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s-4pphics · 2 months ago

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the art of chasing. (e.w.) part I.

synopsis: how to: lose a lover.

word count: 9.5K

warnings: bratbaby!ellie who’s a math prodigy :), baby!oc who’s not but craves approval, SARAH IS ALIVE, mentions of: ANGST, time jump, joel is everyone’s dad — adoption, dead parents, narc parenting, internalized homophobia, outward homophobia, enemies to ?, idiots to ?, alcoholism, ellie’s a hopeless romantic, so is oc but she doesn’t know it, rebellious teenagers, FLUFF :)

a/n: heyyy. this idea came to me very randomly in january and i’ve been drafting it since then. it’s a two parter with a possible intermission but idk we’ll see. also, i hit 4k followers? thanks THE FAWK?

BYEEE

Since age ten, you’ve hated Ellie Williams.

You were naive like most children; too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to manage, running amuck and causing any wreckage you could with your pudgy little hands. You lived to explore, much to your father’s dismay. He’s a stickler with too much sense, exactly like your irritating, speckle-faced classmate. Stubborn with an ego large enough to topple mountains.

The first time you met her, you’d been sobbing at the sight of blood on your skin.

You weren’t the fastest runner on the playground, but your classmates knew to never play hide and seek with you. You’d squeeze into the smallest crevices of your school's hallways and sit until recess was over and you were crowned the winner by your classmates when the bell rang. Your victory streak felt everlasting, three months of invisibility, it seemed until one day, a boy approached you — Jesse, a few inches taller and annoying, made it a challenge to discover your hiding spot. Younger you accepted any competition with grace, even moreso when Jesse’s friends bet that he’d pay you if he failed to complete the challenge… Your dad was very confused when you returned home with twenty bucks and a bag of Warheads that Friday. You don’t gamble, but what’s a little reward for upholding your legacy as the Best Hider? Your tactic was masterful, and while your classmates failed to find you, your piggy bank grew in size.

For the first term of fifth grade, recess was yours. Students of all grade levels were on a manhunt for you after lunch. The excessive searches got so bad that they limited your 10 second head start to 5, then 3, and even then, you were never caught.

Until Ellie.

You decided to switch it up one day: instead of going to your go-to hiding spot — in between the two giant pillars that separated the first and second grade classrooms — you decided to rush back towards the cafeteria and wait by the lunch tables. Call it hiding in plain sight. No one ever returned there after they finished eating; They were too busy pushing each other down the slide or searching for you on the field.

Your fall could’ve been caused by anything: an untied shoelace, your mind moving too fast for your feet, a crack in the blacktop. All you recall was laughing maniacally one second then sobbing harshly with a bloody knee the next. It barely hurt from your adrenaline, but blood had always freaked you out. You searched for anyone — a supervisor, a teacher, another classmate — but your cries weren’t loud enough to draw attention.

No one was a witness except the freakishly smart nerd that sat at the back of the classroom.

Ellie had been alone at the lunch tables, dirty sneakers kicked up with a sticker book in hand while she watched you cry completely stoic.

When you finally noticed her sitting there, you hoped your teary eyes would push her to get you some help, but when she squatted beside you with a taunting glance and pitying hand on your shoulder, you knew she sucked. Sucked really badly.

“That’s what you get for cheating. Everyone knows the lunch area’s off limits during recess.”

And then she hollered over Jesse and all his loser friends, exclaiming that she found you and everyone owed her whatever rewards they planned to give you. From that point on, you hated her. Whenever she spoke in class, won a tetherball match with her man hands, laughed too loud, you returned home with a chip on your shoulder and the urge to swing on her. Not only did Ellie take your money and treats, she dimmed your glory. The crown on your head was placed onto hers in a heartbeat, title going from Best Hider to Best Seeker, and all it took was one accident. Ellie swiftly became your obsession after that. How could such a loser loner be that snarky? Losers are often desperate for any form of human contact, so why wasn’t she? Everyone thought she was the coolest person ever yet she didn’t care. Her routine stayed the same: silently sit in class and obnoxiously be the smartest person in the room then walk exactly 20 feet in front of you when the day is over.

You’ll never forget the disgusted churns in your gut when you discovered she lives right across the street from you, and apparently had since you both were in kindergarten. If anyone at school found out that you religiously watched Ellie ride and fall(once) off her skateboard for a month straight, they’d probably group you too together for being the wackiest bitches in the neighborhood.

It’s been five years since that day by the lunch area, and still, Ellie’s mission of making you feel like gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe rages on. Every test, every presentation, every spelling bee, every race, she shows you up without breaking a sweat while you drag behind her using every bit of willpower you have left, and still, it’s never enough. She surpasses you in ways that almost seem impossible, your brain can barely grasp it.

She’s still mechanically organized, even as a teenager. On honor roll and a dickface. Isn’t high school the time to find yourself and not be a loser? Talk to boys and get a job and start driving—

“You look psycho. She’s not thinking about you. Give it a rest.”

Your best friend’s right as always, but your glare doesn’t get any softer. In fact, it hardens when Riley scoots directly in front of your vision so your eyes are on her and not Ellie.

“If I killed someone, would you help me hide the body?” You say, exasperated.

“No, bitch I wouldn’t,” she rolls her eyes, “You’re risking life in prison because she ruined the curve for our biology test?”

“She gotta 98. I dunno how campus isn’t up in flames right now. All these bitches are weak,” you shove a carrot in your mouth, “my dad’s gonna kill me.”

“I’ll come to the funeral.”

“That’s not funny. You know how he is! He’s gonna blow a fuse when my grade gets posted.”

Riley’s eyes shadow with sympathy. “Maybe you can ask for a retake? Mr. Johnson’s not as fucked up as—“

“Ms. Robinson.” You and Riley both shudder in disgust. Your first bio teacher had it out for you so bad, it seemed. Last semester was stupid rough because of her pop quizzes and accusations of cheating. If she hadn’t fell down the stairs and broken her hip, you’d be on academic probation by now.

“I’m not reliving that, Jesus… Are you comin’ later? Everyone’s asking where you’ve been.”

Every reminder that you're locked in your room while your friends cause ruckus throughout the town is like a knife to the chest. “Tell 'em I'll seem them inna month,” you smile sarcastically, “I can’t go anywhere until I get my D up in math… and English—“

“Bitch how do you have a D in English when we speak it everyday—“

“I know, okay, I hate essays! My brain can’t… I can’t sit there and write for too long. I feel like I’ll start going crazy looking at those little ass words! I needa stress reliever bad.”

Riley pouts and reaches for your hand, “I'll find you one and send it to your place, promise.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t. My dad might set it on fire to taunt me.” You snort, but Riley doesn’t. She never does when you talk about your dad. The sad look she always gives makes you uncomfortable. Your gaze falls onto your tray when she squeezes your hand.

“If you need to stay with me, you can. You know that, right?”

“… Yeah. Thanks.”

Riley’s a wishful thinker. Her family’s the sweetest: always inviting you over for holidays, her birthdays, sometimes your birthday when your dad deems you undeserving of celebration. They embrace you openly, and you’re forever grateful for their warmth, but the peace you experience in her household always ends in tears when your dad picks you. He’ll scream at you until his voice goes hoarse for running away even though you always ask for permission before going anywhere. The grudge he held onto after you snuck out one time in junior high weighs both of you down.

Your father doesn’t trust you, and sometimes when it’s late and you hear delirious mumbling in the hallways, you question whether or not to trust him.

The bell pulls you from your thoughts, and for once, you’re grateful that lunch is over. Riley’s gentle aura has a way of disarming you. You’re always unprepared whenever you trek the stairs to your porch; exposed and vulnerable.

Riley allows you to wallow in silence all the way back to class. Your academic reputation was never stellar, but you always believed you were smart enough to make it into college and find your purpose, but every year that passes, your attention span suffers, and no one understands how draining it is except you. You were naive to think you’d be able to confide in your dad about something like that.

Riley gives your hand one last squeeze before sliding through the door next to yours. Annoyance stabs in your spine when you catch Ellie already sat at the front of the room with her stupid fucking glasses and notebooks and sharpened pencils laid neatly on her desk. It’s like she lives her life to taunt you, force you to remember that you’ll never be as clever as she is. You’re sick just looking at her.

You fall onto your designated seat in the last row, the last bits of students clabbering in just as the second bell rings. Mr. Thomas is already scribbling a bunch of Xs and Ys on the board and attendance hasn’t even been taken. It’s one of those days, one of frantic note taking while you attempt to catch all the information he throws at you while Ellie glides through the lesson like knives through butter.

“Just like we reviewed last week, everyone! A point is a solution to a system of equations—“

You’re betting you won’t have a wrist by the end of class. What use are your notes if they end up looking like chicken scratch? You should know all of this, you’ve read these lessons so many times, so why’re you blanking when the question comes back to you?

“If we plug (3, 6) into our equations, will we have a solution?” Mr. Thomas points directly at you. It’s a simple yes or no question, and in retrospect, the equations aren’t that fucking hard but you can’t do it. Why can’t you solve this?

Y and X and equal signs mock you all across the white board. Just guess! There’s a 50% chance you’ll get it right. A betted yes is still a yes, anyway!

Exactly how a betted no is still a no. You’re fucked.

“Um…”

Say anything! Who gives a fuck if it’s wrong or right or whatever! So what if you can’t do algebra! When you leave here, you'll be so extraordinarily incredible at your job that you won’t need any of it! Most of the things you learn in school all go to waste anyway!

“… No?” You answer meekly, and your teacher’s eyes brighten.

“Correct!—“

Thank God, I thought I was gonna die—

“—Can you explain how?”

Oh, fuck my life

“Um… well… Uh…”

Your face burns from the stares of your classmates and your teacher and God himself. You stumble over your answer, saying a bunch of shit that you can hardly understand, all while the light in Mr. Thomas’ eyes slowly distinguish.

“I’m… not sure, Mr. Thomas.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when he gives you a pitying glance before asking, “That's alright! Does anyone wanna help our friend out?”

And of course, Ellie’s hand flies up just to spite you, and your efforts crash and burn.

“Yes, Ellie?”

“If 6 is Y, then the equation has to equal 6. 2 times 3 is 6 but adding 1 makes it 7. So no…”

“We don’t have a solution.” Her tone is so secure it strains in your ears. You might as well stand at the front of the class and let everyone shoot you with spitballs. That’d be less humiliating.

“Great job, Ellie! So that means—“

Frankly, you don’t give a shit what it means, you just want to leave. Be anywhere but here. Being home would actually feel more safe, despite the small voice in your mind claiming that’s a fallacy.

Class drags on and so does your writing. Whatever burst of energy you had at the start of class has been wrung to hell, finishing with a whopping one and a half pages of notes. Better than yesterday. Small victories.

After what feels like ages, the bell rings, and students disperse to wherever they're supposed to be. You throw your backpack over your shoulder, your feet carrying you even faster towards the door when the Devil speaks.

“—Thanks, Mr. Thomas. See you!”

“Bye, Ellie! See you tomorrow.”

She makes it to the door before you, already vanishing into the crowded hallways before a calm timbre yanks you back. You spin with the brightest smile. “Yes, Mr. Thomas?”

He stares disapprovingly, and you groan, “Can I go, please? I’m gonna be late—“

“I’ll write you a slip. I need to talk to you.”

Your lax demeanor masks the pounding in your chest well enough. Mr. Thomas crosses his arms over his chest before sighing, “what’s going on with you? You’re not usually this…”

“What, stupid?” You tort humorlessly.

“No! Not at all… Distracted, I suppose, but never stupid. Don’t say that again.”

“C’mon, Thomas, everyone knows it, it’s not a big deal. Some people are smart and some are dumb. It’s just how life goes.”

“There’s no such thing as a dumb student. Everyone learns at their own pace. That’s how life goes.” He scolds, “Do you need some extra tutoring—“

“No, actually, I don’t, thanks.”

He sends you a look that’s very father-like and you almost vomit, “I want to see you succeed, that’s why I’m here. There’s so many resources available that could be of use, yet you never take them. Why is that?”

You shrug in agitation, “I don’t know, Mr. Thomas. I’m trying, okay? I can handle whatever distractions I have on my own.”

“You know some of your friends can tutor you, right? It doesn’t have to be some strict meeting with a teacher. Some students in here are tutors. Ellie’s on a roll with—“

“Can we not discuss how much smarter my classmates are than me? I'd really appreciate it.”

He sighs disapprovingly, “That’s not my intention and you know it. There’s no shame in asking for help from people around you.”

“Is this a therapy session?”

“No, but the semester’s almost over. If you don’t pass your midterm and your final, you’ll fail the class, and you’ll be stuck with me for another year.”

You scoff at the insinuation of your demise, “Wow, thanks so much, Mr. Thomas,” His gaze turns sorrowful — pitying. Your feet already carry you towards the door. “Don’t worry about that slip by the way!”

You ignore the calls of your name before getting shoved into the ocean of students. There’s only one more class you have to sit through and you’re fucking free. Ellie’s not the only one you should look out for. Even teachers are becoming biased pests.

Just when you thought the walk home from school would be peaceful, mainly due to the fact that Ellie was nowhere to be found — not twenty feet ahead or behind you. You hoped her dad’s car got stuck in the open trench by the gas station.

But no, she’s already made it home — to your home, squatted beside her stupid blue bike with a flat tire, tirelessly reviving her ride with a pump that looks awfully familiar. She’s practically blocking the entire walkway. Your day cannot get any fucking worse.

You stand in front of her in annoyance, “Can you move?” She doesn’t reply, barely acknowledges you.

“Hellooo, Earth to dickhead, I’m trying to get home.”

“Go around.” She nods towards the street.

“What, so I can get hit by a car?”

“Hopefully.”

“Go away! You live over there!” Your finger jabs to her dungeon. “You could’ve pumped your own goddamn tire away from my domain!”

“I don’t wanna walk all the way back.”

“Back where?”

“To your house. Your dad let me use your guys’ pump.”

Red alarms sound in your head. Your dad allowed the enemy into your dominion? Rage explodes within you when playful green eyes pan over your entire form.

“That bothers you?”

“You bother me. I hate your guts and I always will. You know what you did to me.” You stomp around her worksite. Before you can kick your front door in, she hollers at you.

“I don’t actually, but alright. Make sure to let Thomas know.”

Your head whips in her direction, gaze searing trails of fire onto the sidewalk.

“What does Thomas have to do with anything?”

Ellie shrugs nonchalantly, “He emailed me earlier. Asked me to tutor you. Said you could use some extra guidance.”

She uses your shock to her advantage, pins you where you stand before rising to her full height. Her dirty fucking shoes pan through the dead grass of your yard.

“If you wanna flunk, keep doing what you’re doing. Stay up all night and read until your eyes bleed only to forget everything the second you get to class because you’re scared of being wrong,” her teeth shine underneath the afternoon sun, “nobody’s rooting for you, not even yourself. I’m your last shot at making a comeback. I’ll get you that C if you want it. All you have to do is say please.”

Flames of humiliation engulf you from head to toe. Never in your life have you had a stranger degrade you this strongly. Insults from family are always painful but after a certain point, you grow used to hearing what they don’t like about you. Ellie doesn’t know anything about you yet she’s reading you like that stupid scientology novel she always has in her backpack.

You don’t even have the wind to tell her to go fuck herself before yanking the front door open and flinging yourself inside. It slams when you fall back against it and you swear you hear scoffing from outside.

“Hey.”

Does he not notice your distress or is he simply uncaring? “… Hi, dad.”

“How was school?”

“Fun.”

“Sounds like it. I made pizza.” Little does he know, food is the last bit of your worries.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah, hun.”

Am I a disappoint? Do you regret having me? Do you like me… I know you love me, but do you like me?

“… Did you buy some more hot honey?”

“Course, baby. On the counter.”

“Thanks.”

He nods at you before refocusing on the match. That’s as much conversation you’ll get from him until tomorrow. You reheat your pizza silently, mind focused on the fucking aggravating genius right outside your doorstep. You don’t want to be in range when she gives the bike pump back. The both of them might team up to demean you together.

Days like today remind Ellie why she misses her skateboard. Twelve-year-old her must’ve been in denial or incredibly lost when she begged Joel for a bicycle.

She hardly ever rides it anymore, it just sits in the corner of the garage collecting dust and cobwebs, but nostalgia hit her harder than usual today. Could be due to the change in weather, the cold always takes her back to those family getaways in the mountains. Not a day goes past where she doesn’t think about that deer she found laying in the snow when she was eight.

There aren’t many moments where Ellie gets to decompress: she’s always busy, drowned to the knee with novels and notebooks and annotation assignments or helping a classmate proofread their final papers. She doesn’t remember the last time she got home and simply wasted away doing nothing. There are parts of her that envy students who have that privilege, but every time her schedule slows for any reason, she grows antsy and her fingers twitch with eagerness to solve something.

That’s why she pulled this stupid bike out of the garage. She assumed taking a lap or two around the block would pass time, but she hardly made it down the driveway before her front tire started stuttering.

Why the hell did she think asking your dad for that pump was a good idea? Not that Ellie cares if you do or not, but it definitely wasn’t her smartest moment. She’ll get you one of these days. Catch you when you least expect it and press about your fucking issue with her because, frankly, she’s been confused for half a decade.

Not that you’d ever care, but you’re not Ellie’s cup of tea either. You’ve been the same since you were five: loud and reckless with unpredictable mood swings. You just… do shit, and Ellie despises nothing more than people that just do shit; Your brain runs on impulse. You never see the world past your little bubble, and there’s a reason why people are so prone to pop it for you. Every move you make feels spiteful, especially if Ellie catches you in the act. You’re always there, staring at her, watching her with conviction. She’s provoked every time.

It's gotten easy to ignore your bombarding personality. You’re ignorable, but you got her out of character today. She hates stooping down to your level but you took her there once again, and she’ll resent you for that like always.

She feels hollow knocking on your front door. Her brain won’t stop replaying what you said and what she said and this is why she loathes interacting with you.

The door opens and she realizes she was holding her breath.

“Hey, Ellie! Your bike alright?”

“Yeah, I uhh… yeah, sorry,” she extends the pump and your dad accepts it graciously, “Thanks.”

“Anytime… Hey, you have class with my daughter, right?”

A few every year. It sucks. She nods.

“How’s she doin’? She looked real down today.”

Yeah. Because she sucks. “I’m not sure. I don’t really pay that much attention to be honest.”

“Of course, ‘cause you actually do what you’re supposed to in class! I wish she was more like you!” He’s laughing but Ellie’s not, hiding her discomfort with a stiff smile.

“Thanks again,” she points towards the bike pump before shifting away from the door, “have a good night.”

“You, too!” He grins, “if you see anything outta the ordinary, don’t hesitate to let me know!” Ellie nods with a stiff wave. Her feet couldn’t carry her off your porch fast enough.

The door shuts, and Ellie releases the second breath she’s held since speaking to you. There’s an icky feeling in her stomach, distaste in her mouth, but she can’t pin where from. Her bike wheels whine the entire walk back to her house. 40 feet suddenly feels like 10 miles.

She uncaringly drops her bike beside her dad’s truck before entering the house.

“Is the alien invasion upon us?”

Ellie’s replies dryly, “Could be.”

“I’ll be damned! Come in here for a second, Ellie. I need your help with somethin’.”

She sighs before reluctantly entering the kitchen where Joel leans, practically bent over the counter with a rubber-gloved hand shoved down the drain.

“Compromising position.”

“Shut up, c’mere… I may or may not’ve dropped a fork in here ‘n I can’t reach it…”

“Dude, again?” Ellie grabs the lone rubber glove that rests on the counter.

“Don’t give me that! I’ve had enough shit-talkin’ from Sarah.”

Ellie’s eyes go sparkly, “She here?”

“Not yet, kiddo. She just called earlier, she misses you.”

“She didn’t call me.” Ellie pouts. It’s weird, to go from living across the hall from somebody for so many years then only seeing them twice a year if that. When Sarah left for college, Ellie was devastated, excited, anxious, sad all over again. She’s everything Ellie desires to be: intelligent, talented, tall, pretty. In some ways, Sarah’s filled the vacancy that was reserved for Ellie’s mother. Joel’s a great parent and she loves him to death, but he’s not a girl, and there will always be something that he simply doesn’t understand no matter how hard he tries. Sarah will always be Ellie’s greatest blessing. Home is home — home is comfort, but without Sarah… there’s an emptiness in these four walls that fit the shape of her perfectly. Joel feels her absence, too. Ellie notices his longing whenever she catches him searching Sarah’s old room when they’re folding laundry.

“Compromising position.” Joel mocks when Ellie’s smaller hand shoves inside the garbage disposal in search for the missing fork. She throws him a middle finger and he laughs, deep and hearty.

“You’re quiet today.” He says suddenly, and Ellie stiffens a bit, eyes glued onto clean stainless steel.

“Always quiet, old man.”

“Well, yeah… something’s bothering you. What happened?”

“Just school stuff, nothing crazy.” She definitely won’t, and she partially blames herself for her own damning. You seemed so upset before you slammed the door in her face. It didn’t matter if you were on your last legs, ever since middle school, you’ve always gotten the last word, and Ellie’s always caught scrabbling for a rebuttal.

Joel hums. Ellie nearly chokes on air when he inquiries,

“What, you gotta girlfriend?”

“What the hell, no, of course not, are you serious—“

“Damn… I was kiddin’ but I think you actually might, you’re all cherry-faced! What’s her name! Is she coming over for Christmas!—“

Ellie pulls the butchered fork free from the disposal with all her strength before tossing it and the glove on the counter. Joel’s hysteria weighs his shoulders down, wiping the joyful tears from his eyes.

“I’m going to bed.” Ellie states stoically.

“AWW, C’MON! IT’S NOT EVEN 6 YET!” She rolls her eyes when his wheezing starts back up.

Ellie leaves trails of fire all the way up the stairs, Joel’s giggly apologies and begs for her to come back silencing when her door shuts. Her palms find the caves of her eyes. Her body betrays her, brain pleading to climb underneath her mattress and sleep away the stress of today while her fingers itch to craft or sketch or repair anything.

… She should’ve been nicer to you. Fuck.

Her thoughts leap from point A to B: go apologize, help you pass math, go your separate ways for the rest of forever. But you could’ve been nicer to her, also. Why won’t you just be nice?

Ellie goes against her better judgement and nearly sprints to her window. When she yanks her blinds down just enough to peep through, she locates the glass that guards your room.

She swears she’s not some fucking weird pervert. She’s just checking to see if you’re alive and ripping up your favorite posters like you always do when you’re mad about something. But there’s no movement from your end and it’s dark where you stay. Are you sleeping? Are you on your phone? Are you…

Did she make you sad?

Anger is different — that comes about as naturally as being happy for you, but she hasn’t seen you cry since elementary school. Why does her heart start thrashing when she envisions your red eyes and tear-soaked pillow? Ellie doesn’t like you but she doesn’t want that. Maybe she desired to see you crack when you were little but that was because…

Ellie doesn’t fucking know what she felt at the time. Agitated that everyone liked you so much, annoyed at how loud you laughed in class. Envious of your light. You were so bright — annoyingly so, shining your blasphemous rays everywhere, blinding everyone in your vicinity. There’s no way you’d give anyone the power to dim your shine.

That aggravating feeling blooms in her chest when she thinks about the amount of times she’s tried to do just that, and something tickles in her throat. It’s too thick to swallow down and she takes that as a sign. Enough sight-seeing for today.

She plummets face first into her mattress, groaning in annoyance when her cheeks catch flame. You drive her insane. You and your adorable fucking nose.

Just when she thinks she’s calmed down, knocks echo from outside her door.

“Kid… Can I come in?”

Ellie’s tempted to say not right now, but she forces herself up to open the door for him. Sorrow flashes in Joel’s vision. “M’sorry, kiddo, ‘bout earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t, today just sucked.”

“Talk t’me.” He implores gently. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just…” Ellie shrugs lamely. Why is it so easy to talk to him about everything but you? “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. I will, but not now.”

He sighs, and she knows he’s concerned, but he doesn’t pry. “Okay, baby—”

“Can I have a hug?” Ellie coughs to mask the crack in her timbre, and Joel embraces her without hesitation. His hold is strong and it brings her solace. For the time being her mind silences, and shoulders aren’t as tense.

Hold onto this until tomorrow.

Until she sees you again.

School has always been predictable.

You come in, you sit for hours and run for one, and you leave with nothing, everything, and the little specks in between. You knew math would be a little awkward after your conversation with Mr. Thomas — you expected him to call on you more often to answer questions or say your name obnoxiously loud during attendance, but the patronizing never came. You took it as him sparing you until the following day until you received an email from him during your last period asking to speak with you. Much to your mistake, you accepted.

Never during your entire high school career did you think that you’d be stuck getting scolded by your favorite teacher with Ellie Williams sitting right next to you. What a turn of fucking events.

“You’re not spending another year with me. You’re going to do better,” Mr. Thomas’ tone is gentle with a sharp edge, but it’s not degrading, “my friend here is willing to help you get to where you want to be. I feel this will be beneficial for both of you.”

Your teacher gestures to Ellie who’s annoyingly fidgety: messing with the loose strings from the slits in her jeans. You’re doing a stellar job at keeping your distaste in check. No need for another scolding.

“Tell you what. If you pass the midterm, I’ll throw a pizza party.”

“I hate tomatoes.”

“… Then we’ll have a to-be-determined party.”

“Hooray.” You grab your stuff and stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “anything else, Thomas?”

“Yes. Be nice to each other. We’re all friends here.” For once, his statement is for both of you. It’s a little comforting. At least you’re not the only one being corrected for adjustment.

“Let’s go.” You say to Ellie who follows in your lead. You’re already out the door before she can finish saying her goodbyes.

You only slow when rushing feet pitter from behind. When Ellie catches up, neither of you speak. You guess you don’t have to. She’s only scheduled to study with you for an hour anyway, there’s no need to waste it on pointless conversation.

You only set one boundary.

“Can we study at your place?”

Ellie pauses before nodding. The silence upholds the entire walk to Ellie’s house. She takes a deep breath before unlocking her front door. “My dad’s working, so… yeah. It’ll actually be quiet when we’re studying.”

You say nothing. You set your backpack on the kitchen table to grab your math book and pencils. Ellie takes a seat beside you with her own notebook, opening it to the lesson from today.

“Midterms are usually easier than finals, there's not as much to remember, so… um, what area are you struggling in?”

An insecure itch squiggles in your nose and you scratch it. You shrug and play with your eraser.

“We can do,” she flips through her pages, “x,y solutions if you wanna, just to start. They were from Thomas’ review the other day.”

Your cheeks heat at the memory. Suddenly there’s thirty pairs of eyes on you all over again. “Sure, Ellie.”

“Okay.” She turns to a fresh page before scribbling and her handwriting is perfect. The equation is familiar and easy. You were half expecting her to give you some crazy shit to kick off. She slides her notebook beside you and you don’t hesitate to input the values. You allow her to examine your work with a dry mouth.

“That’s right.”

Goosebumps rise on your skin and your cheeks go warm and you don't know why.

“Uh, good job, I’ll give you something harder.”

She adds another equation onto the page for you to complete but you’re not paying attention. Ellie’s hands are very large. She’s always had freakish man hands but the definition in her veins is much more prominent than in sixth grade. What the fuck? Her pencil looks like a needle in between her fingers. They look so out of place on her dainty wrist, not that you care.

“Uhh… hello.”

“What.”

“You can do it now. Solve it.”

“… Okay.”

The question in front of you is the same format as the first one, but the numbers are bigger and there’s even more letters and addition signs and your chest plummets onto the hardwood. Your eyes anxiously find Ellie’s who stares back in confusion.

“What’s the matter? Need help?”

You swallow and almost choke from the dryness. You just did this problem. The structure is the same, the process of solving is the same, but you're too focused on how Ellie’s going to react to you messing up. She’ll probably brag about how it’s not that hard and berate you about how you’re not that stupid. Perfectionists like her — like your dad are ruthless. Their superiority complex makes them yell and scream insults at you because you’ll never be where they are. You'll never be a match for their genius and in turn, they choose to resent you.

So you wait for the low blows, the hollering, the threats of punishment. You wait and wait but she doesn’t say anything until she does.

“Hey… you okay?”

“What do you think, Ellie?”

Tension pulls at her brows, “what do you mean?”

In hindsight, she’s done nothing wrong up until this point, she's staring a little too hard for your liking. She’s the only one here, you have no choice but to give her the spotlight she loves so badly. Anything to get it off you.

“This is probably fun for you, watching me fuck up in real time. Is that why you agreed to do this for me? For an ego boost?”

Why does she say your name like you’re hurting her? She’s never sounded so wounded; always prepared to strike back whenever you give her unfiltered attitude, retaliating until she’s blue in the face and you’re storming off in the opposing direction.

“I don’t care if you mess up. I’m here to help you, why don’t you get that?”

“Because when have you ever given a shit if I do well or not? I’ve been a delinquent since we met, why are you so interested now?”

She scoffs and tosses her pencil in annoyance. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Apparently I’m the only one that missed the memo of hating your guts. News fucking flash, I don’t and I never did. Whatever shit you made up about me in your head isn’t my problem to fix,” she closes her notebook with more force than necessary, “if you don’t want my help then tell Thomas so he can get off my back about it. Find somebody else to teach you or don’t or whatever, I don’t care anymore.”

...

… Oh.

It could be the way she’s staring at you: eyes stern, self-assured and her voice heavy, a bit deeper than expected when she’s aggravated, and the spots on her face compliment the red hot that burns in her cheeks, but you have very little — actually nothing to say, and it’s not for the reason you expected. You’re stunned into silence, and that confuses her: she half-expected you to take that pencil you hold and stab her through the neck, but you don’t. You don’t storm off, you don’t talk shit, you just sit and examine her face with a faraway look she’s never seen from you before.

“What?” She implores when you stare too long for comfort, and there’s a lengthy, tender tug in your chest.

You’re positive the end of the world is coming in the next ten seconds. None of the Earthly shit you’ve experienced will matter in the afterlife and the world you know will cease to exist and you’re thankful for that. You don’t think you’d be able to live any longer with the knowledge that you viewed Ellie in an incredibly different manner during her winded, angered dialogue. There’s a weird fluttering sensation in your stomach and your heart sits at the base of your throat. It waves over your body with an unfamiliar intensity and all you can do is gawk at the girl who took your breath.

“I— I’m…”

“You’re what? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m… I think I should go.” You’re already shoveling your things into your backpack, and Ellie’s insanely puzzled.

“Wh—“

“Sorry. I just got lightheaded all of a sudden,” you sling your back over your shoulder before neatly pushing the dining chair in. You’ve never pushed in a chair in your life.

“Are you… are you good? Do you need me to walk you back?”

Her concern makes your tummy burst into flutters, “I'll be fine. Same time tomorrow?” You force down the dreaminess in your voice as Ellie follows close behind.

“Um… okay? I guess, I thought you—“

“I think we should start over.”

It’s almost comedic how far Ellie’s eyes bulge from her skull. Why do you feel so featherlight all of a sudden? “Let’s forget today ever happened and start fresh tomorrow? Is that cool?” Never once in your life have you cared if Ellie was cool with any of your plans. Who are you right now?

“I — well, yeah… cool, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting really fucking weird right no—“

You squeeze the lone book closer to your chest. “I’m fine, trust me. Goodnight.”

When you open the door, Ellie’s dad is on the other side struggling to find his keys in his work bag. He smiles down at you in surprise.

“Hey, kid! It’s been a while, how’ve you been! How’s dad?” Only Ellie notices the wavering looks he shares between you and her. You smile, “been good, dad’s fine. I was just heading out. Thanks again, Ellie.” You say one last time before politely brushing past Mr. Miller, leaving Ellie to simmer and question what the fuck you took before you got here.

When you're finally out of sight, Joel gives Ellie a knowing look, and she almost throws up from giddy nerves. Or full fleshed anxiety. Whichever ones worse.

Is it possible to lose your mind before its fully developed?

You knew something was off when you set an alarm for five-thirty in the morning to get ready for school despite getting two hours of sleep in, yet still, you felt rejuvenated. You freshened up with your favorite body wash, plucked your brows, did a facemask, wore something that wasn’t the prior evening's pajamas. For the first time in your life since elementary school, you were excited to start the day and be productive. You don’t know why.

Purposefully ignoring your change in attitude due to your neighbor is your favorite pass-time.

You’re not sure what the hell happened to you at Ellie’s house, but it definitely solidified that you’re clinically insane. Delusional enough that whenever she meets your eyes in class your breathing pattern goes wonky. She nodded at you in greeting during English class and you nearly fainted. What the fuck has happened to you?

Ellie was everything you detested less than 48 hours ago and now she’s leaving you with unrest that isn’t entirely displeasent. It makes you warm and tingly like a cup of warm tea on a cold morning. That’s not what you expected forgiveness to feel like, but it’s nice. Comforting.

You didn’t see Ellie during lunch, and much to Riley’s confusion, you were disappointed. You and Ellie are nowhere near friends, but you’re trying, and she seems to be receptive to your efforts. In her own little geeky, awkward way. Might as well show your appreciation. She’s helping you out after all.

After years of depending on Riley for emotional stability, you could use someone new.

So you wait perched up against the front of the school for your tutor. The anticipation makes you jittery, pacing across the small grass plain, kicking lone rocks, telling yourself to calm the fuck down because you’ve walked home with her since you were nine only this time around you’re not seperate but together—

“Sup.”

You whip around at the call of your name, “hi.” You’re cheesing, can’t help it. Forgiveness is a great feeling. Ellie barely smiles back but it’s a start.

“Um, we’re still at your house, right?”

“Mhm, why, wanna go to yours?”

“No!”

Ellie flinches, and you scramble to recover. “I mean… I’d rather not, sorry. I’d just… rather not.”

She eyes you skeptically before relenting. “… Okay.”

“Shall we?” You gesture to the path to your neighborhood, but before you can lead the way, a hand clamps around your bicep, firm and stilling with something softer. You can’t move, and you don’t want to, the only proof of life being the constant palpitations in your ribcage.

“Are you listening?”

Nope. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if we’re, like… I don't know, good? Are we okay? I don’t know what’s happening, you’ve been so…” Her sentence trails, unsure of how to describe the arc you’re on. The arc of forgiveness.

“Ellie… I forgive you for what happened in fifth grade. And everything after.”

She squints. “What?”

“I forgive you… I’m just hoping you forgive me, too?”

“Uh… yeah… I forgive you, sure.” And she wears it so well. Her dirty shoes don’t bother you as much anymore. Joy thrums from the deep workings of your heart. “Friends?”

“… Sure?”

“C’mon then, friend. We got some math to do.” You squeal and throw your arms around her. She tenses but doesn’t push you off.

You hold her the entire walk, and some time during, she relaxed into you.

Ellie never thought she’d fall victim to an alien abduction and end up trapped in another dimension with a nice you, but she’s here, and surprisingly, she’s enjoying it. The one secret she’ll never tell.

She’s not sure where this switch up came from, and honestly, she’s scared to find out, but she can’t help but be drawn to the shyer, timid side of you. Whenever she encourages or applauds your efforts on paper, your eyes go wide and glossy, and her heart squeezes in delight.

There are times when she’s speaking, like now— light introductions about graphing parabolas, where she catches you mindlessly glancing over her features. She didn’t mind it initially — merely assumed that staring was your studying tic, but the longer she teaches, the deeper your gaze becomes, and the more uncomfortable she grows, even more than her disappointment whenever you look away.

“Does that make sense?” She finally croaks when she finishes her graph, and you nod like you have no idea what she just said but simply can’t be bothered. She can’t help the upturn of her lips.

“Can I test you?” She asks, and her heart thumps when your lashes flutter. She doesn’t wait for your response before creating a function table on the spot — albeit more complicated, but she needs to see if you’re progressing.

When you take the pencil out of her hand and start scribbling, she can’t help but stare now. She watches you work silently, eyes cascading over your focused vision, each twitch of your nose, how you bite your bottom lip in thought. You erase and correct whatever mistake you’ve written and Ellie can’t the tiny smile that rises in her cheeks. Recognizing that something could be wrong is a telling sign of improvement. The kitchen is suddenly awfully warm.

You exhale before setting the pencil flat on the table and sliding Ellie the graphing paper.

“Don’t be nervous.” She comments when you start fidgeting with your eraser.

You scoff, “can’t help it.”

Ellie rolls her eyes before scanning your work. When she notices the messy erasing on your graph lines, she snickers — she’s not grading you on how perfect the lines are but that didn’t stop you from fixing them at least seven times.

“What, I failed?”

“Nhm… it’s correct actually. Impressive.”

“Impressive. What are you, 50?” You mock playfully.

“Shut up, people see graphs and start pissing themselves, you did good.”

“I was one of those people.”

“And now you’re not, just needed a little elbow grease.”

“Elbow grease! You are 50, good God almighty.”

Ellie scoffs. “Elbow grease isn’t an old saying! It’s used in every hard-working context.”

“Oh, brotherr—“

“Shut up!” You and Ellie’s laughter blend together. The rest of your lesson resumes with such and Ellie couldn’t be more grateful.

Time passes with delight, and before either of you know it, Joel is unlocking the front door while Ellie helps you organize your books. Neither of you notice his observing, and he’s thankful; Ellie would probably throw a fit if she caught him lurking, but he can’t help the glee he feels whenever Ellie laughs, and she's in hysterics with every joke you crack. Out of all the students that have visited the house, you’re the only one that’s garnered such a reaction out of his daughter. She's usually serious in a school-related setting, but you encourage her benevolence.

“Hey Mr. Miller!” You wave and Ellie sighs.

“Hey, kid… how’s the lesson going?”

“Fine. We just finished.” Ellie says with the hopes that he’ll relocate so she can walk you out without hassle.

“I think I’m getting smarter, Miller!”

“You were already smart.” He charms, and you blow a playful raspberry. Your bag strap rests on your shoulder and Ellie leads you to her front door.

“We should do something fun, Ellie.” Her and Joel’s ear perk at the same time at your invitation. The two of you cautiously eye the older man who scurries into the living room.

“… Like what?” She’s suddenly nervous, eyes flitting wherever yours aren’t.

“I don’t know, but I’ve been grounded and I’m bored. If I show my dad some of the work we’ve been doing he’ll probably let me off! Do you like arcades?”

A noise reminiscent of a heart monitor flatlining blares in Ellie’s head at your inquiry. You’re asking her to spend time with you outside of school? She fucking loves arcades but she can’t say that because her jaw’s on the floor.

“… Ellie?” You say, and she nods stupidly, but that doesn’t soothe the small flash of dejection in your eyes. “You don’t have to go. I was just asking.”

“NO!”

You flinch away from her and Joel hollers for Ellie from the living room to check in.

“I’M FINE!” She screams before looking at you, “Not no, I mean yes… I mean I’d love to! I’d love to go to an arcade,” her lips snap shut before she allows a with you to escape, “They, uh… there’s one not too far from school. We can just walk there after.”

When you smile, her heart throbs. Every time you smile at her, the organ cracks open in her chest to leave a spot just for you. She’s already plotting her own academic bribery so your dad can release you from confinement.

“Cool. I’ll ask Riley if she wants to come.”

Ellie’s mind whirs at the mention of a third. Riley’s nice; you all share English together, and though she and Riley don’t speak often, she never fails to give Ellie kutos on her writing skills whenever they peer edit. Riley is nice. She shouldn’t feel so disappointed that you’re bringing a friend on your…

She’s too ahead of herself. She was stupid enough to think that you’d wanna go on a date with her after a decade of bickering bullshit. That’s a result of swallowing down your crush for years out of fear of being rejected. She doesn’t even know if you like girls. She doesn’t know if you like anyone. If you do, you never disclose it.

“… You good?”

Ellie blinks rapidly, “Yeah, m’good, sorry. That sounds fun.”

With your phone already in hand, you say, “gimme your number.” You don’t comment on the shakiness in Ellie’s voice when she recites her digits. When her phone dings on the table, you mumble, “Text me, okay?”

“Yeah… promise.”

Is this flirting? Ellie doesn’t know — granted, she couldn’t tell the difference between right and left with a compass at the moment, but the fuzziness in her head is enough to convince her that your smile is more than friendly. Or she’s fucking delusional, could be one or the other. Both or neither. Regardless, she really doesn’t want you to go—

Wait, what.

“Night,” you say so softly she almost misses it, and she replies just the same. When the door clicks shut, Ellie’s forced to sit with the irreversible concave you’ve left in her chest. Her head rests against the door to gather herself, long enough to garner the attention of her dad.

“Somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

“I don’t think want is the right word.”

Who wants to come clean about their repressed infatuation with their sorta friend? Certainly no one sane, but Ellie hasn’t felt normal since the beginning of the month.

When she finally picks herself up, she finds Joel propped against the wall with his arms folded, an inquisitive look in his eye. You’ve piqued his interest. Fuck.

“We’ve never really talked about those lessons.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“… Alright.” He sighs in mock defeat, “you know I won’t push you, but Christmas is ‘round the corner and I think it’d be best to plan somethin’ for your new frie—“

“I think I like her.”

It’s said with such anguish; a fear of unrequited affection that slammed into her out of the blue, but it’s unrepairable now. Her next breath wobbles and Joel’s by her in an instant, large hands cradling her scorching cheeks. Her eyes water in embarrassment so she keeps them glued downward.

“C’mon now, darling, look here.” Joel encourages softly, and Ellie reluctantly matches his gaze, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. He doesn’t hesitate to catch it with his thumb.

“Whatever you’re feeling is a hundred percent normal. I’ve never seen you like this about somebody, it’s meant to be.”

“… What if she doesn’t like me?”

“I don’t think that's the problem, baby. She goes all doe-eyed when you’re explaining… quantum theory or whatever the hell—“

Ellie can’t hold her laugh, and her shine cracks Joel’s smile even wider.

“Wanna call Sarah?” He suggests gently, and Ellie nods.

“C’mon, we got some story to tell.”

Two weeks until your incoming doom. Or midterms if simplified. Fuck.

The closer the day gets, the more anxiety-riddled your lessons with Ellie become. Your new friend is incredibly reassuring, especially after you nearly toppled her to the ground in celebration of your D turning into a D+ after your last 3 assignment postings. Not only did you complete your math homework by yourself, but your answers were correct without cheating.

Your dad told you ‘good job’ during breakfast this morning and you cried on the way to school. Happy tears. Accomplished tears. He finally thinks your efforts are worth something.

… Maybe even worth a trip to the arcade?

You don’t discuss your tutoring sessions with him that often, but he’s aware that Ellie’s aiding you to success. You know he respects her — sometimes you think more than you, but whatever — so maybe, just maybe, he won’t be against pausing your punishment for one night.

You use your text threads with Ellie as an emotion stabilizer on the walk home. Fried memes and screen recordings of her Roblox fights are doing wonders for your thrashing heart. You can see your home and your dad’s truck in the driveway.

Each step up the porch stairs is torture.

You’re not shocked to find your dad on the couch eating popcorn. It’s routine at this point, and somehow, that makes your nerves worse.

“Hey, hon. Hungry? I made mac and cheese.”

Your stomach growls as if commanded.

“Um… can we eat together?”

His eyes unglued from the television and fell onto you, widened with shock at your proposal. Neither of you remember the last time you ate at the same table.

He pauses before mumbling.

“Of course we can.”

Something kick starts within your dad; he’s up and setting the table with a nice cloth and decorative plates, the fancy golden forks and spoons that are reserved for guests that never show, thick napkins, all with the dish of crusted mac and cheese set in the middle.

You both have washed up and changed, in fresh pjs and clean hands. Your dad eagerly fixes your plate first.

“How was school, honey?”

A pang hits deeps in your chest at the empty memory. It’d been your mother’s birthday and you and your dad had planned a celebratory dinner for her. The same exact meal; mac and cheese, broccoli, and chicken, then pie for dessert because she hated cake. Served the exact same way every year until it was no longer necessary.

“Great.” Because for once, school is great. School is cordial.

“I checked your grades.”

Your chest plummets but you reach for your fork to mask it. You’re aware of where your grades lie due to your obsessive reviewing.

“My grades aren’t accurate, not yet at least,” you begin rambling in efforts to appease, “there’s still assignments that haven’t been graded yet—“

“You’re making a comeback. Good job.”

… Shit.

Two praises in one day? The only time you’ve felt this accomplished was when you’d ridden your scooter for the first time without eating dirt. He bought you ice cream after.

You were seven. It couldn’t have been that long without some form of encouragement.

Could it?

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

“M’kay.”

“You know Ellie’s been tutoring me, and uh, she’s really good at it. Obviously...”

He’s nodding but his eyes are piercing.

“I… I thought I’d thank her. I’m on a really good track because of what she’s been doing and… yeah.”

“How are you going to thank her?”

You swallow down any hesitance.

“The arcade after school. Her… her ‘n me. And Riley.”

“And Riley.” He repeats detachedly.

The fire in your cheeks is enough warning that this was a mistake.

“When were you planning on going?”

“Um… Friday night.”

“What time.”

“After school.”

“And when would you be back?”

“Um… it closes at 8… so 8:30?”

His gaze drops down to his untouched plate, then yours. He relishes in the silence while you decay right in front of him.

“Seven.”

“Huh?”

“Be home by seven.”

Your chest flurries with excitement and appreciation and everything you haven’t felt for your father in so long.

“Thank yo—“

“I need you to understand something.” His sternness crushes your smile.

“This isn’t some pass for you to go behind my back and do bullshit. The second you get home, the routine is back. You go and study with her and come back here. No funny shit, do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

Your meekness doesn’t satisfy him. “Do you understand me?”

“I understand, dad.”

He nods once before grabbing his fork.

“Eat your food.”

#ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪#ellie williams tlou

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pomegranatelifethis · 23 days ago

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Seeking revenge

You're sitting on one of Gotham’s rooftops, your armor glinting in the night. This miracle of red and gold is part of the legacy your father, Tony Stark, left you. But you don’t believe in his superhero tales. What you’ve seen since childhood – threats, losses, people’s ingratitude – has taught you this: You can't trust anyone. Not others, and not even yourself.

In front of you stands a man, his helmet set beside him: Jason Todd. Red Hood. Someone who has died and come back, betrayed by life. There’s a shadow in his eyes that matches yours. “Who are you, little Stark?” he says, his voice a mix of mockery and curiosity. “Did you steal one of your father’s toys?”

You roll your eyes. “They’re my inheritance,” you reply coolly. “Tony Stark is my father. But I’m not surprised you know that – someone like you probably loves digging through files.”

You are Tony’s secret daughter (....) Stark. Your mother died when you were six. Her last wish was for you to be brought to your father. It was a surprise for Tony – in the midst of the life he built with Pepper, suddenly there was this rebellious, sharp, and wounded girl. You’ve seen the cost behind your father’s heroic mask since childhood: constant dangers, sacrifices, and the endless expectations of people. Helping others? To your father, that was a purpose. But to you, people are weak, selfish, and untrustworthy.

Jason studies you, then grins. “So, princess, what are you doing in Gotham? Did you land in the wrong city with your daddy’s jet?”

“I’m here for you,” you say, your voice firm. A hologram pops out of your armor’s arm. The image is of your mother’s killer. “I’m looking for someone. And I need... your skills.”

Jason laughs. “My skills? Sweetheart, I’m no hero. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

You take a step closer, your eyes locking with his. “I’m not a hero either. I don’t believe in my father’s fantasy of saving the world. But vengeance… vengeance is a language I speak. And you do too.”

The mockery fades from Jason’s face. As he looks at you, it’s as if he’s seeing his own reflection – his anger, his loneliness, his defiance. “Who are you looking for?” he asks, now in a serious tone.

You point at the hologram. “I’m going to find the one who did this. And with your help, Jason Todd, I’ll make them live through hell.”

Jason watches you silently for a moment, an expression in his eyes as if he's weighing something. Then, he tilts his head slightly and says, “Alright, Stark,” his voice still carrying a hint of mockery. “Welcome to the hell tour. But know this: we’ll play by my rules.” As he slides his weapon back into its holster, he takes a step toward you. When he gets closer, you catch his scent – gunpowder, leather, and a hint of cigarette smoke. You know he doesn’t trust you, but it doesn’t bother you. You don’t trust him either.

“I don’t care about your rules,” you say, lowering your helmet’s face shield again. “I just want results.” Turning off the hologram, you walk toward the edge of the rooftop. The lights of Gotham flicker below, calling to you. “Where do we start?”

Jason shrugs, grabbing his helmet and putting it back on. “With information,” he says. “Your fancy armor won’t solve everything, princess. The streets talk, but only to those who know how to listen.” Red Hood’s red eyes gleam in the dark, challenging you. “Who’s your target? Give me more details.”

You take a deep breath. Your mother’s killer. The shadow you’ve been chasing for years. “His name’s Victor Crane,” you say, your voice steady, though a simmering anger churns somewhere deep inside. “He used to work for Stark Industries. He and my mom were working on a project – an energy prototype. My dad didn’t know, but my mom trusted him. Crane stole the project, killed my mom, and disappeared. The last trace was found in Gotham.”

Jason nods, thinking it over. “Crane, huh? In Gotham, guys like that either hide in the docks or seek shelter in the shadows of big fish like Falcone. Lucky for you, I know this swamp like the back of my hand.” He turns to grin at you, though his smile is sharp and bitter. “But let me ask you this: Why didn’t your dad handle this himself? Tony Stark sending his daughter for revenge... interesting.”

That question burns you. Just thinking about Tony drives you mad. “My dad doesn’t know,” you say, your voice cold and clear. “This isn’t his fight. It’s mine.” The truth is, you haven’t even told him. You don’t want to deal with his hero acts and "justice" speeches. You don’t want justice – you want blood.

Jason hesitates for a moment, then nods in understanding. “I get it. It’s personal. Good. Personal jobs are always more fun.” Looking at you from beneath his helmet, he says, “Alright then, Stark. Fire up your armor, we’re heading to the docks.”

As the thrusters of your armor keep you airborne, Jason moves below on his motorcycle. Gotham’s harbor district is a maze filled with the scent of rust and salty air. While your sensors scan the area, Jason stops in an alley and raises his hand. You silently descend beside him. “What is it?” you ask impatiently.

“Shh,” he says, placing a finger to his lips. “Listen.” In the darkness, the voices of several men echo. Rough laughter, the sound of something metal hitting the ground. Jason signals to you. “You’ve got two choices: You can either charge in with your armor and scare them all, or you can come with me and quietly find out what they’re talking about. Which is it?”

Sure! Here's the English translation of your text:

You think for a moment. Your armor gives you power, but Jason’s right – not everything in this city can be solved with technology. “Quietly,” you say, turning off the lights on your armor and blending into the shadows.

You both hide behind a container. The men are talking about Victor Crane. “The boss is picking up the goods tonight,” one says. “Crane’s new toy is going to shake up the market.” Jason looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “New toy, huh? You think it’s your mom’s project?”

Your blood starts to race. “Definitely,” you say, gritting your teeth. “We’ve found him.” But just as you’re about to move, one of the men accidentally bumps into the container, and the metal echoes. Their eyes turn toward you. “Who’s there?” one yells, pulling out his weapon.

Jason curses, “I guess the planning part’s over,” and grabs his weapon. He turns to you, smirking. “You ready, Stark? You want to spill the first blood, or should I?”

#jason todd x reader #yandere jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #yandere jason todd #jason todd x fem reader #batfamily x reader

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everylittlethingshedoesismagic · 23 days ago

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RIP Hannah @dreamsagain

My tribute to Hannah

I knew this day was coming an have found it hard to put in to words my tribute to my amazing, beautiful crazy friend Hannah

Hannah was a remarkable soul whose spirit shone brightly even in her darkest of times. Her unwavering courage in the face of cancer was an inspiration to all who knew her. I will forever cherish our silly chats, filled with laughter and warmth, which brought joy to my days. Each moment spent online with her was a privilege, as she had a unique ability to uplift those around her, reminding us of the beauty in life despite its challenges.

You knew everything about me even down to what I ordered for a takeaway. The laughs we shared the stupid chats that made no sense not even to us but we still had them. From the moment we connected here I knew you was a special person, I really became very close to you and had hoped one day we would meet either for a walk on your beautiful beaches or even here is cold / wet London, yes you mentioned it always rained her so many times :-)

You always wished me happiness and lots of love forever with my partner Sarah. You asked me every day how I was and how Sarah was.

Though she has left this world, her memory will live on in my heart. I will miss her dearly, but I am grateful for the time we shared and the lessons she taught me about resilience and love as well as believing in myself she gave me so much confidence and made me feel so much better about myself from the day we connected,. Rest in peace, dear friend; your legacy of strength and kindness will never be forgotten. Miss you so much sexy bum! @dreamsagain true to my word I will stay good friends with Lauren @callmenonames

I know you touched many hearts on here and we will all miss you dear Hannah. But we will never ever forget you.

Kisses x Ellie B

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onegayastronaut · 5 months ago

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Dating Addison Montgomery While Being A Grey Would Include...

You were hesitant to start dating Addison because it would mean navigating a web of complicated relationships and histories, especially given her past with Derek

Your initial connection might have surprised everyone, especially Meredith, who had her own tumultuous history with Addison

Addison would admire your intelligence and ambition, traits she recognizes as distinctly "Grey," while also challenging you to rise above the infamous family drama

Sharing a dark sense of humor about the messy relationships surrounding your lives, often laughing about how absurd your connection must look to others

Addison providing guidance and mentorship in your career, while also respecting your independence

Spending time between Seattle and Los Angeles, with Addison introducing you to her world of private practice and sunlit beaches

Navigating some awkward family dynamics during gatherings, especially when Meredith and Addison exchange barbed comments that you have to diffuse

Addison being drawn to your ability to handle her fiery personality, offering her the stability and emotional depth she often craves

Bonding over shared experiences of loss and resilience, deepening your relationship beyond the surface-level attraction

Addison spoiling you with her refined taste—whether it’s surprise dinners, thoughtful gifts, or romantic weekend getaways

Fiercely defending your relationship to anyone who questions it, proving that your connection is more than just a twist of fate

Addison helping you reconcile any lingering insecurities about being a Grey, reminding you that you're more than your family's complicated legacy

Playful banter about whose surgical specialty or expertise reigns supreme

Supporting Addison through her moments of self-doubt, reminding her of the brilliant, compassionate woman she is

Building a life together that combines her sophistication and your grounded nature, proving that love can thrive despite messy beginnings

#addison montgomery #addison montgomery x reader #addison montgomery imagine #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy imagine #grey's anatomy x reader

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sweet-afternoon · 3 months ago

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Summary:

A lively night in the common room turns tense when you joke about marrying Theodore for their Sacred 28 power and "beautiful kids." The group laughs, but Mattheo’s jealousy simmers beneath the surface, his playful facade slipping as the teasing hits too close to home.

C.ia bot: https://share.character.ai/Wv9R/gy5vh61p

N/A: This is my first fic, hope you enjoy it!

⊹₊ ⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹₊ ⋆ ᡣ𐭩

The common room buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the warm shimmer of enchanted fairy lights. Perched on the armrest of Theo’s chair, drink in hand, your playful smirk held everyone’s attention as you joked about “marriage plans.”

“You know, Theo,” you began with a teasing lilt, “we’d make an incredible couple. With both our family names, we’d be unstoppable—top of the Sacred 28, powerful, and honestly…” A dramatic pause let your gaze sweep the room. “…our kids would be gorgeous.”

The group erupted into laughter. Blaise leaned back on the couch, smirking. “Can’t argue with that logic. Power couple of the century, clearly.”

Even Theo played along, grinning up at you. “She’s not wrong,” he added in a mock-serious tone, winking.

Across the room, Mattheo’s jaw tightened. Sprawled in a chair, he feigned indifference, but the white-knuckled grip on the armrest gave him away. His dark eyes darted between you and Theo, each playful word landing like a jab.

“You’d be a terrible match,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the laughter.

Your brow arched, eyes narrowing in challenge. “What was that, Riddle?”

“I said you’d be a terrible match,” Mattheo repeated, louder this time, with a teasing edge that couldn’t quite mask the irritation simmering underneath. “Theo’s too dull for you. You’d be bored in a week.”

Theo chuckled, raising his glass in mock surrender. “He’s got a point. I’d never survive her fiery temper for long.”

With an exaggerated roll of your eyes, you shot back, “Oh, please, Riddle. What’s it to you? Jealous you’re not my first choice?”

The room fell silent, tension crackling like a storm about to break. Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained, while Pansy hid a knowing smile behind her glass.

Mattheo leaned forward, his smirk sharp but his voice calm—too calm. “Jealous? Of Theo?” A humorless laugh escaped him. “Hardly. Just saying you’d need someone who can keep up with you—not…” He waved dismissively toward Theo. “…someone who’ll let you walk all over them.”

Theo let out a low whistle, clearly unbothered. “Careful, Mattheo. You’re starting to sound a little possessive.”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked to Theo, then back to you. “I just call it how I see it.”

Curiosity and challenge gleamed in your eyes, but you kept your response measured. “Interesting,” was all you said, your tone deliberately unreasonable.

Laughter slowly resumed, the group easing back into conversation. But Mattheo stayed quiet, his brooding gaze following every movement you made.

As the evening went on, you couldn’t ignore the weight of his silence. It clung to the air, thick and charged, each stolen glance a silent plea.

The party continued, the air buzzing with lighthearted chatter and clinking glasses, but Mattheo’s mood simmered beneath the surface, dark and brooding. His jaw clenched every time your laughter rang out, especially when Theo or Blaise earned it. You weren’t doing anything unusual—just being your captivating, magnetic self—but tonight, it felt to Mattheo like every smile you gave someone else was a deliberate jab.

You noticed, of course. You always noticed when Mattheo was in one of his moods. And you couldn’t resist poking the bear just a little more.

Sliding into the chair beside Theo, you let out a dramatic sigh. “So, Theo,” you began with an innocent grin, “if we were married, what would you name our first kid? Something classic? Or bold—like Atlas?”

Theo smirked, leaning back lazily. “Atlas? Ambitious. I was thinking more timeless—Cassius, maybe. Or Helena. You know, something that screams legacy.”

Before you could respond, Mattheo’s glass hit the table with a sharp thud, drawing all eyes. His jaw tightened as he glared at Theo, then at you. “Planning your whole bloody family now?” he drawled. “Merlin’s beard, maybe we should all start picking out wedding gifts.”

Blaise snorted into his drink. “And here we go…” he muttered, earning a smirk from Pansy.

You turned to Mattheo, amusement tugging at the corners of your lips. “What’s your problem, Riddle? Feeling left out? Don’t worry—I’ll send you an invitation to the wedding.”

“An invitation?” Mattheo leaned forward, his smirk sharp. “Sweetheart, if you’re settling for Theo, I’ll RSVP with a big, fat no.”

The room fell silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

“Excuse me?” Your voice was calm, but your narrowed eyes warned him he was treading dangerous ground.

Mattheo shrugged, leaning back like he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m just saying, you’re not exactly the ‘settling’ type. You need someone who can handle your spark—not smother it.”

The words hung in the air, charged with something heavier than their usual banter.

Theo, ever the diplomat, raised his hands. “As flattered as I am to be the subject of this riveting debate, I’ll bow out and let you two… sort this out.” He gave you a teasing wink before retreating to Blaise and Pansy, who were thoroughly enjoying the show.

You turned back to Mattheo, crossing your arms. “Alright, Riddle. What’s your deal? You’ve been acting like a complete prat all night.”

For the briefest moment, his smirk faltered, replaced by something raw and conflicted. He hesitated, then muttered, “Maybe I don’t like the idea of you marrying someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

The air shifted. Your playful demeanor softened as his words landed, heavy with unspoken meaning. “Deserve me?” you repeated quietly, your voice laced with curiosity.

Mattheo ran a hand through his messy curls, avoiding your gaze. “Forget it,” he said, his voice low. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t do that.” You leaned forward, your tone firm. “You don’t get to say something like that and then brush it off. What are you really trying to say, Mattheo?”

The group pretended not to eavesdrop, but the stolen glances betrayed their curiosity.

Mattheo’s eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, all his usual bravado crumbled. “I’m saying…” He paused, his voice barely above a whisper. “That maybe I’m tired of watching you joke about being with someone else when I—”

He cut himself off, the words caught in his throat. The vulnerability in his expression hit you like a wave, but before you could respond, he forced a smirk back onto his face.

“Forget it,” he said, standing abruptly. “Too much firewhisky. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

And with that, he walked away, tension evident in the rigid set of his shoulders.

The group stared after him, the silence finally broken by Blaise’s low whistle. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Pansy nudged you, her grin teasing. “You’re not just going to let him storm off like that, are you?”

Your gaze lingered on the doorway where Mattheo had disappeared. The weight of his words—and everything left unsaid—settled over you.

“No,” you said softly, standing. “I’m not.”

Without another word, you followed him, leaving the rest of the group exchanging knowing looks and hushed bets about how long it would take for Mattheo Riddle to finally confess what everyone else already knew.

You followed Mattheo down the dimly lit corridor, your steps quiet but purposeful. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the arched windows, illuminating his figure as he leaned against the wall. His silhouette was framed by shadows, the light catching his sharp features and the messy curls that fell across his forehead. He looked every bit the brooding troublemaker people gossiped about—but to you, he was simply Mattheo. And tonight, he was avoiding you.

“Running away isn’t really your thing,” you said, crossing your arms as you closed the distance between you.

His head snapped up, dark eyes meeting yours, though he said nothing. That unreadable expression of his—equal parts maddening and intriguing—held your gaze, and for a moment, the silence between you stretched.

“Not running,” he muttered eventually, turning back toward the window. “Just needed some air.”

“Right,” you said, your tone dripping with disbelief. “Because brooding by a window screams fine. Not sulking at all.”

He let out a low chuckle, though it lacked his usual charm. “I’m not sulking. What would I even have to sulk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, taking another step closer. “Maybe the way you’ve been acting like a jealous prat all night?”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t deny it. His fingers drummed an uneven rhythm on the windowsill, his silence doing little to ease the tension swirling between you.

“Mattheo,” you said gently, your voice softening as you closed the final gap. “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s nothing. Just… drop it, alright?”

“No,” you said, the firmness in your tone catching his attention. You stood directly in front of him now, blocking his view of the window. “I’m not dropping it. You said something back there—something that felt real. Don’t brush it off like it doesn’t matter.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability lurking beneath his guarded exterior. “Why does it matter so much to you?” he asked quietly.

“Because it’s you, Mattheo,” you said, your voice soft but unwavering. “And because I think… I think I know what you’re trying to say, but I need to hear you say it.”

He huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head as though trying to brush off your words. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, taking another step closer. “But I’m here anyway.”

His gaze lingered on you, and slowly, the bravado that he clung to so tightly began to crumble. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost trembling.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like? Watching you laugh with everyone else, hearing you joke about marrying bloody Theo—when I’d give anything to be the one you actually choose?”

Your heart stuttered, the weight of his confession sinking in.

“I’ve liked you for ages,” he continued, his voice growing steadier as the words tumbled out. “And it terrifies me, Y/N, because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted—and I’m the guy everyone warns you about. But pretending I don’t care? That’s impossible. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The distant hum of the party felt like it belonged to another world entirely.

“Mattheo…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off with a hand running over his face. “I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have said anything. I probably just ruined everything—”

“Mattheo,” you interrupted, reaching out to grab his hand. The movement startled him into silence, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

His brows furrowed, confusion and hope mingling on his face. “What?”

You smiled softly, a nervous flutter in your chest. “Because I think… I’ve been waiting for you to say something. I just didn’t realize it until now.”

His lips parted, a mixture of disbelief and relief spreading across his face. “You have?”

You nodded, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “Yeah. You drive me crazy, Riddle, but… I think I like that about you. I think I like you.”

For once, Mattheo seemed at a loss for words. He stared at you, the walls he’d built around himself crumbling one brick at a time. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—something soft, real, and full of a quiet kind of relief.

“Well, if we’re both a little crazy,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I guess I’m okay with that.”

You stepped even closer, heart racing. “Yeah, me too.”

The moment hung between you two, fragile and perfect. And before either of you could second-guess it, Mattheo’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“Godric, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

You laughed, the sound light, carefree. “Good thing I’m good at fixing things, then.”

And with that, the world outside seemed to disappear. The faint echoes of the party, the distant laughter, the hum of music—all faded away as Mattheo leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of everything. Something you’d both been waiting for, hoping for, all this time.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours again, his smirk returning but softer this time. “So, does this mean Theo’s out of the running?”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. “Oh, he never stood a chance.”

#mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x y/n

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jawdzzzz · 1 year ago

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Emotions Legacy Challenge:

Dive deep into the world of feelings with The Sims 4 Emotions Legacy Challenge. In this unique and engaging gameplay, your task is to build a family legacy that explores the vast spectrum of human emotions across generations. Each generation focuses on a different emotion, challenging your Sims in unique and impactful ways that shape their lives and the lives of their descendants. Packs Required: Base Game Expansion Packs - Get To Work, Get Together, City Living, Cats & Dogs, Seasons, Get Famous, Island Living, Discover University, Eco Lifestyle, Snowy Escape, Cottage Living, High School Years, Growing Together, Horse Ranch, For Rent Game Packs - Outdoor Retreat, Spa Day, Vampires, Parenthood, Dream Home Decorater, My Wedding Stories Stuff Packs - Spooky Stuff, , Vintage Glamour, Moschino Stuff, Nifty Knitting, Rules: - Lifespan - Normal - Custom Content & Mods Allowed - No Money Cheats Allowed -You don't have to complete all tasks if you don't want to. Make it your own but it is highly advised you do all the tasks considering this is a challenge and you'll get the most out of it - Each heir including the founder must closely represent their assigned emotion as much as possible including the colors, house, appearance, etc - If you decide to do this challenge please use the #emotionslegacychallenge so i'll be able to see your founder and heirs' stories! - If you're planning on streaming or uploading videos of this challenge please promote me or give me a shoutout - Attributes help get your sim in their emotion or are special interactions you can do to make your sim feel like their emotion ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gens: Gen One Happy: You're the founder of the legacy. You grew up in Pleasantview and you're looking forward to your life as an independant adult! You're a very positive, bubbly and happy person. You never go a day without smiling and laughing. You thrive for having that white picket house on elm street and living a normal happy life! You're seeking fun, a career in your passionate hobbie & settling down having children.

Colours - Green & Yellow Traits - Childish, Cheerful & Art Lover Aspiration - Painter Extraordinaire World - Willow Creek

Complete the Painter Extraordinaire Aspiration

Have the Homey, Natural Light & Sunny Aspect lot traits

Have the Simple Living lot challenge

Perform 5 gigs as an artist freelancer

Run your own art gallery (Buisness & Hobbies Pack)

Achieve level 10 in the painting skill

Achieve at least level 5 in cooking & gardening

Live with a roomate for 2 sim weeks

Have a best friend & 3 good friends

Live in a starter home for your young adult life (as an adult till death live in a two story family home worth more than $75,000)

Always have and maintain a healthy garden

Fall in love & marry a homeless sim

Adopt a dog or rescue a stray dog

Volunteer & donate to charities once a week

Have three children, your second child is your gen two heir… Maintain a difficult relationship dynamic with your second born & a close relationship dynamic with your first & third born

Emotion Attributes:

Cheerful Vlog (The More Views Video Station)

Heartfelt Compliment

Brighten Day

Happy Text Another Sim

Cheer up at least 3 different sims from a sad mood

Maintain & have a healthy garden

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gen Two Sad: You're the second born and get constantly overshadowed by your older and younger siblings. Your parents love the rainbows and sunshine whilst you prefer the cold wet weather and getting your rainboots all wet and soggy. Crying is how you comfort yourself... Oh and music, you love music. Music is your escape from your reality and is what you most relate to Colours - Dark Blue & Black Traits - Gloomy, Music Lover, Cat Lover Aspiration - Musical Genius World - Oasis Springs

Complete the musical genius aspiration

Reach level 10 in piano & violin

Reach level 5 of cross stitching & knitting

Have the Great Acoustics , Cat Friendly & Cat Hangout lot traits

Join the entertainer career (musician branch) reach level 10

Runaway from home as a teenager & move to an empty lot (off the grid)

Live in a trailer/caravan as a teen. Build a tiny home as a young adult when you own $10,000 or more

Rescue a stray cat and bring it home as a teenager

Busk for tips playing piano & violin your whole teen years

Find a penpal, later make them in CAS & fall in love with them

Own at least three cats & be close with all of them

Have one child

Emotion Attributes: Sad Vlog (The More Views Video Station) Express Melancholy Thoughts (Private journal) Water Plant with Tears Play with Emotion (Violin) Call Sadness Hotline (Phone) Blog About Feelings (Computer) Give Yourself a Pep Talk (Mirror) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Three Fear:

Your childhood upbringing was difficult, your gen sad parent was always spiraling in sad breakdowns & always being gloomy. You're a paranoid sim, just thinking about the littlest things in life you fear the present & future. Reading books would help distract your mind & sleeping with a night light on helped comfort you from the darkness of the world... You also fear of the monster hiding under your bed. You hope to one day be an inspiring author and protect other sims from the fear of... FEAR. Colours - Purple & Black Traits - Paranoid, Loner, Perfectionst Aspiration - Bestselling Author World - San Myshuno Goals:

Achieve level 10 in writing

Complete the writer career Author Branch

Complete the bestselling author aspiration

Have at least 4 fears (you can choose whichever and to overcome whichever fear you want)

Have the Quake Zone lot challenge

Have the Good Schools, Science Lair & On Ley Line lot traits

Have a girlfriend/boyfriend in high school

Move out as a young adult with your high school sweetheart any apartment you can offord

Become pregnant and have twins

Have your high school sweetheart tragically die after 1 sim week of moving in (you choose the death)

After their death, change the lot type to needs tlc

Be a strict parent & set a curfew for your twins

Never fall in love again or go on dates as a young adult. Eventually find someone that opens yourself up to the potential of having another love as an adult (marriage is optional)

Write novel about losing your soulmate & finally let go

Emotion Attributes: As a child experience the monster being under your bed

Always sleep with a night light on

Experience paranormal activity at least once

Hide Under The Covers (bed)

Take a Panicked Poop (toilet)

Scream incoherently at other sims --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Four Anger:

You grew up with only one parent, the one parent you were stuck with was always so paranoid and scared of the littlest of things. You never understood them, if anything just thinking about their choice of living makes you.... ANGRY. You growing up with only one parent makes you angry, your sibling makes you angry, your family home makes you angry, a fly buzzing at your face makes you angry. Anger is all you have, you don't envision yourself being anything without it, you would simply just float away. Working out & being a heavily opinionuated public speaker in debate is how you cope and manage your volcanic erruptions. Colours - Red, Orange & Black Traits - Active, Geek & Hot Headed Aspiration - Bodybuilder World - Evergreen Harbor Goals:

Master the fitness & Research and Debate skill

Complete the body builder aspiration

Achieve level 5 in mischief, charisma & video gaming

Have the Volcanic Activity lot challenge

Have the Bracing Breezes, Mean Vibe & Gnomes lot trait

Create a gym club & gather least once a week

Join the athlete career & get to level 10 in the bodybuilder branch

Join an after school activity in high school

Skip class and get detention at least once

Get into 5 physical fights & win

Go to university and graduate with a degree in Biology

Join the debate guild & win a debate

Juggle two different relationships in university and choose your one true love before graduating

Have 2 children

Emotion Attributes: Provoke Chew Out Insult Face Denounce Friendship Rant and Rave Vent Shout Forbidden Words Belittle Anger (Child and Teens only) Frenzied Kiss (resembles Passionate Kiss) Sarcastic Compliment Attempt To Flirt Belittle Anger

Angry Vlog (The More Views Video Station) Angry paint (easel) Rage-Fueled Run (treadmill) Angry Poop! (toilet) Enraged Reps (workout machine) Kick Down a Trash Can (trash can) Scribble Furiously as a Teen (Private Journal) Blow Off Some Steam (punching bag) --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Five Disgust: Low qualiy items Ughhhh.... Insects.... EWWW.... Townies fashion choices AHHHHHHH! You're gen five disgust and always are craving high quality, bougie outfits & compliments. You want to be an icon & live in the biggest, most fanciest & of course cleanist mansion in all of Del Sol Valley. You avoid getting poisoned socially & physically at all costs! You're out to shape shift society and smack down a celebrity plaque of your own with an iron fist Colours - Green, Purple & Brown Traits - Squeamish, Neat, Snob Aspiration - Mansion Baron World - Del Sol Valley

Goals:

Achieve level 10 in the wellness & charisma skill

Complete the mansion baron aspiration

Complete the style influencer career (any branch)

Have the Creepy Crawlies lot challenge

Have the Celebrity Home, Convival & Romantic Aura lot traits

Create at least 3 fashion looks on Trendi as a teen

Own a fashion boutique & get it to 5 stars

Give at least 5 sims a makeover at the styling station

Become best friends with a celebrity & enemies with a celebrity

Become friends with 5 celebrities

Go for a manicure and pedicure at least once a week

Have two or more outfits for each clothing category *

Maintain a healthy lifestyle (eat healthy & exercise)

Have a house of staff (either butler, maid, gardener, chef or all) to maintain your house to perfection so it's neat and tidy

Reach at least 1 million simstagram followers

Become a 5 star celebrity & place your celebrity tile at Starlight Boulevar Love Story (Young Adult): You applied and won to be the next bachelorette

Live in a manor with 7 men, women or a mix of both for 7 sim days

Connect and speak to all 7 sims, go on group dates, speed dates or 1 on 1 inclusive dates

After 7 sim days choose the 3 sims you have the closest relationship with either friendship or romance

Go on vacation with those 3 sims and dedicate 1 day to each of the 3 sims

After the third day make your choice of who you want as your lover

Move in together, get married & have 4 children --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Six Envy: You're heavily inspired by your parents lifestyle, you crave the attention they receive, you crave their hair, you crave their wealth, you crave... Being them... wanting to be them... No wait.... BEING BETTER! You're wanting to be... BETTER! You're jealous & insecure of your parents success and want a lavish lifestlye of your own starting from the ground up. You want a penthouse uptown and to become known for not being the offspring of a celebrity.... But being your own celebrtiy

Colours - Celeste & White Traits - Ambitious, Materialistic, Jealous Aspiration - Fabulously Wealthy World - San Myshuno Goals:

Live in the fashion district as a young adult

After aging to an Adult move to an uptown penthouse

Become a Freelance Fashion Photographer & complete 10 gigs

Hire a professional photographer and do modelling at least once

Join the acting career and reach level 10

Complete the Fabulously Weather Aspiration (without using parents money)

Have the Pricy, Penny Pixies & Natural Light lot traits

Have a close relationship with gen 5 disgust

Master the media production, acting & photography skill

Become a 5-star celebrity & place your celebrity tile in Starlight Boulevard

Become friends with 2 celebrities before becoming a celebrity

Get in a relationship with a celebrity before becoming a celebrity

Have 4 children like your gen disgust parent --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Seven - Embarassed You tried living up to your grandparents and parents reputation and celebrity status but you struggled.... Struggled hard. No matter what you do you always seem to do it wrong or get judged. You're the blacksheep and misfit. You slip up quite a lot so you distance yourself from your immediate families lifestyle and look elsewhere... Or should i say hide elsewhere.

Colours - Pink & Yellow Traits - Clumsy, Socially Awkward, Cringe Aspiration - Master Mixologist World - Brindleton Bay Goals:

Master mixology, pet training and bowling skills

Reach level 5 of handiness & woodworking

Master the Culinary Mixologist Branch

Have a difficult relationship with your gen six Envy & siblings

As a teenager create a bowling club & go bowling with your friends

Have all friends have a cringe or socially awkward sim trait

Adopt or rescue a dog & cat

Have the Homey, Training Ground & Peace and Quiet lot trait

Have the Gremlins lot challenge

Complete at least 5 of these:

Walk into someone having woohoo

Get reject to prom

Have a dance battle

Pee yourself at least once

Sing karaoke poorly once

Get rejected from proposing

Walk into someone whilst they're peeing

Create 5 embarrassed vlogs

Emotion Attributes: Ask for reassurance Self-deprecating joke Share insecurities Have a cry (children and teens only) Laugh at Embarrassment (children, teens and unfeeling sims only.) Activities Hide from everyone (bed) Give yourself a pep talk (mirror) Tell self-deprecating jokes (social interaction) Hide in the trash can (children only) Confess Embarrassing Moments (private journal—children and teens only) Discuss Embarrassing Mood Embarassed Vlog (The More Views Video Station) --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Eight Bored (Ennui) You're easily bored... You think life is boring and you're boring. Everything is boring. You succome to boredom and get consumed by boredom. You're always contemplating what to do and before you know it it's 5pm and you haven't done any chores or maintained yourself... Video games take up too much of your time, you're a gamer who has more interest in the games they play rather than their own life the SCI-FI genre has consumed you... Until one day.... You seek adventure like your favorite video gaming characters and crave the impossible!

Colours - Grey, Dark Blue & Black Traits - Lazy, Slob, Glutton Aspiration - Computer Whiz World - Windenburg Goals:

Reach level 10 in programming, video gaming & rocket science skill

Build a rocket and travel to sixam

Complete the computer whiz aspiration

Reach level 10 in the Scientist Career

Have the Filthy lot challenge

Build an underground secret headquarters

Live in a rundown filthy house as a Young Adult (grow a trash plant and have a cowplant as a pet)

Make your house modern as an Adult

Go on vacation at all possible destination worlds you have

Go to all the festivals in San Myshuno

Have a pet raccoon

Marry & have 3 children with an Alien

Have Gen Nine as a science baby

Emotion Attributes: Suggest fun activities Complain about boredom Discuss Bored Mood --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Nine Surprise THERES A PARTY.... WHERE? AT MY HOUSE! YOU'RE ALL INVITED..... WHERE? AT MY HOUSE! Party party party! You love to party. You're a bull of energetic energy. Your parents life was always so boring at first, you don't want a waste a single minute of life... You want to have fun, fun & more fun. You hope to live your life to the fullest and enjoy different elements! Turn up the volume to 100 and lets get cracking! Colours - Yellow & White Traits - Goofball, Dance Machine, Insider Aspiration - Party Animal World - Chestnut Ridge Goals:

Have the Party Place & Clothing Optional lot trait

Sneek out of your family home at least once as a teenager

Throw a teen party (try not to get caught by your parents)

Own a pet horse and become best friends

Master the comedy, dancing & dj mixing skills

Play guitar as a hobbie

Make your earnings by doing comedy at longues or dj mixing at dance clubs for your whole sim life

Get gold in every party event that is visible (not including the wedding party events)

Woohoo at every possible woohoo location

Create a club gathering with your siblings & friends and go clubbing at least twice a week

Have 2 children --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Ten Guilt: Your parents were too busy partying and living their life to the fullest that they unintentionally didn't spend enough time with you. Without learning morals, boundaries, rights & wrongs you decide to make a go of it yourself. You think "why settle for less"... "why only have one thing when you can have both". No matter how many excuses you end up giving yourself though, you can't help but feel guilty.... Colours - Orange & Brown Traits - Kleptomaniac, Hates Children, Noncommittal Aspiration - Serial Romantic World - San Sequoia Goals:

Acheive level 10 in Law Career - Judge Branch

Complete the Serical Romantic Aspiration

Master the mischef, charisma & singing skills

Have the Cursed lot challenge

Purchase the street gallery, make paintings and mark up the price to 300% to scam townies least once

Take a selfie before breaking up with every relationship & display the selfies on the wall

Serenade all your relationships at least once

Live in a rental containing at least 4 units

Steal an item from each unit

Earsdrop, Snoop for Secrets and break into each unit least once

Blackmail a sim at least once

Get married to a sim that lives in the same rental

Have a one time secret affair after getting married

Have 2 children, 1 with your secret affair being a spellcaster --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Eleven - Hate What is there to love? Your parent has destroyed the normal family dynamic. Love at times can entrance but it doesn't stand a chance. It only leaves to heartbreak. Your heart is broken. You were never shown love, except for it to be used and taken away from you. All you have is hatered... Hate for everything and anything. You relate to your sibling with you both being pulled into a dark void, you've both reached the precipice of darkness and have been consumed. If you both couldn't have love than why should others, it's time to destory happy endings together as a dynamic duo.... Did someone say two heirs in one?

Colours - Black, Purple & Red Traits - Mean, Evil, Unflirty Aspiration - Villainous Valentine World - Forgotten Hollow or Glimmerbrook Goals:

Have one Join the criminal & the other the secret agent career

Have the Vampire master Pipe Oragan & Vampire Lore & the Spellcaster master the Medium skill

Have one complete the Villainous Valentine Aspiration & one complete the Public Enemy

Have the On a Dark Ley Line, Registered Vampire Lair & Vampire Nexus lot traits

Have the Cursed lot challenge

Have both sims fail in one relationship each

Breakup with a sim on love day

Convince a sim to breakup with another sim

Have a total of 10 enemies (5 for each)

Have an Atrocious reputation & throw a Lampoon Party

Have one turned into a Vampire & earn the master vampire title and have the other turned into a Spellcaster & earn the Rank 6 - Virtuoso After they both reach their mastered title choose 1 twin to be the center lead

Turn a townie into a Vampire or Spellcaster (depending on which sibling) & move them into your household

Form an Enemies to Lovers relationship with them --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gen Twelve - Love You're the last heir. The last of a family lineage of a variety of different emotions. You're the final straw... The last page of the book. Love is the most powerful thing in the world. You think to yourself "how does someone evil create something so good... unless". You believe in self love and for everyone to have the ability to love and find redemption. You seek to have that classic fairytale and live happily ever after with your soulmate.

Colours - Pink, Red & White Traits - Romantic, Generous, Loyal Aspiration - Soulmate World - Tartosa & Henford-on-Bagley Goals:

Complete the Interior Decorator Career

Master the flower arranging skill

Complete the Soulmate aspiration

Have the Romantic Aura, Child's Play & Great Soil

Have a close relationship with all of your siblings

Have a childhood crush & seperate best friend

Always celebrate love day

Have one pet mate & have a puppy/kitten

Attend the wedding of at least one sibling

Attend the wedding of your childhood best friend

Get engaged to your childhood crush at the romance festival

Throw all wedding party events

Go on a honeymoon with lover

Have 5 Children As an Elder:

Master either cross stiching or knitting

Move to Henfod-on-Bagley and build a Cottage Home

Befriend a wild rabbit & fox

Have chickens, sheep, goat, cow & ilama live on your lot

Grow a money tree

Have at least one grandchild and be close with them

Bond with siblings & rekindle with your gen dark parent

Die peacefully as an elder

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ There you have it, Congratulations! You have completed my emotions legacy challenge. I created this legacy challenge all by myself so i hope that this challenge has given you all motivation, satisifcation & enjoyment. This challenge was inspired by inside out which is one of my favorite disney pixar films. Please let me know how you found playing this challenge and give me any feedback you may have for ways i can improve or if there is something i need to fix!

Feel free to find my socials: Twitch - https://www.twitch.tv/jawdzzz

Youtube - https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCjBjFUvYYlD4pSMRCSdDi5A Twitter - https://twitter.com/Jawdzzzz Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/jawdzzzzy/?hl=en Tiktok - https://www.tiktok.com/@jawdzzzz #sims4 #thesims4 #sims4legacychallenge #jawdzzz #sims410genlegacychallenge #the sims legacy #challenge #twitch #ts4 #ts4legacy

#sims4 #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #ts4 gameplay #sims 4 legacy challenge #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 10 generation legacy #ts4 simblr #the sims community #simmers #sims 4 simmer #twitch #streamer #jawdzzz #the sims #inside out #inside out 2 #emotions legacy challenge #sims 4 emotions legacy challenge

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baekhyunsbestie · 2 months ago

Text

𝟎𝟒 ⭑ ( LOVERBOY ) .ᐟ

𝟎𝟏. HEAVY HITTER ⤷ masterlist ⋆ ⟡ ࣪ ˖

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 18+ content / mdni ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 7.7k+ words. college athlete!baekhyun x f!reader. college au. reader's name is ‘bunny’ in place of ‘y/n.’ explicit language. jealousy. scenes with alcohol + weed. driving while high/tipsy (do not do this omg). eventual smut.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ EEEEP!!! the first chapter's finally here :') sorry it took me so long lovers!! sooooo if u don’t know, exist era baekhyun tickles tf outta my cooter lmao so imagine that vers. of him when reading this series hehe <3333 hope ya like it! p.s. besides the exos, there are no other idols in this fic! the roommate’s name is aeri, but i didn’t imagine giselle from aespa or anyone specific when writing her. she’s just a regular character with a pretty name, so don’t overthink it 💘💗💓💖💖💞💘💞🩷

you've known baekhyun for as long as you can remember—two lives woven together by privilege, expectation, and an unspoken pull neither of you ever dared to name.

gala nights were spent slipping away from stiff conversations and clinking glasses, your fingers wrapped around the neck of a stolen champagne bottle as he pulled you toward the balcony, both of you laughing quietly at the thrill of getting away with it. summer meant sun-drenched afternoons at family vacation homes, barefoot races down private beaches, and stolen moments under the stars, whispering secrets neither of you would ever say in the daylight. and then there were the nights—long, stretching into morning, filled with phone calls that started with a teasing “couldn’t sleep without me?” and ended in easy silence, neither of you willing to hang up first.

you understood each other in a way no one else did. the endless teasing, the playful competitions that sometimes turned serious, the way neither of you ever backed down from a challenge. he was infuriating, cocky, a little too smug for his own good, but somehow, you never minded as much as you pretended to.

but feelings? real feelings? no. never. not between you two.

and no one knew about any of it. your history with him.

it was easier that way.

you already had your last name, your family’s legacy, the weight of expectation pressing down on you at every turn. you were already someone’s daughter, already whispered about, already attached to a name much bigger than your own. the last thing you needed was baekhyun tied to you, too.

so you never acknowledged him in public, not in the way that mattered. not in the way that gave away what he really was to you.

now, in college, baekhyun is exactly what everyone expected him to be—the golden boy, the it boy on campus, the captain of the baseball team. he commands the field like he was born for it, star pitcher, heavy hitter, the one everyone watches when the game is on the line. he's all smirks and sharp confidence, his jersey hugging his lean frame, his name chanted in the stands.

you, too, are thriving—balancing academic pressure with the weight of your last name, navigating social obligations with practiced ease. your world is polished, pristine, effortless on the surface.

and no one connects the two of you.

not the students, not the faculty, not even your closest friends.

not even your roommate, aeri.

sweet, wide-eyed, utterly oblivious to the history between you and baekhyun. she has a little thing for him—not that you notice at first. but it's there, in the way she wears his number at games, in the dreamy way she talks about his highlight reels, in the way her eyes follow him like he's something untouchable.

except, you know better.

baekhyun has never been untouchable.

not to you.

aeri had been talking about baseball season since the first day you moved in together.

it started small—casual mentions of past games, reminiscing on last season’s highlights, swooning over the golden boy himself, as she so dramatically called him. but as the weeks passed, her excitement only grew, reaching an unbearable peak as opening day approached. she had her schedule memorized, her outfits planned out, and a whole pinterest board dedicated to gameday looks.

“you don’t understand,” she gushed one evening, sprawled across her bed, scrolling through photos from last year’s games. “the energy, the crowd, the team. they’re all so close, and it shows when they play. it’s like watching a damn movie.”

she wasn’t wrong. your university’s baseball team was known for their synergy—every play seamless, every game intense. people always said it was because they lived together, their coach believing that shared space meant shared success. no cliques, no outsiders. just one unit, on and off the field.

aeri sighed dreamily, tapping on a candid shot of baekhyun from last season, uniform dirty with clay, cap pushed back just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw. “and baekhyun… he’s so hot. like, i don’t even care that he knows it. it just makes him hotter.”

you hummed, pretending to be half-interested as you focused on your laptop.

“you guys are kinda close, though, huh?” she mused, suddenly turning her attention to you. “i always see you talking to him at parties. he doesn’t really let people get close like that unless you’re on the team.”

your fingers hesitated over the keyboard for half a second before you recovered. “we had a class together last fall,” you said smoothly. “got paired for a group project and just… started talking.”

it was a lie. a simple, harmless lie.

but she frowned slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she believed you. “huh. weird. i just thought—i dunno… you two seem like you’ve known each other longer.”

you shrugged. “nope. just a semester.”

she didn’t say anything after that, but there was something in the way she pursed her lips, in the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie, that made you wonder if she wasn’t just obsessed with baekhyun—she was jealous.

not just of him.

but maybe… of you, too.

you could understand why. aeri had been going to every game, every afterparty, every team event since her freshman year, circling their world like a spectator with no real way in. meanwhile, you had spent the fall semester getting close to chanyeol—another core member of the team—because of your shared psychology class. between him and baekhyun, you had unintentionally placed yourself right in the middle of their circle.

and aeri noticed.

she noticed when chanyeol draped an arm over your shoulders like it was second nature. she noticed when baekhyun, despite his usual arrogance, always acknowledged you first when he walked into a room.

but she didn’t say anything.

she just watched. and waited.

the stadium was electric, buzzing with energy as dusk settled over the field, the sky streaked with deep purples and golds. the floodlights cast sharp, artificial brilliance over the diamond, illuminating the damp sheen on baekhyun’s forehead as he stepped up to the plate. the late autumn air was crisp, biting against his skin, but he barely felt it. his focus was razor-sharp, trained on the pitcher standing a few feet ahead, fingers flexing around the bat like it was an extension of himself.

the roar of the crowd was deafening, a pulsing mix of cheers and anticipation. students were packed into the bleachers, layered in team colors, wrapped in oversized hoodies and thick scarves as they braced against the evening chill. your roommate was among them, no doubt beaming, wearing baekhyun’s number on her back like a badge of honor. but you—you were somewhere else in the stands. he didn’t have to look to know that. he always knew where you were.

baekhyun had been here a thousand times before. he knew how this worked. the game slowed, the stadium dimmed, the only thing in focus was the ball leaving the pitcher’s fingers, the sharp snap of it cutting through the air.

but tonight?

tonight, something was off.

the first pitch came, perfectly lined up, a ball he would have normally crushed—but he didn’t swing.

“strike one!”

the announcer’s voice echoed over the speakers, and the stands murmured, confused.

baekhyun barely heard them.

his eyes had flickered to the crowd out of instinct, a habit as natural as breathing. just a glance. just to find you.

except this time, you weren’t just watching the game.

you were talking to someone.

some guy he didn’t recognize. some guy standing too close, leaning in, saying something that made you laugh.

baekhyun exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance, rolling his shoulders as he tore his gaze away. it didn’t matter. it didn’t.

the next pitch came. another clean shot, another perfectly timed throw. he swung—too early, too fast, his mind lagging just half a second behind his body.

“strike two!”

gasps rippled through the crowd.

he never missed twice.

on the sidelines, his teammates tensed. chanyeol shifted, brows furrowed, watching baekhyun closely.

he could hear the murmurs, the sharp buzz of the commentators scrambling to make sense of it.

“i—i don’t think anyone was expecting that. baekhyun hasn’t struck out in—”

“two years,” the other commentator finished, voice stunned. “not once. he always gets on base. always makes a play. something’s definitely off tonight.”

baekhyun clenched his jaw, shoulders rolling with frustration.

focus. focus.

the pitcher wound up. baekhyun gripped the bat tighter, the leather of his gloves creaking from the force.

and then—he looked again.

just for a second.

just long enough to see that you were still smiling.

his grip faltered.

the pitch flew.

he swung.

he missed.

“strike three.”

silence.

for the first time since his freshman year, baekhyun walked away from the plate without even getting on base.

he ripped his helmet off and tossed it onto the bench with more force than necessary, the sharp crack of plastic against wood barely audible over the sound of his pulse hammering in his ears. his jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his damp hair, strands sticking to his forehead from a mix of sweat and frustration. he was pissed. not just because he struck out, but because he had no fucking idea why it happened.

“what the fuck was that?” sehun, one of his teammates muttered, but baekhyun didn’t respond. he barely even registered the question.

his knee bounced restlessly as he gripped his thigh, fingers flexing, curling into a tight fist. this wasn’t just a bad swing or a miscalculated pitch—it was something deeper, something wrong. he never missed like that. he never left the plate without getting on base. if he wasn’t hitting, he was stealing. if he wasn’t stealing, he was setting up a play. he was baekhyun, team captain, star hitter, the one they all counted on.

but tonight? tonight, he fucking struck out.

he forced out a slow breath, trying to shake it off, but his hands still felt clammy, his grip on the bat from earlier lingering like a phantom sensation. his body knew what to do—it always had—but his head had gotten in the way.

and he knew exactly why.

before he could stop himself, his eyes flickered toward the stands. it was instinct at this point, a reflex he never questioned—searching for you.

and there you were.

still sitting next to that guy.

baekhyun didn’t even know his name, didn’t fucking care to, but the way he was leaning in, talking too damn close, smiling like he had a shot? yeah, that shit wasn’t sitting right.

and worse?

you were smiling back.

baekhyun inhaled sharply, forcing his gaze away as he rolled out his shoulders, shaking his hands like it would somehow dispel the irritation seeping into his muscles.

he didn’t care.

he didn’t.

he wasn’t jealous.

he wasn’t.

but when his next at-bat came, the tension in his chest hadn’t faded. the stadium was alive again, the crowd roaring, the dugout shouting his name, hyping him up, but he barely heard them. instead, as he stepped up to the plate, adjusting his stance, his eyes flicked up to the stands.

and this time, you were already looking at him.

his grip on the bat tightened, something sharp curling in his chest as he took in the scene before him.

the guy? the one who had been so fucking eager to talk to you? he was still there, still trying, but you weren’t even paying attention anymore.

you were focused on him.

your lips were parted slightly, brows just barely furrowed, your expression unreadable—but baekhyun saw the difference. you weren’t distracted. you weren’t whispering back. you weren’t even sparing that guy a single glance.

you were watching him.

cheering for him.

was that… concern?

his lips curled before he could stop them, a slow, smug smirk creeping onto his face.

oh?

for someone who never liked showing emotions around him, who always kept your expression cool and unreadable, who refused to give him the satisfaction of ever knowing what was on your mind—you were concerned?

he was eating that shit up.

rolling his shoulders back, he adjusted his stance, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet as he relaxed his grip on the bat. focus settled in, sharp and honed, but this time, it wasn’t just about the game.

the next pitch came.

and this time, when he swung, he fucking crushed it.

the ball shot off his bat with a sickeningly perfect crack, sailing into the night sky, disappearing over the outfield fence before the opposing team even had a chance to react.

he barely needed to look. he already knew—from the way it felt, from the sheer force of it, from the way the stadium exploded around him.

out of the park. gone.

but baekhyun wasn’t paying attention to the crowd.

as he jogged the bases, rounding first, then second, then third, his gaze flickered up again—just once, just enough to catch your reaction.

and fuck.

you were still watching him.

your focus had never wavered.

that guy next to you? he wasn’t even fucking talking anymore.

baekhyun’s smirk widened, slow and sharp, satisfaction curling deep in his chest.

not at the home run.

not at the crowd.

at you.

the campus was electric after the win, energy pulsing through the streets like a heartbeat. students spilled out of dorms and lecture halls, laughter echoing off brick walls, jerseys tied around waists and team flags fluttering in the crisp night breeze. the sky was inky and clear, the air sharp with autumn chill, but no one seemed to care—everyone was high off adrenaline and school spirit, riding the afterglow of victory.

aeri had practically dragged you to the afterparty, her fingers looped through your wrist as she pulled you down the sidewalk in heels too high and a smile too smug. “just one drink, please—just one, i swear.” you’d only rolled your eyes. you knew better. there was never just one drink with her, especially not after a win, especially not when half the baseball team was throwing the party at their shared house.

the place was already packed when you got there, the bass from the speakers thudding through the walls and into your bones. warm light spilled from every window, hazy and golden, casting silhouettes of moving bodies pressed together in the living room. the air inside was thick with heat and humidity, layered with the scent of cheap beer, sugary mixers, and something faintly floral—perfume maybe, or someone's body spray clinging to the corners of the room.

you ended up in the kitchen, drink in hand, leaning back against the counter while half-listening to the guy from your business class drone on about internship interviews and portfolio-building. same guy who’d tagged along with you and aeri to the game earlier, sitting a little too close in the stands, tossing you comments that were probably meant to be charming but barely registered over the noise.

it was fine. he was cute—tall, kind of soft around the edges, with a mop of dark hair that fell into his eyes when he laughed. he talked a lot, but you didn’t mind. it was easier to nod along and sip your drink than fight your way through the crowd to find aeri again. besides, his presence was harmless—background noise at best, a distraction at worst.

but still, as you tilted your glass to your lips and let the burn settle on your tongue, you couldn’t help but glance toward the doorway. and you weren’t sure what you were looking for. or who.

you smiled, nodding politely as he made some joke about late-night study sessions, your glass cool in your hand, condensation dripping lazily down your fingers. you even laughed a little when he leaned in closer, voice dropping slightly as he said something about how the real test of college was surviving group projects without committing murder. his cologne was too sharp, his proximity a little too eager, but you kept the polite grin on your face anyway.

you weren’t really listening. not fully.

and then—you felt it.

that slow, creeping shift in the air. the kind of heaviness that wrapped itself around you like static. a pressure. a pull.

you didn’t turn right away, letting the sensation simmer beneath your skin, letting it coil down your spine like a warning. the heat of the gaze settled over you like a slow burn, prickling at the back of your neck until it became impossible to ignore.

and then—finally—you looked.

baekhyun.

leaning lazily against the doorway like he owned the place, one hand shoved in the pocket of his grey sweatpants, the other wrapped around the neck of a half-empty beer bottle. his dark eyes were locked on you, unreadable, sharp, cutting straight through the noise around you.

his hair was still damp from his post-game shower, messy strands falling carelessly across his forehead. his black t-shirt clung to his chest just right, sleeves pushed slightly up his arms, veins in his forearm faintly visible beneath warm-toned skin. he looked effortlessly good. annoyingly good.

and annoyed.

he didn’t say anything at first. just looked. and then—his eyes shifted.

just once.

to the guy beside you.

and it wasn’t subtle.

a single glance—sharp, pointed, laced with that specific kind of territorial, fuck-off-before-i-make-you energy that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

the guy next to you faltered mid-sentence, chuckled awkwardly, then glanced at baekhyun like he suddenly remembered somewhere else he needed to be. he mumbled something about finding his friends before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd so fast it was almost impressive.

you blinked, watching him vanish, then turned back to baekhyun, brows raised. “wow,” you said dryly, lifting your glass in a small toast. “been tryna do that all night.”

baekhyun smirked, stepping in closer now, his presence cutting through the space the other guy had left behind.

“thought you weren’t coming,” he said, voice low and casual, but his gaze still lingered—on your face, on your lips, like he was trying to decide something.

“changed my mind,” you replied smoothly, taking a slow sip of your drink.

he tilted his head, eyes scanning you deliberately, like he was trying to read between your lines.

“must be my lucky night,” he said, voice curling around the words like a secret.

you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the look in his eyes, but suddenly, the room felt a little too warm.

you scoffed. “don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“there she is.”

you turned just as chanyeol appeared, towering over both of you, a lopsided grin stretched across his face, his eyes flicking between you and baekhyun like he’d just walked into something interesting. something he wasn’t supposed to see—but definitely wanted to.

he reached past baekhyun to grab a drink off the counter, shoulder brushing his just a little too casually. “you left me hanging,” he said, flashing you a playful pout. “thought we were partners, but you didn’t even text me back after class.”

you laughed, the sound slipping out effortlessly, light and unbothered. chanyeol was fun. warm. easy to be around in a way that didn’t ask for anything more than you were willing to give.

“busy,” you replied breezily, swirling the ice in your cup. “but don’t worry, chanyeol. i wouldn’t abandon my partner.”

off to the side, baekhyun exhaled sharply through his nose.

you didn’t notice.

chanyeol leaned in a little more, clearly enjoying himself—maybe oblivious, maybe not. “good,” he said, tone playful but edged with something more. “because i was thinking… we should start testing our project theories this weekend.”

your lips curved at the corners, eyes narrowing just slightly in amusement. “yeah?”

you weren’t blind. chanyeol was attractive—tall, broad-shouldered, that boyish charm with just enough flirtation to keep you entertained. and you liked him. not in a deep, tangled way, but in a this could be fun kind of way.

you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly over him. why not?

but then—

baekhyun’s grip on his beer bottle tightened, fingers curling around the neck until his knuckles paled.

his eyes darkened, gaze heavy and unreadable as he watched the way chanyeol leaned closer.

his jaw clenched—just subtly, just enough to shift the angles of his face from sharp to severe.

and you didn’t even see it.

because right now, all you were thinking about was how chanyeol’s voice dipped a little lower, how his smile was soft, how his eyes lingered on your mouth when you laughed.

“sounds good to me,” you said, voice smooth as satin, tipping your glass toward him with a lazy grin.

and baekhyun felt it like a punch to the chest.

baekhyun hated this.

he hated that in college, you chose to keep your history with him buried—tucked away behind careful deflections and vague answers, pretending like he was just a casual friend you met last semester in some random elective. he hated the way you downplayed everything you’d grown up sharing, like your lives hadn’t been intertwined since you were in diapers, like he hadn’t been the one pulling you away from boring gala speeches and sneaking you bites of cake at family events before you even had your baby teeth.

he understood it, in theory. you already had your last name—the legacy, the weight, the whispers that followed you into every room. he knew you didn’t want to be tied to him on top of that. not in the public way. not when everything about you was already watched, picked apart, dissected by people who didn’t even know you.

but it didn’t stop it from stinging.

it didn’t stop him from clenching his jaw every time he overheard some frat boy talking about you in the dining hall. didn’t stop the way his fists curled when he caught another guy lingering too long at your table, trying to make you laugh. it burned in his chest—the idea of anyone else thinking they had a shot, thinking they could get close to you like he did. like they could ever even understand you.

and what pissed him off the most was how it wasn’t just random guys. it was also chanyeol. his own fucking teammate.

he hated the way chanyeol talked about you—lighthearted, sure, but never innocent.

“bunny looked good at the game today,” he’d say with a grin, like he didn’t know exactly what kind of reaction that name would pull out of baekhyun. like he didn’t notice the way baekhyun’s entire expression would shift—eyes narrowing, jaw twitching, shoulders stiffening under his jersey.

bunny.

the name had started years ago. a nickname passed between your families, coined when you were little and soft-cheeked and bright-eyed, always clinging to baekhyun’s sleeve like a shadow. your mom called you that. his parents called you that. he called you that—whispered it teasingly when he tugged on your braids, called it out when he chased you down sandy beaches, murmured it low and sweet when you fell asleep on his shoulder in the back of your family’s vacation car.

now everyone used it. friends. classmates. even chanyeol.

and baekhyun hated how casually it rolled off their tongues, like it didn’t mean anything, like it wasn’t soaked in history—his history.

he was a year older than you, but sometimes it felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime with you already. and now he had to stand back, watch you pretend like you were nothing more than acquaintances, watch other people try to lay claim to a name, a smile, a softness that used to be just his.

and every time he saw you from across the quad, laughing with someone else, tossing your hair over your shoulder while some guy tried to flirt his way into your space, he’d feel it again.

that sharp, possessive ache in his chest.

that furious, burning thought he could never quite shake.

the backyard is buzzing—sun-drenched and loud, filled with the sound of music spilling from inside the house, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional clink of drinks being passed around. the grass beneath your feet is slightly overgrown, patchy in places from too many parties and not enough maintenance, but no one cares. string lights hang loosely overhead, swaying in the warm breeze, casting soft golden halos over the crowd. red solo cups litter the patio furniture, and someone’s bluetooth speaker keeps skipping, but the vibe is easy, carefree.

everywhere around you, people are laughing, talking, drinking under the sticky weight of the late-summer heat.

but baekhyun?

he’s a fucking storm cloud in the middle of a sunny day.

the tension starts in his jaw, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, then spreads down his neck to his shoulders—tight, rigid, all coiled frustration and poorly concealed irritation. the usual relaxed slouch in his posture is gone, replaced with barely-contained stiffness, like he’s holding himself back from saying or doing something he’ll regret.

he’s sitting near the fence line, perched on the edge of an old patio chair that creaks under his weight, sunglasses pushed low on the bridge of his nose. they do nothing to hide the growing scowl etched into his features, or the way his eyes keep flicking toward the other side of the yard. his fingers drum against the side of his cup, not in rhythm to the music, but like a nervous tic.

and across the yard—just a few steps too far away—you’re standing beside chanyeol, a drink in your hand, laughing at something he’s saying. you’re leaning in a little too close, eyes bright, your expression wide open and effortlessly captivated. chanyeol’s mid-story, gesturing wildly with his hands, all dramatic flair and exaggerated enthusiasm.

and you’re eating it up.

baekhyun watches you laugh again—head tilted back, mouth parted, the kind of laugh he hasn’t heard from you in weeks. something bitter and hot curls in his stomach. what the fuck is so funny? what could chanyeol possibly be saying that makes you smile like that?

his grip tightens around his drink until the cup creaks slightly under the pressure, knuckles pale beneath the condensation.

why don’t you ever look at him like that anymore?

kyungsoo watches it all unfold from a shaded lounger beneath a crooked patio umbrella, one leg crossed lazily over the other, his drink sweating in his hand. he brings the cup to his lips, eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses, trailing over to baekhyun with a slow, knowing look.

he doesn’t miss the way baekhyun’s knee bounces in agitation, or the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you and chanyeol since the moment you walked out into the yard together.

“you’re staring again,” kyungsoo says, his voice low, calm, but sharp enough to slice through the tension.

baekhyun jerks slightly, blinking like he’s been caught mid-crime. his glare cuts toward kyungsoo, biting and defensive. “fuck off,” he mutters, but it lands weakly, laced with a frustration he’s trying—and failing—to mask.

his ears are pink. his cheeks, flushed. the heat isn’t helping, but it’s not just the weather. kyungsoo’s lips twitch around the rim of his cup, because he knows exactly what that stupid flush means.

and then, just as baekhyun glances back toward you—again—chanyeol throws his head back laughing at his own punchline, hand brushing yours casually as he leans closer.

baekhyun’s entire body tenses.

he doesn’t say a word, but the look he shoots in chanyeol’s direction is searing—sharp, territorial, unmistakably clear: back the fuck off.

and of course, chanyeol doesn’t notice. or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.

baekhyun exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, trying to keep his cool. but it’s a losing battle.

because all he can think is that you’re his bunny. the nickname your families gave you when you were still too small to reach the counters, when you followed him around everywhere with wide eyes and soft giggles. now, everyone uses it—your friends, his teammates, even fucking chanyeol.

but baekhyun remembers what it really means. what it used to mean.

and watching you smile at someone else like that?

yeah. it’s fucking unbearable.

finally, unable to swallow it any longer, baekhyun snaps, his voice cutting through the conversation, sharp and biting. “hey, losers, you forget the rest of us are here, too?” his tone is more petulant than anything resembling maturity, like a child throwing a tantrum, and it hangs in the air like a challenge.

chanyeol lets out a snort, turning just enough to shoot baekhyun a sly, amused glance. “aawww, what’s the matter, baekhyun? feelin’ left out?” his grin stretches impossibly wide, smug and infuriating, as if it were specifically designed to make baekhyun’s face flush an even deeper red.

kyungsoo, sitting to the side, doesn’t even try to mask his amusement. he’s barely holding it together, his drink spilling from his lips as he stifles a laugh at baekhyun’s visible discomfort, clearly enjoying the show as baekhyun digs himself deeper into the pit of his own jealousy.

chanyeol leans in just a little closer to you, nudging his shoulder against yours playfully. his grin widens, and his eyes gleam with mischief as he glances at baekhyun, then back at you. the spark of jealousy radiating from baekhyun is almost palpable. “sorry, but we’re not interested in adding another,” chanyeol teases, his voice light, but dripping with playful challenge. he shoots baekhyun another knowing glance before adding, “ever heard of 'three's a crowd'?”

baekhyun’s face, already flushed with frustration, is now on fire—blushing not just with anger, but with something else, something deeper. his entire face burns red, and it creeps down his neck, his ears turning a shade darker as his throat tightens. you can feel the tension building, thick in the air, and it’s impossible to ignore. baekhyun is caught in a storm of emotions, and he’s fighting to keep it all together. his usual scowl has evaporated, replaced by something raw and uncertain. it’s clear now: baekhyun doesn’t know how to navigate this—this feeling, this jealousy, whatever it is that’s eating at him.

but that’s not what finally sends baekhyun spiraling. no, it’s when chanyeol, with that smug grin that baekhyun already wants to slap off his face, casually reaches up to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. his fingertips graze your skin, featherlight and deliberate, and then—because of course he can’t just stop there—he leans in, whispering something that makes you laugh.

and it’s that laugh. that laugh. the one baekhyun has always claimed as his, the one that feels like sunlight piercing through storm clouds, the one that’s always made him feel like he’s the center of your universe. but now, it’s chanyeol—of all fucking people, his insufferable co-captain on their university’s baseball team—ripping it from your lips, and baekhyun feels like he’s unraveling.

no matter how many times he tells himself it’s nothing, that you're allowed to laugh at someone else’s joke, the knot in his chest only tightens. every time your eyes light up at chanyeol’s words, that rush of possessiveness cuts through him like a hot knife, burning at the back of his throat. it’s irrational, twisted, and completely unnecessary, but it doesn’t change how it feels. he can’t shake the raw sting of jealousy, the sharp, desperate urge to pull you back, to make that laugh his again.

he tells himself he’s overreacting, but the twist in his stomach, the way his hands flex with the need to do something, anything, tells him otherwise. it’s possessive, primal, and no matter how hard he tries to fight it, it’s completely consuming him. and he’s losing control.

kyungsoo notices it before anyone else—the way baekhyun's tension is reaching its breaking point. his clenched fists, the color draining from his face as frustration swirls in his eyes. he’s on the edge, and kyungsoo can practically feel the storm brewing. sehun, just emerging from the kitchen with a cooler packed with more beers and seltzers, plops down onto the lounger beside him, a grin tugging at his lips as he observes the scene unfolding.

“baekhyun’s finally losin’ it, huh?” sehun muses. with a slow, deliberate movement, he cracks open a can of beer, the hiss slicing through the thick summer air. lifting it to his lips, he takes a lazy sip before fanning his jersey, trying to cool off from the humidity clinging to everything like a second skin. his white baseball pants are still streaked with dirt from the game, but he’s far more interested in the mess unraveling across the yard.

kyungsoo, lounging in the chair beside him, doesn’t even bother looking up. he’s already noticed—already clocked the way baekhyun has been stiff and brooding ever since you and chanyeol started talking. he takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on the cup as he mutters, “he’s been losing it. this is just rock bottom.”

baekhyun hears them. he knows they’re watching him, knows exactly what they’re thinking, and yet, when kyungsoo finally calls him out—“bro your ears are turning red.”—his whole body stiffens.

baekhyun knows it too. he can feel the heat creeping up his neck, the telltale flush spreading over his skin. his jaw clenches even tighter, his lips pressing into a thin line, but it’s useless—there’s no hiding it. no covering up the pink dusting his cheeks, the way his entire body is betraying him in real-time.

he hates that kyungsoo can see right through him. hates it even more that sehun is watching with that smug, entertained grin, nodding along in agreement.

but what he really hates—what really eats at him—is that you haven’t even noticed.

too wrapped up in whatever chanyeol is saying, too busy laughing, too distracted to see that baekhyun is coming apart at the seams, jealousy gnawing at him like a wildfire he can’t put out.

kyungsoo glances at baekhyun before casually suggesting, “hey, i think we need to go on another beer run. we can take my car.” his voice is steady, but there’s a hint of urgency in it, a silent plea to get baekhyun out of there before things escalate with chanyeol.

baekhyun, already on the verge of snapping, opening his mouth to tell kyungsoo to fuck off yet again and leave him to deal with it, but then you cut through the air with your voice, interrupting chanyeol mid-sentence. “ooh! can i come with? we could really use some chips and dip. these kinda parties never really have anything to snack on.”

baekhyun freezes for a moment, his attention snapping to you. without a second thought, his ears flick as if he’s been pulled out of a trance. he snatches the keys from kyungsoo’s hand with a decisive motion, his grip firm. without uttering another word, he grabs your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he tugs you toward the side gate, the tension in his body still palpable.

he doesn't even glance back.

the car ride is steeped in tension, the air thick with unspoken energy, but baekhyun and kyungsoo wear their sunglasses like armor—like it’s just another night, like they haven’t been passing a joint between them on the back balcony of the party not even an hour ago.

baekhyun looks effortlessly cool in the driver’s seat—one arm draped over the door, fingers tapping lightly against the leather, sunglasses still perched low on his nose despite the fact that it’s long past sunset. the passing streetlights cast shifting shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw, the barely concealed irritation tightening his mouth. on the surface, he looks calm. collected. like nothing is getting to him.

but the signs are there.

the flex of his jaw. the death grip on the wheel. the way his foot presses just a little too hard on the gas with every turn, like he’s trying to outrun whatever’s clawing at the edges of his mind.

kyungsoo, on the other hand, is the picture of relaxation, stretched out in the passenger seat, arms crossed as he leans back against the black leather. his own dark-lensed sunglasses sit comfortably on the bridge of his nose, his expression unreadable, but there’s a smirk tugging faintly at the corner of his lips. he’s watching the night unfold like it’s a private screening of a film he’s already seen the ending to—one he finds mildly entertaining but has no plans of interfering with.

no one ever questioned the sunglasses. if anything, they only added to the aura—made them look untouchable, a little too cool, a little too self-assured. dangerous, even.

but the truth?

they just didn’t want anyone to clock how fucking high they still were.

because baekhyun’s eyes always gave him away—just slightly pink-rimmed, a little too glassy, the kind of look that made people notice. kyungsoo was better at hiding it, but even he wasn’t immune to the occasional slow blink, the slight heaviness in his limbs when he was feeling good.

so the sunglasses stayed on.

and as baekhyun navigates the quiet streets, frustration simmering beneath his skin, kyungsoo watching with quiet amusement, and you—completely oblivious in the backseat, stretching your legs out lazily—neither of them say a damn thing about it.

the weed might have worn off.

but the tension?

yeah, that was only getting worse.

you’re in the back, relaxed, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, scrolling through your phone, completely oblivious to the slow burn unraveling in the front seat. you toss your phone onto your lap with a sigh, then shift slightly—your knee brushing against baekhyun’s arm for half a second as you stretch forward.

his fingers twitch around the steering wheel. just that light contact, so casual and thoughtless on your end, short-circuits something in him.

“so,” you start, your voice lazy and light, unaware of the ticking time bomb beside you. “chanyeol’s actually kinda cute, huh?”

the silence that follows is instant and loud.

kyungsoo shifts in his seat, lips twitching as he shoots baekhyun a sidelong glance, like he’s been waiting for this moment to drop. he doesn’t say anything, just leans his elbow against the window and watches.

baekhyun doesn’t respond at first. his jaw ticks, his knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. his expression remains still, but the energy rolling off him is sharp enough to slice glass.

you blink at the silence. “what?”

he inhales slowly through his nose, the sound tight and clipped. “he flirts with everyone,” he mutters, voice low, controlled, but edged with a bitterness that you don’t quite catch.

you tilt your head, confused. “huh?”

“chanyeol,” baekhyun bites, voice harder this time as he suddenly yanks the wheel a little too sharply, turning into the convenience store parking lot with just a bit too much force. the car glides into an empty space, tires grinding slightly against the curb. “he flirts with everyone. it’s not special.”

you blink at him, surprised by the sudden edge in his tone. “i didn’t say it was special… just said he’s cute.”

he slams the gear shift into park, the movement sharp and impatient. his hands finally drop from the wheel, but his fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, twitchy and unsettled like he’s holding back something heavier.

kyungsoo, meanwhile, is living for it. he stretches lazily, arms lifting over his head, before reaching for his seatbelt and clicking it loose. “this is fun,” he drawls, amused, eyes flicking toward baekhyun with a knowing smirk. “we should go on beer runs more often.”

baekhyun shoots him a glare that could incinerate metal, but kyungsoo only shrugs and steps out, completely unfazed.

you glance over at him, brow slightly furrowed. “are you good?”

his jaw clenches harder, his gaze fixed on the dashboard like it might help him collect himself. there's a long pause—too long. and then he mutters, almost under his breath, “it’s nothing.”

but the words are laced with tension, so bitter and strained they barely sound like nothing at all.

from the passenger side, kyungsoo snorts quietly, already reaching for the door handle. “yeah,” he says dryly, pushing the door open, “sure it’s nothing.”

he climbs out, the door clicking shut behind him with finality.

baekhyun stays in his seat a moment longer, jaw locked, eyes dark, hand still resting on the gearshift like it’s grounding him. he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak.

you glance at him again, unsure. he looks wound tight, like something is coiled up beneath his skin just waiting to snap.

maybe it really was the game. maybe he’s just tired.

you have no idea it’s you.

the store is nearly empty, save for a tired-looking cashier scrolling through their phone behind the counter and a couple of college kids lingering by the candy aisle. the fluorescent lights hum softly, casting a slightly too-bright glow over the linoleum floors. the air smells faintly of stale coffee and artificial citrus from a mop bucket abandoned in the corner.

baekhyun is ahead of you, walking with purpose down the refrigerated aisle, scanning the selection of beer with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his gray sweats. kyungsoo, unbothered as ever, lags behind, still in his baseball uniform from earlier—jersey unbuttoned halfway, exposing the silver chain resting against his collarbones. his cap, flipped backward, sits snug on his head, a few strands of dark hair peeking out. his eyes are a little hazy, glazed over from the joint he and baekhyun smoked at the start of the party, but he’s still sharp, watching, always observing.

and, yeah. he looks good.

kyungsoo has always been attractive, in that effortless, brooding way that comes naturally to him. he’s quiet, but not shy—has this intimidating aura that makes people think twice before talking to him, only for them to realize he’s actually just dry as hell with the best one-liners you’ll ever hear.

if he wasn’t baekhyun’s best friend, if they hadn’t met during freshman year tryouts—baekhyun already on the team, of course, because of course he’d made it straight away, thick as thieves by the end of the first week and inseparable ever since—you might have tried your luck with him.

but baekhyun’s your best friend, too.

and crossing boundaries, even unspoken ones, has never been your style.

so you keep your mouth shut, trailing after them as baekhyun slows in front of the coolers, shoulders still tense, brows furrowed like he’s actually analyzing his beer selection instead of seething about something else entirely.

he’s been off ever since you got in the car.

and, yeah, you could ignore it—pretend like you don’t notice, let him sulk in whatever weird mood he’s in. but something about the way he’s so quiet tonight, the way he hasn’t thrown a single sarcastic remark your way, rubs you the wrong way.

so, instead of letting it go, you take a step closer, nudging your hip against his as you reach past him for a six-pack.

without thinking, you step closer, watching as he tosses the case into the basket resting in his other arm. “you okay?” you ask, keeping your tone casual as you lean against the edge of the cooler. “you’ve been so weird since we left the party.”

“i’m fine.”

you roll your eyes. “sure you are.”

baekhyun exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, before turning back to the fridge, grabbing the first case of beer he sees.

“why so grumpy, b?” you ask, brows furrowing slightly as you lean forward, your tone light but laced with genuine curiosity. there’s a playful tug at your lips, but you’re honestly a little confused by the way he’s been sulking all night, shoulders tense, eyes sharp.

“is it ‘cause you struck out during the game?” you tease, voice dipping into something softer—half-joking, half-wondering if that’s really what’s eating at him.

you pause, tilting your head. “you guys won anyway.”

you mean it, too—because they did. the scoreboard was still burned into your memory, the energy in the stadium electric, the crowd wild with celebration. baekhyun had more than made up for that strikeout with his later home run, and everyone knew it.

but still, he looks at you like you’ve just said the wrongest thing imaginable. his jaw flexes, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek, and he doesn’t say anything right away.

kyungsoo, who had been inspecting a shelf of overpriced trail mix a few feet away, glances over with mild amusement, eyes still half-lidded from the high. “damn,” he muses, popping a chip into his mouth. “she’s got a point, b. that was a pretty tragic at-bat, man.”

baekhyun pauses for half a second, his fingers tightening around the basket handle. but then he lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he finally turns toward you.

“wow,” he muses, voice light but edged with something you can’t quite place. “thanks for bringing that up. really appreciate it, bun.”

you blink, taken aback. “i wasn’t—”

he exhales sharply, cutting you off. “it’s not about the fucking game.”

“then what is it?”

his eyes flick to you, dark and unreadable under the harsh store lights. for a moment, it almost looks like he’s going to say something, like he’s teetering on the edge of admitting whatever is clawing at his chest.

but then—

he scoffs, shaking his head before brushing past you.

“nothing,” he mutters. “forget it.”

you watch as he moves toward the counter, placing the basket down with a little more force than necessary. kyungsoo appears beside you then, arms full of snacks, clearly having caught the tail end of the exchange.

he raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and baekhyun before nudging your arm with a bag of chips. “still don’t get it, huh?”

you huff, crossing your arms as you glance toward baekhyun’s back, irritation flickering in your chest. “no, and apparently, i’m not allowed to.”

kyungsoo just chuckles, shaking his head as he follows baekhyun to the counter.

you stand there for a second, staring at baekhyun’s tense posture, the way his fingers drum against the countertop impatiently as he waits for the cashier to ring everything up.

whatever this is, whatever’s been eating at him all night, it’s not the game.

but if it’s not that…then what the hell is it?

#baekhyun #baekhyun smut #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun fic #baekhyun series #baekhyun imagine #exo x reader #exo fic #exo series #exo imagine #loverboy #lisawrites

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simpishly · 1 year ago

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Live Laugh Legacy a Sims 4 Base Game-friendly challenge by simpishly.tumblr.com

Everyone's heard of Johnny Zest. (Or so he hopes.) Former Landgraab, up-and-coming comedian, a friendly, outgoing goofball hanging around Oasis Springs just waiting to make it big.

But even Johnny can't shake his family's streak of ambition. It's got him thinking: I'm not the same as my parents, but why is that so bad? I live and laugh and love my life. Maybe I can create a live laugh legacy that allows every Sim in my family to follow their own dreams and goals...

Johnny's legacy aims to celebrate differences. It's okay to not be like the family members that have come before you! In fact, for this challenge, it's required.

Live Laugh Legacy Rules

Your challenge is to help Johnny carry on this new legacy through ten unique generations:

You must assign each generation ONE adult aspiration category. That generation may only complete aspiration(s) within that category. That includes heirs, spouses, etc., any young adult or older Sim living in the current household that is not from a previous generation.

Your Generation 1 category (Johnny's generation) must be "Popularity", though it's up to you which specific Popularity aspiration(s) you choose to complete.

You cannot repeat a category once you have used it for a generation. All Child and Teen categories/aspirations are excepted from this rule.

You must complete at least one aspiration each generation before continuing to the next.

There are exactly 10 Base Game aspiration categories, one for each generation including Johnny's. If you have additional packs installed, you may have more categories to choose from.

Base Game Adult Aspiration Categories

Athletic

Creativity

Deviance

Family

Food

Fortune

Knowledge

Love

Nature

Popularity (Johnny's generation)

Pack/Kit Adult Aspiration Categories

Animal* (requires Cats & Dogs)

Location (requires City Living, Snowy Escape, Island Living, StrangerVille, and/or Bust the Dust)

Star Wars (requires Journey to Batuu)

Wellness (requires Spa Day)

Werewolf (requires Werewolves)

*Be aware, the Animal aspiration category only has one aspiration. Feel free to combine it with the base game Nature category instead.

Additional Rules

No money cheats at any point during the challenge. All other cheats, mods, and custom content are ok!

Designate one heir per generation to carry on the family just like any standard legacy challenge. A new generation starts when the next heir ages up to young adult.

(optional) Every heir must have the Ambitious trait, because some family legacies are harder to shake than others...

That's it! Those are the rules! This challenge is meant to be bare bones, allowing you to put your personal creativity and spin on it. You might even come back to try it again a different way. Play as-is or add your own bonus goals and guidelines to create whatever game you want to play.

Questions? Comments? Want to share your attempt at the challenge? Click here to send me a message!

Above all, have fun and don't forget to leeb, leefah, lurve. 😉

#Sims 4 #Sims 4 challenge #Live Laugh Legacy #Live Laugh Legacy Challenge #simpishly #Johnny Zest #Landgraab

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whereforarthur · 8 months ago

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Brother’s Flatmate

Request: anything that starts angsty but ends fluffy PLS

Pairing: Arthur Hill x George’sSister!Reader

Category: Angst to Fluff

Word Count: 4.3k

*****

"Real love doesn't meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess." – J.S. Park

In the bustling heart of London, where the Thames River curved its ancient path, there was a man named Arthur Hill. He was known to many as a charismatic YouTuber with a velvety singing voice, yet to his closest friend George, he was simply Arthur, the bloke who was always there for a pint and a laugh. Arthur's flat, a cozy sanctuary tucked above a quaint bookstore, reflected his unassuming nature—a blend of vintage furniture and the faint scent of dusty pages that spoke of quiet nights spent reading and recording his latest vlogs.

The flat was often filled with the sound of George's raucous laughter as the two friends bantered over cups of tea. However, the dynamic changed whenever George's sister, Y/N, was around. She was a sharp contrast to Arthur's laid-back demeanor—ambitious, driven, and often blunt to the point of discomfort. Her visits were met with a tension so palpable it could be sliced with a knife.

Today was no exception. The moment she barged in, Arthur felt the atmosphere shift. He set aside his camera, knowing that the evening's vlog would have to wait. Y/N's eyes narrowed as she assessed the cluttered room, a clear judgment of his lifestyle.

"It's not just a bit of mess," she retorted, her voice laced with frustration. "It's a health hazard. And it's not like you don't know how to clean up after yourself, Arthur."

The unspoken hostility between them was a constant thorn in George's side. He had no idea what had caused the rift, only that it had grown wider with each passing year. Arthur and Y/N had never seen eye to eye, and it was clear that their dislike for each other was deeply rooted.

"Look, I've had a long day," Arthur said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Could we not do this now?"

Y/N scoffed. "I'm just saying, if you want to be taken seriously as an influencer, you should start by taking your living conditions seriously."

The comment hit a nerve. Arthur's success had always been a sore spot for her, a constant reminder of her own unfulfilled aspirations. Her words stung, and he felt his temper begin to flare.

"And what would you know about that?" he shot back. "You've never had to chase your dreams because you've always had everything handed to you on a silver platter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

Arthur took a deep breath, knowing he had crossed a line. "I didn't mean it like that," he said, trying to backpedal. But the damage was done.

"You don't get it," Arthur said, his voice tight. "You never have. You think because I make videos and sing songs, I don't have a clue about hard work?"

"I didn't say that," Y/N replied, her voice equally as tense. "I said you should take better care of yourself. This place is a mess, and it's a reflection of your priorities."

The accusation stung, and Arthur felt his cheeks heat up. He had always prided himself on his authenticity, his willingness to show his true self to his followers. Yet here she was, suggesting he was a fraud.

"You think I don't know what real work is?" he spat out, his eyes flashing. "You sit in your fancy office all day, sipping lattes and bossing people around, while I'm out here, trying to make a difference in the lives of my fans."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're not curing cancer with your videos, Arthur."

The words hung in the air, a challenge that Arthur couldn't ignore. "At least I'm not living a lie," he retorted. "Pretending to be someone I'm not just to climb the corporate ladder."

Y/N's job was a sore subject for her, a constant battle against the expectations of their family's legacy. He opened his mouth to intervene, but she was already responding, her voice icy.

"You wouldn't know the first thing about hard work, Arthur," she said, her eyes glinting. "You play dress-up and make jokes for a living. It's easy to be liked when you're not actually doing anything of substance."

The words hit Arthur like a punch to the gut. He had always felt a little guilty about his chosen career path, especially compared to Y/N's high-flying corporate job. But he also knew that his content brought joy and comfort to millions. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his cool.

"You don't know anything about what I do," he said, his voice measured. "You think it's all fun and games, but there's a lot more to it than you see."

Y/N folded her arms, unmoved by his defense. "Oh, I know all about it," she said. "You sit here, making videos that people watch to forget their own lives, and you think that's meaningful?"

"It is to them," Arthur said, his voice rising. "It's more than you do, stuck in your ivory tower."

Y/N's eyes flashed. "At least I'm not living in a fantasy world," she snapped. "At least I'm not chasing after something that's never going to be more than a hobby."

"It's not a hobby," Arthur said, his voice strained. "It's my life."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Your life? More like your escape," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're afraid to face the real world, so you hide behind a screen and pretend you're important."

*****

Arthur's eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at her, the words cutting deep. He hated her—no, he didn't. He didn't hate her. It was something else, something more complicated. He hated the way she made him feel, the way she brought out his insecurities, the way she questioned his very existence. He hated that she could do that to him.

But he didn't hate her. She was George's sister, and George was his best mate. He couldn't hate her. Could he? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that what he felt was closer to fear. Fear that she might be right. Fear that he was just a glorified clown, dancing for the amusement of the masses.

He took a step towards her, his hands balled into fists. "You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "You think you're so much better, but you're just as lost as I am."

Y/N's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes flickered. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw a glimpse of vulnerability, a hint of doubt. But she quickly masked it with a sneer. "You're pathetic," she said. "You're wasting your life on this nonsense."

Arthur felt his heart racing, the blood pounding in his ears. He didn't hate her, not really. But her words stung because they echoed his own fears. He had always wondered if his career was just a facade, a way to avoid the responsibilities of adulthood. Yet here he was, standing up for what he believed in, for the community he had built, the fans who looked up to him.

"You're just jealous," he spat out, the anger giving him courage. "You're jealous that I found something I love, something that makes people happy."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "You think you're so special," she said. "You're not. You're just a pretty face with a decent singing voice."

Arthur felt his anger boil over. "And you're just a cold-hearted bitch," he said, his voice shaking. "You don't know the first thing about love or passion."

Y/N's eyes went wide with shock at the venom in his words. For a moment, she looked as though she had been slapped. Then, she laughed—a bitter, harsh sound that rang through the flat. "Love and passion? Is that what you call it? A bunch of teenagers worshipping you?"

The room was a battleground, the air thick with animosity. The line between love and hate was paper-thin, and it was clear that they had both danced upon it for too long. Arthur's heart felt as though it was being squeezed in a vice, the weight of her accusations crushing him. Yet, amidst the anger, there was something else—a strange warmth that he couldn't quite explain. It was as if their shared disdain had kindled a spark of something more.

Y/N's eyes searched Arthur's, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of doubt in her gaze. The mask of superiority slipped, revealing a hint of the insecurity that lay beneath. She had always been the successful one, the one who had everything figured out, while he had stumbled into fame almost by accident. Yet here they were, both lost in their own ways.

"Shut up," Arthur murmured, the words barely audible. He didn't know if he was speaking to her or to the voice in his own head, the one that whispered doubt and fear.

Y/N took a step closer, her eyes flashing. "Make me," she challenged, her voice low and dangerous. The air between them crackled with tension.

Arthur's hand shot out, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. It was a gentle touch, a stark contrast to the harshness of their words. Y/N's eyes widened, and she took a sharp intake of breath, as though she hadn't expected the softness. For a second, they just stared at each other, the electricity between them palpable.

Then, before he could think better of it, Arthur leaned in and kissed her—harshly, desperately. He kissed her as if he was trying to prove a point, to show her that he was more than the sum of his YouTube views and singing talents. He kissed her as if he could erase the years of contempt with one fiery gesture.

Y/N's body stiffened, her eyes widening in shock, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into the kiss, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. It was a strange, intoxicating dance of anger and attraction that neither of them had seen coming. The heat between them grew, the air in the room thickening until it was almost suffocating.

*****

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Y/N's cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark with a mix of anger and something else—desire? Arthur couldn't tell. He felt as though he was drowning in confusion, his chest tight with emotion.

"I hate you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. But the way she said it, the way her breath hitched, told him she didn't mean it. Not entirely.

Arthur's chest tightened. "No, you don't," he said, his voice low and intense. "You're just scared."

Y/N's eyes searched his, a storm of emotions raging within them. "Scared of what?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Scared of admitting that maybe, just maybe, we're not so different after all," Arthur said, his voice low and earnest. "Scared of what this could be."

Y/N stared at him, her eyes searched his, looking for a sign that he was joking, that this was all some twisted ploy. But Arthur's gaze was unwavering, his expression raw and vulnerable. The truth of his words hit her like a tidal wave, and she felt the walls she had built around her heart begin to crumble.

"We're nothing alike," she whispered, her voice shaking. But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. They were both chasing their own versions of success, their own ways of making an impact on the world.

Arthur stepped closer, his hand still resting on her cheek. "We're more alike than you think," he said softly. "We both want to be seen, to be heard, to matter."

Y/N's breath hitched. She didn't hate him, not really. But she had spent so long pushing him away, hiding behind her sarcasm and scorn, because the alternative was too terrifying to consider. If she let him in, if she allowed herself to care, she might just get her heart broken. And she had been down that road before—she wasn't sure she could handle it again.

"I don't do feelings," she said, her voice a feeble attempt at the armor she had worn for so long. But Arthur's hand remained on her cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles that seemed to be unraveling her very soul.

"Well, you're doing a bloody good job of hiding them," Arthur said with a sad smile. "But I can see right through you, Y/N. And I think it's about time we both faced them."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of a bluff. But all she found was honesty, a stark contrast to the barbed words they had exchanged just moments ago. Slowly, she reached up and placed her hand over his, her touch tentative yet filled with a spark of hope. "What are you saying, Arthur?"

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words before speaking them. "I'm saying that maybe, just maybe, we should stop fighting and start understanding each other." His thumb continued to caress her cheek, his gaze never leaving hers. "We're both just trying to find our place in this world, and maybe we could help each other do that."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the walls she had built around herself feeling more fragile than ever. The idea of letting Arthur in, of admitting that she might need someone, was as terrifying as it was tempting. Yet, she couldn't deny the undeniable pull she felt towards him, the way his touch made her feel seen, understood.

"I don't know if I can do that," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've spent so long pushing people away."

Arthur's eyes searched hers, filled with a gentle understanding that seemed to see right through her tough exterior. "I know," he said, his voice equally soft. "But maybe it's time to try something new."

The silence that fell between them was heavier than any of their previous barbs. Y/N felt the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand, and the sincerity of his words. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded their interactions, a gentle reminder that love could emerge from the most unlikely of places.

Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of a lie or a hidden motive. But all she found was a mirror to her own confusion and yearning. Arthur was right—they were both lost in their own ways, but perhaps together they could navigate the tumultuous waters of life.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice shaky with uncertainty. "Okay, let's try."

Their kiss was not gentle this time, but it was not fueled by anger either. It was a kiss of understanding, of two souls colliding in the messiness of their shared existence. Arthur's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and she melted into him, her own arms snaking around his waist. It was as though they had been holding onto this moment for years, waiting for the perfect storm of words and emotions to bring it to the surface.

As they broke away, both panting, they stared at each other with a newfound appreciation. The hostility that had once dominated their interactions was now replaced with a strange, thrilling anticipation. They had both been hiding behind their own fears and insecurities, throwing jabs and insults to keep the other at bay. But in that one moment, they had found a common ground—the mess of their lives.

Arthur knew that real love didn't emerge from a perfect, pristine environment. It grew in the cracks of doubt and the weeds of imperfection. It was in the chaos of their shouting match that he had seen the real Y/N, the one who was just as lost and scared as he was. And in that chaos, he had found something beautiful—a spark of connection that was more real than any of the scripted moments in his videos.

They stood there, in the silence that followed the storm of their words, their hearts racing in unison. The tension between them had shifted, no longer a barrier but a bridge, a delicate yet solid connection that neither wanted to break. Y/N's eyes searched Arthur's, looking for confirmation that this was real, that she wasn't just imagining the tenderness in his gaze.

*****

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, his thumb still tracing circles on her cheek. "For everything."

Y/N nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Me too," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I've been a bitch."

Arthur's hand slid down to her neck, his thumb brushing against the rapid pulse in her throat. "You've had your reasons," he said, his voice gentle. "But let's leave them behind now."

Y/N nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's start again."

Arthur wiped the tear away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. "We don't have to start over," he said softly. "We just have to start… differently."

Y/N took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against his chest. "Differently," she echoed, the word feeling strange and yet incredibly right on her tongue.

Arthur's gaze searched hers, his eyes filled with a warmth she hadn't seen before. It was as though he had just discovered a hidden treasure, something precious that had been buried beneath layers of anger and misunderstanding.

"I didn't know," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "I didn't know it could feel like this."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searched his, and she could see the realization dawning in his gaze—the raw, unfiltered understanding of what love truly meant. It was as if he had just stepped into the sunlight after years of darkness.

Arthur's eyes searched hers, the weight of his realization heavy in his gaze. It was a look that spoke of a thousand unsaid words, of moments of doubt and fear that had led them to this precipice. In that instant, she knew that he saw her—the real her, not the armored version she presented to the world. He saw the vulnerability she had worked so hard to hide, the softness that lay beneath the sharp edges of her sarcasm.

"Neither did I," she murmured, her voice shaky. She felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, the steady beat of his heart under her palm. The tension between them had transformed into something new, something that made her heart flutter in a way she had long ago convinced herself she was immune to.

They stood there, in the quiet aftermath of their confrontation, the air charged with the electricity of their newfound connection. It was strange, terrifying, and yet, somehow, it felt more real than anything she had ever experienced. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who truly understood her.

"We'll take it slow," Arthur said, his voice low and soothing. "We'll get to know each other without the baggage of what we've always thought we knew."

Y/N nodded, the tightness in her chest slowly easing. The idea of taking it slow was both comforting and exhilarating. She had always rushed into things, eager to prove herself, to conquer and claim. But with Arthur, she felt the need to be gentle, to tiptoe around the fragility of this newfound bond.

"Okay," she said, her voice a whisper. "We'll start tonight."

*****

They decided to order takeout, a simple meal of fish and chips from the chippy down the street. As they waited, Arthur suggested they watch one of his videos together, one that had a special meaning to him. Y/N agreed, her curiosity piqued.

The video was of Arthur singing a cover of an obscure indie song, the melody haunting and beautiful. As he watched her reaction, he explained how the lyrics had resonated with him during a particularly tough time in his life, how the words had given him the courage to keep going. Y/N listened, her eyes never leaving the screen, and for the first time, she saw the depth of his passion, the raw emotion that fueled his art.

When the video ended, she turned to him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I had no idea," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I never knew you felt like that."

Arthur took her hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles on her skin. "There's a lot you don't know about me," he said, his voice gentle. "And I want to show you."

The night stretched out before them, a canvas of unexplored possibilities. They talked, shared stories, and laughed—the kind of laughter that washed away the years of tension and left them feeling lighter, freer. It was a tentative start, a delicate dance of opening up to each other.

As they sat there, on the couch in Arthur's cluttered flat, surrounded by the detritus of his life, Y/N felt something within her shift. It was as though she had been holding her breath for years, and now, finally, she could exhale.

The kiss that followed was not driven by anger or spite. It was born of a newfound respect, a tentative curiosity that grew into a blaze of passion. Their lips met, and it was as though all the words they had left unsaid were finally finding their voice.

When they parted, Y/N's heart was racing, her cheeks flushed. She looked into Arthur's eyes and saw the same wonder reflected in his gaze. They had crossed a line, stepped into a place neither had dared to tread before.

"I don't know what this is," she murmured, her voice husky.

Arthur leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "Neither do I," he said. "But I know I don't want to let it go."

And so, with the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, they embraced the uncertainty, the thrill of the unknown. They had found something in each other that was more than just friendship or rivalry. It was a connection that defied logic, a bond forged in the fires of their shared pain and doubt.

As they sat there, holding each other tightly, Y/N felt the first stirrings of a love that had been buried beneath layers of contempt. It was a love that had been waiting for the right moment to emerge, a love that was as real and as raw as the music that filled Arthur's soul.

The future was uncertain, fraught with the potential for either heartbreak or a love that could surpass their wildest dreams. Yet, in that moment, all that mattered was the here and now. They decided to take it one day at a time, to build their relationship on a foundation of honesty and mutual respect.

The weeks that followed were filled with tentative smiles and gentle touches, as they both learned to navigate the new waters of their blossoming relationship. Y/N began to see Arthur not just as George's friend, but as a complex individual with his own fears and aspirations. She admired his dedication to his craft and the way he connected with his fans, bringing joy to the lives of so many.

Arthur, in turn, discovered the strength and resilience behind Y/N's sharp exterior. He saw the passion she brought to her work, the way she fought for what she believed in, even when the odds were stacked against her. Her ambition was no longer a source of irritation but a quality he found himself drawn to, a reminder that there was more to life than just his own small corner of the internet.

*****

Their first date was a simple walk along the South Bank, the Thames reflecting the soft glow of the setting sun. They talked about their hopes, their fears, and the moments that had shaped them into the people they were today. The conversation flowed as easily as the river beside them, and with each step, they grew closer.

Holding hands, they stumbled upon a small jazz club, the music spilling out onto the cobbled streets. Arthur looked at Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Dance with me?" he asked, leading her inside.

The intimate venue was crowded, but they found a spot near the stage. As the music swelled around them, they swayed together, lost in the rhythm and the warmth of their bodies. Y/N felt a sense of belonging she hadn't experienced in a long time, as though she had finally found a place where she truly fit.

Their relationship grew steadily, each moment revealing a new facet of the other. They discovered shared interests, like a love for obscure British sitcoms and a passion for long, meandering conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. The flat that had once been a battleground of snark and sarcasm now echoed with laughter and whispered secrets.

Yet, as much as they enjoyed their time together, the specter of their past remained. George, caught in the middle, watched with a mix of bewilderment and happiness as his sister and best friend grew closer. He knew the history of their animosity, the depth of the scars that still lingered beneath the surface.

One evening, as the three of them sat around Arthur's kitchen table, the tension grew thick. Y/N reached for Arthur's hand under the table, a silent plea for support. He squeezed it gently, a reminder that they were in this together.

"Look," Arthur said, breaking the silence. "We've all said things we regret. But we're trying to move forward. Can't we just… be happy for each other?"

George studied them, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "I just want you two to be happy," he said. "But don't expect me to understand it."

Y/N and Arthur shared a look, a silent promise to navigate this new chapter with care. It was a step forward, a small but significant one. They knew they had a long way to go, but for now, they were content to simply enjoy the dance they had found themselves in.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @pookietv

#fluff #angst #british youtubers #imagines #george clarkey #arthur hill #arthur hill x reader #arthur x reader

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whatawhim · 1 year ago

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There's a new Mrs. Batista in town I guess 😶

#ts4 #ts4 gameplay #live for something legacy challenge #lfs: 3 #A wildcard truly lol #<- not actually laughing

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le-chevalier-au-lion · 3 months ago

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255, 0, 0: rosquez [e], part 1

It’s a joke, Valentino will say if anybody asks.

And see? Marc laughs, open-mouthed and clumsy, a little uncertain, his cheeks red—red like the silk crunched in his hands.

“Valentino?” He does ask.

The smirk is mostly reflex, a trained instinct. So is the way he tips his head to the side, challenging. Marc’s eyes flicker from his mouth to the clothes he’s holding and to the pale strips of Valentino’s fingers.

“Well? Aren’t you going to put it on?”

Marc’s breath hitches. “Uh—”

Valentino crowds into him, walks straight into the suckerpunch cloud of sweat and some girlish, cloying perfume. “It’s a very nice gift, no?”

For a sick, suspended moment, he thinks he’s taken it too far, read things wrong. But Marc nods, a sharp, jerky move, and wets his gloss-stained mouth. The ugly rattle-drum inside his chest eases off, softens into lazy contentment. Valentino feels the knife he’s pressed against Marc’s back—even though he doesn’t realize, or worse, doesn’t care—and relaxes.

Marc nods again, dazed, and takes a step back. Times goes slack. He’s probably going to go to the bathroom change, and—

Alright, Valentino thinks hysterically, sweat beading on his throat, alright, then.

By the time he crashes back into his own body, Marc has already toed off his sneakers and his socks, is pulling off his ratty gray hoodie. There’s nothing under it. Valentino stares—at his chest, at the soft swell of his pecs, at his small brown nipples. There’s a hickey bitten low on his collarbones. Purple, fresh.

Three beers and half a bottle of prosecco go sour in his stomach. Valentino tugs him in by the front of his jeans, right where he’s fumbling with the zipper, one hand shaking, the other squeezed tight around the bunched silk.

He presses down lightly against the bruise, just the edge of his nails. Marc jolts into him, wide-eyed.

“I won,” comes the babbling—ringed with a laugh, his wobbly smile turned shameless. “And you told me to have fun when I win—in Assen, remember?”

No, he doesn’t. Had been a little too busy screaming himself raw in Assen, delirious, this golden, giddy relief gnawing at his ribcage. Still got it. Busier in a club in Amsterdam with Uccio and the rest of his friends, so drunk and high that the whole night goes by him in jerky flashes of molten colors.

Valentino makes a show of it, though. “Hmm, I know.” Marc’s chest is wax-smooth under his fingers, and he trembles like a live wire once he touches him. That unkind knot in his mouth lingers, feels like it’s going to fill him with blood. “But it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Valentino,” Marc says slowly, “are you going to kiss me tonight or do I need to go out again?”

It’s like being forced to the side by his Honda, or watching him slip by, taking that one piece of legacy for himself too. Valentino makes himself click his tongue reproachfully, raise his eyebrows. “That’s not very polite.”

Marc’s lashes flutter low, coy. “Can you kiss me? Please?”

He’s being mocked.

He knows he’s being mocked. It doesn’t mean it’s any less effective, mostly because Marc is staring up at him, flushed, shivering, half-dressed, emotions pouring out of him despite the porcelain front of his flirting. This whole weekend is already a joke anyway, and Valentino is the butt of it—of fucking course Casey’s retirement gift would be a bigger headache.

Might as well lean into it.

His killer eyes have turned liquid and beseeching. Valentino hooks two fingers on the soft underside of his jaw, splays his hand low on the small of his back.

“How beautiful,” he mutters.

Che bella. Marc gets that look again, clumsy, shocked, hungry—like he’s been slapped on the face and discovered that he enjoyed it. “Valentino,” he mutters, all letters of his name clumped together in his rural bumfuck Catalan accent.

That tastes better than please. Valentino is feeling generous now. Fizzling like a champagne high. It’s a chaste kiss, close-mouthed, brief. Marc tries to go for more, messily, his tongue insistent on the seam of his lips, but Valentino only needs to make a soft, chiding noise and tap against his jaw for him to relax.

“You should go get ready, now.” He points to the bathroom with his head. “Give me a proper show, hm?”

Marc walks on unsteady legs. Valentino watches, catches a couple of raised, pink lines on the back of his neck, five perfect marks. The generosity turns nasty and thick, churning—I’ve got you. He doesn’t think that Marc will give much attention to girls anymore.

On his own, Valentino gets rid of his shoes, his shirt, his jeans, his underwear, and sits on the bed. He doesn’t have an explanation for this— any of this—which means he should start working on one.

It’d have made perfect sense in Assen, is the thing, Marc one step below him on the podium, as sweet as he gets after a race he didn’t win, I’m so happy for you bubbling in his mouth.

Sachsenring, too—or the club after it, in that tense-but-pretending-it-isn’t mix of Honda and Yamaha personnel. Marc fucking loves Germany or something like that, had laughed that ugly, honking laugh of his the whole night. But he’d been tucked under Santi’s arm every time Valentino so much as looked at him, and Santi—well, a crew chief has to know you.

There’d been that look, steady, faintly disapproving. He hasn’t been on a Honda for something like a decade, and yet.

The door opens. Valentino still doesn’t have an explanation.

“You got it too small.”

And he’s fidgeting too, but isn’t tugging the hem down, so Valentino gets the front row seat to his thighs, hairless like a girl’s, corded with muscle.

To his everything else, once he drags his eyes up—his chest straining against the red fabric when he breathes, one of the straps falling low on his shoulder, the budge tenting up the skirt.

“Did I?” Valentino grins through the sizzling heat needling under his skin.

Marc glares at him—tries to, that is. He can’t quite make it stick through the shuddery awe in his eyes when he catches Valentino sitting languid and lazy like a cat on the bed, his legs spread, or the way he fidgets, standing awkward in the middle of the room. This is probably the mindfuck of his life. Valentino can’t help but let his grin twist in his lips, a little too mean.

If Valentino even thinks about it, Marc would crumble to his knees, pray the Padre Nostro drooling around his cock.

He swallows through the dryness pooling on his tongue, then again through the sharpness of the memory of the Corkscrew dust. “C’mere, baby,” he says crookedly, in obnoxious English, “or are you too shy for it?”

The challenge works. Marc’s face hardens into a suit of armor, and he stalks towards him, settles on his lap so fast that Valentino can’t brace for it and stop his own punched out breath. Because of course Marc sits straight on top of his dick, naked under the little dress.

His hands are clammy, though, when he reaches for Valentino’s collar. Shaking. “I really can’t bel—,” he starts, with this guts-on-the-floor kind of earnestness.

Valentino shushes him, runs just the tips of his fingers over his back. From his scratched nape to his Venus dimples, his nose stuck at the hinge of Marc’s carved jaw. There’s no illusion, this close. The second-hand perfume, the smear of gloss from some random woman’s mouth, the cheap polyester-making-as-silk, nothing works.

He was wrong at that club. Marc is pretty, but he doesn’t really pass as a girl.

“Look at you, princess,” he croons anyway, sleazy, annoying.

Marc jerks against him, grinds his heavy cock against his thigh, mouth slack. He’s shivering, and grinding, and shivering some more. Valentino barely hears whatever string of bullshit he’s spewing—bella, amorina, principessa, everything sticky sweet—through the pound of blood in his ears.

Crashing feels easier than this, Marc a line of sweltering heat on his lap. Valentino hasn’t done anything with a guy since 2000-and-whatever, very early, when Uccio pulled him to the side. You’re getting too famous for that, and Valentino had agreed, hadn’t said it was just some handjobs or whatever. Which means he really needs an excuse, now.

But there’s only Marc, pretty and masculine and pretty all over again. His balls feel heavy pressed against his leg, and the head of his cock keeps bumping his stomach through the silk when he grinds hungry and shameless.

It’s something like morbid curiosity that gets Valentino to lift the dress up—call it an unwilling familiarity with dicks after years of jerking off to porn magazines in groups, someone stuck on lookout duty, or getting sucked off in Ibiza by fucking Sete or Uccio or God, who cares, he was so high all the time there.

Marc is heavy on his hand, and tan there too. Thick. There’s a pearly drop of pre-come on his tip—a little more when he runs his thumb over it.

Big.

Really fucking big.

Valentino’s smirk feels like a rusty razor between his lips. Cruel, dull, a little clumsy in what it’s supposed to be doing. “Pity you won’t use it, I bet those girls you go out with are all starstruck. Ah, Marc, you’re so big, will it fit?”

Marc bucks into his grip, but his mouth is wobbling, and his eyes are huge, liquid—insistent on his face. “Do you like it?”

He doesn’t have to. It’s not like he’s going to get fucked by it or anything.

“It’s very cute.”

Valentino wonders, maybe, if that will piss him off. Doesn’t want to bother with it—nuzzles at the crook of Marc’s jaw and makes his fist nice and tight. He mouths at the flesh of his throat until Marc goes slack against him, spilling those soft, wretched little noises, the fake silk sliding smoothly against his skin.

He doesn’t think he ever liked a rookie that much—especially one that’s so dangerous. Dangerous like Casey, like Jorge.

But then, they wouldn’t have been quite so sweet, so eager, groaning a bitten off Valentino against the shell of his ear.

Valentino nuzzles against his cheek, smooth and hairless. The second-hand gloss smears on his own face, gross and tacky. “You should get on the bed. Make it really pretty, and I might even fuck you again.”

Marc laughs, wild with it, his mouth bent in a smug grin. Starstruck rookies aren’t usually this insolent to him. “I think you’re going to want to, anyway.”

He can’t quite flip them like this, with his full weight on his legs, so Valentino does the second best thing and lands a slap against Marc’s ass. It’s more noise than bite, but he still goes boneless against him, wide-eyed, beseeching.

Valentino’s cock is nestled under him, on the sweaty crease of skin between his dick and his hole. It’s—fucking sweltering, and Marc doesn’t stop moving right on top of him. He can’t quite think like this either, a noise ripping its way out of his throat. At that, Marc nods, mostly to himself, something too calculating and attentive and sharp about his face.

Watching him. Taking notes.

Which—no.

Valentino shoves at his shoulder. Marc finally, finally moves off him and gets on the bed properly. He doesn’t need to chide him, or make him move—Marc goes all on fours, back arched. The hem of his little dress doesn’t cover anything.

In this disjointed tug of heat, Valentino sort of regrets not getting it in blue or yellow. He’d seen red and clocked it as Marc’s color, but now—

Marc looks at him over his shoulder, his smile broad and sharp no matter that he’s fidgeting a bit, shifting his weight on his knees. “You can do it,” he jokes, very generously, “you promised me it was going to be crazy.”

“I don’t think I have to do much with you,” he shrugs, casually cruel.

Marc laughs, blushes. He’s worn his admiration on his sleeve the whole time, it figures it wouldn’t bother him much. It’s fine. Valentino can take things from there—he’s fucked plenty of women like this before.

The crack of the lube bottle sounds ominous, though.

Marc is tight around his fingers—Valentino works in one a little too fast, and he hisses, something pained to it, tense around the edges. Two only go in with what feels like half a bottle of lube, the wet of it dripping over his smooth, shaved balls and Valentino’s wrist, going tacky on the bedsheets.

He mewls and babbles, a flurry of words in a Catalan so thick that Valentino has decided to ignore him. But Christ—he’s loud, shameless. Keens when he tries to scissor his fingers, even though he can barely move. Moans when he fucks them in, his thumb rubbing idle circles on the stretch of thin skin behind his balls.

The next ten minutes are probably going to be incredibly embarrassing for one of them.

Still—

His voice has gone up a pitch. The person in the other room bangs against the wall hard.

Valentino presses his face against the mattress, mean, an arm braced on Marc’s shoulder blades, right where his sweat is turning the silk dark.

“It’s probably going to be in the newspapers tomorrow,” Valentino manages to speak. The words come out slowly, one by one, pried from his dry throat. “Rossi with a whore in Laguna Seca. Keep it down, eh?”

Marc doesn’t. Makes this wretched noise instead, but at least he’s biting the pillow, so it isn’t as bad as it could be. Not so loud. Valentino decides that he really doesn’t care, because Marc twitches, tightens up on his fingers, his cock leaking and heavy between his thighs. He will have someone in his team pay off whoever is in there.

Can’t have Rossi screws a guy being the headline, really.

That sudden meanness fizzles out before it can grow thorns. Marc twists and fidgets to look at him over his shoulder, eyes gone glassy, all pupils. Valentino wishes that he’d got him in some make-up too, so it’d smear, but then he’s talking—

“I thought about it.” The words pour from his mouth in a rush, Ithoughtaboutit. Valentino is this close to purring about fucking me? Yeah, I noticed when he blurts out the rest, “at the club in Austin, when you—when you called me a whore. Can you—”

He says it like Valentino would, puttana, and grinds back against him. There’s static in his ears, and his entire body lurches forward like his guts are being tugged with hooks to bite at Marc’s shoulder, the imprints of his teeth red and sore. Valentino gets his fingers out, replaces them with the head of his cock bumping against Marc’s hole before he starts whining.

“Should’ve known you’d want me to call you a slut.”

He wishes that it’d sound like a show, silver-bright, cruel in the same measure that it is slick. It doesn’t. There’s only Valentino, panting like a dog.

And Marc whimpering, rushing to nod. He sees things happen in jerks, like a kaleidoscope, his hand on the back of Marc’s head, keeping him down, making him arch up, the tip of his dick catching on his hole and then slipping inside it.

Valentino needs to move his hips in those tiny rolls, barely anything. Marc is an inferno around him, tight and tense like he’s pressing his nails over his nerve endings, his shoulders hitching with every breath.

It takes ages until his hips are pressed against the swell of his ass, fake silk brushing against the hair on his crotch, and Valentino can feel each agonizing millisecond of friction, has to start counting backwards, think about the circuit and how punishing and miserable it is, anything, hot like fever.

He can’t tell which one of them this humiliates more. Can’t tell if Marc’s still being loud, either, through the staticky hiss in his ears.

His mouth damns him like it tends to do—nonsense pours out of him like a punch, whore and my groupie and choking for dick, aren’t you and princess and pretty. All of it against the crook of Marc’s neck, where he still smells like some girl, so he won’t look at his cock splitting him open, or at the dress draped over his ass.

It’s a mess from there, Valentino rutting against him like he’s twenty too, zero finesse to it, just the wet, loud slide and this thorny coil in his throat that’s been there since COTA, unswallowed, driving him insane when he caught the tail end of Marc slipping out of a party and the click of heels behind him.

“I’m really lucky,” he pants through grit teeth, digging his fingers into his ass, his thighs, his hips—hopes all of those touches will bruise. “Got the prettiest girl at that party all for me.”

Marc shudders, this tiny ah catching in his throat. “For you,” he says, urgently.

Reaches out behind him for his hand, to wrap it around his cock, the wet, obscene weight of it. Valentino runs a finger over the weeping slit.

“Want me to play with your clit, baby?”

Valentino makes it obnoxious, plans to laugh, but Marc makes a noise between a giggle and a whine, a bit like he’s dying, and goes tight around him. It’s like he’s slipping a knife inside him, prying tendon from flesh from bone. Valentino grunts, then lets out something reedier once he feels the wet heat of Marc’s come on his fingers, how his body trembles.

Christ—alright. His own body seizes, skin a couple sizes too small.

He presses his forehead against Marc’s muscled back, the silk, relief unspooling his limbs. It’s barely three more thrusts until he’s coming too, buried all the way in, his heart drumming somewhere high, his hands numb and shuddering, vision whited out.

Next time, he thinks, head fuzzy, Valentino is getting something small and lacy to replace Marc’s race day red underwear.

#rosquez #chev fics #marc marquez #valentino rossi #motogp #motogp rpf #rpf #THE FEMINIZATION LAGUNA SECA PIECE I PROMISED #and alright hear me out i've tried to write this since i don't know ages ago #i'm very insecure about this piece but who cares it's finally finally done #tw internalized homophobia and undernegotiated stuff #way too many layers if you squint #a little too intense for the timeline i've established but who cares at this point anything goes #anyway many thanks to astirian who dmed me to check if this one existed #it didn't at the time but i couldn't rest easy until it did #crimson carmine scarlet

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monopersona · 2 months ago

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The Last Dragon's Heart

When love finds Sylus in the form of Lili, a resilient hunter with scars of her own, he’s forced to confront the man he was and the man he wants to be. This series is a collection of intimate, interconnected stories that span the lifetime of Sylus and Lili in no particular order. From the early days of their relationship to the joys and challenges of building their family and finally to their twilight years.

Master list

Kiss it Better - fluff, light angst, h/c

When Sylus discovers the scar running down her back, it’s more than just a mark—it’s a reminder of the pain she’s endured without him. The one where Sylus sees her scar for the first time.

I Remember, I'm Sorry - angst, h/c

“I don’t want to lose you again. Not in this life, not in any other.” “No matter how many lifetimes we live, no matter how many times we have to start over, I’ll always find you. And I’ll always choose you.” The one where she finally remembers.

Dragon Queen - dad!sylus, domestic fluff

Aria noticed her little brother out of the corner of her eye and frowned. “Kai, you can’t be the Dragon Queen too! There’s only one Dragon Queen, and that’s me!” Sylus's son wants to do everything his big sister does, much to Sylus's amusement.

Sweet Dreams - fluff, implied smut

Sixteen years was a long time to love someone. Somehow, for them, it still felt like a beginning.

Slip of the Tongue - fluff, light h/c

"Let me take care of you." They had already crossed so many lines, touched each other in ways that were so intimate and so far away from modest, but this felt completely different somehow. This wasn’t wandering hands and kisses and whispered confessions in the dark. This was him seeing her in a moment of complete vulnerability. But Sylus—calm, steady Sylus—only met her eyes with patience that felt so easy, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. And then the words just slip out of her mouth. The one where she accidentally says I love you.

Sins of the Father - family, fluff

Known as the devil, loved by a saint, and father to miracles. He built his empire on blood and fire, but his legacy will not be the darkness—it will be the laughter of his children, the quiet sanctuary he shields from the world he once ruled. Some call it redemption, but Sylus knows better. The past will always linger as a shadow that never truly fades, but neither does the light. He was never a good man, but he is a good father. And for them—for her—he will try to be better. A reflection of Sylus and his journey into fatherhood.

Certified Silverfox - family, crack

When Sylus shows up for report cards in a black turtleneck and glasses, half the school loses its mind. Again. Aria wants to disappear. Her little brother laughs. Her mom finds it entertaining. Her dad? Just vibes, leaving chaos and thirst traps in his wake. A slice-of-life comedy with cool dad, PTA drama, and a marriage that still feels like flirting, years and two kids later.

Birthday Interruptions - family, fluff, Sylus day fic

Sylus’s idea of a birthday used to involve ignoring the date entirely. Now it involves a fancy dinner, a watch with a hidden compass, two kids fighting over space metaphors, and a fever that cuts the night short. It’s chaotic. It’s imperfect. It’s his best birthday yet. Aria’s face filled the screen, all serious business. “Dad, I have a question about the universe that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

And more to come...

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eustasskidagenda · 2 years ago

Note

First of all I really really really love ur writing

Can I request a fem reader dating law and they are like sleeping and law starts to have a really bad nightmare where he is hurting his s/or while sleeping? Like ALOT and she tries to walk him up but when she succeeded he already damaged her so much by accident? So he has her blood on his hands and stuff but he wakes up and he doesn't realise it so she just says u had a nightmare and tried to put him back to sleep while she is in pain

And she waits for him to sleep again to go out and treat her wounds BSc she doesn't want him to feel bad for hurting her

But while she is gone he walks up and the bed is empty and there's blood on him and the sheets so he gets out to search for her in panic and gets mad and feels bad etc

Angst angst angst tk fluff please

I love u so much

Hi sweetie! Tysm for your kind words! I love writing angst, but this one was quite a challenge, I had some struggles figuring out some things. But I hope the outcome will still match your expectations! And sorry it takes me some time for this one, I injured my back lately, I can't write for a long time. Anyway, tysm for requesting. ☆

☆Law having a nightmare where he's hurting his s/o

CW : f!reader, angst, hurt to comfort, blood, mention of bullet, spoiler if you haven't read/watched Law's flashback yet, violence, usage of DF

WC : 1,9k

Low, peaceful breaths. Legs entwined. Your head resting against Law’s tattooed chest and the silence of the cold, starry night. What a rare and beautiful moment. Law often can't sleep. The second you fall asleep, he usually just sighs and sneaks out of the bed. But tonight, his nightmares remained trapped under the pillows, not in his mind. He is beautiful when he can finally be at peace. The tired and dark expression on his face has been gone for a few hours. In his sleep, he looks for your warm touch. Maybe his body is always cold, as his heart is always kept in a cage, but your body is keeping him just warm. That's what you're in his tortured mind; solar.

He always finds solace in it.

Dark shadows. Screams of pain. Corazon falling on the ground. Bullet sound.

The night was supposed to be peaceful. It was peaceful just a second ago! Why are those memories haunting his mind again? What has he done to always be harassed with the same dark thoughts?

Scream. Corazon. Bullet. Scream. Corazon. Bullet. Again and again and again and a… it's endless. Trapped in his own mind, the world around him just disappears. It's just him, facing the ghosts of his past. That's what he gets for daring to fall asleep. How foolish he was to think that his nightmares would leave him alone, just for a few hours.

The shadows are following him in his gloomy, dark world. Why are they trying to kill him? He's not sick anymore. Corazon saved him. He has the right to live. Suddenly, an invisible hand grabs him and squeezes his throat. Tightly. Squirming on the bed, fighting against his own demons, Law breathes harshly. The real world is far away from his nightmares. All he can think about is this hand squeezing his throat. He can't even breathe anymore. But he can't die. Corazon saved his life. He died. Killed by his own brother.

Now, Law has to survive. That's his legacy. The Heart Pirates will beat loudly, etched in memories forever.

The shadows disappear suddenly, just as the squeezing sensation in his throat. A laugh echoes close to his ear. A large figure hovers over him. Pink feather coat, sunglasses, short blond hair, and big, fidgety hands, ready to steal his life again.

It's him.

Doflamingo.

He wants to kill him and steal his fruit. The one that Corazon robbed. No. Law won't let that bastard destroy the sacrifice made by Corazon. Law ferociously punches that damned heavenly demon right in its nose. Maybe he's a doctor, but he can't let this man live.

All he wants is to make him suffer.

To make him pay.

So he punches. Again and again. The only thing he can hear is Doflamingo laughing, as he always does, with his sinister, cold grin. "Just die," he shouts, his voice thick with anger and distress. The reality has vanished in his world of suffering. So he fights back. Harder.

"Law, wake up!" Why the hell is Doflamingo talking with your voice? Is this a fresh trap? This man is the master of manipulation. He can't be tricked again. "Law, please wake up and stay with me!" That soothing hand on his cheek is so soothing. Heavenly soft. Sweat drips down his forehead as he breathes harshly.

Doflamingo's silhouette fades away as soon as he opens his eyes. "Y/n-ya?" He tries to reach for your cheek in the dark bedroom. That touch, that skin, that warmth. So it's really you. "What happened?" He asks, his voice slightly shaky. He tries to regain his composure, breathing harshly, his heart racing crazily in his chest. "Nothing. You just had a nightmares."

Law notices a slight tremolo in your voice. "You're alright?" You just run your hand on his cheek. "Why are you asking me this? You're the one in pain. Just go back to sleep. I'm here. Nothing will happen. You're safe in this room." No, but that was too realistic. And he can't fall asleep right away. Not with a heart beating so loudly. Not with the rush of adrenaline. "Law, you have a lot of work tomorrow. Just try to sleep."

He tried to sleep so many times. It was never successful. However, he lies back as you gently push him against the mattress with your hands on his chest. You gently rub your thumb against his sweaty forehead. With his jaw tensed, Law obeys and closes his eyes, doing as you say. But those dark memories are etched in his eyes. Whenever he tries to sleep, the figure of Doflamingo is painfully present.

Bullet. Corazon. Sick people crying and begging for mercy. Again and again.

"Just sleep." You whisper, focused on him, only him, despite your own state of distress. You just hope he didn't notice the blood on his hands. The one that flows down your injured nose. It hurts. Mentally and physically. It's difficult to see him so tormented by his own thoughts. You can't let him see what he has done to you; he kicks you and almost strangles you. It wasn't him, right? Law would never lend a hand to you. He would never forgive himself if he found out. You have to preserve him. So you stay. Reassuring him until he finally closes his eyes, too exhausted to stay awake.

But a few minutes later, he wakes up, his body cold just as your side of the bed.

"Y/n-ya?" Where have you gone? Why did you leave him alone? Law grabs the candle lamp and the bedroom is lit by a dim light. There's blood on the bed. He doesn't panic at first. But he's confused because he knows your cycle perfectly, you are not supposed to be on your periods. Afterward, he glances downwards.

Blood. On his hands.

"Y/n-ya?" He suddenly stands out and looks for you. The Polar Tang is not that big. At last, he finds you in the small bathroom, with a cloth on your injured nose. Law looks at his hands, then at your body. There's slight bruises on your skin. That skin he cherishes so much. "What happened?" He already knows the answer, yet he's hoping for a different outcome. "I just hit my nose by accident, don't you worry."

You're really a bad liar.

And then, he understands. That wasn't Doflamingo, but you all the time. At first, he can't even speak. He remains there, his mouth partially open and his eyes filled with guilt. As a doctor, he promised to himself to always protect the innocent. His hands exist to heal. Not hurt. Especially not you. You are his precious girlfriend, the one who takes care of him. What have he done to you? Maybe it was a nightmare, maybe it wasn't him, but the outcome is the same. You're in pain because of him.

"I…" he wants to soothe your pain, but he steps back. What if he harm you again? He glances again at his shaky hands. There's blood on his tattooed fingers. He is disgusted by that sight. "Why didn't you tell me?" He wants to scream, to break something, but he's too confused by the red liquid on his tan skin. He reaches for the washstand and cleans his hands, watching the red turn pink. "You were already in pain" you whisper. "Damn, y/n-ya, look at you! You're bleeding because of me. I…" He struggles to speak in a clear manner. Law has always been logical, but right now he's acting impulsively and emotionally. "I'm so sorry…" tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. "Please… let me… help you…" he's afraid of frightening you. But you just nod and stop to hold the cloth against your nose.

Law kneels in front of you, looking at your red skin, slight bruises here and there, slightly swollen lips, and broken nose. His hands are trembling. "Shit," he whispers to himself. He tries to inhale deeply. He needs to calm down before he can heal you. And right now, you really need some assistance. "Law, it's alright…"

Of course, no, it's not okay! "You're in pain because of me, it's not alright!" Law utilizes his devil fruit to cure your broken nose. Gently, he forces you to throw your head back until the bleeding stops. "Wait a second," he whispers before reaching for a wet cloth. After removing all of the dry blood from your face, Law sighs, sits on the ground and remains silent.

The guilt is harassing his poor mind. Now, when he closes his eyes, there's Doflamingo, Corazon, and his hands are full of your blood. This thought will never leave him alone.

He's so unworthy. Despite his efforts, he still fails. Over and over. He failed to save his family. He failed to save Corazon. He failed. Again, and again.

Failure.

"Law, don't overthink, I'm alright." You whisper and wrap your arms around him. Such an irony. You're the one in pain, but you're soothing him by gently running your hands through his hair. "I'm sorry," he repeats once more. "Law, just listen to me… it wasn't you"

Perhaps, but it was his hands that did it anyway. Exhausted, tired and guilty, Law has lost all of his usual cold expressions. He never looked that fragile, human. You kiss him softly and lovely. Law struggles to kiss you back. He refuses to touch you because he fears hurting you again. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you. I still love you. We'll get through it." Nervously, he bites his lips. "Are you still in pain?" His eyes are begging you to tell the truth. "I'm not, thanks to you." He exhales with relief.

"You have to rest. Can you walk?" Even if you nod, Law carries you through the bedroom. He grits his teeth as he sees the blood on the bedsheets. "Wait" He just takes them off and redo the bed with fresh bedsheets. "Now, you can rest."

While you lay on your bed, Law begins to back away, ready to run to his desk. Nevertheless, you grasp his hand. "Don't run away." You understand that he's simply trying to avoid you. An aloof person like him just doesn't know how to deal with that kind of thoughts. "… Y/n-ya" with a sigh, he complies. That's the least he can do. Law flinches as you lean your head against his tattooed chest, feeling tense and nervous. I have already forgiven you, Law. You have to forgive yourself."

He simply mumbles. Of course, his tortured mind will never process that quickly. Fine. You'll wait. And you'll stay by his side. You will be the guardian of his peaceful nights. Slowly, you fall right back asleep. Law doesn't shut his eyes, not even for a moment. He stays here until sunrise and finally warms your face. When you wake up, he already left. But there's a fresh drink, some pills, and something to eat on the nightstand. And a short note.

'Please, come find me if you need something. And rest'

Law is always busy all the day and almost all of the night. And then, he just allows you to 'disturb' him whenever you need him. You can't help but smile. For someone like Law, it's like reading 'I love you'

Of course he loves you.

After all, he is the captain of the Heart Pirates.

#one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece requests #law headcanons #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #heart pirates #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law headcanons #trafalgar d law x you #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x you #law one piece

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