Congratulations for the newborn prince Cihangir, Hürrem Sultan" in E46.

Mahidevran says the E06 words directly to Hürrem as a retort which ends a confrontation between them in front of Nigar and the concubines where Mahidevran projects unshakeable, sure power after several consecutive losses (that involve pregnancies) in order to negate Hürrem's own attempts at projecting power through demanding better, "worthier" fabrics. Mahidevran's general display of confident security in her position is allowed to linger in most of the first third of the episode, with more contemplative calmness/happiness replacing the bitterness that was accumulated and let out here, but then the projection turns out too fraught of a facade that breaks the second it's challenged in any way and Mahidevran immediately resorts to venom and/or rash actions, like the poison, and/or words, like in this confrontation itself. Hürrem's presence in her life keeps being a recent occurance she won't get used to and her disdain for her is at its rawest and most personal point: she's still reeling from losing her love and losing her child, so she wishes for Hürrem to perish (her laser-focus on the apparent cumulative source of all the problems and her belief that she can still get her old life back if Hürrem simply disappears) and for her to suffer the same way Mahidevran suffered by losing her child as well, it turns out, which is the first time this theme of Mahidevran's dynamic with Hürrem emerges. Her words are vile, but they are put in a new light when we consider that Hürrem got pregnant this soon after Mahidevran lost her own child. It's like the pregnancy Mahidevran wanted so much is almost given to Hürrem instead - she faints after she learns about it just like she fainted after she saw the ring on Hürrem's finger - and when Hürrem brings up the possibility of having not just a son but many sons when Mahidevran's apparently struggled to even conceive at all after Mustafa (E04), she's brought to a spiral; all she can really do is bitterly retort by wishing death. It hurts and it hurts too much to bear, too much to even believe: that can't be, Hürrem has to lie to escape her upcoming marriage, all this can't happen with such a speed and such brutality, fate can't be that cruel, right? Accepting Hürrem being pregnant, accepting Mehmet's existence, another prince's existence (Hürrem becoming completely equal to Mahidevran and Mustafa, thus all the more possibly replacing them), is not just the biggest indication of Hürrem gaining Süleiman's favor yet and her (and Mustafa) getting further away from that on both a personal and massive front, it's more than anything a part of Mahidevran (and even Mustafa) processing the grief for the lost child, especially given what she says in E07: "Am I to celebrate with the Russian slave while I'm grieving with my son?". And she barely processes it, unable to hide her pain. She barely arrives at the ceremony of his birth that she has to be present for, but how can she?

Mahidevran says the E11 words to Gülşah in a personal moment in her chambers at a point where she is allowed to have more such personal moments in the first place. She has gone through many different states in this string of episodes instead of the sorrow - happiness - sorrow throughline from the end of E05 to the entirety of E06: gathering herself a little, regaining her strength after the past events; supporting others in their bad times; reaching a glimmer of hope in her E09 scene with Süleiman; the news of Hürrem's pregnancy being the sorrow after some breathers instead of a yet another drop in the full cup of subsequent losses; and getting consecutive victories, not losses afterwards (Süleiman yelling at Hürrem after the fire and letting Mahidevran kiss his head before he leaves for Rhodes), albeit with some possible scenarios of losses cropping up (but these losses aren't just hers). All of this shows even in the different reactions she has to the pregnancy itself: there's a similar bitterness to last time in "I hope she suffocates" but it emerges rather at the heat of the moment (right when Hürrem gives birth) instead of in a casual confrontation (but the pregnancy itself is revealed in a casual confrontation that also includes choosing fabric), and after her startled almost resignation in that aforementioned casual confrontation, her now clear upset after she gets out of the room and overhears Hürrem and her attempt at acceptance while helping Mustafa accept that he may indeed have another sibling. It's like she's given a little more time to get used to Hürrem's pregnancy or at least not ponder on it that much after so much else is happening around her. She doesn't really process it, but she tries to each time it comes up. Hürrem's existence; her being there beside SS, beside everyone is starting to sink in. She may not just actually give birth to a child, but may also give birth to another prince, she may and will even keep giving birth (as she tells Gülşah). Hürrem has already taken a solid place in Süleiman's heart and Mahidevran (and Mustafa) has already fallen, no matter how much it hurts. But as it still hurts, as it still remains painful, there's still the want for Hürrem to just perish, for her to not make it this time after she constantly seems to have made it up until now, for them all to be at peace. The possible death of the child, though, isn't uttered and wished upon this time. Mahidevran's already prepared for its existence in a way. And the agonizing wait for the outcome of Hürrem's birth even ends with relief Mahi is eager to celebrate demostrably yet from a distance (treating the harem with sweets; the concubines get the sweets separately, while she and Mustafa eat with Valide), even though there isn't a naming ceremony this time as SS is absent (and Mahidevran brings Hürrem's E06 retort about her having more/only princes back at her).

Mahidevran says the E17 words to Gülşah again, but now it's next to more people, royal family and servants alike, during times of happiness, a wedding of a friend and ally that she herself has shown joy and enthusiasm about previously, but can't entirely join in as it actually happens. It's definitely a matter of more signs of Süleiman and Hürrem's relationship being entirely solidified appearing in rapid succession after Hürrem was supposedly gone for good (she actually got exiled here unlike in E05 where her marriage was all but immediately thwarted), but what makes the wound bleed is the recent supposed rumor of pregnancy Mahidevran herself went through. Just like Hü was brought back by one of Mahi's allies (Ibrahim), the rumor was spread by her closest servant (Gülşah), so Mahi goes through both a disillusionment of her closest people and an echo of the hardest reality she's had to face - the most devastating tragedy she's experienced so far. It's like everything repeats again. Last time she was pregnant and lost her child, this time she's assumed pregnant but she knows the truth: she doesn't have a child, she doesn't believe even in the possibility of a pregnancy anymore. How can she be pregnant when SS invited her to her chambers several times, but didn't even touch her? How can she be pregnant when it's so hard for her to conceive anyway, let alone with that hurdle in mind? How can she be pregnant when she's only had constant disappointments for years? Her child is gone, she can no longer have a child. Her enduring the check of the midwife again, Hürrem becoming pregnant instead again, is Mahidevran having to once again feel the pain of that loss so close. And like last time, she could barely share it with anyone; not due to what she did afterwards (and Süleiman being an absolute dick), but worse yet, due to everyone telling her to suck it up, preventing her from talking about any of the grievances of her 'private life'. With the resentment she gains for that and what she could share however, Mahidevran actually ends up having her grief for her lost child move along. She fully reveals her resentment of how they all should have boys in order to be considered human in the castle, of how they all even have to give birth in general, and gains bitter acceptance of it. She doesn't just accept these circumstances, she accepts Hürrem's pregnancy. She doesn't hope for either her or the child to die, she actually hopes for her to give birth but to a girl instead. She allows herself to lean on that hope, as it's already happened before. She turns to Allah again, as since her prayers were fulfilled before, they can be fulfilled once more. She can be blessed once more. Hürrem's pregnancy can't be avoided, Hürrem will survive, a child will certainly be born, but let's cling to the likeability of what would be the safer outcome, the lesser evil. And even though Selim, a prince again, is born, Mahidevran keeps on with her bitter acceptance and even makes direct steps to show it, actively concealing the pain underneath. She has to act by the rules, so she does exactly that, even giving something of herself too during the naming ceremony (the amulet). Because both her "Allah, you're almighty. Please, help us. Please, make her give birth to a girl" words and her actions afterwards show her growing belief of supreme justice. Hürrem may continue her rise, but it will get better for Mahidevran sooner or later, justice will prevail. And a huge part of that is Mustafa having grown up just a little more. It all goes from "Do you think giving birth to a boy is enough? You can give birth to five, if you wish." in E08 where Mahidevran latches onto her haseki position to process Mehmet's birth (while demanding the necessary respect Hürrem has to give her), to "Don't get too excited for your second son. What matters is which prince is the heir to the throne." in E17 where Mahidevran latches onto her position as Mustafa's sole mother. What will happen next remains unclear, but it's certainly Mustafa that has the bigger advantage.

Mahidevran mutters the E25 words to herself, a new element alongside all the callbacks the line and the context around it provide: it's said around both royal family and servants like in E17, even more of them attending in fact, during the commotion while Hürrem gives birth like in E11 and, most notably, "How do you know it'll be a son?" is a direct reference to the exact confrontation with Hürrem where Mahidevran utters her E06 words in, words that are a response of Hü's to that exact same question Mahi poses in E25, only asked in a less biting, more genuinely astounded manner (more "how do you even know what's going to happen when everything around here is so uncertain, when I lost my child when I was just pregnant?" and less of the "why are you so sure; don't be so sure, don't be so arrogant, for you'll fall as quick as you rose" theme that comes up more from S02A-onwards). She again has gotten a bit of a breather after a recent panic (Gülşah stabbing Gülnihal) is not just dealt with, but seemingly about to be forgotten (both by the characters and the narrative) as she let out all her possible frustration and anger and outright dread right there and managed to convince everyone that she has nothing to do with any of it regardless - there's also a bigger distance between the sorrow and the pregnancy news than ever before - so after a much larger matter just passed her by, Hürrem's pregnancy isn't such a blow anymore. But it still wouldn't be otherwise, as it is already expected. She got pregnant so many times already, how is it a surprise that she is pregnant again?? Of course she is pregnant again, how can she not be?? (why does she even announce something so obvious?) It's not about Hürrem or her child being gone anymore, it's just all about whether will Hürrem have a boy or a girl. Mahidevran doesn't want another boy and doesn't want Hürrem to be so sure of having a boy either, as all two scenarios have already turned out possible (and both Mahi and Hü have seen that for themselves). She says the line in an offhanded manner just like her E24 reaction was more offhanded (her half-smirk was clear enough), witnessing everything from the sides and brazenly commenting on it to herself at the moment instead of needing and taking her time to come to terms with it. And Mahidevran is willing to distance from Hürrem (she isn't that focused on Bayezid's naming ceremony, either), not wanting to do anything unprompted, waiting to take advantage of when Hürrem fails and act only then (E16-E23; S02A) as much as she's distanced (or rather fully removed) Hürrem from her past loss of a child, seen in the full-circle moment in E26 where she apparently recognizes that she lost her child entirely because of sorrow and agrees with Valide's words to console Hatice about her own worry of losing a child yet again. Mahidevran's procession of her grief seems to be at its steadiest: she can still hardly talk about her lost child, seeing Süleiman pay attention to Hürrem's children before he leaves for campaigns and after he returns in S02A still hurts, but she has Mustafa now. And he'll become more and more accomplished and make his mother proud - he will even come with Süleiman in the campaign (another sign of further growth) a while after Bayezid's birth (he'll return before the campaign is over, but that's besides the point, as we also have Mustafa as the focus of Mahidevran and Süleiman's interactions which fuel her hope throughout S02A).

Mahidevran says the E46 words directly to Hürrem again but they're not aimed only at her; due to the very nature of their confrontation here, Mahidevran has to say them for all to hear. She's fully settled down after she went through her biggest sorrow as SS's haseki (him marrying Hürrem) and she's had to live with a new status quo that included only her and her son for quite some time now. She's just returned to Topkapi, so she hasn't even been around during the entirety of Hürrem's pregnancy and birth. And even if there's been something to process, she's processed it in Edirne, away from the audience's eyes (just like only a blip from Hürrem's pregnancy with Cihangir is seen during the timeskip montage: it's all ceased to be an event not just for Mahi, but even for us, the audience. and Cihangir's birth being portrayed as so leeway and usual makes the later revelation of his hunchback all the more devastating). She congratulates Hürrem after taking a long breath, she mentions Cihangir by title and by name, fully acknowledging that he is a prince, that he exists. She's completely able to live with that now. And there's confidence in her words that underlines the confidence she's developed in Edirne, next to her son, the confidence she has in that very moment, as this confrontation happens during Mustafa's oath ceremony, during her son's event, her event. Now they are at the center stage in what's basically a celebration of how far they've both come. Mahidevran owns the room and believes in her own capabilities now, believes in her son's future more than ever before (as he's now fully grown), so no one would stand there and threaten it, let alone a little şehzade (the other şehzades might, but that doesn't matter now). Hürrem also isn't such a personal threat in the same way she once was (as Mahidevran already fell out of love with SS): both still have history, there's still 'awkwardness' between them in this confrontation, and Mahidevran will still be keen on eliminating her (her involvement in the cariye riot orchestrated by Hafsa in E47) and protecting her son from her at all costs (the Efsun debacle and all else), but while Hürrem's position is obvious and sealed, so is Mahidevran's now. Thus Mahidevran finally adresses her as "Hürrem Sultan". From the "you" in E06 where she often didn't mention her by name at all and didn't want to be reminded of her name by anyone else either, using the "you" to clap back, towering above her; to the "shes" in E11 and E17 where Mahi puts distance between herself and Hü, hoping for Hü to become less of a threat, "become more distant" too (by either perishing or giving birth to a girl), acknowledging her as someone who's there but she still struggles to accept her - it's almost like when Mahi utters the "shes", it's so obvious who she's referring to as she both points to her and obscures her through them; to the other "you" in E25 that signifies even further distance as Hürrem seemingly can't distance herself from Mahidevran but Mahidevran has distanced herself from her instead, yet Hü is still "Hürrem Hatun" to Mahi (even in E43-E45) and that facilitates the "you", Mahidevran gets to Hürrem's level but Hürrem isn't on Mahidevran's; to the furthest distance in "Hürrem Sultan" in E46 where she adresses her more formally than ever but by both her name and real title and she'll pretty much continue to do so as Hürrem's position lays there, unchanged but Mahidevran's position has changed (something she had to grapple with in E45, also wanting to change her position to be like Hürrem's but then embracing the change of her own position instead). Hürrem has gotten as far as she possibly could as a haseki, so that should be recognized, but Mahidevran can go further as a future valide, further than Hürrem. Besides, anything can happen: as change hit Mahidevran, it'll hit Hürrem too eventually (hence she can even fall from her position as SS's one and only as well: E61) and Mahidevran will benefit this time.

The new stage of Mahidevran's life is also put forth by Hürrem's response: "... I'd say the same to you but God willing, you'll take care of Mustafa's babies now. Being a grandmother will suit you". This was surely a hit to Mahidevran as she got a little put aback (while keeping her demeanor) and lost in thought before Hafsa switched the topic (though I don't think Hürrem said it to offend), this too was probably another small reminder of what she's lost, including the chance to bear any more children. But maybe that's also why she latched onto her grandchildren, onto Nergisşah so much, demanding utmost care for them, giving them her love perhaps as the children she never had, and why letting Nergisşah go in E129 gets even more painful in retrospect than it already was. She parts not just with her closest person left, with the last trace of her family left, but also with her last child. And she lets her go herself.

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

  Spider, Kiri, Neteyam and Lo’ak were scattered around one of the lounge rooms of Hells Gate, art supplies strewn everywhere. Miles sat on one side of the room, carving the fin headband for his son’s costume. Jake was on the couch helping his kids with theirs. “What are you gonna be Lo’ak,” Spider asked.

          “A fan lizard!” The five year old was smearing a plant based dye all over a circular piece of fabric.

          “What about you ‘teyam?”

          “I’m going to be Bob!” Jake chuckled as he helped his eldest make wings that looked like his beloved ikran. 

           “And what about you Kiri?”

           “I’m gonna be a slinger,” the little girl said with a sadistic kind of mirth that made Miles eyebrows raise.

            “A what,” Miles asked.

             Jake cringed, “it’s a predator. It ah….it’s kinda two creatures in one. It’s got this dart like head that’s also it’s ah….baby? That can detach from its body. Which is also its parent. When it hunts, the head/offspring will detach to attack its prey then fly back to the body to eat it.” 

             Miles was silently horrified. Kiri grinned holding up the paper mache slinger head she was painting. “I’m gonna put it on a string so it can fly around!” Miles' abhorrence only grew at her enthusiasm. Jake looked defeated. 

              The door flew open with a bang. Z had kicked it open, her arms full of bundles of fabric, “special delivery!” She unceremoniously dumped the pile of old clothes by the children. “I raided an old storage room. Plenty of old jumpsuits that can be repurposed into costumes.”

              Spider pulled out a bright yellow custodian’s uniform and rushed over to his father. “Sempu this is perfect!”

             Miles inspected it. The color was just right but the outfit was sized for an adult. “Z how do y’a think I’m gonna get this to fit him?”

              Z smirked, “with a sewing machine. Dah.”

              Miles was horrified all over again. “I don’t know the first thing about any of that!”

             “Well you better to get learning! This might be the first piece of clothing you need to make for Spider but it won’t be the last!” With that Z walked out, cackling to herself.

              Jake was equally malevolent, “you heard the lady.”

              Miles glared at him. Spider’s smile slipped, “Sempu? We can still make my costume right?”

              Miles' heart twisted. His little boy sounded so close to giving up. He couldn’t stand for that. “Of course we can!” Spider’s eyes lit up. “Here I’m done with this. Go paint it.” He handed his son the headband, Spider happily skipping off. With his boy’s back turned Miles scowled. He pulled out his holopad and searched, sewing tutorials. Jake’s gaze was on him, silently mocking. Miles stared him down, cursing the man in his mind as he hit play.

[theinfamousdoctorf]

You’ve officially convinced me to buy some cheap felt and make a few plushies how dare you /lh

That's excellent! But I would recommend working with cheap fabric over felt. Felt can be frustrating and it tears easily if you try to work it inside out. Also it's better sewn with strands of embroidery floss or thick crochet string. [I use a blanket stitch. Look at the jester shoes on my plushies to see how that looks.]

And as an aside; for anyone who attempts my DCA pattern- it's actually a decent first project because you'll learn how to -Work on things on the wrong side and turn them right side out. And add features by putting extra pieces into a seam. Which is basic plushie stuff. -Do a small amount of applique and see how you feel about it. [Some people find it frustrating.] -Sew buttons on. -The bare bones of how pants are constructed. -Use stuffing and make doll joints by leaving parts pinched/sewn and without any. -Make a crude ruffle. It's a nice quiet hobby that's fairly portable. And at the end of it you have a little guy. None of this pattern requires a machine and if the fabric you get is thin, then it'll just put up less resistance when sewn by hand. HOT TIPS - Do not sew hand-dyed-type batik fabric with a needle and thread. It looks like regular cotton but it's very dense. - Best place to get a sewing machine is Goodwill. Look for the heaviest metal machine you can find. Singer and Kenmore are the best. And places still exist to get them tuned up and fixed if needed. - When stuffing tear small bits of fluff and poke them into little crevices with a chopstick or similar. Don't over-stuff. Keep it light. - Ignore tutorials that sew stretch fabric on a regular sewing machine. You won't get good or durable results. You need a Baby-Lock sewing machine for stretch fabric. Turn your current t-shirt inside out and look at the seams. It makes a four thread seam just like that. - Slick fabric paint needs a minimum of four hours to cure. Don't try to cheat this, you cannot touch it until it's dry. If you're painting on something that's not flat; pin it to some Styrofoam like you're dissecting a frog to prevent accidents. - Always wash fabric before use. It's okay to stomp cotton/poly around in the shower with whatever soap comes off you hair and just hang dry. Don't use the finished edge of the fabric for anything. Just cut it off and pitch it. - Paper clothing patterns can be ironed flat on the lowest setting. Go quick and don't push hard. ALSO - You guys can always ask me anything if you get stuck! My grandma and my mother taught me the basics and I figured out quite a bit on my own. :)

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

Looking good on a budget - Introduction

I am starting a series about skincare, fashion, and makeup on a budget because I recently taught a bunch of this to my "weed daughter."

M. is a young woman only two months older than my own daughter that I met working at a dispensary. Raven and I kind of adopted her - her grandparents raised her because her birth parents are garbage, and they're... Old. Not... "With it," I guess. But Raven and I are old enough that we could feasibly be her parents, if we'd had her in high school, but young enough that we're not fully Old yet. And we both love makeup.

M. is 24 and living on barely-survivable wages, and they've been fucking with the tips for months now (there's a reason I don't work there anymore). I had to force her to let me buy her dollar store nail polish that she wanted.

M. was one of the witnesses at my recent wedding. The other witness was my own daughter.

Afterwards, we all went window shopping. We went to Ulta, we went to Marshall's, we went to the dollar store. And I had to shout, "LET PEOPLE DO NICE THINGS FOR YOU!" in the middle of a dollar tree. Over a $1.25 pack of mini nail polishes.

On her birthday this year, I custom-blended M. a foundation and a lip gloss, as well as gave her a bunch of new and gently-used (and cleaned!) makeup brushes, applicators, and products (I do makeup restoration for fun and profit, so everything was sterile and/or renewed). She had admitted that she didn't know a lot about makeup but wanted to learn, because she likes feeling pretty.

M. is bisexual, but she's had a string of relationships with lil white cis boys who treat her, a young, innocent-looking Puerto Rican woman, like absolute shit. I told her date a woman next. Trans or cis or nonbinary, it doesn't matter, you'll at least have a higher chance of not winding up with a fucking psychopath.

Anyway, that's left her feeling... Worthless, some of the time.

Anyway.

The TLDR

I want to put together a series of tutorials, tricks, tips, diagrams, and shopping lists about makeup, personal grooming, skincare and haircare, and other things like that, but for... Us poors. People who go grocery shopping at Grocery Outlet with EBT benefits because we have to, not because we want to. (And sometimes, that's after you've hit a food bank or two, because you can fill in the gaps.)

Topics I want to address:

Skincare for different skin types, with products you can get at the dollar store.

Haircare for same.

Makeup tricks for cheap makeup to make it stand out.

Places to find good makeup for cheap.

A ranking of makeup brands.

A ranking of haircare brands.

Managing basic grooming with mental illness.

How to look clean if you can't shower today.

Well-researched at-home DIY skincare and makeup.

Taking care of your brushes, applicators, and other tools on the cheap.

How to acquire said tools on the cheap.

Dealing with moral qualms while being poor (I don't like buying products that use slave labor, so how do I reckon with some of this?).

How to tie a tie.

Different lacing styles for shoes to make your unique style stand out.

How to alter shoes (not in the cobbler way, but just fashionably).

How to adjust clothing with little to no knowledge of sewing or fibercraft.

How to thrift well.

How to clean and care for various fabrics.

How to upcycle thrifted or yard sale goods.

How to dye fabric, on the cheap.

How to dye your hair on the cheap.

How to make a decent budget for all of these things (I am by no means a good budgeter but I am a functional one.)

How to handle impulse spending.

If you have any other topics, specific or general, please comment or message me! I'm planning on trying to do this as a video series with downloads on tiktok or something.

I am very inspired by Dollar Tree Dinners, because she's amazing. I want something similar.

Any help thinking of stuff to cover would be appreciated.

I'm gonna start with how to look good at an interview, on a budget.

[strawberrycheeks-and-glasses]

Wakatoshi Does as He’s Told

Ushijima Wakatoshi x f!reader

Rated E 18+ | MDNI

~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

“Toshi,” you sing his name from the bedroom as you hear him enter the apartment.

“Love?” He calls. He hears you but, didn’t her where your sweet voice came from.

“In here,” you direct him, fixing your hair and making sure you look good for him.

As he steps into your shared bedroom he drops his gym bag, clenching his jaw as his eyes take in your almost naked body splayed out your bed. Pressing your body back into the bedsheets, you let him drink you in.

“Welcome home, Toshi,” you smile up at him.

You know that your Wakatoshi is the strong, silent type and his gentle nature made you feel safe in his arms. That’s what made you fall in love him. But he has never been one to initiate anything, and you’ve learned that when you want him, you have to show him.

And he absolutely <em>loves</em> the way you show him. Seeing you in your sexy little stockings and tiny little thong, both of which he’s going to rip off of you in the next ten seconds.

“Well?” You coo, urging him to hurry up and get naked. “Do you like what you see?”

Striping off all of his clothing he walks up to the edge of the bed, grabbing your thighs and pulling you down until your hips are flush with his.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you giggle.

Kneeling down between your knees, Wakatoshi kisses your thighs above your stockings. Licking up a stipe towards your sweet little cunt, he pulls you into him, burying his face in your warmth.

“God, I’ve missed you,” you moan, running your fingers through his thick brown hair. “Two weeks is too long, baby, I don’t think I can go that long without you again,” you whimper.

He looks up at you through his long lashes from between your thighs and smiles into the small patch of fabric that barely hides his prize. Taking the thin string between his teeth, he easily tears it in half and pushes aside.

“Yes, Toshi, take what you want,” you pant above him, feeling his warm tongue lick into your slit.

Wakatoshi does as he’s told, moaning into you, sending vibrations surging through your body. He’s never said it out loud before, but this is his favorite part. Tasting your candy sweet cunt and tongue fucking you into oblivion as his hands lightly trail up your body and play with your nipples.

He loves the sounds you make, the way you moan his name and scream and whine when he does something that you like. Fuck, it gets him so hard, he’s already leaking on his own thigh.

Sucking your sensitive clit, he feels your body twitch and your hand grips his hair. He growls at the feeling, and with that, you’re cumming in his mouth. Your delicious juices flowing down his throat as he licks and sucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, Toshi,” you pant. “You’re so fucking good at that, baby. Stand up, it’s my turn,” you instruct him.

He does as he’s told. Standing at the edge of the bed, his hard, leaking cock throbbing, waiting for you to do what you want to him.

Sitting on your knees at the edge of the bed, you slowly, lean into him, licking the pre off the tip as he hisses above you.

“Do you want my mouth, Toshi?” You ask him, sweetly, knowing the answer.

“Mhmm,” he hums, nodding his head as he watches you wrap your lips around his cock.

He groans. The warmth of your mouth around him has him dizzy with need as you slowly take as much of him as you can to the back of your throat, which is barley half of him. It’s okay though, you make up for it with your hands and the way you hollow your cheeks as you suck his tip.

Wakatoshi has always been quiet in the bedroom. Only grunting or growling, humming or just nodding, which doesn’t bother you. You know what he likes and what he wants. And what he wants is for you to shout and whine and scream his name. He wants to hear how good he’s doing. Wants to hear how much you love sucking his dick. Slurping on him, choking and gagging on his massive cock. And you do, you put on a show for him, all the while loving every second of it.

Popping off his cock with a wet sound you know he loves, you look up at him. His big brown eyes staring down at you intensely, begging for more.

“Don’t move, Toshi,” you tell him, crawling up the bed and turning around on all fours. “I want to feel you in me.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you with needy eyes as you line his cock up to your slippery hole behind you.

“God, I’ve missed you inside me, baby,” you coo as you slowly sink down the tip of his cock, olding still as you adjust around him stretching you open. You haven’t taken him in two week so your walls are tight around his thick cock, taking your time to slide down him as much as you can.

Wakatoshi grunts as you push yourself down on him, watching as your tight little pussy flutters around his dick, his mouth is watering at just the sight of your plush ass cheeks spread open for him. Giving him a glimpse at your tiny asshole.

Wakatoshi isn’t a hands on kind of lover. He lets you do all of the work, taking what you want and letting you get off as many times as you can before he even thinks about cumming.

Keeping his hands clasped behind his back he enjoys the show as you fuck back against him. Pushing into his cock as deep as you can take it and then shuttering around him as you cum again.

“Fuck, Toshi,” you scream. “So good!” You collapse into the bedsheets. Quivering and panting against them.

Watching as you regain your strength and pound back onto him, he can’t help but groan. Seeing your ass bounce and jiggle, he almost reaches out to smack it, but holds back. He’s too scared to hurt you. Whacking volleyballs is his job and if he’s honest, he doesn’t know his own strength, so he keeps his hands behind his back, letting you whimper and whine for his touch.

“Tease my hole, Toshi,” you beg, reaching behind you and rubbing a finger around your puckering asshole. “Please baby? I want you to.”

Hesitantly, Wakatoshi reaches out to grip your ass, shaking it and juggling it around his cock feels so fucking good. Do what you asked of him, Wakatoshi uses his thumb to rub soft circles around your hole as you fuck back into him.

Looking back at him over your shoulder, he sees your eyes go cross eyed and you moan so loudly, he feels it on the tip of his cock.

Fuck, if he had known he could do this to you this whole time, he’s have done it ages ago. The way your hot cunt tightens around him with each passing circle has him going weak in the knees. As badly as he wants to keep this up, he’s about to collapse.

Stepping back from you, sliding out of you, he hears you whine for his cock to be back in you.

“Come back baby, please, I need it,” you shake your ass in front of him. Feeling empty without him in you.

“I want to see you,” he says in his deep gruff voice as he walks over and lays on his back in the bed above you.

Quickly crawling up to his waist, you easily sink back down on him again, moaning at the feeling of him filing you up again.

“God, Toshi, you’re gonna make cum again,” you gasp above him.

He allows himself to hold you, loosely, at your hips. Feeling you grind down on him and your warm skin under his callused fingertips has him seeing stars. He has to hold back, has to let you finish before he can, but you’re making it so difficult this time.

Tightening around him, clenching your walls on his cock he feels himself pressing deep into you, he’s doing everything he can to not cum yet.

“Toshi!” You shout his name as you cum on his dick. Your slick dripping down and pooling his hips.

Collapsing onto his chest, you pant into his mouth, kissing him sweetly as you calm down from your high.

“Toshi?” You whisper in his ear, still slowly rolling your hips down on his cock. You’re so sensitive but you know it’s his turn. “I want you to cum in me,” you kiss into his hair. “Will you do that for me?”

Normally, he pulls out of you, squirting on your back or ass or face, god he loves finishing on your pretty little face. But now you want him inside of you and fuck if he’s not ready to bust right then and there at the way you beg him to empty his load into you.

“Please,” you stare down at him, lovingly.

Blissed out and barely able to focus, you gasp for air as he grips your hips a little tighter, moving them faster. His rough hands pushing and pulling you as ride his dick.

“That’s right, Toshi,” you wince with pleasure. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want-“ he pants. Struggling to stay focused; he’s so close. “I want you on your back,” he says.

Quickly sliding off him you switch positions and he’s on his knees between your legs, shoving his dick right back in your fucked out little pussy. He pushes your thighs up to your chest as he leans down to see your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your jaw as you wrap your arms around his strong back.

Plowing deep into you, he feels your walls pulse around him, as you moan in his ear how good he feels.

“Cum for me Toshi,” you press into his shoulder as your last orgasm rips though your exhausted body.

He does as he’s told and cums, hot and sticky, deep inside of you. Throbbing in you, sending shockwaves through you, making you moan and quiver underneath him.

Pressing his forehead to yours, you both stay like that. Catching your breath, your limp body melts into the bedsheets. Toshi’s massive body engulfs yours as he holds himself up on his elbows.

“Love?” He nudges his nose to your cheek, pressing a soft kiss.

“Yes, Toshi?” You smile up at him with half lidded eyes.

“Why, this time?” He asks, his voice is so small, so quiet that you almost didn’t hear him.

He’s so sweet. So, loving, you can’t help but giggle.

“Don’t you want little, yous and mes, waddling around to greet you when you come home, Toshi?”

His eyes widen at you, and a bright smile creeps on his face at the thought of starting a family with you.

“Yes, god, yes,” he peppers you with kisses all over your face, making you laugh even more.

“Well then, Toshi,” smirk up at him. “Put a baby inside of me,” you tell him.

And with that, your husband does as he’s told.

If you liked this ficlet please leave kudos on my ao3 or like this post. Thanks!!

[baxxartist]

Part 8

Start here

Previous here

Next here

Royal AU belongs to @aychama

✨Disclaimer ✨

This is not my au the only thing I own are my own oc's (Ari, Levi, Harper, Sal, and Kay) and nothing else.

Do not take anything in this story as cannon.

A few weeks have passed, Ari was told by the head servant that he was in charge of ensuring 4 important guests are cared for as he was requested due to his low-key status. He knew who it was, smiling as he entered the room to see 4 of his siblings staring at him. They were all close to each other, but they all had no actual relation. Most of them met during childhood and used to send letters back and forth.

They would all try to meet up as much as possible but it was difficult, with everyone living so far away. Honestly Ari wouldn't know how to write or have the education he does if it wasn't for Sal constantly correcting him in every letter they sent back.

He smiles at the memory, as Sal struggled at first to understand that Ari wasn't given a proper and high level education like they were. But once Sal understood, they would take notes from books or on rare occasions they would copy the books word for word into journals before having them sent to Ari.

Kay's grandparents did live in Narinder's kingdom before they died, as they preferred a more simple but comfortable life, Kay's grandparents told no one of their background or status as nobles. They both ran a small shop together, and Kay's parents would send Kay there to help, or get him away from any upcoming trouble or illness. Mostly, fearing for his safety and health.

Kay taught Ari how to treat his injuries and Ari allowed Kay to experiment treatments. Ari couldn't feel the pain anyways so it didn't matter to him and it gave them both time to bond and help others in the process.

Harper's family used to visit the area, she never knew why, still doesn't. But as a child she didn't care or mind, thriving in the new environment.

Her and Ari learned how to hunt together, Ari didn't mind having extra food and Harper liked learning a new and useful skill.

Levi used to only cause trouble as a child as he didn't know anything else after escaping his "parents". Occasionally stealing or pulling pranks, he found it easy to get into trouble…learning how to not get caught was the hard part for him. Ari smirked as he remembers teaching Levi how to pick locks and get his way out of cuffs and jail cells, making Levi near impossible to keep imprisoned as he got older.

Ari watched from the window, he was worried for his King, tail swaying anxiously as he watched the carriages. He knew Levi wasn't going to make this easy either, especially as it's his first time coming along for something like this. Ari was silently hoping he wouldn't be in charge of keeping Levi under control.

Levi left the carriage, Ari sighed, he knew this would happen as Levi was barely dressed appropriately, far to used to not having to care much about how he looks. But Ari couldn't deny how much happier he looked, it's been a long time since Ari has seen him. Levi's clothing was loose and layered, his boots thin and worn. Levi did that on purpose as he never enjoyed shoes, only wearing them as a formality.

He had a few golden accents along his outfit, embroidery that was neatly one and his clothing was at least new and not full of patches and holes. His bone and wooden chimes were carved into more delicate shapes, chains holding them instead of strings and a few pieces of glass, cut to look like crystals. Adding a new sound to him as he walked. Ari knew this was advice Kay and Sal gave him from when Levi first became a jester.

Levi was wearing a cloak, hiding the see through veil made out of moss and old fabric he was wearing. Levi was sensitive to light and normally didn't need the veil unless out in daylight, though he did his best to hide it when in unfamiliar places.

Sal was keeping an eye on Levi, they really were nervous about him being present and even for his safety. Sal was wearing more discreet armour, most of it made and dyed to blend in better with their clothing and made to not restrict their movements.

Their clothing was form fitting, nothing loose or dangling. All dark colors, accented with silver that matched well.

Kay was dressed formally, wearing dark blue, purple, and gold, it caused him to stand out but now to much, wearing a few items of jewelry. A dagger laced with poison on his hip, he silently keeps an eye on Narinder and stays close to Kallamar in a protective manner.

Harper was trying to keep calm, it was bad enough she had to wear a formal dress. But the constant looks she's been getting from others. Harper is aware she's attractive and she hates it. At least she was allowed to pick how her dress was made and the fabric, she picked a more flowy dress with simple patterns and a light but comfortable fabric. Harper looked up, noticing Ari and smiled at him.

Ari returned the smile before leaving the window to return to his tasks.

It wasn't hard to find out all 4 of the others were in the same room, Ari knocked on the door before entering. Levi immediately jumped up and ran over, hugging Ari tightly. “ARI!” his tail was wagging, thumping against the ground hard enough to make sound.

“Levi stop, you're getting leaves everywhere.” Sal responds before getting up from the bed, walking over to Ari. Levi lets Ari go and nods. “Sorry Sal, but we haven't seen him in forever.” Levi responds. “Also you need to be more careful, I didn't even get to shut the door and people tend to talk” Ari responds as he shuts the door.

Sal smiles, looking down at Ari. “It truly has been awhile, I hope you're alright.” They speak. Ari nods, “Yes I'm ok Sal. Anything I should know about?” He asks. Sometimes the 4 of them will warn him of bad things to come.

Sal shook their head. “Nothing I can tell you, Ari.” They respond. Harper nods. “Depending on how this meeting goes, food might be a bit harder to come by. But I'll do my best to make sure that doesn't happen.” She responds. Ari nods “I still have some food stored away from our hangout spot in the woods. I'll see to restocking that.” Ari responds.

Levi nods, “If only you were allowed in the room, I think you actually have good ideas.” He speaks up while hanging upside down from the rafters.

“Levi, get down from there!” Kay shouted. Ari chuckles, climbing up to join him. Harper chuckled as Kay went on to scold both of them from the ground. Sal smirked, watching amused. “Ari don't you have work to do?” They ask.

Ari smirks, “Usually yes but because I was tasked with caring care of the four of you. Everything I'm usually tasked with has been dismissed or lightened, so I have far less to do.” He responds, tail swaying happily.

Harper smiles, “But that's a good thing, means we can finally all spend time together.” She responds. Ari nods. "Almost like when we were kids" he teases.

After some time, Levi gets bored and leaves the room to cause some trouble. Looking around for a high place to climb to, he sneaks his way up the wall, perching up high before waiting. His chimes are silent as he softly chuckles to himself.

Seeing Aym walk by, Levi smirks, waiting for the right opportunity. He wasn't mean spirited, just looking for some fun. “Hello.” Levi spoke, throwing his voice so it sounded almost too close to Aym. He smirked, watching the cat go on high alert and look around.

He kept his chimes silent by holding them before moving to a new spot so he isn't seen. Watching Aym go back to walking past he smirks. “You could be going crazy.” Levi teases, throwing his voice once again.

Ari doesn't take long to know Levi is up to something before he walks the halls. Soon coming across the scene as he watches from below, smirking as he looks at Aym before discreetly pointing at Levi. Levi gets surprised when Aym looks right at him…that's a death glare if he's ever seen one. “I have immunity dear cat, so you can't hurt me.” He responds, teasing before jumping to a new location.

Ari smirks, “I’ll get him down for you if you'd like.” He responds, tail swaying. Aym looks at Ari, “Just don't break anything or cause anymore of a scene.” Aym responds.

Ari nods before looking around and finding Levi's staff, it has the same chimes that he wears on his hip, carved and decorated, it was carved to look like flowers, vines, and leaves. He holds it, looking right up at Levi. “Get down or I'll snap this in half” he responds. Ari was lying, but was also giving Levi an out. Levi threw his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright, take it easy…I'll get down. This place is no fun” Levi responds as he starts to get down.