#trying to move past the justified hate and on to ‘how do i turn this into fic’

[wttcsms]

as it was ; suguru geto.

pairing suguru geto x f!reader  word count 4.2k  synopsis suguru comes back, only to find that you've been waiting and wanting this whole entire time. content contains modern no curses!au, gojo's sister!reader, brother's best friend, creampie, pet names (good girl, baby), most of the fic is geto's introspection, possessive sex, mutual pining/longing author’s notes im not even horny for geto like that, but i wanted to write angsty smut abt spreading ur legs for a guy that left u & who else is better for this than geto <3

First words are always a bit tricky to get right, especially whenever he has to take into account that he essentially ghosted you a couple of years ago, after taking your virginity no less, and now he’s back in the godforsaken city he swore he was never coming back to, and he’s just at a loss about what to say and more importantly, how to say it. 

He supposes an apology, for starters, would be a good first move. And maybe it would be, could be, should be, if only he wasn’t him and you weren’t you, and the two of you were not something so confusing and intricate that it’s hard to put into words and harder still to describe with emotions. The two of you are something raw and painful, both of you taking turns playing both sadist and masochist. 

Even to himself, the extent of your relationship sounds twisted, but there was always an underlying purity to it, something that justified its existence. To this day, Suguru Geto is certain that you’re the only person who ever loved him for him, with a love so pure and just that he tries to hide it from everyone else before they can get their filthy hands on it and taint it, twist it into something it’s not. 

Sorry I left won’t cut it, and Geto doesn’t even bother trying to come up with any other variations of apology because it’s not necessarily your forgiveness that he’s come back for. The opportunity to say “I’m sorry” and have it actually mean something has long since passed. All that’s left to say is the truth for why he left, which for some odd reason, seems even harder to do than his original disappearing act.

I missed you — that’s a slight improvement. It’s the truth, if not an understatement of it. He doesn’t regret leaving Tokyo, he just regrets leaving you. Which he could say, if you would actually open the door to face him. 

He figures it’s what he deserves. He deserves worse, if he’s going to be entirely honest. He deserves a slap to the face, or a kick to his balls, or for you to tell him that you hate him, that you never want to see him ever again. 

He knocks on your apartment door, harder this time, as if it’s something urgent. And maybe it is. He’s felt more like himself than he ever has after moving, but the solitude of the countryside got boring soon after, leaving him only with the ghosts from his past to keep him company. He thinks if he doesn’t see you, in the flesh, he might actually go insane. 

He knocks again, only to be met with more silence and a door that’s starting to become more of a familiar sight than he would like. Fuck, what is he even doing? Showing up here was a bad idea to begin with, and it’s only seemingly getting worse by every agonizing second that ticks by. Even if you do open the door, there’s always the chance that you won’t let him get a single word in — that’d be the smart choice, anyway. 

And you’re a bright girl, don’t get him wrong. Something about the Gojo bloodline makes your family incapable of producing anything less than prodigal sons and daughters. If you’re not proof of this fact, there’s your older brother.

Yet another reason why showing up here is such a shitty plan. Satoru will catch wind of his visit, and when he does, he’ll show no restraint in showing Suguru what all of his private boxing lessons are good for. A broken nose and missing tooth would be a fair exchange to see you for at least a second, though. A tradeoff that he doesn’t need to debate on. 

You have to leave your apartment eventually. Suguru dances with the idea of just making camp outside your door and waiting for your stubbornness to fizzle out. It’ll be embarrassing, and your neighbors will surely have something to say about it, but it would be well worth it.

He hears the ding! of the elevator opening and human reflex causes his head to turn at the sound of the noise. 

Oh.

The world becomes contradictory at this very moment. The air suddenly stills, but the atmosphere itself seems to come alive at the same time. Stagnant air, bursting with electricity and something awe-inspiring. Everything seems to slow down, but suddenly he’s acutely aware of just how alarmingly fast his heart is beating. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, not even bothering to check up on your social media because he knows one DM from you would have him crossing the ocean to be back by your side. 

The reason why you weren’t answering your door was simply because you weren’t even home. Relief floods his body, makes him less tense, only for him to stiffen up once more whenever his eyes trail over to the warm body awfully close to you. 

Or maybe it’s the other way around, since you’re the one clinging onto him.

You and Kento Nanami both look like you two have seen a ghost, and all things considered, you wouldn’t be wrong. 

“What are you doing here?” You’re the first to speak, with Nanami’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist, and it’s this closeness that’s the only thing Suguru finds himself able to focus on. It’s been years. He shouldn’t feel this way. You’re free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s your life. He’s the one that chose to walk out of it, anyway. 

“I just wanted to talk,” he answers. Which isn’t a lie. He wanted to talk. He wanted to fight and make up and fuck your brains out and beg for forgiveness and cook you breakfast in the morning and warm your bed, amongst other things, too. But, he figures the condensed version of his list will do, especially considering that three’s a crowd, and most of his itinerary was for your ears only. “Did I come at a bad time?” 

You bite your bottom lip, slowly removing yourself from Nanami’s grip. Nanami looks at you first, concern evident in his warm eyes, eyes that you wish were just a bit darker and colder, so that they would be the ones you’re so accustomed to drowning in. 

You like Nanami well enough. He’s kind and looks out for you, and sometimes you even consider making a move on him first since he’s too much of a gentleman to cross any boundaries. Then again, you don’t think Nanami sees you as anything more than a little sister, and the last time you fucked one of your brother’s best friends… 

It’s why you just give Nanami a smile, one that tells him that you’ve got this under control. His facial expression doesn’t give any indication of what he’s thinking, but the glare he sends Suguru’s way says enough. 

Suguru can appreciate the fierce protectiveness Nanami has towards you, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. Especially when it’s Suguru that’s considered to be the threat.

You move to unlock your door once Nanami makes his reluctant exit, and when you enter your apartment, you conveniently don’t shut the door. Suguru trails behind you.

You turn on the lights, your living room and kitchen blending together in an open-floor plan, bathed in the stark, white lights hanging from your high ceilings. Your apartment, at least what Suguru can see of it, is tastefully decorated. Courtesy of your mother, he’s sure. He would ask about her, ask how she’s doing, but he figures now’s just not the right timing. 

It doesn’t seem to be the right timing for anything he wants to say. He wants to mention that he’s thought about you, thought about reaching out — sometimes to explain himself, and other times just to discuss the mundane aspects of life — but he thinks that would be even worse than apologizing. It would be cruel of him to dangle this information in your face, haunt you with the knowledge that all this time, he’s truly been avoiding you. Knowing you, you would have questioned him on why he didn’t bother reaching out, and he would have been stuck admitting that it’s simply because he was too scared that you wouldn’t answer. 

“Want a drink?” You ask him, back facing him as you peer into your fridge. He catches a glimpse of shiny glass bottles, water bottled in Europe and with the optimal pH balance, he’s certain of it. His throat feels a bit dry, but he tells you no. 

“I drank enough water on the drive up here,” he tells you, which again, isn’t a lie. Suguru feels a bit pleased with himself, even if it is a bit narcissistic of himself for expecting a pat on the back for doing something so simple. He supposes it’s just because he’s gotten so used to never being honest with himself — or others, for that matter — so his current streak for telling the truth seems like something to celebrate. 

“I didn't drink enough.” You say, and he can’t tell if it’s alcohol you’re talking about or water. You’re a lightweight; yet another trait that seems to be passed down the Gojo family. That explains Nanami escorting you home, then. 

“Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?” Suguru helps himself to taking a seat on the white couch in your living room. Because there’s no walls separating the two different spaces, he can still look at you from this position as you rest your elbows on your kitchen’s island, as if needing the support. 

“If you wanted me to know, you’d let me know.” It’s the way you say it that reveals that this comment isn’t made just in reply to his current question, but for everything else Suguru was going to follow it with. Don’t you want to know where I went? Don’t you want to know why I left? 

It’s amazing what humans are capable of. Nearly six years since the two of you have lost contact — since Suguru broke all contact — and yet, you can still read him just as well as he can read you. You see him for what he is, not whatever mask he wants to disguise himself with, and it’s scary, he thinks. Scary to be seen by someone. And nice. It’s nice to have someone know you’re a monster and still not run away.

He’s not quite sure what that says about you.

“It’s a bit of a funny story.” He says, trying to steer this conversation to a more lighthearted tone even though the two of you are nowhere close to feeling light and the jury’s still out on whether or not Suguru Geto has a heart. “You don’t need the reminder, but don’t ever tell Mei Mei a secret you want to keep.” 

The mention of your shared friend — if Mei Mei can even be considered one — makes the corners of your pretty mouth tilt upward. Mei Mei was born with a silver spoon, but the running joke is that it wasn’t in her mouth because she bartered with the doctor and blackmailed him into giving her a gold one. If you have the funds, Mei Mei has the information you’re looking for. 

She’s the only number Suguru saved in his phone contacts, and it’s only because he knew that if he needed anyone else’s number, Mei Mei would readily give it after her Venmo request goes through. 

“Of course she would tell you my address.” You say, but you don’t sound upset at all. Just amused, like this whole situation is something endearing, and you don’t harbor any ill feelings towards either of them, even though both Suguru and Mei Mei technically violated your trust. Suguru more so than Mei Mei, but, well, semantics. 

“Aren’t you mad?” The “at me” is unspoken.

“Mei Mei is a free spirit.” It’s a joke, and Suguru makes a sound from his throat that resembles a laugh. Mei Mei may do whatever she wants, but nothing about her comes free.

He knows you know what he was actually asking. He’s been trying to gauge your reaction to everything he says, trying to see if you hate his guts or not. 

“I missed you.” You tell him suddenly, and while he’s imagined those words coming out of your mouth, it still shakes him up a bit. It’s hard constantly posturing as if he’s cool and collected, nothing ever bothering him, his body and expression never betraying him. But it’s his heart that gives him away, and it’s heart that you hold, and no matter what face he puts on, he knows that you’ll know what the words he won’t say are.

“Don’t apologize.” You continue, closing the distance between you two and opting to take a seat next to him. There’s about six inches of space separating you two. The distance shapeshifts in his mind, sometimes becoming mere millimeters and sometimes feeling more like there’s an ocean between you both. 

The sorry was on the tip of his tongue and it traveled all the way there from his heart. It would be a waste of a journey for him to not say it, but he’s certain the apology would do more harm than good, even if it is genuine. 

Suguru stands out against the stark white of your apartment. Your mom likes the aesthetic of it, and since it’s your parents’ money, you merely shrugged and let her do whatever she wanted. In his black pants and black sweatshirt, he looks almost out of place in your home. 

The thought that he doesn’t belong makes your heart hurt more than the burn of the alcohol from tonight going down your throat. 

You don’t waste time wondering where Suguru went because for all intents and purposes, you never even knew where he came from to begin with. You knew him since you were children; your favorite out of all your brother’s friends because it was always Suguru who let you tag along and trail behind them. No one really knows much about Suguru’s life, his past, present, and future all a big blur to anyone but himself. From the way he slowly turns to face you, dark eyes meeting yours, you start to think of the possibility that maybe not even Suguru is an open book with himself. 

Suguru looks like a shadow, standing out from the brightness of everything that is surrounding him in your living room. You want to ask him the questions that plague your mind ever since he’s been gone, but you don’t, because you’re scared he is a shadow. One wrong move, and he just disappears from your grasp once again. 

There are the hard-hitting questions, of course. The ones that search for why he left and why he told no one and why he didn’t bother taking you. Then there are the gentler ones that would still require him to rip himself open and bare himself to you, things like how’s your new place and meet anyone interesting? You feel his gaze travel from your eyes to the slope of your nose and the apples of your cheek, downward to your lips. The intensity of his stare makes you nervously lick your lips, a tiny, quick action, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of the tip of your pink tongue casually making an appearance, only to retreat behind your pretty pink, glossed lips. 

“Are you mad that I came back?” Suguru finds himself taking the role of interviewer, since it’s evident to the two of you that you know better than to bother asking him any questions. He feels like you’re treating him a bit like a stray cat, all cautious and scared of provoking him or forcing him to run away. He wants to tell you that this is not the case and that he actually plans on staying this time around, but he hasn’t entirely convinced himself yet, so he’s not going to break your heart with any more empty promises. 

“No. Like I said, I missed you.” He wants to be able to blame your honesty on account of you being drunk, but he knows that you’ve just always been honest to a fault. 

“You shouldn’t.” He tells you this, and you scoff. Probably because Suguru is the last person who should be giving any sort of life advice. 

“Guess what I’m thinking.” You say, and Suguru feels something come alive from within, like he’s been frozen for the past six years, and the more he gets to bask in the warmth of your presence, the more he starts to defrost. There’s not a single hint of anger or malice in your tone, just the familiar, lighthearted, girlish tone of yours. 

“That you think I’m a creep and want me to get the hell out.” 

You frown, rolling your eyes, tucking your feet beneath you to get more comfortable on the couch.

“I’m thinking about that last time you told me I shouldn’t be doing something.” There’s a gleam in your bright eyes that clearly spells out desire, and Suguru is very, very close to defrosting. In fact, there’s a heat that’s beginning to settle deep in him, and maybe he should know better than to indulge in it, but it’s been years, and you are sitting here in front of him, pretty and fresh, and his hindbrain takes the driver’s seat. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does know, and he knows that you know that he knows, just as you seemingly know everything about him. Maybe not about his childhood — or lack, thereof — or what he’s been up to, but you know the important stuff. The things that make him tick and all the words he fails to say. Three words. Three words that he doesn’t think he’ll ever muster enough courage to say to you, but from the look in your eyes, you already know. 

“I’ll jog your memory.” 

And suddenly, your lips are pressed against his. You’re kissing him, and like the lovesick fool he is, he’s kissing you back. It’s pure muscle memory, maybe even animal instinct. He thought that leaving Tokyo was the right thing to do, and for the most part, it was, but with your lips perfectly melding with his own, he thinks that leaving was stupid. 

Making out is such a juvenile ordeal, but he relishes in it because Suguru feels like he’s spent most of his youth trying to outrun it, and now he’s trying to take advantage of what his boyhood should have consisted of. The kisses are now bordering on sloppy and hazy, and somehow, you end up straddling his lap. He’s hard, and he should be embarrassed at popping a boner just from wet kisses, but it’s you. You have an effect on him that no one else does. His Achilles. The one weakness only he can feel. 

Suguru knows that he is not a good person because a good person doesn’t go behind their best friend’s back and fucks their little sister. He had told, thirty minutes before introducing you to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, that the two of you shouldn’t be doing that. Suguru knows that he is not a good person because he cannot be any happier at the fact that history has a funny way of repeating itself. Six years later, and the two of you are back in a similar position.

You’re starting to rut against him, your dress riding up your thighs and exposing more of your skin to him. Suguru helps himself to handfuls of your soft flesh, squeezing in a manner that can’t be defined as gentle, but he loves how you take him as he is without any sort of complaint. All you do is let out a low moan, your pantyclad pussy grinding against his equally clothed bulge. 

Your movements are a bit desperate, frenzied. You’re getting lost in pleasure already, and he hasn’t even done much to elicit such a reaction. The idea that only he can get you this riled up with doing so little makes him impossibly harder, and he looks down, realizing that you’re so soaked, your panties are practically translucent. 

The two of you have the option of taking things slow, but neither of you want to do that. When you spend some time starving, you don’t savor the meal, you scarf it down. 

That’s what the two of you are — hungry, greedy — as you both hastily strip as much clothing as you can bear to spend time getting out of. Your minidress is tossed carelessly on the living room floor, and Suguru can only bother with unzipping his pants and pushing down his briefs just enough to free his cock. 

The intrusion of the tip of his cock entering your wet, needy cunt is less of an intrusion and instead akin to something rightfully returning to where it belongs. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he relishes this feeling. This wholeness, this concept of being complete.

The inviting warmth of your pussy makes him want to cum right on the spot, but he can’t waste it. He’s spent years pining after you, missing you, and he wants you to feel like the time apart had been worth it. 

“I missed you.” This time it’s him who makes the admittance. You tighten up at this confession, and it evokes a low groan from him, almost as if you had forced the sound to come from all the way down his throat.

“I know.” You gasp out, not able to speak clearly with how deep Suguru is hitting. Your living room is filled with the wet clicks and slaps of skin against skin, your juices coating his cock every time he pulls out. 

The vein on the underside of his cock rubs against your walls, and the slight curve of it enables him to hit that gummy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You’ve never given much thought to cocks, but you know that Suguru’s is the prettiest of them all. 

“Tell me you’re mine.” He grunts out, lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck before biting down; gentle enough not to draw blood, sharp enough to still leave a mark. You rock against him, hips moving in tandem with his thrusts, the steady hum of pleasure continuously building up in your lower belly. You are dizzy with pleasure; blanketed in it, being spoon fed it. 

He doesn’t need you to say it to know it’s true, but you moan it out anyway, both to appease him and because there’s a sort of pride in knowing that you belong to him. 

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” The words are separated, punctuated, by the little gasps for air you give out because with every word, he thrusts up even harder, hitting that special spot that will have you cumming all over him, making a mess. 

“Yeah?” It comes out sounding like a shaky breath, and he’s close, you know it, you can feel it. 

Calloused pads belonging to fingers much larger than yours are being pressed against your clit. You’re soaked, and the dryness of his hands combining with your overall slickness gives way to delicious friction that has you cumming with his name as a broken moan filtering through your swollen lips. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He mutters, relishing in the way your walls tighten, spasm, clenching and unclenching sporadically as your body loses its energy and you press yourself up against his chest.

He follows after just a few more sloppy thrusts, the last one forcing himself as deep inside of you as possible. His cum is hot and thick, and it’s filling you to the brim. If he pulls out now, it’ll flood out of you, and the thought is both sad and hot at the same time. You want his cum inside of you, to serve as a reminder that this is real, that he’s real. 

But seeing the physicality of him staking his claim, white seed dripping out of you, turns you on. Him, too, with the look of fascination and boyish wonder he has in his eyes as he stares at how the two of you are connected.

Before he can bother with confirming a round two, a sharp knock on the door has the two of you comically jumping a bit in surprise, both of you glancing at the door and then at each other.

“[Name], I know you’re in there!” You freeze. 

Satoru. 

Suguru wants to try to calm you down, whisper to you that everything’s going to be fine, but the anger laced in his best friend’s — former best friend’s — voice is enough to make him freeze up, too. Not just his icy tone, but what he says.

“I know you’re back, too, Suguru.”

[just-some-thoughts-maybe]

All I want for Christmas is you.

Summary: Simon Riley, your Roommate hates Christmas, even if you don't. when you're stuck away from your family for the holidays, and sore and tired from work, you decide to console yourself by decorating for the holidays.

AKA: Simon Riley lets you do what you want, maybe even helping a little because he has a massive crush on you.

WC: 1.3k Part 1/6

"The Favor"

You and your roommate operate on the favor system. It's always been like that. Sure it sucked sometimes, but you could spin it in your favor. That's why you're here now.

December first. It was December first.

No matter how you look at it, it wasn't too early for Christmas. At best, three or four weeks was the most you were going to get for the holiday, so you might as well make the most of them, especially if you wouldn't be home for the holidays.

At least that’s how you justified it to your roommate, Simon. Or would justify it when he got home. For now, he only got a text that you were cashing a favor in.

After a particularly hard week at work, you were beat. Sore all over, looking for something to distract you from the throbbing pain in your head, no doubt caused by the many, many unruly customers that plagued the store this time of year. So you turned to the one thing that always brings you cheer- holiday decorating. 

You knew Simon would not approve of your activities, especially considering he seemed to have no holiday cheer whatsoever, but that didn't stop you. This was as much your house as it was his. Besides, he never minded much when you did things like this, so long as you didn't rope him too far into it. So you pulled the boxes out of the storage unit and attempted to haul them up three flights of stairs yourself. It was time-consuming, arduous, and exasperating, to say the least. But you could still try.

By noon, you were almost done. All that was left was the fake tree you bought last year, (Although if you were being honest, the time it took to get done was more because of the breaks you took and less because of the stairs…) but still, there you stood, looking up towards the unforgiving concrete steps, trying to work up the courage to actually start, when you feel a someone staring at you.

You recognize that feeling immediately and turn around. You’re met with the familiar sight of your roommate, clad in jeans that were definitely too tight, a leather jacket that always smelled of nicotine and smoke over the black hoodie he wore everywhere, and the black surgical mask he wore on quick errands. He carried the three grocery bags in a single hand and reached for the handrail with his other.

“Simon! Perfect! I need help.” you say as soon as you tear your eyes away from his body.

While carrying the tree all the way up the stairs by yourself would be a hassle, with Simon's help it would be easy-

“No- I do a lot for you- tha’s not something that's on the list.” he speaks, interrupting your thoughts.

“Simon, please! I know you don’t like the holidays-”

“No.” he pushes past you and up the stairs

“Come on, please?”

“No-” he rounds the corner of the first flight

“I’ll owe you a favor!” you blurt out without a second thought.

You don't hear any footsteps for a moment. Then you see him back up, showing himself around the corner. 

“A favor? And I can cash that any time? For anythin’?” the look in his eye was playful almost mischievous… he was planning something. “Yes…” you answer confidently. Even if you didn't mean to say it, you have to honor your word. As of right now, you didn't owe him any favors. So this deal was gold.

“And all I have to do is carry this upstairs?” he asks raising his eyebrows. You nod. So does he. He moves down the stairs and you move to one end of the box

“You get that side and-…where are you going?” you watch as he walks over and pushes you gently out of the way. His free hand runs his hand down your forearm, his calloused grip a firm contrast to your smooth skin. You realize how close he is when his thumb brushes over your pulse. You're broken out of your trance when he speaks, deep and rumbling with his thick accent somehow becoming thicker. “You take these, love..” The unfamiliar term of endearment slips past, almost unknowingly, as he drops the handle of the bags into your waiting hand.

“But I was going to…” you trail off, gesturing vaguely at the tree box.

You watch him lift the box easily and start up the stairs. You grumble out something about hating him; he only shakes his head as you follow him up the stairs. When you see his shoulders shaking, you just know he's laughing.

After reaching the top of the stairs, you open the door and Simon sets the tree in the living room. He sees all the other boxes of decor and mutters out a “bloody hell…” It's made almost worse when he notices you rearranged the furniture so there would be a place for the tree. 

“If you wanted to help,” you start while opening one of the boxes. “You could set up the tree over there.”

Simon was about to decline, about to mutter something about that not being part of the deal…but then he sees your smile. When he sees the way you light up when you begin unpacking decor, he can’t deny you. He grumbles something inaudible and pulls out a pocket knife to cut the absurd amount of tape holding the box together.

The holidays were never his favorite time, he often opted to ignore them entirely in favor of a drink and solitude. Until a few years ago thats how every holiday not deployed was spent. Alone and isolated. And that's how he preferred it. At least that's what he used to tell himself so he didn't have to face the reality that his loneliness was suffocating him.

The holidays were meant to be a time of joy, and celebration, but all they reminded him of was his past. The bottles strewn about the floor, and the thick smell of cheap beer rolling off his half-conscious father as the man slept on the couch. The holiday music on the radio blared loudly as Simon got home from school. Every holiday was the same. Suffocating loneliness punctuated by melancholy grief.

That loneliness is what prompted him to put an ad out for a roommate. Well, that and Price telling him if he didn't he was gonna move Simon into his house. Simon preferred the idea of a roommate. Someone he didn't have to be close to, but still someone to be around. Somehow, by some grace, or perhaps just the rest of his life’s good luck, he got you. 

You turn on music, and again, he almost says something, but doesn't. He quietly sets up the tree, listening to you hum along to the annoyingly festive Christmas music. Although, he thinks to himself, the music isn't quite so bad with you humming along.

And for the first time in years, he enjoys putting up Christmas decorations. He enjoys the music playing softly in the background and the experience of putting lights and ornaments on the tree.

He enjoys it not because he finds the experience pleasant, or because he wants to do it. No- he enjoys it because it puts a smile on your face. It's strange the effect you've had on him, how you can turn his most hated holiday into his favorite just with a smile, but he loves it. He has no clue where these feelings have come from, how he's lived with you for the last 3 years and only ever seen you as a friend. Perhaps he hasn't, but still, he refuses to acknowledge there might be more.

And when evening comes, the tree is decorated. Every square foot of shelf space is covered with something festive, and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence. You sit there on the small couch, lit by the soft glow of the Christmas tree as you watch movies together.

The night ends with the favor almost forgotten. You're leaning against him dozing off when he slips his arm around you, and for the first time he's thankful for the holidays…even more, he’s thankful to spend them with you.

Next Part

Thanks for Reading!

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbors (Matthew Sturniolo)

pt.4

It had been two weeks since everything with Matt’s text, and things had thankfully settled back into routine. Charlie had gone home for her mom’s birthday, leaving me with the house all to myself. At first, it felt strange not having her around, but I quickly leaned into the quiet.

By Saturday night, I was curled up on the couch in my comfiest sweatshirt and shorts, binge-watching an old show I’d seen a hundred times before. 

The knock at the door came out of nowhere.

It was sharp and deliberate, startling me enough to pause the show. I froze for a second, wondering if I imagined it, but then it came again—louder this time.

I glanced at the clock. Almost 10 p.m.

The knock startled me out of my comfortable haze.

I froze on the couch, the faint sound of the TV filling the silence as I strained to listen. It came again—a firm, deliberate knock at the door.

The house was eerily quiet without Charlie, and suddenly, the silence felt heavier. My stomach twisted with unease as I stood, moving slowly toward the door. My bare feet padded softly against the hardwood floor, and my pulse quickened with every step.

I paused a few feet away, staring at the door like it might explode. Another knock, louder this time.

I hesitated for a moment before finally unlocking the door and opening it. Standing on the other side was Nick, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking surprisingly…nervous.

“Nick?” I said, confusion clear in my voice.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Can I come in?”

I stared at him for a second, debating. My first instinct was to slam the door shut, but something in his expression stopped me. He wasn’t cocky or smug like I half-expected—he looked almost apologetic.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said firmly, crossing my arms.

“Look, Y/N,” he started, his voice calm, “I know this is weird. But I… I just want to talk. Please?”

I sighed, my grip tightening on the door. “Why now, Nick? You had years to talk, to fix this, and you didn’t.”

“I know,” he admitted, stepping back slightly. “I know we screwed up. Big time. And I’m not here to justify it or even try to make things better. I just wanted to see if you’d hear me out.”

I leaned against the doorframe, unsure what to do. Part of me wanted to tell him to leave, to walk back to his perfect life next door and never bother me again. But another part of me, the part that still carried the weight of the past, was curious.

“I don’t know, Nick…” I said, my voice trailing off.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me or any of us,” he said quickly. “I hate the way things ended. And I hate the idea that we’re going to keep living next door to each other like strangers who pretend not to know each other.”

I frowned. “That’s not my problem. You guys made your choice. You left us.”

Nick's shoulders slumped slightly. “You’re right. We did. And I’m not proud of how we handled it. I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and for the first time in years, I saw a glimpse of the old Nick—the one who used to make me laugh until I cried, the one who was always the peacekeeper between his brothers.

“Why are you doing this now?” I asked, my voice softer.

“Because it’s been eating at me,” he admitted. “seeing you just living your life without us—it hit me. You were family to us, Y/N. And we broke that. I can’t speak for Matt or Chris, but I needed to say something. Even if it doesn’t change anything.”

I bit my lip, torn. My heart ached at his words, but my walls were still firmly in place.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Nick,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he said quickly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

I hesitated, then nodded slightly. “Okay.”

Nick gave me a small, sad smile and stepped back. “Thanks for letting me say my piece.”

I didn’t respond, watching as he turned to walk back toward his house. 

I hesitated, my hand still gripping the doorknob as I watched Nick step away. Something in me softened, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was the vulnerability in his voice, or maybe I just didn’t want to sit alone with my thoughts for the rest of the night.

“Nick,” I called out, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stopped in his tracks and turned back toward me, his expression unreadable.

“Do you… want to come in? We could watch a movie or something. I was about to order food anyway,” I said, the words surprising even myself as they left my mouth.

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked at me like he was making sure he’d heard me right. “Are you serious?”

I shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah. Just… nothing too heavy, okay? No more serious talks tonight.”

Nick nodded, a small smile forming on his face. “Okay. Deal.”

I stepped aside, letting him walk past me into the house. As he entered, he looked around, taking in the space. “Your house looks great,” he said, genuinely impressed.

“Thanks,” I replied, shutting the door behind him. “We’ve been working on it nonstop since we got here.”

He followed me into the living room, where I grabbed the remote and plopped down on the couch. Nick hesitated for a second before sitting on the opposite end, keeping a respectful distance.

“So, what are you in the mood for?” I asked, scrolling through the streaming apps.

“Something funny,” he suggested. “We could use a laugh, right?”

“Agreed,” I said, landing on a grown ups. “How about this?”

“Perfect,” he said, settling into the cushions.

As the movie started, I pulled up a food delivery app on my phone. “What are you feeling? Pizza? Chinese? Burgers?”

“Pizza’s always a safe bet,” Nick said.

I nodded, quickly placing an order for a large pizza and some sides. By the time the food arrived, we were both laughing at a ridiculous scene in the movie, and the tension from earlier felt like it had melted away.

We ate straight out of the pizza box, the movie playing in the background as we traded comments about random things—funny memories, favorite movies, the chaos of moving. For the first time in a long time, things felt… normal.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he said softly.

I shrugged, trying to act casual. “It’s just pizza and a movie, Nick.”

“Yeah, but it means more than you know,” he said, his tone serious.

I didn’t respond, instead grabbing the remote to queue up something else. For now, that was enough.

The pounding on the door startled me awake. My neck ached from the awkward angle of sleeping on the couch, and it took me a second to realize where I was. Nick was sprawled out on the other end, snoring softly.

The knocking grew louder and more insistent.

“Jesus,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes as I sat up. “Who the fuck is pounding on my door this early?”

Nick stirred, groaning as he rolled over. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s at the door,” I said, getting up and making my way toward it. The knocking hadn’t stopped. Whoever it was, they weren’t giving up.

I swung the door open, ready to snap at whoever it was, only to be met with Chris and Matt standing on my doorstep. Chris looked agitated, pacing back and forth, while Matt’s face was a mix of anger and disbelief.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” I asked, crossing my arms.

Matt’s eyes flicked past me to the couch, where Nick was sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “What the fuck is this?” he demanded, his voice low but angry.

“Morning to you too,” I said dryly.

“Nick didn’t come home last night, so we came to check on him,” Chris said, his tone sharp. “And now we find out he’s here? With you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Relax. He came over, we watched a movie, and we fell asleep. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Matt repeated, stepping closer. His jaw was tight, and his voice was rising. “You forgave him? Just like that? After everything? But you won’t even hear us out?”

My stomach dropped, but I didn’t let it show. “This isn’t about forgiving anyone,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Nick didn’t lie to me for months and rip my life apart. So, no, it’s not the same.”

Chris threw his hands in the air. “You’re seriously holding onto this? After four years?”

I glared at him. “Four years doesn’t erase what happened. You don’t get to just show up and expect everything to go back to normal.”

“Nick was part of it too!” Matt shot back, his voice loud now. “He knew what was happening. He didn’t stop us.”

“And yet he’s the only one who’s apologized,” I snapped. “He’s the only one who actually accepted it was his fault, not just blamed it on something else.”

Chris looked like he wanted to argue, but Matt cut him off, stepping closer to me. “You think you’re so above it all, don’t you? Acting like you’re the only one who got hurt. You don’t even know the whole story.”

“Because you never told me!” I shouted. “You left, Matt. You left, and you didn’t care what it did to me. You don’t get to play the victim now.”

The tension was suffocating. Chris looked like he wanted to punch something, and Matt… Matt just looked at me, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?” he said finally, his voice cold.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice trembling with anger. “I do. Now get off my porch.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Chris grabbed Matt’s arm, pulling him back. “Come on,” he muttered.

Matt didn’t resist, but he didn’t take his eyes off me as they walked away. I slammed the door shut, leaning against it as I tried to steady my breathing.

“That was intense,” Nick said from the couch, his voice hesitant.

I didn’t respond. I was too busy trying to push down the knot of emotions in my chest. Too busy trying not to think about the way Matt had looked at me, like he was still holding onto something I didn’t want to face.

I glanced over at him. “want to grab some breakfast? I’m craving pancakes, and we’ve been cooped up here long enough.”

Nick sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Breakfast sounds amazing. Let me grab my shoes.”

We drove to a cozy diner a few blocks away, the kind of spot where you could smell the coffee before you even opened the door. we settled into a booth, chatting about everything and nothing.

Halfway through our pancakes, a girl approached our table, clutching her phone nervously. She looked between us with wide eyes. “Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, but… are you Nick and Y/N?”

Nick and I exchanged a glance, smiling. “That’s us,” I said warmly.

The girl grinned, looking like she was trying not to scream. “I love both of you so much! Your videos always make my day. Could I maybe get a picture with you guys? It’d mean the world to me.”

Nick leaned back in his seat with a grin. “Of course. Let’s do it.”

We slid out of the booth, and the girl handed her phone to a nearby diner employee. After snapping a few pictures, she thanked us profusely, practically bouncing as she walked away.

“That was sweet,” Nick said, taking a sip of his coffee.

I nodded. “It’s always nice to meet people who actually enjoy what we do.”

A few hours later, back on the couch, Nick and I were going through some unreleased video footage. “This one is hilarious,” I said, pointing to a clip of me and Charlie trying—and failing—to build furniture. “I still have a bruise from that stupid shelf falling on me.”

As I reached for my phone to show him another clip, the notifications started rolling in. My screen lit up with likes, comments, and tags, all flooding my feed.

“What’s going on?” Nick asked, leaning over to peek at my phone.

I opened Instagram and saw it immediately—a post from the girl we’d met at the diner. The caption read, “Met my faves today! @nicksturniolo and @y/n are so sweet 🥰.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Wow, that blew up fast.”

Nick and I sat side by side on the couch, my phone balanced on my knee as we scrolled through the comments under the post. 

The first few comments were sweet and positive:

“OMG, I love them both so much! Glad to see them together!”

“Nick and Y/N hanging out?? My heart can’t take this.”

I smiled. “Okay, these are nice. People are excited.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, but keep going. The internet’s always got something to say.”

I sighed, swiping down further. The tone shifted quickly:

“Wait, is she back with Matt??”

“This better not mean she’s getting back with Matt. He’s mine.”

“She better stay away from Matt. He doesn’t even want her.”

I groaned, leaning my head against the back of the couch. “And there it is.”

Nick laughed dryly. “Welcome to my world. People love to make assumptions. They think because we’re in the same room, it’s some secret plot to reunite you and Matt.”

I swiped again, hitting the truly rude comments.

“Nick deserves better than to be hanging out with her again.”

“She’s so fake. Watch her run back to the triplets when it benefits her.”

“LMAO, didn’t she say she wanted nothing to do with them? Guess she changed her mind real quick.”

Nick shook his head, taking the phone from my hands. “Alright, enough of that. Don’t let these keyboard warriors get to you. People love to create drama where there isn’t any.”

Nick gave me a reassuring smile. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation, least of all the fucking weirdos online. Let them talk.”

I nodded, feeling a little better. “Thanks, Nick.”

He grinned, leaning back into the couch. “Anytime. Now, let’s focus on something that actually matters—like which of these unreleased videos is going to blow up next.”

I laughed, pulling my laptop onto my lap. “Deal.”

Later that evening, a few hours after Nick left, as I was lounging on the couch scrolling mindlessly through my phone, Charlie’s name popped up on the screen with an incoming FaceTime call. I quickly answered, propping the phone up against the armrest.

“What’s up?” I greeted, noticing that Charlie looked a little hesitant, which wasn’t like her at all.

“Hey,” she started, biting her lip. “So, I need to tell you something.”

I tilted my head, instantly curious. “Okay… what is it?”

She sighed, looking down at something off-screen before meeting my gaze again. “So, I saw that you’ve hung out with Nick, and it kind of made me feel like I should be honest about something.”

My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”

Charlie winced but continued. “I’ve been texting Chris. For a little while now.”

The words hung in the air for a moment as I processed them.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you,” she added quickly, her voice almost pleading. “I know how you feel about everything that happened, and I didn’t want you to think I was choosing him over you or anything like that.”

I took a deep breath, surprised at how calm I felt. “Charlie,” I began softly, “you don’t have to hide something like that from me. I’d never be upset with you for texting Chris.”

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Really?”

“Of course,” I assured her, leaning back on the couch. “Look, I know what happened between me and Matt and even with Chris back then was messy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have your own relationship with him. If you trust him and he makes you happy, then that’s all that matters to me.”

Her face softened, relief washing over her. “You mean that?”

“I mean it,” I said firmly. “Charlie, you’re my best friend. I just want you to be happy. If texting Chris feels right for you, then I’m happy for you. No judgment here.”

She let out a small laugh, her shoulders relaxing. “I was so worried you’d be mad or think I was betraying you or something.”

“Never,” I promised. “You’ve always had my back, and I’ll always have yours. Plus, it’s not like I’m holding a grudge or anything. I just… haven’t gotten to where you are yet, and that’s okay. We’re different people.”

Charlie smiled, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks, Y/N. That really means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” I said with a grin. “Now, tell me—what’s he been saying? Has he finally learned how to be a decent texter, or is he still sending one-word responses?”

She burst out laughing, and just like that, the tension melted away. We spent the rest of the call talking and laughing, and for the first time in a while.

“I cant wait for you to come home” I told her before we were about to hang up 

“Two more days, survive two more days” She said 

“I think I’m gonna see if Nick wants to come back over. We had a lot of fun” She smiled wide 

“Maybe have him bring Chris? So that I can be all out with him. reconcile with him. We can work on Matt.. maybe never!” She giggled. I thought about it for a minute. Maybe it was a good idea if he was going to be with my best friend. 

“Okay” 

Charlie looked at me surprised. “Really?” She asked wide eyed 

“Yeah, I mean if you two are going to be together mine as well make up with him” Me and charlie finished our call and I decided to text Nick. 

After hanging up with Charlie, I sat on the couch, still processing everything. She was texting Chris, and it wasn’t as earth-shattering as I thought it might be. If Charlie was happy, I’d make peace with it, but it was time to address the elephant in the room.

I opened my messages and quickly typed out a text to Nick:

Me: “Hey, can you come over? Bring Chris. Just Chris. I need to talk to him.”

It didn’t take long for Nick to reply.

Nick: “Sure. Matt’s out, so it’s just us. Be there in 20.”

I put my phone down and took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy, but if Chris was going to be in Charlie���s life, then I had to figure out a way to deal with him.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Nick standing there with Chris slightly behind him, looking nervous.

“Hey,” Nick greeted with his usual easygoing smile.

“Come in,” I said, stepping aside to let them in. Chris glanced around awkwardly as they entered, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

We all moved to the living room, and Nick plopped down on the armrest of the couch while Chris stood there like he wasn’t sure where to sit.

“You can sit,” I said, motioning to the chair across from me. He hesitated before lowering himself into it, his gaze flicking between me and Nick.

“So, what’s up?” Nick asked, breaking the silence.

I took a deep breath, my eyes locking on Chris. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you,” I began. “Charlie told me you two have been talking, and I’m not here to fight about it. I just want to set some ground rules if you’re going to be in her life.”

Chris looked startled, his mouth opening to respond, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“I’m not going to pretend like we can just go back to how things used to be,” I continued. “We’re never going to be best friends again, and I’ve accepted that. But for Charlie’s sake, I’m willing to be cordial with you. As long as you don’t hurt her.”

Chris’s shoulders slumped slightly, relief evident in his expression. “I’d never hurt her,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with sincerity.

I nodded. “You did. Just don’t do it again.”

Nick snorted from his spot, and Chris shot him a glare. I couldn’t help but let a small smile creep onto my face.

“I’m serious,” I said, leaning back on the couch. “I don’t trust you completely, but Charlie does. And if she’s willing to give you another chance, I’ll respect that. But you need to respect me too. Don’t expect us to be friends, Chris. I’ll be nice, but that’s it.”

Chris nodded, his face serious. “I understand. And… Thank you. For even giving me this chance. I know I don’t deserve it.”

I shrugged, standing up. “It’s not about you, it’s about Charlie. Don’t forget that.”

Nick clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. “Well, that went better than expected. Anyone else hungry, or is it just me?”

I rolled my eyes, but a small laugh escaped me. “You’re always hungry.”

Nick grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

Chris stood up, glancing at me. “Thanks, Y/N. Really.”

I nodded, crossing my arms. “Just don’t mess this up.”

With that, the tension eased, and the three of us settled into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm, chatting lightly while Nick raided my kitchen. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

The peace didn’t last long. A couple of hours later, while Nick was still rummaging through my snack cabinet and Chris was sitting awkwardly on the couch, we heard another knock at the door.

Before I could even get up, the door swung open, and there was Matt, standing in the doorway with an expression that could melt steel.

“Seriously?” he snapped, his voice sharp and accusing as his eyes darted around the room. “So, what? Everyone gets to come back into your life except me?”

I froze for a moment, startled by his sudden appearance, but then I straightened up, crossing my arms. “What are you doing here, Matt?”

“Checking why my brothers are over here,” he shot back. “And now I see why. You’ve forgiven them, but not me?”

Nick groaned, rubbing his temple. “Matt, this really isn’t your business—”

“Stay out of it, Nick,” Matt interrupted, his focus locked on me. “Why, Y/N? Why am I the only one you’re still shutting out?”

I took a deep breath, my jaw clenching as I tried to stay calm. “Because it’s different, Matt,” I said, my voice steady but firm.

“How is it different?” he demanded, stepping further into the room. Chris stood up, but I waved him off.

“Because,” I said, taking a step toward him, “Nick and Chris weren’t my boyfriend. They weren’t the person I trusted the most in the world. They didn’t promise me forever.”

Matt flinched like I’d just slapped him, his eyes narrowing. “You think it was easy for me?” he said, his voice rising. “You think I didn’t hate every second of it?”

“You made your choice, Matt,” I snapped. “I’m so fucking over having this same conversation with you.”

Chris looked down, guilt written all over his face, but Matt didn’t back down. “And you think it was a walk in the park for me?” he shot back. Matt’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “And what about now? I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying, but you won’t even let me in!”

“Because I don’t owe you that anymore!” I shouted, my voice breaking slightly. “You don’t get to waltz back into my life and act like everything’s fine. It’s not fine, Matt. I moved on. You need to do the same.”

The room fell silent, the tension thick and suffocating. Nick looked like he wanted to disappear, and Chris was staring at the floor, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Finally, Matt spoke, his voice low and raw. “I never stopped loving you, Y/N. Not for a second.”

I closed my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Well, that’s too bad,” I said quietly, my voice trembling. “Because I did. So, please, just leave me alone.”

Matt’s face crumpled for a moment, but he quickly masked it with anger. “Fine,” he spat, turning on his heel. “Fuck you.”

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and the sound echoed through the house. For a moment, none of us moved or spoke, the air still heavy with the aftermath of the argument.

Finally, Nick let out a low whistle. “Well… that was intense.”

I sank down onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. “I can’t do this,” I muttered, my voice muffled.

Chris hesitated for a moment before sitting back down. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly. “For everything.”

I didn’t look up, just nodded. “It’s fine. Let’s just drop it, okay?”

The three of us sat there in silence for a while, the weight of Matt’s words lingering in the back of my mind. 

It had been a whirlwind of a few days, but the house finally felt settled—and more importantly, Charlie was coming back tonight. Since she and Chris had been texting but hadn’t seen each other in person yet, Nick, Chris, and I thought it would be fun to surprise her. We decided to throw her a mini “welcome home” party, just the three of us, and vlog the whole setup.

Nick took the lead on decorating, and by the time we were done, the living room was covered in colorful signs that said things like “Welcome Back!” and “We Missed You!” We’d also ordered snacks, stocked up on drinks, and set up a playlist for the night. Chris was surprisingly into it, helping hang streamers and even insisting we bake cookies.

As we set up, the camera was rolling. “Alright, everyone,” I said into the lens, holding up a tray of freshly baked cookies, “Chris and Nick may have a future in party planning because this place looks amazing.”

Nick snorted. “Don’t lie to them. We’ve been winging this the whole time.”

“Speak for yourself,” Chris chimed in, carefully adjusting one of the signs. “I’m an artist.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Okay, Picasso. Anyway, Charlie should be here around 9:30, and when she walks in, we’re going to scream and scare the crap out of her.”

“I’m excited to see her,” Nick added with a grin.

By the time 9:30 rolled around, the anticipation was killing us. We sat on the couch with the camera ready, waiting for the sound of her car pulling into the driveway. When the headlights finally appeared, we jumped up and got into position by the door.

As soon as the front door opened, we all screamed at the top of our lungs.

“WELCOME HOME!”

Charlie shrieked in surprise, her hand flying to her chest before breaking into a huge grin. “MY BEST FRIEND!” She screamed, dropped her bags and immediately ran toward me first, picking me up and spinning me around. “I missed you so much, Y/N!”

“I missed you too!” I laughed, holding onto her tightly.

“Wow, you literally live with her” Chris said, crossing his arms pretending to be mad. 

Finally her eyes landed on Chris, and her smile widened even more. She bolted toward him, and he caught her effortlessly, lifting her off the ground as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Without hesitation, he kissed her, and we all cheered obnoxiously in the background.

“Okay, okay, get a room!” Nick teased, throwing a pillow at them.

Charlie finally let go of Chris, turning to Nick with a mock glare. “Oh, shut up. I’m just happy to be home!”

We all laughed, the room filling with the energy that had been missing for years. The rest of the night was a blur of catching up, snacks, and laughter as we celebrated Charlie’s return.

The morning light filtered through my curtains as I groggily opened my eyes. Charlie was still beside me, her hair a messy halo on the pillow. We must’ve crashed around four after the boys went home. It felt like we hadn’t had a night like that in years—laughing, talking, just being carefree.

I stretched and yawned, ready to get up, but Charlie turned to me, propping herself up on one elbow. Her face was serious, which immediately put me on edge. “Y/N,” she started, her voice soft but firm, “do you think you’ll ever forgive Matt?”

The question hit me like a punch to the stomach, and before I could stop myself, tears welled up in my eyes. “I don’t know,” I whispered, voice cracking as I sat up and wiped at my face.

“Hey,” Charlie said quickly, sitting up beside me. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… I see how much this is still hurting you.”

I let out a shaky breath, the dam breaking as tears spilled over. “He killed me, Charlie,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “When he left, it wasn’t just that he broke my heart. It was like he shattered this entire part of me I didn’t even know existed. He didn’t just leave me behind, he left everything—us, you, the friendship, everything we built. And I just… I don’t know if I can ever forgive him for that.”

Charlie’s face softened as she pulled me into a hug. “Y/N, I get it. I do. And I’m not saying you need to forgive him. But… maybe you should talk to him.”

I pulled back, looking at her like she was insane. “Talk to him?” I asked, incredulous. “Every time I try, it ends in a fight. He doesn’t listen, I don’t listen—it’s just a mess.”

“Maybe because both of you are so busy fighting, you don’t actually say what you need to,” Charlie pointed out. “Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but maybe if you sat down and told him everything—how you felt, how you’re still feeling—you’d get some closure. Even if it doesn’t fix anything, at least you’d know you said what you needed to say.”

I stared at her, tears still streaming down my face. “What if I do that and it makes everything worse?”

Charlie smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “How could it get worse? You’re already carrying all this pain. Maybe letting it out will finally help.”

I sighed, wiping at my face. “I don’t know if I can do it, Char.”

“You can,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “You’re the strongest person I know, Y/N. And if anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

I nodded, though my heart felt heavy. The thought of facing Matt and opening up all those wounds terrified me. But maybe Charlie was right. Maybe it was time to stop fighting and start talking.

As I sat there, trying to gather myself after spilling everything to Charlie, the weight on my chest felt a little lighter. It wasn’t gone, but it was manageable—like I could breathe just a bit easier. Charlie gave me one of her signature warm smiles, the kind that always made me feel like everything might just be okay.

Then, out of nowhere, she clapped her hands together and grinned. “Okay, enough tears for one morning. I have an idea.”

I sniffled, looking at her skeptically. “Should I be scared?”

“No,” she said, her grin widening. “You should be excited. How about we go on vacation? Just the two of us. Like… Hawaii or something!”

I blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “Hawaii? Just like that?”

“Why not?” she said, already grabbing her phone. “We’ve been through so much lately—new house, the boys, everything with Matt. We deserve a break. Just picture it: beaches, fruity drinks, no drama, and relaxation. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “It does sound amazing,” I admitted, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Then let’s do it!” she said, practically bouncing on the bed. “We’ll book flights, find a cute little Airbnb by the beach, and just disappear for a week.”

I sighed, already feeling a bit of excitement creeping in. “Alright, let’s do it. But you’re handling the planning. My brain is still fried from everything.”

“Deal!” she said, beaming as she started scrolling through her phone for flights.

As I watched her, a warmth spread through me. No matter what life threw at us, Charlie always found a way to remind me that there was still good, still joy, still something to look forward to. And right now, the thought of sandy beaches and crystal-clear water sounded like exactly what I needed.

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @sturnsvelocity @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @christophersstar @realuvrrr @namelesssav

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 9

warnings: SMUT! 18+!, dirty talk, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, praise.

Part 9

"What did I miss?" Liana asked as she sat down, seeing the boys exchange looks. Sometimes they spoke without words. She always envied that connection. She didn’t have anyone who could understand her with just a nod or a blink or, in this case, a stare.

"Hello, Earth to Art and Patrick?" she tried to join in, but something about the current situation didn’t feel right. "It's my turn to go inside. I need to drink some water. You two catch up, it's been a while since you’ve seen each other," Art said without looking at her, causing Liana to frown as he walked away. "That was weird, right?" she asked Patrick, who responded with a half-smile. "When is Art not weird?" he said. "How are you?" he asked, turning his gaze back to her and seeing her give the widest smile she could offer anyone. "Do you forgive me?" she asked, moving to sit next to him, placing her head on his shoulder. "What do I have to forgive you for, Amanda?" he chuckled, tracing shapes on her shoulder while taking another sip of champagne. "I was terrible. The exams made me crazy," she tried to justify her behavior over the past month. "Do you know if you're leaving yet?" he asked. "I’ll know when we get back from vacation. I’m terrified," she murmured. On one hand, Liana desperately wanted that year in Oxford. She wanted to see Europe. The architecture. The atmosphere. The culture. She wanted to see something other than the American suburb she had lived in her whole life, with the same people and the same opinions and the same tennis. On the other hand, she didn’t want to break her parents’ hearts. Her parents who had always talked about Stanford and how she’d join the family business after she finished school, and her parents who were the best people she knew but whose dreams for her flew past them as if they were never there. And now there was Art too. Art, who in the past two days had made her feel things she had never felt before. Art, who in the months at Stanford had become an inseparable part of her life. Art, who made her stomach ache at the thought of not seeing him for a year. Art, who still didn’t know she was considering leaving. "You’ll pass that test, we both know you will," Patrick said calmly. "And then you'll conquer Europe, building by building." He chuckled, but his voice faded with each word. "And we'll stay here, missing you," he said, and she straightened up, looking at him. "I’m not going to die, you know," Liana rolled her eyes, trying to lighten the conversation. "No, you're just going to meet people much better than us, and I'm enough of a bastard to be worried about that," he said honestly. "I don’t think there are many people in the world better than you, Patrick," she concluded. The next day Art left. He texted her that a spot opened up in some tennis group he could join, and he didn’t want to miss the opportunity. That he’d see her at Stanford. When Liana tried to call, he didn’t answer. So they kept missing each other throughout the vacation, she trying to call just as he was going into practice or the shower or falling asleep, and him sending messages that he was okay, just busy. On the last day of the vacation, she received a message that her exam results had come in. She had been accepted. Liana cried. Which wasn’t anything special because objectively Liana cried a lot, but this time she cried out of excitement. All the effort she put in had paid off, and now she could prepare for the student exchange. She could make her dream come true, start being a real person in the world. The conversation with her parents was horrible. There were shouts and accusations, and her mother said they wouldn’t pay for this, which Liana had suspected might happen. Her father seemed more conciliatory but didn’t say much. "Do you think Mom will be mad at me for long?" she asked him on the way to the airport. If there was one thing Liana hated, it was that it was always obvious she had been crying. Her pale face would turn red, and her eyes would swell, sometimes for days. This was one of those cases. It could be said with confidence that Liana looked like she had been run over by a bus yesterday.

"I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’re proud of you. Mom will come around, don’t worry," her father hugged her as they got out of the car. "I want this so much, Dad," she sighed.

"I know, honey," he said, kissing the top of her head. He hated seeing the emotional turmoil his daughter was in. His daughter, who above all feared disappointing people. "I’ll come back to Stanford after that," she mumbled, feeling the lump in her throat take over again. "I don’t want her to hate me," she looked at him with teary eyes.

"She doesn’t hate you. Li, look at me." Her father tried to wipe her tears. "Your mother is a stubborn woman, and you’ll see that a month after you’re there, she’ll come visit you." He smiled, and she nodded, not sure she believed what he said. "Besides, you have another semester at Stanford. Make the most of it, maybe you’ll love the place as much as we did." He shrugged, seeing her take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "I love you, Dad," she hugged him again and started to walk away, hoping everything would calm down and her mother would eventually look at her like she did before she told her she was planning to leave. Art opened the door after five knocks, looking at her with a puzzled expression. "Did we have plans?" he asked. "Hey Arthur, I missed you too," she rolled her eyes and gave him a small kiss on the lips, seeing him close his eyes and deepen the kiss within seconds as he closed the door. "Hey," he smiled at her and moved her hair out of her face. "Have you been crying?" he asked after examining her. Art couldn’t stop himself from asking. It was like an instinct; seeing what he could do to make her feel better. But he was so mad at her that he didn’t really want to talk to her or know how she felt right now; after all, she didn’t care how he felt. He did want to fuck her. He wanted to feel like she was his. He was afraid he was a little addicted to the feeling of looking at her and feeling like she was entirely his. He was afraid that if she left, he wouldn’t feel that way again. He was afraid of losing.

"Did you know?" his mother asked on the phone. Her voice worried. "What?" he returned the question, panting after practice. "That Liana is planning to leave for Oxford? Did you know that?" she demanded the truth. And the truth was that he knew she was leaving. But he didn’t know where or when and he didn’t know it was official. His heart pounded faster. "Yes, I knew," he mumbled, not wanting to reveal how far he felt from Liana in reality. Not wanting to reveal how stupid he felt that of all people, Patrick knew before him. "How could you not say anything, Art, she's our Liana. How will she manage in England alone? She barely manages to find her way in the supermarket without getting lost," his mother sighed. And she was right. He knew she was right. And she wasn’t even their Liana; she was his Liana. And she was his Liana for exactly two days. What an idiot he is. "She’s a big girl. She can navigate the supermarket in England without getting lost. I have to go," he mumbled, angry at himself for still feeling the need to protect her. "Just tired from the flight," she smiled at him a tired smile and felt his lips leaving small kisses on her neck, causing her to close her eyes. "Can I help?" his voice was teasing as he took off her shirt without much resistance. Examining her for a second, as if trying to remember how she looked. "You're already helping," she smiled a genuine smile, and his lips were on her again, hungrier than she had felt him so far. "I want you so much, Li," he groaned into her mouth. His tongue intertwining with hers as if he had wandered for years in the desert and she was his source of water. "Do you want this?" he asked, as they moved to his bed and she nodded. In complete haze, at this point, she decided that Art Donaldson could do whatever he wanted with her. And it was a liberating decision. Knowing she was safe in his hands and he decided how good she could feel now. "Words, Liana," he demanded as he started taking off her jeans. She didn’t even notice she was already half-naked in front of him. "You're wearing too many clothes," she mumbled incoherently as his hand brushed over her panties. "You're already wet, Li?" his voice was amused as he took off his shirt. "Already ready for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet," he whispered in her ear and heard her moan, which caused him to release a groan of his own. "Do you want this?" he asked again. This time his hand applied more pressure over her panties. "Art." Her voice was desperate. "Please," she whispered, and he bit his lip. Stopping himself from all the things he wanted to do with her. "Please, what?" he asked, his mouth close to hers, teasing, barely touching. He kissed her right cheek and then her left

"Touch me. Please," she almost cried out of frustration and desperation, exactly the way he wanted her. His. His again. And he felt desperate too, so her panties came off in a flash and he gave her exactly what she wanted. He heard her moan beneath him as his fingers moved inside her rhythmically. He felt how tight she was. He tried not to imagine his dick inside her, thinking he might not last. She was a virgin. He knew that. She had told him. He was going to be the first inside her. "So good for me, Li," he murmured and smiled, never taking his eyes off her. He didn't think anyone could look better than Liana did now, beneath him, eyes closed, desperate sounds escaping her, moaning his name. He was sure the student in the room next door was jerking off to the sound of her. He was sure no one in the world could resist Liana Levy when she looked like that beneath him. He was no different from anyone else. Almost captivated. Almost helpless. Just wanting to deliver. Just wanting her to always be like that for him. His lips roamed over her body until they reached her clit, while his hand sped up.

"You take me so well, Li," he said as the room filled with the sound of her fluids and moans.

"I'm going to-" she mumbled, her voice breaking, making him look up at her. He had to see her come. He had to remember this moment.

"Come for me, Li, come on. I want to see you," he demanded in the most authoritative voice he could muster, even though he felt himself melting under her influence.

"Art," she moaned again.

And he was right, her face in that moment was truly the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his 20 years of existence. Her half-open mouth, her eyes closed, slightly teary, her hand on her breast. It was a magnificent sight and he knew only he had seen her like this.

Her body shook and he gave one last kiss on her sensitive clit, then stood before her.

"Open your eyes, Li," he said, and she did exactly as he commanded. "Kiss me. Taste yourself." Another half-command with a smile and scheming eyes. Within seconds, her lips were on his, her tongue mingling with his intensely, just wanting more.

"I want to be inside you," he murmured, and she nodded. "Can I?" he asked. He had to ask. He knew she could say no and he would have to accept it, and if he were less greedy, he might even be satisfied with that anyway.

But he was so angry with her. He wanted her to know. He wanted her to know that just as he was hers, she was his. That she couldn't just ignore him like that. Dismiss him as if he didn't matter.

"Yes," she murmured into his mouth, feeling him smile against her.

"Yes, what?" he asked, teasing.

"Fuck me," she whispered, and it came out vulgar and blunt, uncharacteristic of the girl in front of him. She was even surprised by the words that left her mouth, her eyes widening for a moment before remembering it was Art and relaxing. She was safe with Art. He wouldn't use her words against her. It was okay for her to need him.

"I didn't hear you," he murmured, removing the rest of his clothes and moving to his desk to grab a condom. "I'm on this side of the room, Liana. You need to speak louder." He leaned against the wall as he put the condom on, taking a breath. He had to steady his breathing if he wanted to last inside her for more than three seconds.

"Please, Art. I want to feel you inside me," she said louder, more confidently, more desperately. He moved toward her. "Please fuck me," she looked him in the eyes and bit her lip, feeling almost small but also kind of powerful. He looked almost as desperate as she did as his hand traced her face and then her chest, stopping at her sensitive nipple, making her moan.

"That much, huh?" he asked, positioning the tip of his dick at her entrance and hearing her sigh in response. "Don't worry, I've got you. Are you going to be good for me, Li?" he asked, watching her nod in response. "Are you going to take me like you were made for me?" he asked again.

"Yes, please. Art." She was almost crying with frustration. Liana didn't know what to do to make him enter her already. To feel him. For him to fill her with himself. For him to be close to her. Part of her. She didn't know when she started feeling all these emotions for Art Donaldson, but now was not the time to figure it out. He began to slide into her.

"Oh, Art," she bit his shoulder, making him groan.

"Fuck, Liana. So tight. Fuck. Hang in there, baby, are you okay?" he asked, studying her.

"More," she mumbled. The pain didn't matter. She just wanted him. She wanted all of him. He did move more. A bit more each time. Another moan and another sigh each time until he was fully inside her. Their lips merged in their most sloppy kiss yet. They were one for a moment.

"You can move," she managed to say after a few seconds.

"Are you sure?" he asked, seeing her nod. "Fuck, Li. I won't last long like this," he murmured, his movements gentle. He was careful with her.

When he felt he was close and knew she wouldn't come from the first time someone inside her, he added a finger to play with her clit.

"Fuck, Art," she moaned his name for the umpteenth time.

"I know. You're doing such a good job, Li, taking care of me so well," he said, feeling her tighten around him, bringing him to the edge almost with her.

After a few seconds, he gently pulled out of her, seeing her panting and feeling just as spent. He took off the condom and walked it to the trash, finding his boxers on the way and putting them on. He saw the girl in front of him, completely naked. Completely his.

"When were you planning to tell me?" he asked, looking at her from a distance.

Liana was still in euphoria, her eyes half-closed, confused by the question. "What are you talking about?" she sounded amused, looking at him with a smile as he put on a shirt. For a moment, she felt fragile, not understanding how she was still completely naked while he was fully dressed in front of her.

"About leaving Stanford. About Oxford? I don't know. Maybe there are more things you'd like to tell me." His gaze was cold, making Liana freeze too. She felt her nakedness now. She understood why he was dressed and she wasn't. She was vulnerable right now.

"How long have you known?" she asked quietly, swallowing and searching for her clothes.

"My mom asked me about it yesterday," he said, never taking his eyes off her. "Do you know how stupid I felt when I lied and told her I knew?" he asked. His voice didn't rise, but the frustration was clear.

"Art, I found out two days ago," her eyes glistened and she breathed quickly, feeling everything slipping away from her. He was slipping away from her.

"You're lying," he stated with an eye roll, sitting down on the bed.

"Art," she knelt in front of him, studying his face. He showed no emotion, only coldness.

"It's okay, Liana. We both know what this is," he said, instinctively moving her hair out of her face.

"What is it?" she swallowed. She knew Art. She knew he was about to say something he'd regret, and yet she still pushed him to say it.

"It's me passing time until Tashi realizes she wants me," he said, seeing her expression change to one he'd never seen on her before. She moved his hand from her face quickly and scooted back on the floor as fast as he didn't know she was capable of, as if afraid of his touch.

"Wow." She swallowed, looking at him, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," she tried to salvage the situation, and he chuckled.

"Come on, Liana." He rolled his eyes and lay down on the bed, no longer looking at her.

"You just fucked me, Art." She felt sick. It was the first time she had slept with someone. He knew that. She felt so humiliated.

"I know. I was there, and if I remember correctly, you asked for it. More precisely, you begged-"

"Shut up. Just shut up." She cut him off and stood up. She couldn't hide her tears anymore.

"Why did you do it? We could have just continued meeting at family dinners. Seeing each other in the hallway and occasionally saying hello. Why did you do it?" It came as a sob. She had never felt so humiliated. It was like a truck had run over her.

"I was bored, and you were cute, and let's be honest, a little desperate," her hand found its way to his cheek with a force neither of them knew she possessed. She wanted to apologize automatically because she wasn't violent, but it didn't come out.

"I hate you so much. I will never forgive you. You are the worst person I know." She mumbled and moved toward the door.

"At least I beat Patrick to it," he found himself saying. He had to have the last word in every argument.

"No, Art. You lost to Patrick. Even in twenty years, you won't have half the character and heart that Patrick has already. You're a complete loser compared to him, and I hope you never forget that." She said without stuttering while he didn't take his eyes off her, swallowing hard, finally hearing the door slam.

The moment Liana reached her room, after passing a considerable number of people who looked at her with worried expressions, some even trying to ask if she was okay, she collapsed on the floor and let out the loudest cry that had probably ever escaped her. She felt dirty. Almost used. She had trusted the wrong person.

She picked up the phone to call the only person she thought could understand her.

"Liana, are you okay?" Patrick sounded concerned and confused, probably because of the late hour.

"He really hurt me and I didn't know who else to call," she managed to say through her tears, hearing Patrick sigh, as if silently saying he knew. He knew this would happen.

Writing this part kinda broke me. I know Art was being cruel, but well, he was acting out without thinking about the consequences. Got your requests and maybe on the weekend we'll give Liana/Patrick/Art some more layers. Keep sending me questions and such. I LOVE it. Hope you're still enjoying and again, if you wanna join the taglist, say the word ❤️

taglist: @swetearss @ganana @yoitsme-04 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @serenadingtigers

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Discovering Your Past - Eula & Keqing x Male!Reader

In which they find out you were abused by your ex.

CW: Mentions of past trauma - physical abuse and SA. Modern AU. A/N: My fics are getting longer recently. I wonder if you guys mind?

Injuries are a natural part of life. 

A scraped knee, a concussion, a sprained or broken limb - all creatures will have to endure these hardships one way or another. And, as the saying goes, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Each wound leaves a scar, each fight or accident is a lesson for the future on what to do or avoid. 

What about those on the other end? Most feel regret about hurting others, are forced to do it or are convinced of their actions' justified nature. Yet among those are some starkly different cases. People who enjoy causing pain, be it physical or mental. And, undoubtedly, she was one of them. 

Fate had it that your heart longed for her. She was a beauty, benign and friendly, whose charms worked on you without fail. She pushed, she pulled, slowly dragging you into her web. Your mind was too clouded with feelings to notice just how badly she trapped you. Like a spider she wrapped you in silky touches and words of affection like in a cocoon, and you were completely oblivious to your situation. And that she was - an apex predator, an effortless liar and natural manipulator. She stoked the flames of family conflicts, estranging you from your loved ones. Friends? She gave you a simple choice - it's me or them. You were coaxed into signing off your house under her name, as she encouraged you to do with many of your belongings, until you had nothing. Time and time again she pulled your strings through your heart, backing you into a corner. Alone. Unable to escape. Without anyone to turn to, anywhere to get away. 

When your eyes opened at last, nobody was there to hear you scream. 

Years. It took you two whole years to escape her clutches, two years of cruelty hidden behind a veil of love. With only the clothes on your back and some Mora in your pocket, you set off to another nation. There, you found a new home, and a new love. Sweet, caring and warm. 

But wounds of the past cannot be hidden forever. 

You push the door behind you, closing it with an accidently loud thud. Eula kicks off her high heels and enters the hall, placing down her bag and taking her jacket off. You put yours on the hanger and move to take hers, but she sends you a sharp look and walks past you, doing it herself. 

The silence is tense. You know what you did. 

“Honey, listen. I know I shouldn't have started that discussion-” You try to speak, but she turns around and cuts you off. 

“Yes, you shouldn't have.” 

Her eyes send daggers towards you. Your heart aches at the sight of your lover so full of anger, all because of you. Her family wasn't easy to interact with. Her choice of career made her the pariah of the line, but after she married you, the relations seemingly normalized enough to make them liveable. Seemingly. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have. I mustn't do that ever again. I promise I won't.” You raise your open hands, as if showing you're unarmed. What was supposed to calm her down just irritates her. 

She scoffs and approaches you. “I say you are an intelligent man, but times like these are when I doubt it. What's so hard to understand in ‘my family isn't normal and the less you interact with them the better’?”

She's right. Eula has told you time and time again that the opinions her father, mother, grandparents, uncles and aunts hold are final. Nothing will change them, they won't ever back down. They are egomaniacal with a tendency to bring those around them down to elevate themselves. And yet, there's something drawing you to them, something natural that tells you that they can be a source of warmth. 

Because that's how things are supposed to be. A family should love each other, be united and supportive instead of polarized and hateful. Something in your soul doesn't seem to understand that you can't find any support in her side of the family. 

“I know, Eula. I try to-”

“Then your ‘trying’ is not enough!” Her voice elevates further. There is something building in your chest. The pressure crawls from your heart up through your throat, rotting itself inside your neck. A choking feeling. 

“Y/N, you shouldn't talk to them! Never, ever. You know how it ends, don't you? They bring you down, they hurt and belittle you. And you know that, don't you?” 

Her eyes are narrowed. She speaks louder now, her words coming from a place of compassion and love rather than hostility. Your mind, however, is focused on something else. 

Something familiar. 

Her tone picks up, and so does your heartbeat. She's almost screaming now. 

“Sorry, dear, but are you masochistic? Or just stupid?! I will have vengeance!”

Your hyper focused eyes spot movement. Her hand goes upwards, your chest sinking. Body stiffening, you turn your head down and sideways, exposing your cheek. 

Just as she taught you. 

Fighting back was pointless. 

You deserve it. 

You hold your breath. 

Silence. 

The blow doesn't connect. You hear the sounds of a barefoot step. You crack your eyes open. You see Eula has taken a step back, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. She blinks a few times and pulls her hand back towards her body. 

“Not t-that kind of vengeance.” Eula barely mumbles the words out in pure confusion. She shakes her head in disbelief, her gaze leaving you and dropping to the floor. “Never. I w-would never-”

You spring back to life, as if a grave threat or danger just vanished. 

“No no no, it's alright, honey. I just got a little scared of you, haha. It's fine, really!” You smile sheepishly, shame crawling under your skin. On reflex or out of habit, you rub your cheek. “Maybe I really am stupid, for being scared and all, you know?”

She takes a slow step closer. Her voice is far quieter than mere seconds ago, now down from a scream to a whisper.

 “No. Don't call yourself that. My… My emotions got the better of me, honey. I’m sorry.” Eula’s voice composes, worry furrowing her brow as she stretches out her arm towards you, this time taking care to do it slowly. “May I…?”

You smile and nod, letting the palm of her hand connect to your cheek. Her touch is gentle, fingers tracing your skin with utmost care. 

Your skin is so soft, so smooth, familiar. Her heart clenches, her mind holding no doubt about your reaction. You are not someone easily scared, nor are you particularly fearful of harm. Something, somebody…

“Who was it?” Her hand trails down smoothly, coming to rest on your shoulder. “Who hurt you?”

You shake your head. “What? What do you mean? Nobody, I’m fine-”

“I said…” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “... who hurt you?” 

At an instant, the thoughts in your mind already form into a rebuttal, a measly attempt to cover the truth. But you know better than that. Eula isn't that stupid. 

You sigh, trying to figure out what to say. Seeing your hesitation, she places both of her arms on your shoulders, her eyes focusing on yours. Within her beautiful irises fading from deep purple to light yellow you find a steadiness worthy of a captain, but also a lover. 

“You don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable, honey.” She speaks softly, stroking your skin in calming circles. “I just need to know if justice has been served, or some additional, very particular and very severe vengeance needs to be added to my to-do list.”

“My ex-girlfriend is… She’s no longer a threat, alright?” You close the distance between you and Eula and embrace her. Your lover secures her arms around you right away, providing you with just the comfort you seek. “I just don’t want to go back to those days. They’re over and I just want to focus on you… On somebody that actually loves me. Somebody that doesn’t scream at me for no reason, belittles and insults me, and…”

Your voice trails off. Images and sensations rush through your memory. Every insult, every impact weighs on your voice, trapping it beneath the torrent of nightmarish memories. Eua squeezes you tighter. 

“Shh. Don’t think about it now, sweetie. You're here, safe in my arms. I promise to be your shield. However…”

Eula's characteristic pout forms on her face. 

“For not telling me about this, I will have vengeance.”

“That was a little shameful for me-” She cuts you off. 

“Silence. My retribution is nigh. For your transgression, I shall cuddle you and feed you ice cream while subjecting you to the terror of your favorite movie.” She narrows her eyes theatrically before gently, but firmly grabbing a hold of your wrist. “You cannot escape now.”

You smile in horror. 

The screen flashes with a jump scare as a curtain is moved aside. A disfigured monstrosity covered in black goo and rags opens its jaw to reveal a set of sharp, but surprisingly pristine teeth.

“Brains!” Its voice is clearly augmented in some way, deep and a little echoing. 

The punk screams at this sight but before he can do anything, the zombie grabs his head with its skeletal hands and bites down. The rest of the group squeals. The man's head is cracked open like an egg, filling the undead's mouth with fake blood and flesh-like props. 

“Oh my…” Keqing can't help but gasp a little, her arms tightening around your chest slightly. “That's a lot of jaw force…”

As the zombie digs into the man's brain, a joke comes to your mind. 

“He's not going to extract a lot of brain from him, is he?” 

In response, Keqing chuckles a little. “Yeah. But at least he is also quite brave. If not for him, that girl would have been the meal instead.”

“True, true.”

The movie continues. The female lead escapes the locker she was trapped in moments ago as her friend is being devoured. Another character throws an empty bucket of paint at the creature, making it fall back, before raising up and exclaiming joyously: 

“More brains!”

The kids scream and run away. Keqing, as much as she finds the movie interesting, can't help but recall one scene in particular. 

A smirk settles on her delicate features. “So… How's the movie? Do you like it?”

You nod vigorously. “Of course! It's a classic that I wanted to watch for a long time now, but never got around to that. And I can confidently say that I regret not watching it earlier. It's a lot of fun.”

Keqing hums in understanding. Her fingers, one of them brandishing a beautiful and intricate golden ring, slowly move up onto your leg. 

“Did you enjoy any scene in particular, honey?” Your eyes follow her hand as it moves up, each finger making a slow, deliberate step. 

Just a glance at her slight blush and sly smirk is enough to make you catch on, making your cheeks heat up as well. You gulp. 

“Well…” You start, but Keqing places a finger on your lips, silencing you. 

“Aw, sweetie~ I know full well how you were eyeing that girl. Your thoughts were betrayed by much more than just your stare.”

Her hands move up, sliding underneath your shirt and caressing your exposed chest. You feel her desire through her movements, careful, seductive, yet impatient at the same time. A little shiver of excitement crawls through your body. 

“Honestly, Y/N, I can't blame you. That redhead was quite a beauty, after all. ”

Her hands clench over your body as she rolls to sit on your lap, her eyes, twinkling with desire, pointed right at you. Keqing sends you a wink. Your hands settle on her buttocks. 

“But you see, my dear, you got me just a little too jealous to resist showing this handsome guy which girl his attention should be on~” Her hands shift to meet yours, fingers wrapping around your wrists. “So relax and let me have the spotlight~”

Your eyes widen as she hoists your arms off her and pins them to the wall above your head. You try to struggle away, but her grip is iron thanks to the additional strength provided by her Vision. An attempt to release your body from underneath hers fails as well. You're nervous - this never happened before. 

“Keqing, you're-” You start to say, but are interrupted by her right hand locking onto your throat. 

Your hands clench, eyes growing wide. You choke, any words of protest dying in your restricted windpipe. You look at Keqing, who smiles mischievously, completely oblivious to your discomfort. 

“What did I say? Bad boy!” She uses her other hand to pry yours off her choking arm. You relent, shocked and increasingly scared at her sudden roughness. “Now stay still, or you'll regret it~”

Tears form in your eyes as she leans and begins kissing and licking your cheek, adding small bites here and there. You close your eyes, not wanting to see what happens next. The feeling of her genuine affection recalls different images in your mind. The past and the present melt into one in your mind. 

As you lay helpless, Keqing continues loving you until her tongue hits an unusual note of salt on your skin. She pulls back and, upon seeing you crying, lets go of you right away. Her hands go to cover her mouth in an expression of pure horror. 

“I’m sorry! I’m… Oh Gods, I didn't mean to-!” 

You squirm away and, in response, Keqing jumps off of you. She reaches towards you, but ultimately stops herself. Shame, guilt and sadness light up her face, hidden behind her small hands. 

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve. By now your senses have returned. Her reaction brought you back at an instant. You get up and approach her. 

“Keqing, I'm sorry, nothing-” 

You're interrupted as she dashes past you. You can only call out to her as she runs to the bathroom and slams the door behind her. The sound of a lock turning halts your movements. 

You sigh and drop back down on the couch. The movie is still playing. Your ears pick up the sounds of soft sobbing from behind the bathroom doors. The heart tells you to get up, to talk to her, to knock down the door if need be, but the brain speaks with reason. She needs time, and you know it. It's better to let her calm down on her own. If you were to approach her now, she likely wouldn't speak to you, let alone open the door. 

Tears return to the corners of your eyes. Your heart aches at the sound of her pain. You can tell what she's thinking. That she's awful, dangerous, creepy, abusive. That it's all her fault. 

But the truth? She's not the problem. You are. 

The TV's noise irritates you. You turn it off and throw the remote across the room. Your head falls into your hands. 

How could you have done this to her? 

Why can't you just let go? 

Why are you so weak? 

A shaky sentence manages to make its way out of your lips. 

“It's all my fault.”

—

Deafening silence was all that filled the following hour when her crying died down. You went through every possibility of what would happen when the bathroom door would open. You planned what to tell her and how, you anticipated all of her possible reactions. You knew you couldn't fail again. You couldn't leave her in the dark and risk another incident like this. 

She shouldn't suffer because of me, you thought. It was your obligation to be transparent with your wife. Not like you weren't dying to apologize, to comfort her, to let her know it isn't her fault. But you were patient. 

When the door finally opened, Keqing looked abysmal. Her make-up was completely gone, first made running with tears, then washed away along with them. Her hair was a mess, not a trace of her usual prim and proper style left. Her eyes were red and barely open. 

You spoke gently. You hugged her, asking for a chance to explain yourself. She nodded wordlessly and you sat with her by the table. There, you told her everything. You told Keqing about your previous partner and about exactly what you suffered at her hands. Your wife was very quiet, but still nodded every now and then. From the shakiness of her voice when she spoke the few words in your conversation, you could tell she was stopping herself from bursting into tears again. Nonetheless, you continued until the story was told. 

“As such, Keqing, my wife, my love, the sun to my moon, none of what happened is your fault.” You continue, following the script you prepared in your mind. “It was my weakness and my inability to move on that caused all of this in the first place. For that, I’m… sorry. I truly am.”

She nods. Her eyes are focused on her hands, fingers fiddling with each other. Keqing slowly lifts her eyes to meet yours. You spot tears gathering on her features. 

“Why… I don't understand…” She starts, but upon realizing her instability, she sniffles and swallows the sadness weighing on her chest. “Why would you ever say that you're weak?” 

You sigh. “I should have moved on by now, but instead, I kept it with myself and now it hurt you as well. It is my pain and thus my responsibility to handle it.”

“No, n-no that's… How… How could someone such as you be weak?” She shakes her head. “You survived so much. So much pain, so much fear, so much hurt… And yet here you are, Y/N. Not only trusting another woman, a woman whom you not only married, but also allowed into your bed. I can't imagine myself doing something like that so quickly. You've moved on, honey. You regained the strength to trust and to love again. How can this be called anything but strong?”

You open your mouth to challenge her on this, but she acts first. 

Keqing breaches the gap between you and falls into your arms. Her body wraps around yours, holding onto you tightly. One of her hands travels to your cheek. 

“Y/N, you're strong. For having endured it, for having moved on, trusted again.” 

You drop your gaze. Perhaps she is right. Keqing gently lifts your cheek to direct your attention back at her. She smiles, her tearful eyes shining with boundless affection. 

“You're the strongest man I've ever known.”

Thanks for reading!

[diodellet]

Sorry to bother you, but for your Valentine's Day event I wanted to ask Jamil and Leona with Prompt 15 please

💌Jamil Viper + Prompt #15 (Ranting about how insufferable they are, but your friend thinks knows otherwise. Bonus points if the subject of your conversation overhears Everything.) ++Reader is not Yuu, slight angst with a bit of comfort at the end

It was only something he said. Offhandedly, matter-of-factly, casually, all those similar words.

Aren’tcha happy to see your little fan?

…Not really. It’s annoying.

Then again, a sharp knife could still cut to the bone. Even in the hands of a careless wielder.

(Even if his cheeks warmed at the knowing glance that his clubmates gave him, seeing the flicker of hurt across your features sent a stab of guilt into his gut.)

Jamil scanned his surroundings. He last saw you duck into the hallway of the third year classrooms. Slowing to a walk, he considered your possible hiding spots. The ghosts kept staff rooms locked, laboratories and offices as well. In fifteen minutes, the doors to the classrooms would also be enchanted to keep from anyone entering. That meant—

…What was an empty coat rack doing here?

He walks past it, brow furrowing in confusion. Your—admittedly admirable—disappearance didn’t make any sense.

A potion? Your Unique Magic?

Just as he reaches the end of the hall, behind him, the telltale sound of a spell wearing off confirms his guess, revealing you in place of the coat rack. He half-expected you to turn and bolt.

Instead, your eyes turn glassy and tears slide down your cheeks.

At a quiet call of your name, you wave off the concern. “It’s true, I’m—I’m annoying, you don’t need to…to justify it.”

Your other palm is held out, stopping Jamil from approaching.

“I know, I should have talked to you properly and let it happen. I just… got scared.”

Jamil hated that, being scared. It led each careful and cautioned move of his. As much as he refused to let it step to the forefront of his mind, fear was a looming shadow. The calculated, sharp-tongued vice housewarden of Scarabia was born from a practiced skill in passing fear off as any other visceral emotion.

…Though you were annoying. Persistent. 

Always just a little out of reach.

His hand closes around your outstretched wrist.

The apology is worded perfectly in Jamil’s mind, but his throat refuses to cooperate. “...look, I didn’t…” When it’s just the two of you, he finds that he doesn’t mind being the sole recipient of your wholehearted attention. “As…as long as it isn’t in front of everyone, I’ll hear you out.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek, and your lips form into a shaky smile.

💌Leona Kingscholar + Prompt #15 ++Reader is not Yuu

“I don’t understand what’s his problem.” You wrench the locker open.

“Well, I am having a nice day, thanks for askin’,” Epel frowns, but doesn’t look up from folding up his training attire.

“Is everyone pretending they didn’t see me getting badgered on the field earlier?” Thank god, you still had band-aids. “Scoot over.” Epel makes space for you on the bench, winces when he sees the scrape on your leg.

“Yeah. This is what I get for trying to play and listen to the captain’s yelling at the same time.” You layer two band-aids. “I’m not even first-string, so why’s he on my case? He should be focusing on you and Ruggie more.”

“Hey!”

“In a good way! I just don’t get why he has to take his stress out on me.”

“I hear you.” He slings his gymbag over his shoulder. “I’d wanna stay and listen s’more but—” 

“Yeah, Vil would wring your neck or something. See you.” You’re focused on covering most of the scrape. Unsuccessfully.

Turns out you weren’t left completely alone.

Leona’s blocking your way out of the locker room. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Though he seems to always be frowning, you see a muscle in his jaw tense as you approach.

“...I’m guessing you heard that.” A part of you hoped that Epel would be forced to do penalties with you, he technically was a co-conspirator in your shittalking as the listener.

“Hmph, if you have such a problem with me running the team, then you might as well hand in your jersey right now.”

No way—is what you’d say if you had no shame. But you, mediocre as you are, fought tooth and nail for a spot on the Spelldrive team.

But he’s right. Your hand tightens around your bag strap, protecting its contents. The only marker of your effort. “I'm only…It won’t happen again.”

You’re burning. From shame, from frustration. Why would he take notice of you?

At that minute gesture, Leona steps aside. “Guess I was wrong to think that you could handle some tough encouragement.”

“Encouragement?” A satisfied grin stretches across Leona’s features. “No, no—training’s over. I don’t need to listen to y—this.”

“Now, hold on a second there.” It’s unfair how the authority in his voice is enough to pin you in place. “Next Monday, you’re running twice as many laps for warmups.”

a/n: ahaha this is sooo late... sorry 🙇‍♂️(girlie didn't think she'd struggle this much tryna figure out leona's character in a reader-insert way, this is my karma for making fun of housewarden stannies 🤧🤧) i hope it was an enjoyable read nontheless, i tried to spice up the interpretation of the prompt, make it a seat-grabber or sumn along those lines ahahaha NEways! have a (looks at scrawled writing on hand) happy summer! 💕💕

[yeetmyboi]

Chapter 4 : Choices & Consequences

a/n: MDNI pls. ghostxreader. cw : implied domestic abuse and alcoholism. collage by me, i don’t own the images.

— — —

The rest of the day goes by as per usual for how your first days typically go. You arrived, attended a brief (albeit tense) briefing, returned to your quarters to settle in, and now you found yourself heading to the canteen.

Just in time for dinner. Yippee… You can already feel yourself wanting to rush the entire affair. Get in, grab your food, eat, get out. You repeat in your head.

It was bustling, much to your dismay. A big cafeteria-like room with tables and booths for various groups to sit at. Light wood seemingly used to brighten up what else would be a dreary interior, given the numerous amount of camouflage uniforms that filled up said chairs and booths. Still it gave you flashbacks to high school. Times when you were more happy at school than at home. Truth be told, anywhere was better than being home with your mother and her new boy-toy of the month.

Shit seemed so much simpler then…

You get in line, grab an empty tray, silverware, and await your turn. Sliding down in tandem with the others before you. Ahead you spot Mohawk— er, Soap. His ocean blue eyes looking up to the person next to him, twinkling with a hint of mischief while he cracks a joke. You can hear the warmth in his laugh as it makes his shoulders shake. When was the last time you laughed like that?

Your eyes move from the man— who’s been nicknamed after a freakin’ cleaning product —up to land on who he’s chattering to. Oh? He’s actually making conversation with the Lieutenant? Well, as much as one can when talking to a brick wall. Yet, it looks like Ghost is engaging with him. Making comments back and entertaining the whole conversation.

For whatever reason, the sight of Soap and Ghost in that moment eats at you. That closeness, that solidarity. The way the shorter man speaks with such ease to the other. Comfortable, light, open. With he who also seemed to be attentively listening and conversing back. It makes you feel something you haven’t wanted to think about for the past year.

Something, somewhere nips at you. Deep inside, in the far back of your mind. The beast rattles its cage. It’s familiar fangs not having lost their edge. You thought you had muzzled this beast, locked it up and threw away the key. Yet, here it was. Back to remind you what you hate the most. It opens its jaws, drool dripping from its hungry maw. It growls, low and rumbling like distant thunder.

You’re lonely.

No, there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely, you try to silence that voice. Squash it before it has a chance to burrow any deeper. Besides, it’s not like you hadn’t seen others interact like that before. What made this any different? What had changed?

You feign ignorance, but the beast sees through it.

You both knew the truth.

Shit.

Your attention snaps back just as those deep brown eyes flick to you, effectively catching you staring. Your body tenses for a second before you force yourself to relax. Still you don’t shy away from his gaze. Yeah, he caught you. So what? Trying to justify it to yourself and brush off the fact that he caught you. You were pretty sure he’s been watching every move you make since the meeting and you just happen to do it more blatantly.

Your eyes only tear away from the silent stare-off when you turn your head to the man serving you a scoop of green beans. Muttering a small, polite ‘thank you’ before looking back. Only to see the pair of them gone, likely heading to their own table.

Thank fuck for that.

Finishing your way down the line, you look around the room. A private corner where you can eat in peace and hopefully retire for the evening. But that’s when you spot the group of men huddled in a corner, commandeering a large table. The whole Task Force minus Price. All buddy-buddy with each other.

You got two choices here, Stray.

That beast bares its fangs once more. Its pacing back and forth in the back of your mind. Like a rabid dog trapped in a cage you put it in. Reminding you of what you felt only seconds ago. Merely a drop in what was an ocean worth of repressed feelings inside you. The ones you’ve be struggling to fight back, especially this past year.

Gaz was the one who was the first to meet your gaze. His polite smile now curling the ends of his lips. A curt nod offered to you.

Great, now you really can’t pretend you didn’t see him.

With a sigh, you head over to the table. This time opting for the seat furthest away from Ghost. You take the edge seat, easily able to dip out if you’d want to, and feel as if Ghost takes note of this. Gaz sat to your right and Soap across from you. Ghost, being diagonal, merely offered a grunt to your presence.

Well, at least it looks like you’re making an effort to be friendly.

“How are you settlin’ in?” Gaz asks, seemingly trying to be the first one to offer an olive branch.

“Good, Good.” You answer, giving a few nods to aid your inexperience with small talk.

Gaz’s attempt at initiating conversation with you skirts the edges of Ghost's attention, the barrier of his own indifference momentarily wavers. Your response was hesitant, almost mechanical, and he can't help but analyze the slight restraint in your voice. Ghost had studied similar responses in others— it's part of his skill set —and he knows it suggests either a lack of trust or discomfort.

Gaz, who seems pleased with the exchange, regardless of its brevity, continues, "Anything you need help with, let us know, yeah?" He means for it to sound casual, but the concern is evident.

Soap chimes in, his infectious grin not dimming in the slightest. "Aye! An’ don't mind mean ol’ Ghostie there," he says cheerfully, slicing a chunk off his steak and pointing his knife at the stoic lieutenant. "He's got a soft spot, jus' buried deeper than the bloody Mariana Trench, is all."

Ghost, unable to stay silent any longer, glances at Soap with a pointed stare that seems to carry an unspoken ‘watch it’, before turning his attention to you. His expression remains blank, everything but his eyes hidden behind that ever-present skull balaclava. "She doesn’t need to be mollycoddled," he speaks to Soap, but the message carries to the whole table, including you. "She's a mercenary, not a bloody recruit."

After that, the group slowly continues their conversations. Ghost’s input causing a brief lull before Soap started up about one of his favorite stories of having a close call during a mission. Gaz engaging only to make sure Soap’s ability to over-embellish didn’t take away from the actual tale.

You sat there, an outsider looking in. Their closeness evident in the way they talk and tease each other, almost like close siblings. Soap and Gaz riling each other up while Ghost quietly eats.

Your eyes couldn’t help but glance the rare sight of skin. Noticing how he’s only opted to roll up his balaclava instead of taking it off. So he does wear that thing 24/7… The strong jawline of his profile, slight stubble on his chin, the pink of his lips, and the various white scars that was chipped from his skin. Only there was one that immediately caught your attention.

It was a deeper one. Starting from the corner of his lips extending back, curling slightly upwards. It looked jagged, cut roughly and with little care. Small branches breaking off of the deeper stem.

Glasgow scars.

You try not to look for too long. Eyes immediately darting back to the tray in front of you. You hated when people stared at yours. After your little tiff in the meeting room and awkward staring contest, you’d rather avoid any more offensives at the moment. For lack of wanting Laswell or Price to pull you away and give you one last warning to ’play nice’.

But still, seeing his skin marred reminded you of your own. You could still clearly picture the stolen glance of his jaw in your mind’s eye. The brief, almost fleeting image causing a phantom burning sensation in your left cheek. That deep etch of your own reminding you of its presence.

Dinner was mediocre. Typical military food. Bland, but enough to keep your body fueled. With an empty tray in hand, you give a nod to excuse yourself. Normally you would’ve just left when you were finished. Hell, you wouldn’t have even sat with them. Yet you sat there, lingering after you finished your meal. Just listening. Why? Disposing any bits of leftovers in the bin, you stack your dirty tray with the others then leave the canteen entirely.

Your boots clacked in a rhythmic pace down the linoleum tiles that lined the halls. It was fairly empty as most were still unwinding from a day’s work in the mess hall or elsewhere. The emptiness causing your mind to drift, feet left on autopilot as you head to your room.

What the fuck is going on with you? One minute you’re ready to chew someone’s head off, the next you’re rolling over and exposing your belly. You’re out here acting like some type of kicked dog. It’s pathetic, really. You were once a Lieutenant. There’s no excuse for you to not be able to be in control of your emotions.

How far have you fallen?

You chastise yourself. Beat yourself up over your lack of control. How that feeling of loneliness continued to nibble away at you. Like you craved something akin to what you had just witnessed in the canteen. Once again, you’re forced to remind yourself that this is just a job, not something entirely permanent. That you’ll be gone before you know it and anything you fostered here would too.

And yet…

A door swung shut behind you, snapping you back into the present moment. Your focus returns as your eyes survey the cramped quarters, finally able to have a proper look around now.

It was spartan, as usual for anything even remotely military. A desk with a lamp, wardrobe, and a bed. Your duffel bag was still on said bed, causing the thin pad that qualified as a mattress to dip slightly. Right where you left it.

A heavy sigh leaves your chest, yet the weight behind it stayed there. A sense of melancholy had followed you from the deeper recesses of your brain, draping over you in a less-than-comforting shroud. It felt like having a tense conversation that was left unfinished, dreading when you’d be forced to continue it later. The drab room seemingly echoing the numbing emptiness you were feeling.

In effort to push away your conflicting and confusing thoughts, you head over to your duffle bag. The zipper moving with a familiar ease. Something constant to fight against the unpredictability of your emotional state. Your clothes, personal belongings, and such were still carefully packed inside. In an act you’ve done dozens of times, you methodically unpack— having it down to a science by now. Laying a silent claim to this dorm as your temporary place of residence.

Filing the last of your thermal undershirts in the provided wardrobe, the time difference was finally hitting you. That call to sleep getting too strong to fully ignore. You look out the singular window in your room. It was nothing but a small rectangular piece of glass that sat imbedded near the top of the wall. Clearly put there to only provide some natural light, if any. Not like there was much of a view with the blinding snow that lays just outside. The sun was now gone, meaning the cold night was fully here.

A few extra hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt…

You strip off your clothes and swap them out for some warm flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt before crawling into bed. The heavy wool blanket was at least partially comfortable. Not too scratchy but still not a soft as you’d prefer. At least it would keep you warm, and with the evidence of the shitty insulation you were sure you were in for a chilly night. Releasing a quiet groan, you stretch your muscles before curling up on your side. Slowly closing your eyelids. Mind drifting off toward that siren call of momentary peace, narrowly avoiding the raging thoughts from earlier. Allowing you to briefly be free from the clashing thoughts that lurked in your mind.

Then just as the wool blanket, sleep wrapped you in its soothing embrace.

ּ࣪ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ּ࣪ ᯽ ּ࣪ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ּ࣪

You’re in a room. Once familiar, but now completely foreign. You glance around, taking quick notes of your surroundings. The only exit seemingly behind you as a closet door was haphazardly left open to your right, children’s clothes and toy flowing out of it. A thin mattress laid on the floor ahead of you, adorned with disheveled brightly colored blankets and stuffed animals. Lacking any sheets underneath. It was pushed to the farthest corner of the room. Across it to the left was a crib. An abandoned blanket and pacifier laid inside. A pain squeezes your heart inside your chest.

It’s your childhood bedroom.

The one you shared with your younger brother growing up. Stale scent of cigarettes hangs in the air adding to the heavy weight of quiet dread that threatens to press down on your shoulders. You could feel the palms of your hands getting clammy. Ears starting to fill with the dull roar of your blood pumping. Instinctual fear slowly creeping up your spine. It’s tendrils inching up and curling around each individual vertebrae, like icy fingers walking up the middle of your back.

Then a sniffle was heard right beside you. Quickly, you turn your head to look at the source. Your throat tightens at the sight.

It’s you.

Well, your younger self. One still left intact, untouched by the cursed events of your life that have yet to happen. She’s crying, wearing the pjs you faintly remember from childhood. Small hands consistently wiping at the salty tears and snot that couldn’t seem to stop flowing from her person. Her wide eyes are looking to the door in front of her, her shoulders shaking as she tries to stifle her sobs.

The sight draws out the protective side of you. A soldier ready to act and protect those who can’t protect themselves. The guard dog you’ve become. One bitter with anger at the negligence she was suffering. That you had suffered through.

“Hey, shhh…” You whisper gently, moving to crouch down in front of her.

Slowly, you lift your hands to place them on her shoulders. Giving her ample time to deny your touch, but when she didn’t you gently rub your calloused hands up and down her small arms.

“It’s okay. You’re safe in here.”

You gently pull your younger self in, wrapping your arms around her in a tight embrace— using your body acting as her shield. Something you knew you longed for. A hand cradled the back of her head, while the other soothingly rubbed up and down her back.

Before you could offer more get to words, that’s when you hear the muffled yelling. A slamming of a door. Multiple feet stomping against the thin floor of the trailer. Feeling each step shake the floor underneath your knees. Colorful profanities painting the air.

You can feel her trembling in your embrace.

“Shh, it’s okay. They won’t get you in here.” You whispered, pulling back to look at her. Her eyes are trained on the door, almost too scared to look away. As if the moment she did, that’s when the monstrous entities outside the door would strike. You look to the empty crib behind her, then back to her. A sharp sting hitting your chest once more.

“Hey, where’s Jason? Is he out there?” You asked, gently probing but not wanting to add to her distress.

She nods.

“Okay,” you give a weak smile, “I’ll go get him. You just stay here and curl up under the blankets, okay? I promise I’ll be right back.”

With a tender touch, you cup her cheek. Your thumb moving to wipe away a stray tear. A small nod and you’re up, turning to face the door.

The yelling is getting louder the closer you get to it. Just as your hand touches the cool metal of the doorknob, a slap could be heard. Promptly followed by the deep rumble of a strange male’s voice. You can pick out your mother’s own rebuttal. A shrill drunken shriek compared to low slurred timbre of the male’s voice. A baby cries.

Jason.

The bitter anger swells up inside your chest. Determination carves itself into your face. You glare at the door and what waits on the other side. Gritting your teeth, you fling the flimsy piece of wood open and charge.

Some force shoves you back, just as roughly as you had charged. Causing you to fall backwards. You land on your ass with a grunt. All you can see is white, briefly blinding you. Your eyes blink rapidly to try and adjust to the sudden change. The dim lighting of the trailer had been switched to that of midday. You hear traffic before you see it and feel the motion of movement without physically moving. Your vision slowly creeps into focus. Hands frantically reaching out and grasping for what’s underneath you. The touch of cracking leather greets your fingertips. It takes a minute for you to register where you are.

A car. You’re in a car now? Shoved into the backseat with someone in the driver’s seat. The environment outside the speeding car is just a blur. You were moving fast. Just as you were about to yell at the driver to slow the fuck down, you see him.

“Jason?” You call out his name, looking to meet his in the rear view mirror.

Only he’s not quite right. His face is slightly blurred and proportions just a bit off. Is the nose a bit too big? Or are the eyes just a touch too far apart? You couldn’t tell. He just looked… off. It’s almost like your brain can’t fully recollect what he looks like.

Have you already forgotten what your own brother looks like?

The man who resembles your deceased brother smiles back at you through the mirror. You watch his lips speak your name, but the voice is muffled. Unclear and distorted. Before you can say anything else to him, your eyes snap to the traffic in front of you. A stop light lies up ahead, and the car is approaching it quickly.

“Jason, slow down! You’re not gonna make it.” You try to warn him, already knowing what’s about to happen.

He doesn’t.

“Jason!” You yell, trying to snap his attention back to driving. His eyes just continue to stare at you through the mirror, not paying attention to the now red light.

“JASON!” You scream once more, this time at the top of your lungs. Only now it feels like you’re screaming under water. Distorted, suppressed. Muted.

The car enters the intersection.

You lunged forward to try and grab the wheel. Your hand can barely grasp the worn leather of the steering wheel when movement just outside the driver’s side window catches your attention.

“Jason—!” Is all your muted voice can yell before your whole body is rocked to the side. Forcing your side to slam against the passenger seat. The sound of glass breaking and tires screeching pierces your ears. It’s all you can hear as everything turns black.

[gugugyuu]

coworkers part two ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝💌👔

The next day, everything was different. He didn't pester you, didn't make his usual snarky remarks, and didn't even look in your direction.

Instead, Beomgyu buried himself in extra work, grateful for the distraction.

Whatever had happened or what he did last night, it wasn't something he was proud of. It left him feeling embarrassed, but no one would ever know. It never happened.

Later, you headed to the copy room to make copies before submitting some files. The door was slightly open, and you could see Beomgyu inside, busy reaching for something behind the machine. You quietly removed the piece of metal that had kept the door open, pushing it wide, startling him slightly.

"Get out. I need to use this," you said, not even bothering with formalities.

He glanced at you briefly, rolling his eyes. "Whatever, I'm done." He started to walk past you when suddenly, the door slammed shut with a loud thud.

He turned, eyes wide. "Did you seriously remove the metal?!"

You stammered, suddenly feeling nervous. "Ye-yeah, why?"

His face twisted in annoyance as he tried the knob multiple times. "The lock doesn't work properly, genius," he muttered, giving up after a few failed attempts.

"If you actually worked once in a while, you'd know that." Beomgyu's tone dripped with insult and sarcasm.

You leaned on the edge of a drawer, crossing your legs, guilt washing over you. "I know it's kinda soundproof," you said softly, as if that justified against his comment.

Beomgyu scoffed. "Great. Locked in with the worst person I know."

You chuckled in disbelief at his words. "Can I ask you something?"

"No," he replied sharply, clearly not in the mood.

"Why do you hate me so much?" you asked, crossing your arms, waiting for any kind of answer.

He didn't respond. His silence was louder than any insult he could have thrown your way. A suspicious smile formed on your lips.

"Maybe..." You stepped closer to him. "...you like me..." you teased, the words hanging in the air between you two.

Beomgyu's expression shifted, a smirk flashing across his lips. "Please, you wish," he scoffed, but before you could react, his hands gripped your waist firmly, switching positions in a fluid motion that left you pinned against the wall.

He leaned in close, his voice low and challenging. "You're the one who likes me."

You suddenly remembered how you would bite your lips, watching Beomgyu roll up his shirt sleeves during his presentation, revealing his strong arms.

You often found yourself gripping your pen, imagining what it would feel like to sit in his lap as he leaned back, relaxed, his legs spread open.

Neither of you realized the fantasies that quietly danced in your minds about one another.

Beomgyu leaned in slowly, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours, teasing, taunting.

He just wanted to see if there would be anticipation in your eyes, if he could see and watch you squirm.

But before he move, you pulled him forward, crashing your lips together in a wild, feverish kiss.

It wasn't soft or gentle. It was raw, aggressive, lip-biting, tongues battling for dominance.

His hands roamed over your body, desperate, claiming inch by inch, while your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling hard, making him groan in pain, but damn, it felt good.

You shoved him against the wall, then he pushed you back against the machine, both of you wrestling for control, completely consumed by the anger and fire between you.

But the bliss was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Anyone here?" a faint voice asked.

"Yeah, open please!" Beomgyu shouted, his voice raspy, fixing his shirt and running his hands through his messy hair. "Hide."

The maintenance guy couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity at the sight of Beomgyu, panting and all worked up. "Poor guy must have been asking for help for a long time," he thought, shaking his head.

Beomgyu flashed the guy a warm smile, grateful yet trying to regain his composure. "Thanks, man."

"You're good now," the maintenance guy assured, patting his shoulder before stepping out of the room.

Beomgyu turned his attention back to you, his eyes glinting with mischief. He helped you fix your hair and smooth out your shirt.

He also tried to adjust your skirt, but he earned a slap on his hand instead.

"Ouch," he bit his lip, unable to suppress a smile at the unexpected chaotic intimacy you had just shared.

You pushed him away and walked quickly towards the exit, leaving Beomgyu behind. The thrill of the encounter faded, replaced by confusion about what had just happened.

<previous part> <next part>

<back to masterlist> <back to title>

[andreal831]

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but what do you think about Elijah’s reaction to learning that Katherine killed Jeremy? I know a lot people thought that it was odd because Jeremy had just played a part in killing Kol a few episodes before, but I feel like he was more so disappointed in the fact that Katherine hadn’t actually changed.

His reaction had nothing to do with who she killed and more to do with who she had become.

We don't really get to see how Katherine and Elijah ended up together, but we can see that Elijah is clinging onto the Katerina he lost all of those years ago. I also headcanon he was really hanging onto the memory of Tatia. He was trying to save Katherine and then Elena, the way he failed to save Tatia.

Elijah failed to save Katherine from Klaus and it destroyed her, turning her into a selfish, manipulative person that he didn't know. I assume when they got together, he saw hints of the "Katerina" he remembered which is why he was willing to give her a chance.

Elena: "She's a monster now, Elijah. The sweet peasant girl you fell in love with way back when is dead. And she's not coming back." Elijah: "I'm not a fool, Elena. Of course this possibility occurred to me, but what kind of man would I be if I didn't try to find my Katerina beneath this Katherine façade?"

But as Elijah said, he's not a fool. You know what they say, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." At this point, Elijah was willing to believe Katherine, deep down, had a good heart. But watching her do to Elena what Klaus had done to her showed him that the girl he once knew was truly gone. He wasn't willing to give her another chance to make a fool of him.

He felt betrayed because she had lied to him. It wasn't just that she had killed, he can justify that, but the fact that she was lying about it. She was playing him the same way she had played everyone. It would have been completely different if she had told him her plan ahead of time or even right when she came back. But she didn't trust him with her plan and it just reinforced that he didn't really trust her.

Elijah is also able to put logic over emotions. Yes, he was likely angry about Kol's death (although the show didn't spend anytime showing the Mikaelsons actually have reactions to it) he knew starting a war in Mystic Falls wasn't going to solve anything. This is where plot armor comes in because no way would any of these baby vamps and humans have actually walked away after killing Kol and Finn. They all would have been dead before they had the chance to blink, but then TVD would be over. So, instead the plot demands the Mikaelsons to move past it.

It also wouldn't be the first time Elijah has moved on after someone killed one of his loved ones *cough* Klaus *cough*

TVD Elijah was also a lot more practical. He killed very strategically. Similar to TO Season 3, when Hayley is killing Strix members to avenge Jackson, he is not mad at her for killing but shocked that she is doing it so messily, nearly starting a war. He then goes and dispatches them all with a plan. Katherine here didn't let him in on the plan, and we know how much he hates when Klaus does that. I think he saw a lot of Klaus in Katherine in that moment, and lord knows he doesn't need another one.

If Katherine had come back and told him she killed Jeremy because of what Jeremy did to Kol, he would have been fine with it. He would have felt bad for Elena, but at the end of the day, it's not anything different than what Elijah's done for family. Or what the MF gang has done. Again, his issue wasn't about the murder or about Jeremy. It was about the lying that stemmed from a lack of trust. He knew she was still killing people. He wasn't that naïve. He just had hoped she had some line she wouldn't cross. Hoping she had compassion for her ancestor. Hoping that she trusted him enough to protect her.

It's similar to when Celeste comes back in TO Season 1. There's a brief moment of time while he's following her on a tour of New Orleans and he knows it's her, he's willing to give her a chance to explain. He kisses her back and looks so desperate. But then she betrays him (yes, well deserved) and that was the only chance he gave her. Even at the end, when she pleaded with him, he was not going to give her another chance.

Katherine had one chance to show she wasn't the person everyone said she was and without hesitating she did exactly what was expected from her. She wanted the cure to trade for her freedom and there was nothing she wouldn't have done for it. She didn't trust that Elijah would protect her from Klaus (probably wisely) and she didn't trust Elijah with her plans. Without trust, they didn't have much left to fight for in a relationship.

I talk about their relationship more here.

Thanks for the ask!

[partyinthemysterymachine]

hello, everyone. this will be my first and only time i will be publicly addressing this. i am not answering questions about this, and for the first time ever, i am also disallowing anons.

first of all, i want to say that i've chosen to address this now out of my own volition. because i do not find it fair at all that i have felt that i could NOT address it at any point in order to maintain peace and harmony during, and in the wake of the event.

however, i feel that due to the nature of what happened, and the absolute damage that it has done to my mental health, that i must, in order to further my own recovery from it all, and as so no longer feel bullied into silence.

there will be no names mentioned. this is not a vaguepost. this is my formal statement for my own peace of mind and progressing on my path towards recovery.

if you know, you know; and if you don't, you don't.

so.

let's talk.

throughout this past year i have been the target of a smear campaign concerning GOOMT. it actually began late 2022, but escalated long into 2023.

what entailed was nothing short of bad faith reading and interpretation from someone whose skill in character analysis was something i'd admired. in fact, i had agreed many a time with how they'd interpreted characters and the world of Silent Hill. although my interaction with said person had historically been minimal, it had been civil, and i strived to be respectful of them.

i am unfortunately unsure of what caused this, or why it happened at all; and i do not think they know either. what i do know is that many upon many lies were told about what i write, and that it turned needlessly personal on many occasions. people were turned against me for one reason another, and i'm saddened to have seen this happen.

i stayed quiet during it all. i did what many people facing ruthless targeted harassment do, and pretended i didn't know in hopes of minimizing damage, and in hopes of responsible parties losing interest; but this did not happen. i was sent bad faith anons, i was subject to lies, and saw hypocrisy.

and i understood who they were and why they were here. they were looking for "gotcha's!" that didn't exist, digging for reasons to further vilify me.

worse, the bullying was praised. it was encouraged, and it was near-constant. a whole tag was created. the intent was to hurt and isolate me, and it did. it did hurt me, and it did make me feel isolated, and i withdrew quite a bit.

but i did not stop writing. it took longer for me to post, but i did not stop writing.

and moreover?

i REFUSE to stop writing.

i write a fanfic for a fandom i love. i am as how you see me and how i present myself. i'm enthusiastic and encouraging to others because that is genuinely how i feel. i LOVE to see others create. i LOVE to see the vast amount of interpretations, and silliness, and new OCs and pairings and OC/canon pairings, and i LOVE to see others thrive.

and i am in competition with exactly no one.

i did nothing wrong. i KNOW i did nothing wrong. i also know that those involved know that i did nothing wrong, and i did nothing to deserve the treatment i received, no matter how they try to justify it to themselves.

the behavior i faced, and how others reacted with encouragement and cheer is becoming too common and too normalized.

and it needs to stop.

i've been in therapy for the better part of my life. although i've been without a therapist since i've moved, i've finally found one to not only continue my lifelong recovery in other matters, but to help myself recover from what i faced this year.

i am extremely hurt. i know that this was the goal, and it has succeeded. if hearing this fills those involved with pride and glee, then something is wrong, because that should not elicit that reaction. i am extremely, deeply disappointed in those involved for this, and all the hypocrisy, and all the contradictions, and all the willful bad faith asks sent and posts made.

and i have done nothing wrong.

i do not hate anyone. i do not hate who started this, or even who engaged with them; and i never did.

it is okay if someone doesn't like what or how i write. in fact, i have made multiple posts about how i view my attitude towards my writing. one of the points i have made is that i encourage people who do not like what i write, to NOT read it.

there is a very old saying on fandom internet: Don't Like? Don't Read. now, this should be obvious, but the practice of hate-reading is an extremely unhealthy behavior that has, again, become unfortunately normalized in the recent handful of years.

unlearn hate-reading. you do not read to read anything you do not like. it, in many cases, can actually constitute as self-harm. and if you choose to do this, it is not the author's fault.

it is yours. and you need to take responsibility for your own actions.

there are people here who were needlessly cruel to me and who i feel do not feel a lick of remorse for what they've done. i hope some day that they can reflect with a clearer head and understand, and take some responsibility for their actions.

and i genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, with full raw sincerity, hope that they do get to heal; that they do learn and grow; that they UNlearn these toxic behaviors; are able to move away from people who exhibit them; find the courage and strength to stand up for themselves and/or others, to end the cycle; and that they understand that i do not hate them, and that i wish them full success in their future health and endeavors.

that said, i hope all involved will never forget the harm they have done. i hope they cringe. i hope it keeps them up at night, and i dearly hope they actually regret their actions, or at some point come to regret it.

i do not hate any one of them, and i won't. i never will.

and never will anyone involved ever be forgiven for it either.

most of all - and on a much lighter note - i want to say thank you to those who supported me during this time. your patience and reassurance has been a saving grace that words unfortunately cannot do justice. you are precious to me, and i love you all, and i hope that i can be just as strong and supportive to you in your times of need.

thank you too to all my readers, my followers, and my friends. i'm sorry to have been largely absent this past year, but this was the reason why. next year it will be better, not just for me, but for all of us. i promise. i love you all.

i also love me, my art, my writing as a whole, and myself. i am a tough cookie. i may have cried a lot, i may have gotten frustrated and angry, but i am human. i'm allowed to feel this way, and i will feel this way for a while as i heal, yet i refuse to be bitter; and i refuse to stop loving what i do.

because i love GOOMT. i love developing GOOMT, i love drawing for GOOMT, and i love writing GOOMT. i always will love GOOMT, no matter how many years more it takes for me to write it. so thank you to all who have read and enjoyed GOOMT, and have matched my enthusiasm for it and its future. i am so, SO blessed to have you here, and i am SO excited to spin my story.

and i am so, SO glad to be alive to be able to share my piece of this silly foggy world with you.

cheers, mates. i look forward to a new year, better health for me and all, and to what beautiful things we can create and share together.

i love you - and i promise that we will be okay.

for we are alive, and with wounds that WILL heal.

[eris-snow]

HII I LOVE ALL UR FICS SO SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️ COULD U MAYBE WRITE A PART 2 TO THE AIZAWA AND HIS DAUGHTER FIC? IT WAS AMAZING ❤️ IF NOT THEN THANKS ANYWAYS ❤️❤️

Ask and you shall receive (Even if it is two months late)

The first part of it is here

----

“Y/n,” Monoma enunciated, smirk ready on his face as he walked up to your table. “Did you see the number of failures Class A got in comparison to ours? Pathetic, right?”

It is almost too easy to gossip about Class A. Whenever Monoma cackles to you about them, you engage him with snarky, poisonous words that part of you is ashamed of. You know they are good people. They’re all trying to be heroes, you are too, but their good-naturedness makes the words you spew more venomous as you try to get rid of the suffocating feeling squeezing your throat.

“They are,” You agree readily. “Can’t say I’m surprised, considering the ruckus they make every day. They try to get the limelight so badly, they don’t know how bad it looks on the surface.”

It feels good, you can’t lie, but part of you is also guilty for saying the things you did.

Your father means well, you know that. And it’s exactly because of it that it hurts.

Is it selfish? To want a father when every second he’s not there for you, he’s saving the world and touching the hearts of so many of his students who talk fondly of him?

You bite your lip, already regretting your fight with him the other day. There was no repairing this bridge now.

—

“Y/n?” Aizawa stops by your class when you’re on your way out. “Can I speak to you?”

Aizawa wants to kick himself in the gut.

He’s replayed your fight with him over a dozen times, sifting through his memories and alternate conversation lines he could have used to justify his defences.

Instead, he’s made more and more aware of how rarely he sees or actually talks with you after you’ve entered U.A. It’s jarring and frightening just how little he knows about your life.

He’s been a terrible father.

You cock an eyebrow at him, eyes empty and guarded. It’s defensive, he realises. As if you are expecting him to hurt you. Something inside Aizawa crumbled. Some hero he was.

“What do you want from me?” You mumble, frozen to the floor. His eyes are scary, they pin you there like nails to a board.

Your father’s eyes dilated a fraction, and it has you curling into yourself instinctively. Shit. You should have phrased it nicer, you should have kept your mouth shut or—

“Y/n, I’m not mad.” He reassures you, touching your hand. You don’t move an inch.

“Come on,” Aizawa pulls you along, and you wish you had the strength to pull away, but you pathetically allow him to drag you down the corridors to his Class’s dorm without resistance.

—

Silence engulfs the room when Aizawa closes the door to his room in Class A’s dorm.

He turns back to you, opens his mouth before watching you flinch back. He hates it. Hates that even without doing anything, you look like you’re on the verge of tears like a rabbit that’s trapped by his words. He never meant to do that to you.

“Are you hungry?” He asks instead, trying to cool the edge of his voice by the slightest bit. “You haven’t had lunch yet, so I can order something in if you want.”

You pause, careful and tense. “It’s fine. I can eat later.”

“Do you want to talk about school? What you did today?” He prompts, raising an eyebrow.

You have that look again. The look that shows that you do want to tell him something, but you’re holding yourself back. Your head shakes. “No.” You reply quietly.

“You can sit down here. I think I have—”

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, raising your voice and breaking the tense peace.

“Are you trying to make up for the past 5 years? Because I get it, okay? I get that you feel bad!”

“Y/n,” Aizawa tries to think through the fog of emotions, tries to find the right words to say but nothing comes to mind. “It’s not just that—”

“What else is there?” Your voice is hoarse, and he’s made you cry—again. He’s always making you cry. “I finally know my place, alright? I know that I’m not I’m not up there on your priority list, hell, I don’t even know if I’m on it. You know, for a time, I actually tried, really, really hard. I tried to initiate conversations and guise my feelings just to see you smile.” You sniffle, shaking your head.

Unlike the previous time, when your voice was a concoction of anger and pent-up word vomit, this time, you’re putting yourself down with a mixture of self-hate and sorrow. With words as sharp as knives, you belittle yourself. Aizawa hates that he’s the one who made you think of yourself like that.

“Stop trying to sugarcoat it! You don’t love me—!”

This time, Aizawa refuses to react to late. His body moves, and before you know it he has his arms wrapped around yours. You’re bigger now, around his shoulder level. He hasn’t hugged you in a long time.

“Of course I love you,” Aizawa whispered, pressing your head tight against his shoulder. His face is wet and, oh look, he’s crying too. “I haven’t shown it, I haven’t done a lot of things, but don’t ever think I don’t love you, Firefly.”

He can feel you stiffen against his body. He hasn’t called you that since your mother passed, and you didn't think you would ever hear him call you that ever again. The sobs that wrench themselves out of your lips are heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry,” He mutters, hugging you tighter. “I didn’t mean to neglect you in the way that I did, so please…” He says, voice wrecked with guilt. “Give me another chance.”

He wants to try. Try to make it up to you because he’s already missed most of your life by dwelling too much on someone who was already gone.

He needs to make it up to you. What kind of hero would he be if he couldn’t?

You crumble like a house of cards, sobs consuming your being a whole as he desperately holds you together with his two bare hands.

You don’t say anything to him, and he doesn’t anymore to you, but you cling onto him tight like you’re afraid he’s going to let go.

And he clutches you back, knowing that this is exactly what you need.

---

I know quite a few people have been requesting for this even though it was written quite a while back, so thank you for requesting for this! I hope you enjoyed this and have a beautiful day/afternoon/night ❤️

[ceranovis]

Some musings to do with this celltw pic

As a fandom I feel like we could be doing So Much More with Other Side Elements being canon + all the connected Ordem worldbuilding it introduces by association.

Canonically, Cellbit chose to align himself with the knowledge element. So I hopped on over to the ordem wiki page for Knowledge to look for things to put in the paperwork on the table. Then I realized there's a memory alteration ritual (accidentally pulled the wrong ritual circle image for the art though oTL ...let's just pretend Cellbit identified the right one at some point).

The [Change Memory Ritual] can erase all or only some specific memories of the victim. In both cases, if the victim comes into contact with people, places and certain objects that were part of this past erased, it will begin to gradually recall some elements and have quick flashes of some moments, being able to recover its memory completely after a while.

Now listen. If there's one thing I think of as core to q!Cellbit's character, it's that as far as he's concerned the ends always justifies the means. This includes doing things he knows people he loves will hate him for because he thinks it will be better for them in the long run.

In the regret arc letters, he told Tazercraft he loved them, that Cell was dead & he didn't want them to think he was reverting to that type of monster. While there were a few moments where he brought up clearly unresolved feelings of anger and betrayal/abandonment regarding how things went with Fuga, I do think at that point he cared for the Favela crew as a found-family, and was making decisions he felt were in their best interest (usually without consulting them, or like...running those ideas by anyone else ever...)

If he discovered a way to erase specific memories, I could fully see him using that to 'make things better' for Pac. I doubt he'd try to erase all the Fuga memories (especially as he'd have to also erase Mike and Felps) but I also don't think he'd feel like he had to go that far anyways.

Earlier on in the Quesadilla timeline, Pac seemed to think of Cell as basically dormant and was relatively comfortable with having a fairly close and positive relationship with Cellbit. He only grew paranoid about Cell re-emerging when he saw signs of Cellbit snapping, and he first responded by actively trying to keep Cellbit in a headspace that wouldn't lead to that. There have been multiple instances of Pac extending a bit of grace, an unspoken offer not to forgive or forget but to move forward. He wants Cellbit to be a good man, not a monster.

So I think Cellbit would use the ritual to smooth over events that put a strain on their current relationship. Things that made Pac scared he was turning back into Cell. And he'd probably justify it as 'helping' Pac, but there's also a selfish element there too, of him desperately trying to keep hold of this new start and family he probably doesn't deserve but somehow got anyways.

It's small things at first-- just wiping away little instances that put Pac on edge around him. Pac is prone to glossing over Cellbit's red flags anyways, so even if other people remember what Pac doesn't, it wouldn't set off immediate alarm bells. Nobody would catch on to the manipulation.

Pac himself would write off most of the weird, vague flashes he gets sometimes. It feels sort of like deja vu but with an extra helping of uneasy dread. He's not very self-confident when it comes to his brain; he's just being unreasonably paranoid because of his memories of Cell-- those half-memories are so foggy because his brain is panicking and conflating the past with the present, right? More importantly, wants to trust Cellbit.

Now, there's a clip of Pac (which I can't find now but it lives in my head rent free) where he implies that, if Cellbit and Roier hadnt been introduced, he and Cellbit would have been together.

There are a few points in the canon timeline where guapoduo could have been derailed. Cellbit may never have even gotten to that point with Roier if he and Pac were already a little bit closer. If he was fucking with Pac's memories in a way that made Pac less cautious of him, I think it's entirely possible their relationship would have had a chance to develop in place of guapoduo's.

Cellbit didn't start erasing memories with the intention of getting Pac to fall for him though. He wanted the olive branch Pac extended. He wanted Pac to not be terrified of him. But it never occured to him that Pac might be capable of falling in love with the man who ate his goddamn leg. So it completely blindsides him when Pac does, in fact, very deliberately step over the line between platonic and romantic in their relationship.

It feels a lot more morally dubious to be manipulating Pac's memories once that happens. But he's in too deep. He knows Pac would hate him if he found out the truth. But isn't it better this way anyways? Pac, somehow, impossibly, wants to love him-- it's not like he's forcing Pac feel anything about him, right? He knows how terrible betrayal feels-- and he doesn't have to make Pac feel that way, doesn't have to hurt him like that! All he has to do is omit the truth. It's not even a lie, really.

He wants Pac to be happy, wants to preserve the warmth Pac looks at him with now, and if holding his tongue is what assures that... well he can swallow down the guilt gnawing at him and bear that mental burden for both of them. Theres so much in their history for him to feel guilty about anyways, what's one more thing?

Unfortunately for Cellbit, he's never used the ritual on people prior to this, and the books he got it from were light on details as to how it works. He has no idea that the locks on Pac's memories start to slowly erode as soon as he encounters a trigger. And since all of the erased memories are of Cellbit, their time together is just speeding up that process.

Eventually, Pac regains a memory he can't just brush off. And he has to come to terms with the fact that something is very, very wrong between them even if he doesn't understand exactly what's happening to him. He'd figure it out eventually, go through Cellbit's notes in secret and piece things together. When he does he's horrified and angry and heartbroken. But he's torn too because it's not like he can just forget the relationship they've built either, even if he now knows the foundation is half rotted.

He still loves Cellbit, despite every fucked up thing Cellbit has ever done to him.

The question is really whether Pac loves himself enough to pull the plug on this unhealthy dynamic.

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Are there any TSAMS characters that you hate?

Ah yeah. Quite a few.

I'm not a fan of Monty or Puppet.

Puppet's annoying hijinks were funny for a bit... but after awhile... it just comes off as annoying.

Not to mention, she hopped dimensions and abandoned her son and grandchild without telling them and then proceeds to act like her biological son does not exist.

She has also BLAMED FC when he was being yelled at by Vincent (the cop) which is so much worse in hindsight knowing that Vincent was controlled for those murders. But if a cop is questioning a child, you should be there for your child. Puppet, instead took Vincent's side, and blamed FC for being "too suspicious" ........aka: She lectured FC for being a child.

I also don't like Puppet trying to push her way into every little thing. Like she always has to be involved. I know this is part of her trauma but it's annoying. She is also very hypocritical when it comes to Eclipse and his trauma. She says it's wrong to use trauma to justify him to hurt others, but she does a lot of the same thing.

I don't like how about 90% of the time that she turns out to be right by the narrative for her annoying and invasive behavior.

I'm also not too big on Earth either. Which is a shame, she used to be one of my favorite characters.... but she's become really stagnant as of late, and I notice the pattern of her doing something hypocritical and then asking if what she did was okay and her family constantly justifying her actions.

She reads off as a bit of a mean girl with double standards to me. She didn't used to be this way either. It was more when she was filling her baby sister role and everyone started to coddle her.

But these are just minor complaints and don't really affect my enjoyment in any way.

I still think Earth jumping to the worst case scenario with N!Moon from the recording Eclipse gave her was way out of line. I still believe that. And it being proven right just soured me for a long time and I don't think I can ever move past how little faith she had in her brother that she grew up together with. Would it have made the situation better? Who knows. I just know that "the confrontation of Moon" was my absolute least favorite episode of Laes and soured me on her character for a long time because I was able to see and crack wide open how she judges people and I still don't think it was right.

I often am way more fond of fanon interpretations of Earth more.

I've just learned to accept that this show will never have a show bible, so things that characters do that the actors believe are funny or dramatic in the moment, they don't remember later down the line when it was honestly kinda fucked up and watching the show from start to finish you can develop a pattern of behavior that will never get recognized or acknowledged, and I have come to terms with that.

[evita-shelby]

In the near future

Eva and Robert talk about their hypothetical child after they elope.

cw: mentions of a past misscarriage, feelings of inadequacy, self-esteem issues.

The last thing she expects to hear from the doctor is that they are free to try again after her next period ends. In fact, they were encouraged to start then since she’d be at her most fertile.

The moment Eva was cleared they’d made up for lost time, happy to be back together and knowing this time they’d do things right.

“You’re thinking about it too.” Rob says as both give up the pretense of sleep. He holds her, kissing her shoulder and reminds her how much he loves her.

One day she will feel worthy of him.

“Yeah.” They hadn’t done anything beyond some cuddling tonight, the news had put them in a pensive mood and fearing what the other thought of the mere idea of ever trying again.

Its not that they don’t want kids, they do but they have just gotten back together and eloped earlier last night, and Eva knows his family will think she did it to trap Robert. They hate her, part of it was justified, but even before that Eva and Browning were legendary in their rivalry.

If Robert’s beloved mother had been alive, she would’ve hated her too.

“In the near future, I would like to have kids with you.” Eva admits. First time she broached the subject of their second try succeeding.

“What terrors they’d be, your brains, my whatever you see in me.” even as they contemplate a possible future together, he cannot fathom what he brings to the relationship beyond looks and money.

“Your pettiness.” The dark-haired beauty turned to reassure him he was more than he knows kiss by kiss. “Your inability to stay down and your terrifying work ethic.”

“You only say that because you love me.” He denies being everything she knows him to be but kissed her anyways. “Even Uncle Peter is relieved you’ll be by my side when I take over the company in full. Thinks I’ll fuck everything up without you.”

Peter Browning still hates her but tolerates her for Robert’s sake. Begrudgingly admitted she’s good enough for Fischer Morrow’s advisor position now that Rob and Eva had officially gotten back together and agreed to make Aurai part of his company.

“We make a great team, and Robert Junior is going to be perfect.” Strange how their wedding night has him assuring her his family doesn’t hate her that much and Eva assuring him he’s not worthless and would be a great dad. “We could make him right now if you’re game.”

“You’ve been Mrs. Fischer for what, three, four, hours and already you want kids.” Rob doesn’t say no, instead he deepens his kiss and pulled her closer. They are ravenous for each other, wanting to make up for lost time and now giving into that desire to have all they dreamed or that first night.

“We are not naming him Maurice nor Peter.” Eva moved to straddle him and gave him her one condition.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[suspectjpg]

ONE　MORE　HIT,　　♫　　AND　THEN　I'M　OUT!

[     timothee chalamet ,  cis  man,  he/him   ]     ⸻     have you seen MAX GOODLOE?　yes,　the TWENTY - TWO year old SENIOR that’s usually wandering around campus? they’re currently focused on PUBLIC AFFAIRS,　so we’re sure they’ve been super busy with studying.　according to rumors, they were michael’s FAMILY FRIEND and he knew they PAWN HIS PARENT'S VALUABLES TO FUEL HIS GAMBLING ADDICTION.　does it make sense considering they’re known for being THEATRICAL as well as MACHIAVELLIAN?　either way,　the phantom is threatening to bring scary things to light,　but let’s hope whatever they’re hiding stays in the dark.  [  maria,  21,  she/her,  mst,  body horror ]

rly quick stats

introducing maxwell vernon goodloe

known as. max

dob. 9 december 2002

zodiac big three. sagittarius sun, libra moon, gemini rising

sexuality. bisexual

extracurriculars. not me forgetting what i put him down as ... i think editor for the phoenix news and the debate team

inspirations. mainly just saul goodman (i'm sorry) but consider any other antihero with charm and a whimsical but sinsiter nature to be an inspiration too

biography

raised in nevada near the las vegas strip! by his mama. she moved there in her 20s in search of fame n' fortune but she eventually just got stuck at the stripping job she initially took to help jumpstart her career. when she had max, she had to take other measures so she had the $$$ to raise him. even if it meant pulling him into scams she'd pull on tourists and forcing him to tag along on her rounds as an avon rep because 'it sells better when you flash 'em your big puppy dog eyes, maxie'. things like that stick with max as he grows older, starts perusing the strip with his friends for victims of his own. all to make a quick buck.

one day, she just so happened to pick the wrong tourist to try n' scam and nearly ended up in something resembling a fistfight (resembling because the guy was a head taller than her and she wouldn't have lasted a second) when a good samaritan butts in and defends her!!! scares the big lug away. the moment his mama learns that said good samaritan was a politician from los angeles (ie. $$$$$$$), she's laying the charm on thick. he's older (ie. balding), mild-mannered, in need of a good ego stroke so it's not long before they're getting hitched and max is on a one-way flight to los angeles! he's just 14 then.

max doesn't like it at first. doesn't like how stuffy and snobby everyone seems. hates his moms weird new husband too. but he wins max over in time, and they grow to have a genuinely wholesome relationship! so much so that max decides he'd like to be a politician, just like him. he's surely got the charisma for it, says his now father. but he never did grow out of his knack for causing trouble and pullin' a fast one on just about anybody, courtesy of his mom, so there's a real moral struggle there. but all politicians are a little slimy, right? what does it matter if he cut corners if it meant the greater good coming to fruition? ends justify the means, always always always.

golden state is a no brainer. his father went there and his father before him. and now max was one of them! so he'd go too. he didn't even think he'd go to college, so it's all a little foreign to him and he does just about anything to pass. and i do mean anything. he evens joins a few clubs! look at him go!

of course, it's not without a few problems. a couple months after his 21st, him n' his buddies went to a casino just to say they have. max ended up pocketing 8k and has been chasing that high ever since. it's escalated in the past couple of months, what with law school coming up for him shortly. he's started stealing his parent's valuables to have money to gamble with. turns out he's still just that kid on the strip lookin' to make a quick buck.

personality

very theatrical! the son of a politician and a retired scammer, so he is ever the showman and the smooth talker. he knows it too, so he can be up his own ass but his devil-may-care attitude and general amiableness means he is a guaranteed good time.

if chaotic neutral was a person. strikingly dishonest and flaky. but again!!! the ends justify the means for max. and the ends is always the best outcome for his loved ones.

SO tacky, especially as it relates to his appearance!! mismatched prints and loud colors and the whole nine yards. the rate at which he buys new clothes, it's like you can just tell having so much money is a very new prospect to him. not that he wears hella name brands but it's just very lee in bones and all coded. the little brown western shirt, the floral shirt and the grandma cardigan!! yeah!! he doesn't let it go to waste either, if it doesn't fit he's just take scissors to it and wear it anyways. takes great care to look the way he does (ie. just slightly disheveled at all times). in a permanent state of looking for the next reflective surface to check how his hair's sitting.

catchphrase is "i hardly know her"

runs on one redbull and a cigarette and that's it

also, don't think i mentioned it so i thought i'd tack it here at the end, but i figured michael kepler's parents and max's would run in the same social circles and whatnot

[bastardsblood]

“I’m sorry that I keep you in here. But you’re too pure and innocent. I’m scared that this world will break you. I’m only protecting you.” AZAZELLLLL i have it on good authority that he would be a yandere for someone very pure and innocent so :)) pls :)))

Hello! I compromised with the prompt a bit, so I'm sorry I didn't do the line word for word, haha.

I hope you enjoy!

Characters: Azazel

Scenario: Prompt request

Content Warnings: Yandere

You were often called naïve. 

People would like you when you talked to them, pretending you're friends, only to throw you looks of condescension when your back was turned. The 'do-gooder' of the slums, so easily taken advantage of, never quite able to resist offering someone a helping hand. If you'd land yourself in trouble because of someone, the others would pity you and laugh about how reoccurring it is, but never help. 

That's why Azazel hated every single one of them. 

It was a feeling he knew well but thought he had rid himself of. He was supposed to be one step closer to being a God, unburdened by morality and sentimentality, and yet he couldn't resist you. When he looked at you, he saw his past self. Gullible, oh-so-gullible, but kind. 

"I heard his health was worsening," Azazel said, laughing in apology after realising he hadn't mentioned who he meant. "That baker down the street. You know which one, right? The one who owed you quite the hefty sum of money." 

You stayed silent, only pursing your lips in thought and discomfort. You were always like this when he'd come home, but he also knew you became talkative once he prodded at you enough. Walking over to the table set next to your bed, he dropped a heavy pouch on it. The metallic clinking was enough of a telltale sign of what was inside, and your eyes widened. 

"Isn't it sweet of him to repay his debt despite his declining health? There was some good in him, after all." Azazel put on his usual thin smile, before quietly adding, "... A shame he had to be forced to."

You thinned your eyes at him. "Would you mind sparing me the implications of what you did to him?" 

Azazel booped your nose and smiled sweetly at you when you pushed your head away in annoyance. "But I take great pleasure in giving those rats a payback; it breaks my heart that you do not feel the same." he said lightly, "Alas! I have to take the charge for now! I simply cannot wait until you realise what I'm doing is justified." 

Weakly clutching your bedsheets, you sighed, "...I helped him of my own volition; it's my own fault that he took advantage of me. "Your grip tightened, the tone of your voice getting angrier, "I blame myself, not him." 

Azazel's smile remained, but he regarded you as if he were an onlooker to a pitiful and struggling animal. He sat on the edge of the bed and tried to ignore how you instinctively moved further away from him. "I've seen more cruelty and evil in this world than most and I know a rotten person when I see one." He looked down at your hand and took it into his own before continuing, "You were feeding his malice without even realising it. You manipulated yourself into thinking he was a good person despite never having seen any proof of that, and ignored all the glaringly red warning signs. After all, what if, by helping him, you nurture the 'good' inside him?" he scoffed, "Oh, what an ego trip that'd be for you."

When you pulled your hand away and moved your hand to slap him, he wouldn't move away. His eyes stayed on you even as he felt your palm connect with his cheek. Before you could drop it back to your side, he took hold of it and kissed it. "... You're not naïve at all."  

"Just… Be quiet."

"I won't be. Unlike me, you were aware of how rotten this world was since the beginning. You weren't fooled by anyone, but you acted like you were. Why? You're smart, but you still want to keep your purity and innocence. If I didn't keep you here, you would've been corrupted sooner or later."

Azazel was trying to sound light, but he truly was perplexed. Maybe it bled into his expression too, as you licked your lips in thought. He couldn't understand you; he thought he'd finally reached the point where discerning a person's motive is mere child's play, and yet you seemed to be a puzzle he just couldn't figure out. He wanted to research more about you, keep you in a cage, and see how you function and what makes you tick. He hates not knowing things, especially when he finds them so alluring. 

"I think you've lost the privilege to ask me such personal questions when you've forced me here." 

Despite momentarily seeing a crack in your façade, you covered those cracks without giving Azazel any information that he was starving for. His fingers twitched, and he felt something akin to frustration, a tickly feeling in his veins. To love something was to know everything about it, even if it took time. 

And he had all the time in the world to make you confess.