#after we collided fanfic

[neferaskingdom]

♡ It's Not You, It's Your Pants | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Girl roasts Charles Leclerc’s tragic pants online, then accidentally crashes into him in Monaco. Cue spilled coffee, fashion rants, and an existential crisis about how her life turned into a Wattpad fanfic in under five minutes.

A/N: Just a random crack idea I had after seeing Charles' pants on Pinterest.

CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The pants in question:

Monaco was as glamorous as your Instagram feed had led you to believe—blue skies, sparkling yachts, and streets that looked like they’d been personally polished by billionaires. You’d come here for a break from your intense fashion studies, soaking up the vibes (and let’s be honest, hoping for a celebrity sighting). And maybe—just maybe—you’d catch a glimpse of a certain F1 driver whose face had become a staple on your social media, along with some questionable fashion choices.

It was your first time here, a small vacation before diving back into the hectic world of fashion school. Your excuse? Inspiration. But honestly, you just wanted to escape to the Côte d'Azur and sip some coffee.

But you weren’t just an F1 fan. You had your own little corner of fame on Instagram. As a fashion student with a decent following, your niche was breaking down and rating celebrity outfits. Recently, you’d gained serious attention for a video where you roasted none other than Charles Leclerc—the beloved racing prince of Monaco—for wearing, and you quote yourself, “blue baggy pants that looked like they were in a fistfight with a bunch of scissors.”

It wasn’t personal; it was business. And the fact that the pants had star-shaped rips in them? Your comment was basically a public service announcement.

“Look at these pants,” you’d said, holding up a screenshot of Charles sporting his, ahem, questionable fashion statement. “I mean, what are we even doing here? Are these pants or a craft project gone wrong? Who looks at a pair of baggy jeans and thinks, ‘You know what’s missing? Giant star-shaped cutouts for maximum confusion!’”

As you strolled through Monte Carlo, cappuccino in hand, you scrolled through the comments on your viral video.

“Not gonna lie, I kinda miss when Charles used to wear those skinny jeans that made him look like a confused hipster.”

“ARE WE JUST NOT GONNA TALK ABOUT THE STAR CUTOUTS?!?!”

“I think Charles Leclerc has been taking fashion advice from his 8-year-old self. Stars? Really? Babe, it’s not the 2000s anymore.”

“Not the hero we deserve, but the one we need—thank you for saying what we were all thinking about those pants.”

“Leclerc’s stylist should be fired, immediately.”

You chuckled at one of the memes someone had made—a zoomed-in shot of Charles in his infamous star-cutout pants, captioned: “I’m a star, literally.” Honestly, the internet was undefeated.

Mid-laugh, you rounded a corner, not looking where you were going, and—WHAM—collided with someone solid, causing you to spill your coffee, drop your phone, and let out a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

“Oh my God! I am so, so sorry!” you babbled, fumbling to grab your phone off the ground.

“No problem, really—”

You froze. That voice.

You didn’t need to look up to recognize that slightly accented, velvety smooth tone. The universe had decided today was the day it turned your life into a Wattpad fanfiction.

Charles Leclerc was standing right in front of you.

And not just standing. He was smiling—that damn heart-stopping smile—and then something in his expression shifted. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he was trying to place where he knew you from. You, meanwhile, were contemplating whether it was possible to will yourself into nonexistence through sheer force of embarrassment.

“You’re…” Charles blinked and then a glint of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Wait, you’re the girl from that Instagram video. The one about my pants.”

If your life was a movie, this would be the part where someone hit pause so you could have a full existential crisis. Unfortunately, reality didn’t work like that, and all you could do was stare at him, jaw slack, as your brain tried to reboot.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unsure of how to explain to the very person whose fashion choices you’d roasted in front of millions of people that it wasn’t personal.

Charles tilted his head, his smile widening. “You really didn’t like my pants, huh?”

Oh God. This was happening. This was actually happening.

“I mean, it’s not that I didn’t like them…” you began weakly, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were currently being confronted by Charles freaking Leclerc. “It’s just… they were, you know, kind of…” You gestured vaguely toward his legs as if that would somehow help explain your deep-seated hatred for the star-ripped monstrosities.

“Kind of what?” he asked, clearly enjoying watching you squirm.

You took a deep breath, deciding to just go for it. “Okay, look. They were confusing. Like, were they pants? Or was it some weird attempt at turning your legs into a constellation? I couldn’t tell. They had star-shaped rips, Charles. also, why were there so many weird cutouts? Are they… windows? Are your pants ventilated?”

Charles let out a snort, clearly struggling to keep it together. “Ventilated?”

You nodded, gaining momentum now. “Exactly! They look like they’re half-torn on purpose, but not in a cool, grungy way. It’s like someone started cutting them up and then gave up halfway through. And the bagginess? Charles, I don’t even know where to begin. It’s like you bought them two sizes too big, but then tried to fix it by adding rips. And it just… doesn’t work.”

Charles burst out laughing, his hand covering his mouth as he tried to rein in his amusement. “You really think they were that bad?”

You blinked at him, dead serious. “Charles, those pants looked like they got into a fight with a pair of kindergarten scissors and lost.”

He was full-on laughing now, and you felt a small victory in that. At least he wasn’t offended. Although, considering how often people talked about drivers online, he probably had thicker skin than you’d given him credit for.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think anyone would notice the stars,” Charles said between laughs, wiping away a tear from his eye. “But you? You gave them a whole five-minute segment.”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to turn it into an entire rant! It just… it snowballed.”

Charles grinned at you, his expression softening a bit. “No, it was funny. I saw the video. My brothers couldn’t stop laughing. Arthur sent it to me like five times.”

You blinked. “Your brothers… sent you the video?”

“Yep. They even gave the pants a name. They call them ‘the constellation pants’ now.”

You couldn’t help it. You snorted. “You should burn those pants. Like, immediately.”

He looked down at his legs, pretending to think it over. “They’re not that bad.”

“Charles,” you sighed, suddenly feeling a wave of passion wash over you. “Those pants were an abomination. They weren’t just bad—they were like an insult to pants everywhere. Like, what even were they? Baggy, ill-fitting, with random star-shaped rips? Did they start out as pants or was it some kind of tragic attempt at upcycling? Because I swear to God, it looked like a fabric store exploded on your legs.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting you to dive headfirst into a passionate rant about pants, but there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me wrong,” you continued, gesturing wildly. “I’m all for experimental fashion. I love a good risk. But those pants? They looked like you lost a bet to a five-year-old. I’ve seen better craftsmanship at a kids’ summer camp sewing class. They were offensive, Charles. Offensive to pants, offensive to legs, and offensive to anyone with eyes.”

Charles looked back up at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Okay, but what’s so wrong with adding a little personality to my wardrobe? Stars are cool.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Not when they’re cut out of your pants, they’re not!”

“Fair enough,” he said, still smiling. “But now you’ve got me curious. If I did burn the pants, what would you suggest I wear?”

Was this a trick question? Was he seriously asking you, the random fashion student who insulted him online, for fashion advice? What was your life?

“Well…” you began, mentally assembling an outfit in your head. “For starters, how about something that doesn’t look like it belongs in a bad 2000s boyband? Maybe some slim-fit jeans that actually fit properly. And—oh!—ditch the weird rips. You’re Charles Leclerc, not a rejected *NSYNC member.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by your decisiveness. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’m just saying… you’ve got the face, the career, the whole package. You shouldn’t let the pants drag you down.”

Charles grinned, leaning in slightly. “So, you think I have the whole package?”

Your brain screeched to a halt. Did he just—? Did Charles Leclerc just flirt with you?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, star boy,” you shot back, smirking despite the fact that your internal monologue was currently having a breakdown. “I’m only here trying to fix your fashion sense.”

Charles chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. And that’s when the next bomb dropped.

“Well then, maybe you can help me shop sometime?” He said it so casually, like he wasn’t currently turning your entire existence upside down with one smooth sentence. I THOUGHT CARLOS WAS THE SMOOTH OPERATOR.

“I—wait, what?” You blinked rapidly, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. “Did you just… ask me to go shopping with you?”

He smiled again, that devastatingly charming smile that should probably come with a warning label. “Yeah. I mean, you clearly have strong opinions about what I wear. Might as well put them to good use.”

Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were standing in the middle of Monaco, and Charles Leclerc—your internet crush since forever—was asking you to go shopping with him. Totally normal. Just another Tuesday. Nothing to freak out about.

Yet your inner monologue was screaming, “MY LIFE IS A WATTPAD FANFICTION, WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“I, uh…” you stammered, trying to process this. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Charles replied smoothly, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve got to fix my ‘constellation pants’ problem, right? Who better to help me than the girl who went viral for hating them?”

You were pretty sure your brain had short-circuited at this point. But somehow, you managed to respond, your voice steady despite the fact that your insides were doing cartwheels. “I mean… I guess I could do that. If you really want fashion advice.”

Charles nodded, then casually pulled out his phone. “Great. Let me get your number, and we’ll sort something out.”

You stared at him. Was this real life?

He handed you his phone, and you slowly, robotically, typed in your number, still half-expecting to wake up from this fever dream.

After you handed it back, Charles shot you a grin that could probably melt steel. “So… how about lunch tomorrow? We could discuss your fashion intervention plan.”

Your internal monologue was now full-on screaming. WHAT IS THIS LIFE?

“Lunch? Uh… sure?” you replied, feeling like a character in a rom-com who was two seconds away from tripping over their own feet.

“Perfect,” he said, his smile widening. “I’ll text you.”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc—the man whose fashion sense you had ruthlessly destroyed in front of the entire internet—waved goodbye, leaving you standing there in a daze, wondering if you were hallucinating or not.

Your life? Officially. Unreal.

[judyvan]

Keep It Down - Matt Sturniolo Fanfic

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Summary: You desperately want Matt, but his brothers are in the house. Will you be able to contain yourself to avoid the awkwardness?

Warnings: MDNI/ smut/ mattxfem!reader/ p n v/ soft dom!matt/ bf!matt/ hair pulling/ begging/ daddy kink/ mouth play/ vulnerabiliy/ use of "you"

A/N: This is my first fanfic. Interactions are appreciated. There are multiple parts to this story, this is the second one. The song very loosely relates to the storyline. Please don't steal my shit. Thanks!💋

To read the first part (Movie Night) click here.

To read the last part (The Morning After) click here.

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Matt hands you one of his t-shirts and grabs some pajama pants for himself. You head to the bathroom to change and do your nightly duties. Upon returning to Matt's room, he leaves to do the same. When he comes back in, you can't help but stare. He's wearing the pjs that he picked out and his chain rests flatly on his bare chest. You've seen him like this so many times, but you can't take your eyes off of him. Just the sight of him makes your insides fill with desire.

He walks over, crawls into bed next to you, and resumes the movie that you guys were watching downstairs. Matt's arms wrap around you, pulling you into him. Your head is now resting on his chest, and you can feel his heart beating. The smell of his cologne and the feeling of your face on his skin starts to make your head spin. You push off of his chest and give him a soft, sweet kiss. Matt cups your face with one hand, wrapping his other around your waist, as he kisses you back. As per usual, neither one of you can stop with just one. His taste is intoxicating, his touch is tender, and your heart begins to beat out of your chest. You slowly slide your leg up over top of his while his hand slightly veers from your cheek to the side of your neck. His thumb and pointer finger rest on the outline of your jaw, the rest of his large hand covers your throat. He holds your face in place as he kisses you more passionately. Your stomach flips and you begin to feel a pulse in-between your legs. Next thing you know, you're straddling Matt and his tongue slips in your mouth, launching your make-out session.

The feeling of wetness in your panties and the aching at the center of your thighs controls your every move. You begin to grind on the stiffness in Matt's pants, desperately searching for friction. Matt's breath hitches and your kisses become more and more hungry. As your lips collide, you gently tug on Matt's bottom lip with your teeth, hinting to him that you want more.

"We can't do that, and you know it," Matt says panting, his lips swollen.

You let out a desperate whimper, continuing to grind on him. "Matt, please," you beg. "I want you so bad."

"Baby, I know. I want you right now too, but Nick and Chris are still awake. They'll hear us." Matt empathetically pulls your head towards his, leaving a gentle peck on your neck. He then whispers in your ear, "Listen. Whenever they leave tomorrow, we'll make an excuse to stay here. Then we can be as loud as we want."

You straighten your posture on top of him. "Yeah, that's a great plan! I'm all for it. But I think we should also do it tonight." You smile cheekily at him despite the intense throbbing that you're feeling in areas downstairs, coming from both you and Matt.

Matt lets out a soft laugh. He brings his hands up to your thighs, making circling motions with his thumbs. "We can't. I'm sorry."

You let out a whine placing your forehead against his. "Mattttt! Pleaseeeeuh! I'll be quiet I promise."

"You know what? Fine. Fine, let's do it. But I swear if you are too loud and they start some shit, I'm telling them it was your idea." Matt says laughing.

"Wow! I thought that was going to take a lot more convincing."

You laugh as you dip your head down into the crook of his neck biting him lightly and kissing him sloppily. Matt lets out a groan as you continue to devour him. You veer away from his neck, continuing to pepper kisses down his chest and stomach. With every kiss, you feel Matt tense slightly under your lips as he releases soft moans. Right as you reach Matt's happy trail, you feel him sit up, grabbing your face and pressing an eager kiss to your mouth.

"Your turn," he says. In a swift motion, Matt trades you places, flipping you over. He begins to plant kisses on your neck, everywhere he touches being left ablaze.

Typical Matt. Missionary Matt. Soft moans escape your lips as you become more and more desperate. It's not just a want, it's a need. Matt pulls his shirt off of you. He takes a second to admire you laying in his bed wearing only your panties.

"I'll never get tired of looking at you. Especially like this."

You help him slip out of his pj pants and immediately, he's back on top of you. His lips gradually travel from the top of your throat to the waistband of your underwear, leaving you tingling all over. "God. You're already so wet," he says seeing your panties almost completely saturated with need.

Matt leans over top of you, reaching in his nightstand to grab a condom. As he does so, he places his knee in between your legs, putting slight pressure on your swollen clit. He knows what he's doing. You bite your bottom lip to suppress a moan. You don't want it to stop before it even starts. Holding the protection between his teeth, Matt removes his boxers. Your eyes widen in awe as you examine the length of him. It's something that'll never stop surprising you. You lift up your hips as Matt removes the only thing you have on. Opening the wrapper with his teeth, Matt slides the rubber onto his dick, throwing the trash in the floor.

"I'm going to go slow and easy. If you can take it and stay quiet, I'll give you more."

Lining himself up with your entrance, Matt pushes into you slowly, slightly struggling from the size of himself even though you're practically dripping. You both gasp at the same time, your needs starting to be fulfilled. Your walls stretch and then squeeze around him as he slides in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts, only giving you half of his length. You press your lips together to keep your sounds of pleasure silent. Matt groans lowly trying to please you both, as much as possible as quietly as possible.

"You feel so good inside of me," you muster to him, trying your hardest to convince him that you can take more.

"You're doing so good," Matt whispers surprised at how quiet you're staying. With each thrust he slowly starts to give you more of his length.

"Matt, I need more. Please give me more" you plea, desperately wanting him to go harder, deeper, and faster.

"Are you sure you want to? Do you think you can take it?" he asks, keeping his rhythm consistent.

"Yes. I'll stay quiet. I promise," you respond.

Matt pulls out of you and drags you to the side of his bed, letting your legs dangle off the side. He reaches over top of you to grab a pillow. You lift up slightly as Matt slides the pillow under your hips, giving him more access to go deeper. After pumping himself a few times, he inserts himself back into you, his movement quicker and harder than before. You let out a low moan as quietly as you can. Matt places his hands on your stomach, pushing down firmly. He knows this is your favorite because it allows you to really feel him, every last inch. The cool touch of his metal rings covers you with goosebumps. You start to whimper. As he begins to buck his hips into you, faster and with more force than before, you feel him repeatedly slam into your g-spot. Your soft pants increase in volume. Matt leans forward to kiss you, trying to keep you silent. He picks up his pace slightly and applies more pressure to your belly. Every returned kiss becomes a struggle. You need to cry out desperately, no longer being able to contain yourself. You bite Matt’s shoulder attempting to maintain composure. A series of moans escape your lips, each one growing louder. Matt’s eyes snap directly to yours, knowing you're getting too noisy.

“Stay quiet for me,” Matt says through his own low moans. You bite your bottom lip, doing everything in your power to suppress your noises, your pleasure building. Loud whines leave your mouth. Matt removes his hands from your stomach, placing one on the bed and the other one your mouth. “Keep it down,” he says speeding up his pace even more.

The tension builds in your stomach. You’re almost there! “Yes Matt!” you cry out, his hand barely muffling your screams, failing to keep your act discrete. There was nothing quiet about the high-pitched shriek that you let out. Matt rips himself out of you with no warning, leaving you feeling suddenly empty and hurt. Your body is still aching for him.

"I told you to be fucking quiet. Now roll over." he spits at you walking over to his side of the bed.

You curl up in the fetal position facing away from Matt, not wanting him to see the tears of shame, frustration, and pure sadness filling your eyes. He has always been the sweetest boyfriend. You never thought that being too loud while he pleases you would make him so angry. He was so angry to the point that he was going to leave you both there unsatisfied, never getting your release. As Matt gets on the bed himself, you feel your throat burn as you try to hold back your tears.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he says his tone now aggressive. You feel his hand slide around your waist. He pulls you towards him and lifts you up, leaving you on all fours. "I'm not fucking done with you." He glides his hands up and over your ass. "Now, arch your back."

You do as he says. You were slightly put off earlier, but his aggressiveness turned you right back on. His massive hands continue to move from your lower back to the middle of your back, pushing you into the mattress. The side of your face pressed against the pillow, your stomach completely flat on the bed, your ass propped up in the air. He thrusts himself into you roughly, forcing your mouth to fall open and your arch to deepen.

"Since you want to be so fucking loud, I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. Give you somethin’ to scream about." Him and his Mattitude. He starts to buck into you hard, deep, and fast, proceeding to do just what he said he was going to do. You let out a shriek, gripping onto the sheets tightly, needing something to hold onto. Your mouth finds the pillow case and bites down hard.

"No! Get that shit out of your fucking mouth," he says speeding up his pace. "Let me hear you fucking scream."

You let out pornographic moans, your mind now clouded with how fucking good he's making you feel.

"Oh Matt! Yes!"

He slows his pace down, wanting to prolong both of your orgasms. If he keeps doing what he's doing, neither one of you will last long. His right hand leaves your back, and his two middle fingers enter your mouth. He begins thrusting his fingers down your throat at the same time as his dick is pushing into you.

"Now, if you can't stay quiet next time, I'm going to fuck this pretty little mouth of yours," he says in a cocky tone. He slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, you suck on them as he does. "Do you understand?" he asks.

"Yes, Matt," you quietly whimper, breathless. You're trying your best to answer him, but he is quite literally fucking you senseless. Suddenly, you feel Matt wrap the length of your hair around his hand. Roughly, he pulls your head back towards him, forcing you to cry out.

"I'm sorry. What was that? I couldn't fuckin’ hear you," he responds. His other hand drifts from your hips, meets his tongue, and finds its way to your most sensitive spot. He begins to rub small circles around your bundle of nerves.

"Yes Daddy!" you scream, a jolt running through your body.

"That's what I like to hear," Matt says groaning loudly. He releases his hand from your hair and pushes you into the bed again.

After stabilizing himself on your back Matt begins to pound into you, fucking you as hard as he can. As his pace speeds up, so does the movement of his fingers on your clit. Your stomach clenches telling you that you're about to finish.

"Matt," you pant, "I'm gonna…," a loud moan finishes your sentence.

"Me too," he replies out of breath, "Give it to me. I wanna hear you scream."

Your muscles contract as you have the most intense orgasm you've ever had, your whole body left shaking. Matt cums with you. He continues to buck into you a few more times as you both ride out your high. Matt's moans fill your head. The sound of Matt bouncing off of your ass shakes the room. Your shouts ricochet throughout the house. There is absolutely nothing quiet about this. The both of you then collapse and catch your breath, the room now painfully quiet. Eventually, Matt pulls out of you and he gets up to dispose of the condom. He uses his shirt that you were wearing earlier to clean you up. Your trembling body was not in the state to move. He grabs a new shirt for you out of his drawer and dresses you gently, the complete opposite of how he was just fucking you. Matt picks up your panties and walks towards you.

"Just forget those," you say, your legs shaking. Your voice is now hoarse and raw.

"Hey, I'm not complaining," Matt laughs. He puts on his boxers and slides into bed with you. He cracks open your water bottle and takes a long drink.

"That's not yours," you poke at him playfully, your croaky voice breaking up your words.

"You said we can share."

"Well, currently I think I need that more than you do."

He hands you the bottle as you both giggle. After taking a sip, you return the bottle to him. He closes it and sits it back in it's place. Matt pulls you in and gives you a long, deep kiss, sending chills down your spine.

"Now, let's go to sleep before they decide to come in here to investigate," he says. With no response, you curl into his chest and you both doze off.

[astrologysaysno]

I saw an Omegaverse fanfic, thought of SVSSS and thought, why not mix them both.

So I offer to the masses the idea of a Second Gender-less Shang Qinghua.

I have a vision that pre PIDW, he had written a lot of books before that, some of which I can imagine are Omegaverse fics

So why not have the PIDW world collide with the Omegaverse and just give everyone secondary genders.

Not Shang Qinghua though, he's special like that.

I imagine that for his formative years, he freaked out constantly regarding the day he presents his second gender. He was really hoping to be an Alpha or a Beta to spare himself the travesty and possible karmic retribution of throwing away his original plans for PIDW by experiencing heat as an omega.

As the years go by, and every teen in his village starts presenting, it just never arrives.

Everyone is clueless. They initially think he's just a late bloomer, then after half a decade of when he was supposed to present, he's still not showing any signs, people just slap the Beta label on him and call it a day.

Going with the flow and not causing a scene, he goes through the Cang Qiong entrance exam, and he gets in.

Most of the people of the sect are immediately off put by him.

For a starter, he is completely alienated to all things scent.

He doesn't give off a smell that any secondary gender has. It's like the equivalent of the taste of water, no flavour, just the scent of his nervous sweats and whatever he accidentally spilled himself with that day.

His stuff gets confused for unused supplies constantly, which is a real hassle, getting his mattress from storage whenever a newbie finds his bed and thinks it's an extra that was never used.

He doesn't seem to recognize scent either. Senior disciples have tried using their scent to drive off Qinghua like they do all juniors, but it doesn't work since he can't smell their haze of intimidation, forcing him to learn tells of behaviors through visual observation alone.

This causes him to become incapable of the process of scenting, unable to smell or be smelt. All attempts for his peers to give him a piece of their scent, it is ultimately washed off like dirt under the pressure washer.

In this scenario, it's the reason why he has never been caught as a spy for Mobei-jun. The King of the Northern Desert has tried to mark him with his scent to declare his ownership, but it fades by the end of the day at most. This frustrates Mobei-jun as he can't seem to get Shang Qinghua to make him his in this manner.

The other big thing is that he has none of the instincts that having a secondary gender would give him, a key one would be on the realm of romance.

My belief is that because of his biology, he was chosen to be head disciple.

The An Ding Peak Lord was going through performance reviews, found Shang Qinghua with no record on any sexually aligned misdemeanors, gets his work done faster, and thinks, "Let's make this boy my disciple."

Again, condolences to Mobei-jun, but I need him to remember that words exist cause his beloved is incapable of being courted by normal means, he needs to be told that you like him romantically or all attempts will go out the door.

I think about how in this AU, Shang Qinghua probably thinks he's a complete outsider that puts everyone off because he can't connect to them in the same way, but the rest of the Peak Lords look at him like:

"Hello, here is our socially inept sibling who we can't do normal ABO things with, but he's incredibly good at organising stuff, so there's that, I guess."

[kinda-super-hot]

I Want More. (1)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Harvey Specter x F!Lawyer!Reader - friends to enemies to lovers <3

Summary: This will be a series! Part 1: (Y/n) and Harvey were 'together' during their time at Harvard, but Harvey couldn't commit to an actual relationship. They 'break-up', or whatever you do to end a situationship, and split on bad terms. Years later, after they become successful lawyers, their paths collide once again when (Y/n) takes a job at Pearson Hardman.

Warnings: commitment issues, angst, arguing - I think that's it but if you noticed something I missed, please let me know.

Word Count: 1784

A/N: I haven't written in a WHILE. Please, please, please constructive criticism. Also, there's, like, no Harvey fanfics. I think I read literally all of them soooooo... that's why there's this thing. Anyways, lemme know if you're interested in part 2 (I already started writing lol).

Harvey and I didn’t used to be so distant. Once upon a time, while we were both attending Harvard, I was the person he went to practice flash cards to study for the bar. While I sat against my bed frame asking him questions off the cards, he’d lay on his stomach with his feet in the air. Seeing as we were both quick witted, we’d often get distracted and end with a battle of lighthearted jabs.

               And likewise, he was there for me when I had been stood up on a date with some frat boy. He ordered in some Chinese food and pulled a big tub of ice-cream out of my freezer. We sat on my goodwill couch picking apart the guy and making up some dumb unfathomable story as to why he hadn’t texted.

               “I can’t wait to hear the headline in the morning: Duke, whatever the hell his last name was, found having been thrown from his car in a head on collision right into a semi-truck loaded with rubber ducks.” He did a news reporter voice that didn’t sound far off from how he normally talked. “Luckily, the ducks cushioned his fall, so he only suffered having lost his phone and missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime with the (Y/N) (L/N).” I repress my giggle but can’t stop the goofy smile on my face. “What a loss.”

               “I mean,” I spoon more ice-cream into my mouth, “Who would name their son Duke? You can tell they wanted a dog.” He nodded along to that and all the other ridiculous things we talked about that night.

               But some friendships don’t last forever. Especially, when you want more.

               We grew closer and had fleeting kisses often. Some borderline dates, but never anything serious. Never anything real. Not to him.

               “Harv.” I called his name from the couch after I heard the door to his apartment open and close. He walked through the door with a smile on his face. “How was your day?” I asked, but I already knew the answer just by looking at his face. He had a mock trial set that day and absolutely crushed it. He was assigned the husband’s attorney and was in charge of making sure that the wife got the minimum of what she was entitled to without having signed a prenup.

               After he boasted about his triumph, I applauded him. But he wasn’t finished running his big mouth. And his next, one little comment, threw our relationship through a loop. “One of the stupidest things a person can do is get married.” He smirked as he took of his jacket and started on his tie.

               I froze in my place on the couch. He continued getting comfortable and taking off his restricting clothes with his back facing me. My throat was tight, but I persevered, I had to make sure that I had heard him right. “You think marriage is stupid?”

               I eyed his back feeling distraught. Every fiber in my being hoped and pleaded that he was joking, but my gut knew better. Moreso, it knew Harvey better.

               “Marriage, in my eyes, is an irrational vulnerability. There’s no point other than, I don’t know, taxes?” He rambles on with his back still facing me. My heart clenches. “And even then, it’s not worth it. Divorce can ruin everything. A man, his family, hell, it can run an entire business into the ground.”

               My head was throbbing, and I couldn’t help the hot tears that brim my eyes. “Huh.” I acknowledge. My voice feels raw already from holding back letting out any noises. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

               My voice must have given me away because Harvey flicks his head over his shoulder to spare me a glance before double taking. His eyes widen and his body tenses. He turned his body to me and takes a step in my direction before stopping in his tracks. A tear falls down my cheek and I feel burning hot embarrassment in my chest.

               “Honey…” He gently grabs me by my biceps and looks into my eyes. “What’s wrong.” His voice is smooth as he caresses my cheek and pulls my face into his chest. I let out a choked cry and he rocks me back and forth for a few moments.

               I feel ridiculous. “Oh, it’s nothing.” I can tell I’m not being convincing when Harvey pulls my face from his chest and gives that knowing look before putting it right back where it belongs.

               I had no idea what to say. How do you tell your kind-of-but-not-really-boyfriend that you had already planned what the centerpieces at your wedding would look like? That this was it. This was everything you wanted. He was everything you wanted.

               “Even if it was me?” I blurted it out before I could really think about what I was saying. He looked confused for a second but then his face went stern.

               “Y/N.” All of a sudden, his delicate touch is a little heavier. “We’re not even-…” He cuts himself off and looks to the corner of the room. My mouth opened as I processed what he was too scared to say.    

               “You don’t want me.” My expression turned icy and I looked down. He let out a frustrated noise and pulled away from me. Though, I felt empty before he could even begin to move from my embrace.

               “That’s not it.” His brows were furrowed, and he wouldn’t look at me. That’s exactly it. I read his face and could feel he was holding something back. I was at a loss for words. I removed my body from the bed and let out an emotional scoff.

               I speedily walked into the bathroom, trying to make a plan. Any plan that won’t leave me anymore heartbroken than I already was.

Leave.

               It was my only option. I eyed the unused, small garbage bag next to the toilet and ripped it from its basket. “Y’know,” I suddenly felt his presence behind me. “I know you’re studying to be a lawyer and their whole schtick is lying and-” I started tossing my deodorant and face wash and every other thing I bought for his place into the bag. “-and withholding the truth.” I ranted in a demeaning voice. “But I didn’t think you would do that to me-”

               “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was raised and his hands were out to his side in an exasperated way. “I didn’t lie!” I didn’t stop tossing things in, in fact I’d finished my bathroom segment and moved on to his closet.

               “You’re right- you didn’t lie, you just kissed me, went on dates, and cuddled me! But, oh no, you’re right. We’re not anything.” I growled as I tossed my spare shirts and pants from his closet onto the bed before stuffing them in my already bulging, see-through bag.

               He didn’t yell, but he did have an icy tone when saying, “It’s not my fault if you convinced yourself there was something here when there wasn’t.” I stopped trying to make everything fit into the bag. The next few seconds were silent as I let his words sink in. My heart had to have gotten heavier because it felt like it was in my gut. Either that, or I was about to vomit.

               All I could think was ‘get out’. I couldn’t look at him, fuck, my heart hurts so bad. I tie off the bag and walked from his bedroom into the living room and finally, slam his front door. I couldn’t help but stop outside of it to try and listen for footsteps… but I heard none.

               So, I left. For the next few days, I spent my hours crying, sleeping, crying again and completely and utterly alone.

               I hardly saw Harvey again whilst I was at Harvard, thank God we were in different law classes. Of course, with an ego as big as his, it was impossible not to at least hear about him every once and a while. During graduation, I grimaced knowing that he was a few feet away with that million-dollar smile on his face. Never the matter, I put a smile on my face too and high-tailed it when the picture was over.

I moved back to the city I was born and raised, not too far from New York. I practiced as an associate for a while, but quickly climbed the ranks and made Junior Partner at the firm. I had mind blowing reviews and an amazing success rate that assured a job offer at whatever firm would have me. In fact, I worked so hard at my firm, that I reached the capacity of what they could pay me as a Junior Partner. I could either become Senior Partner or go somewhere else if I wanted to continue to grow my paycheck.

               And if I learned anything from Harvey Douchebag Specter, it’s that I should never settle. I set my eyes on the most successful firm in New York: Pearson Hardman. One over the phone interview and a quick glance at my numerous 5-star reviews, recommendations, and success rate-and I was welcomed to the Pearson Hardman family.

I rented an apartment not too far from the firm and began unpacking the few things I had. After paying off my student debt, I went on a spending spree, and I wound up with more than I could manage. After being knees deep in Dior, I had to offload some stuff. I packed everything I couldn’t part with and donated everything else to be distributed to a few women’s shelter. They couldn’t contain their excitement and now I’m a part of the state-wide organization. Funny enough how those things happen!

Either way, it was a fresh start, through and through. I had the bare necessities, and I was content. A shopping spree for some Ikea furniture was calling my name, though. The apartment was a literal husk up and would remain that way until I could find the time to go shopping.

Being in the city where I studied law and had some of the toughest years of my life made me emotional, but in the best way. Now I’m back, and at least 3 times as kick-ass as before.

Of course, since Harvard, I’d heard a comment or two about Harvey and what he’s been up to, but I tended to butt my head out, far away from his business. I’m sure he’s somewhere still in New York, I mean, he loved this city- but New York’s huge! There’s no way I’ll be seeing him anytime soon.

[humanitys-strongest-brat]

Kintsugi - ch. 1

Summary: After an injury causes you to lose your spot in the World Figure Skating Championship your last hope falls into the hands of Levi Ackerman, a former Olympic competitor.

Pairing: Coach!Levi x Injured fem!Reader

CW: Injury, major themes of depression and hopelessness. 18+ mdni

wc: 3.2k

a/n: Starting off with a huge thank you to @tobbi-loves-levi for helping me throughout the process of making this fic and always listening to me yap about my ideas. This is my first chaptered fanfic and I'm very excited to share it~

dedicated song - dividers 1/2 - masterlist

You cry out as your hip collides with the ground. Rolling into a sitting position you pull your left leg up by the knee. Just resting your blade on the ice sends another shock of pain through your ankle and up your leg. You let out a hiss and squeeze your eyes shut. 

You refuse to believe it, deep down you know you just sustained a serious injury. You tell yourself it's not that bad.

get up.

walk it off. 

Come on. 

Your breathing staggers as you twist your body and pull yourself into a kneel, your good foot anchoring on the ice ready to stand back up. The pain is excruciating. 

“Stay Down!” your coach shouts as she races towards you. “Sit back down.” She demands, and you listen, carefully pulling your weight onto your left hip, carefully settling back down onto the ice. 

Coach Tarasov bends down, instructing you to extend your leg out. When you do she carefully applies light pressure to your boot, only nudging it a little to confirm her fears. Your hand immediately flies over your mouth, you curse and wince in pain. “Not good,” She breathes out “Let’s get you up and off the ice” she says, her voice stern and serious, you know now that it’s really bad, you don't want to believe it.

“Coach,” your lip quivers as you look up at her, you feel destroyed. Panic fills your body and your throat is burning. “...Worlds-” Part of you is humiliated. Sure, you’ve cried in front of Coach Tarasov before; during long sessions that never seemed to end, practicing jumps you couldn't land no matter how many times you tried, watching your peers excel on your bad days. This was different.

This was devastating.

Mid February, four weeks before the World Figure Skating Championship. It was just like any other practice. today you were doing triple toe loops and landed wrong.

You can’t contain your sobs as your coach helps you up. She urges you to hold your foot up while she pulls you to the rink’s exit. When you finally sit down on the bench you notice how tight your boot feels. Holding back your sobs causes you to shake as Coach Tarasov kneels in front of you to untie your skate. “I’m just going to look at it.” She tries to sound comforting, but you can hear the disappointment that laces her words, the acceptance in her tone. Like she knew you were done right then and there without even seeing it. 

Your panicked sob catches in your throat as she pulls the boot off, every surge of pain was just as bad as the last. You can't look, you keep your eyes on your coach. When she peels back your nylon sock she stops and stares for a second before letting out a sigh and dropping her head down in defeat. “You need an X-ray,” she says plainly, only confirming your worst fear. “You can't drive, I'll call an ambulance.” she leans back and requests an ice pack from the rink employee standing over the two of you, observing. You're only just now noticing he was there.

“Stay calm, we don't know anything yet.” You know she's lying. You pick your head up and see your fellow competitors have stopped to watch. Most look shocked, some seem to be showing pity. You lock eyes with your friend and fellow contestant Mikasa Ackerman, her eyes well with tears as she watches you. That’s when you finally accept that your dreams are ruined. 

***

You stare up at the blinding lights of the emergency room ceiling, waiting for the results the X-ray ordered to rule out a fracture. Arms folded over your chest, you simmer in the acceptance that everything you worked for your whole life is gone.

This was your first year qualifying and being invited to participate in the World Championship, you knew after your performances in the Grand Prix and Nationals that you had secured your place and a chance to take gold at Worlds. Competitive skaters everywhere spend their lives training and competing for the chance to get where you were, just as you had, only for one accident to take it all away from you and hand it off to the next person. 

You blink back more tears, easily warding them off since the initial shock of everything drained you. The uncertainty of your career plagued your mind. The excitement and determination to compete was gone, replaced with the dread of agonizing failure. All you wanted to do was go home and sulk. An apartment you rented in the city chosen to host this season’s training sessions with a handful of competitors. Everything reminded you of your loss, even the place designed for you to decompress at the end of the day, your apartment was a representation of the things you endured and achieved to make it to the World Championship to begin with, now it’s just a roof over your head to house you while you heal and watch your dreams slip through your fingers like sand. You're wiping away tears with the sleeve of your shirt as the doctor enters the room. 

He strides into the room, greeting you as he pinned your X-ray up and flicked the light on to illuminate the image. You pull yourself upright on the bed, even in this moment your chest fills with hope for good news. “It’s not fractured,” he says, pulling a pen from his breast pocket. You sigh out in relief. A fracture or break was the worst case scenario, and at least you’re safe from that. He lifts his arm, extending his pen out to the board and pointing at the areas of your ankle with speckled white spots “what you’re looking at is a grade two moderate ankle sprain, you have some torn ligaments” he explains, slowly circling his pen over the white spots highlighted by the bright glow behind the picture. “Based on your X-Ray, swelling, and pain level at intake, we’ll have you in a boot for two to four weeks.” Your heart sinks again, it’s not like you forgot that this injury took something from you, but you got excited too fast hearing it wasn’t as bad as you originally feared. You listen and nod as he goes through the details of the first phase of healing, just as you imagined, stay off of it, never put pressure on it, keep it iced and elevated. “After the boot comes off, you’ll start immediately with physical therapy. They will determine when you have the green light to return to your usual activities.” 

You stare at him, feeling it all come back. “Physical therapy? Isn’t that a little intense for just a sprain?” You plead, your voice shaking again. 

He points again to your X-ray, and those damned white streaks on your ankle. “This is not an injury to be taken lightly, I strongly recommend you stick to your treatment plan to prevent possible irreversible damage. Especially as an athlete.” He warns. 

You get your boot, and you’re promptly discharged and wheeled out to coach Tarasov’s car. They help you into the passenger seat and that’s it. You’re left to face this all on your own now. 

Before you leave, you hand coach your discharge documents and lean your head on the window. The sound of the pages turning as she skims through sends pangs straight to your chest. She rests a hand on your shoulder but you refuse to face her. “I’ll make the calls, I need copies of this and your X-rays” she said with caution. 

You cried the entire drive home. 

***

The three weeks of recovery before you’re cleared to take the boot off could be described as nothing less than hell. You barely left your bed for the first five days, you ignored calls, you didn’t take care of yourself. Your parents found out online, you only answered their persistent calls so they would stop worrying. Days started blending together quickly, when you weren’t crying you felt nothing, even your phone proved itself a shitty distraction. Your name was everywhere, the news of your injury and drop from the championship chased you on every app you used. 

After a week you deleted all your social media.

The start of the second week it dawned on you that the competition was just over two weeks away, and you wouldn’t be there. It made you sick to even think about watching it and keeping up with the scores. Several times a day you wonder how you would have done had your injury never happened. Would you have taken gold? Thinking on it now, if you knew this was the alternative you would have been happy to place at all, just to be there. You took it all for granted, high on success. 

At the end of the third week, you’re out of the boot and booked to start physical therapy, just this week you started eating and taking care of yourself again, you leave the blinds and windows open to let in some fresh air. Every step you take still reminds you of what you could’ve had, you walk with a limp. 

***

You decide to watch the Women’s singles program only, anything more would have only twisted the knife. You watch with a bottle of wine and a box of tissues. 

You feel genuinely happy to watch Mikasa perform, part of you was living through her as you watched. Mostly you’re happy she gets to experience this for herself, you know how much it means to her.

She placed 6th overall, you cried tears of joy for her.

***

You’re given an estimate of eight to twelve weeks of physical therapy. when you do the math, you can’t hold back your grin. Even the longest course of recovery would have you back on ice just in time for the start of the next skating season. You decide right then that you’ll be back on the ice competing in next year's World Championship no matter what it took.

Mid April you finish the first phase of physical therapy, three weeks of balance training taking a decent chunk of confidence from you. to put it bluntly, it was horrible. The pain was almost completely gone, it only hurt during specific exercises. Your balance was abysmal, any added weight beyond walking had your ankle shaking. You knew you could do it, you just had to make it past this part. 

Early May, during strength training with your physical therapist, your phone buzzes in your pocket. After your program you excuse yourself for a much needed break and check your phone to see a text from Mikasa, you catch yourself smiling. It’s been weeks since anyone reached out to you. 

Mikasa ⛸️💨

“Been too long, I miss you! Free for a quick lunch today?” 

You can barely contain your happiness, it shocks you how quickly you text back, letting her know what time you’d be available, and to your surprise it works out. You agree on a location and after your session you rush home to get ready, taking extra time to ensure you don’t look like a husk of your former self when you see her for the first time in over two months. 

When you approach her at the table, she stands up and immediately pulls you into a tight hug, gripping your shirt in her fists as she squeezes. You congratulate her on her placement in the championship and quickly you’re catching up on everything the two of you missed during your time apart. 

“So, how’s that going?” Mikasa asks about your physical therapy after you mention that you're about half way through, almost cleared to begin off-ice sport specific exercises. 

You look down, biting your lip before you respond “honestly? Not well.” You begin explaining how you’ve felt the past couple of weeks, even mentioning that you decided to return to competitive skating this upcoming July. “It doesn't feel like it’s enough. My ankle is still shit, it’s enough to gain back mobility but I can tell I’m not where I need to be.” Your voice shakes a little. Mikasa is a wonderful listener, she never breaks eye contact or interrupts, she lets you unload all your grief. “I know I can do better, they won’t let me push myself, my home based exercises are strict.” You explain. 

Mikasa doesn’t say much, and that’s okay, you were happy just to be here with her after weeks of seclusion, only leaving your apartment for physical therapy. It took weight off your shoulders to talk with someone about what you were going through, and no one could understand you better in this moment than Mikasa. 

When your lunch arrives the conversation dulls down to casual pleasant tidbits of information of Mikasa’s life post competition, eventually she tells you that she’s recompeting herself. You couldn’t be more happy for her. 

Somewhere in the endless chatting you can tell something is on her mind, she detaches from the conversation a couple times, staring down at the table before snapping out of it and apologizing. Eventually she excuses herself. “Sorry, I’ll be right back” she promises and makes her way outside. Your brows stay knit as you crane your body to watch her walk out until she’s just out of view. You sigh when you turn back, that was definitely odd, but you decide maybe it’s best not to press when she comes back. 

She’s gone for no longer than five minutes, when she sits back down it’s like nothing was ever bothering her to begin with. You’re tempted to ask but it couldn’t be too bad if she looked this relieved coming back. The two of you finish your meals and send your bills off to be paid, she grins at you from across the table. 

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

Mikasa quickly reaches in her bag, grabbing her planner and pen from the bottom and dropping it on the table, she quickly flips to one of the back pages and scribbles something down fast. “Here.” She says, ripping the sheet from its binding and sliding it across the table towards you. 

You raise a brow and stare at the page that’s text side down. After a moment you finally bite “what is this?” You ask, pulling it towards you and lifting it up, looking back towards Mikasa. 

“My cousin is a rehabilitation coach,” she begins, letting her excitement take over. “For competitive figure skaters. He agreed to work with you for me.” 

You have no words, you just blink at her. When you finally take a quick glance at the page you notice a phone number and email address written across the page “Mikasa, this is..” you don’t know how to feel, this came up so quick “I don’t know-.. I appreciate-“ 

She cuts you off “Please take the offer, I insist. He has an opening.” She says “Levi’s great, high success rate. I can get you more information if you need it.” 

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach “Levi..Ackerman..?” you breathe out, now staring down at the paper in your hands. You should have known he was related to Mikasa. Hell, you don’t even know why you never thought about it to begin with. They share the same last name. “He was injured at the Olympics all those years ago.” you think aloud, unable to take your eyes off the page. 

“That’s the one,” Mikasa beams “and he doesn’t like to talk about it. So maybe don’t start with that when you call him later.” 

You look up from the page at Mikasa “I don’t know what to say.” Truthfully you didn’t even know rehabilitation coaches even existed, your current coach and physical therapist never mentioned that as an option. 

“Don’t say anything. Just call him later, and tell me how that goes.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes were nothing but gentle. 

When the two of you eventually get up and walk out together you stop in the parking lot to give Mikasa one final hug before you split again. “Thank you so much.” you whisper.

“Don’t mention it,” she replies, pulling back and letting her hands rest just above your elbows, “and don’t be a stranger anymore.”

***

When you arrive home, you catch yourself staring down at the contact information that was given to you. Nervousness didn’t even begin to describe how you felt. This wasn’t just any coach, or another physical therapist. It was Levi Ackerman. He was a part of the best figure skating pairs, finally making it to The Olympics with his partner before the accident. 

You haven’t even come close to a skating rink since nearly breaking your ankle almost three months ago now. Working with a rehabilitation coach to get to your previous level of skating wasn’t even a fleeting thought. Hell, you didn’t even know those kinds of coaches existed until today. What if you were just wasting his time? Surely a coach like him is a privilege, right? Letting your nerves get the best of you, the contact info sits idly on your bedside table as you drift off into a world of ice and gold medals. 

***

The next morning, your dream fresh in your mind, you grab the contact from your nightstand. Ignoring the blaring anxiety, you dial the number without too much thought. The more you think about it, the more inviting backing out feels. The dial tone sounds, causing you to begin pacing your apartment. No more blaming the injury, no more blaming the physical therapy program. You couldn’t just keep sitting around, wondering about the what ifs when you were handed a golden ticket. You’d be crazy to pass this up, even if it was just a chance. 

“Took you long enough.” A rich warm voice answers the phone, stopping you dead in your tracks in the kitchen. How the hell did he even know it was you? How were you even meant to respond to a greeting like that anyway. “I was beginning to think you changed your mind.” He states

“Uh, no.” You reply quickly, tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter to give your free hand something to do. “No I didn’t change my mind, I’m interested.” you cursed yourself, trying to sound so formal. This was the type of thing coach Tarasov always took care of, you were completely out of your element. 

“Great,” he says, you have trouble reading his tone but you try not to think too much of it. Over the phone you hear a series of keyboard clicks and your phone buzzes against your ear “I sent a couple things to your email,” did Mikasa already give him your information? “Go ahead and authorize your physical therapy records over, send me copies of your X-rays and prescribed treatment plan, and sign the following documents.” He lists off “after that, I’ll work up a schedule compatible with your PT, I’ll be in contact.” 

If you were nervous before there wasn’t a word to describe how you feel now. “Thank you, I look forward to working with you.” 

“Have a nice day.” he says in the same tone, your phone beeps to indicate the call has ended.

Taglist: @amywritesthings @littlerequiem @humanitys-strongest-bamf @hideandgopeep (please let me know if i missed you and ill add you on to ch 2)

[dazedandconfused-15]

Heaven's in your eyes (Part 4)

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who took the time to comment and reblog this story, I'm really glad you're sticking with me on this journey!!

If you're enjoying it, a reblog would mean a lot to me and really helps get this fanfic out there! 🫶

Enjoy...

Summary: Life in Hawkins is dull and lonely, especially after your mom abandoned your family, leaving you even more isolated amidst school rumors. Already shy and with few friends, you find solace in your solitude—until Billy Hargrove, the intriguing new boy from California, comes into the picture. To your surprise, Billy seems to seek you out, finding ways to talk to you despite the odds. Never in a million years would you have imagined forming such an unexpected bond with someone.

Link to: Part 1 Part 2, and Part 3

@tatumrileyslover @littlenosoul @nocturnest @the-freak-cassie-313 @rainy-darling @nina-from-317

From then on, you become much more observant. Billy and you meet up after school to do homework, go for walks, grab some food or just hang out. You start noticing small details, like how sometimes his shirt is buttoned up a bit higher than usual, even in warm weather. Occasionally, you catch sight of a bruise on his skin. You refrain from bombarding him with questions, but it's challenging to stay silent when the wounds are obvious. Thankfully, it's never as severe as that night he showed up battered. You quickly understand that this topic is off-limits for him, so you let it go, hoping that someday, he'll feel comfortable enough to open up to you.

For the first time in what feels like ages, happiness seeps into your days. Suddenly, the world seems brighter, nights feel less daunting, and even the mundane surroundings regain a hint of color. But deep down, you know this fragile balance won't last. 

And just like that, everything shifts during a Wednesday afternoon gym class. You're deep into a basketball game. A teammate passes you the ball, and with quick reflexes, you snatch it and charge towards the basket. It all happens in a blur, catching you off guard, until a sharp pang shoots through your knees as they collide with the unforgiving, polished wood of the gym floor. Your heart races as you instinctively extend your arms, just in time to protect your face from the impact. Amid the chaos, the coach's whistle cuts through the noise, and through the fog of pain, a pair of trainers come into focus right before your eyes.

“What happened?” 

“She tripped, Coach,” says the voice belonging to the person in those shoes. Your gaze shifts upward, meeting the mocking eyes of Tina Williams. She stands with one hand on her hip, casually chewing her gum. A moment later, she steps aside as the coach kneels in front of you.

The contrast is stark—where there was once the commotion of squeaking shoes and shouts, there's now a hushed stillness. Half the class has gathered around, watching in silence.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?" the coach asks you, resting his hand on your arm. 

deliberately tripped you, sending you crashing to the floor. The pain in your knees isn't unbearable, but your skin is clearly scraped. The sting from where they hit the ground and slid across the floor is still sharp.

"Oh man, we need to disinfect these," the coach remarks, examining your peeling, reddened knees where raw flesh is visible. "I'm taking you to the nurse's office."

"No, no. It's fine." you say, your voice slightly shaky as he helps you to your feet. "It's not that bad."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," you murmur, catching the faint snickers of Vicky Muller and Carol Perkins as they whisper to Tina, their voices low but filled with amusement.

The coach makes you sit on the benches for the rest of the hour. As the game continues, you become a spectator in every sense—watching the game and the entire situation unfold, feeling completely disconnected from your own body. Your mind drifts, detaching from everything around you. You’re certain Tina tripped you on purpose, but the reason eludes you. Anxiety gnaws at you, leaving a pit in your stomach. When the game finally ends, you follow your classmates into the locker room, keeping your eyes downcast, avoiding any confrontations. All you want is to leave, to escape this uncomfortable situation.

But as you open your locker, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. Reluctantly, you turn, only to find yourself face-to-face with Tina. Vicky stands beside her, arms crossed, with an expression that clearly shows she's anticipating some entertainment, barely able to contain her laughter.

Tina nods toward your knees. “How are your knees?”

You want to snap back, to demand what her problem is, but instead, you choose the path of least resistance. Maybe if you play along, this will all blow over.

“It’s nothing serious. It’ll pass,” you say, forcing a small smile before turning back to your locker.

Tina snorts, and there’s a brief, tense silence. “What’s your deal with Billy?”

Your hand freezes in mid-motion as everything suddenly clicks into place. Slowly, you turn back to her, realizing there’s no avoiding this conversation.

You decide to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Did I stutter?”

You swallow, taking in her mocking expression. The locker room falls silent as your classmates stop what they’re doing to watch the scene unfold. In the background, Carol wears a wicked smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I barely know him,” you say, trying to diffuse the situation, not wanting any trouble.

You know that Billy had gone out with Tina a few times not too long ago. It was supposedly nothing serious and ended as quickly as it began. Rumor has it that after they’d hooked up in his Camaro, he drove her home and never called her again.

“Please. You think we’re dumb?” Vicky chimes in. “We’ve seen you hanging with him.”

“I…”

“Listen, honey,” Tina cuts you off, unfolding her arms and stepping toward you. Her tone is anything but sweet, almost aggressive. “I don’t care what the hell you’re up to. But stop it.”

“Wha…”

“You really think he’d be interested in someone like you? Take a good look at yourself,” she sneers, her gaze sweeping over you, making you instantly self-conscious. “Make sure you’re not carrying fleas before you get near guys like Billy. God knows what’s lurking in that cesspool you call home.”

“Or STDs,” Carol chimes in with a smirk. “Like mother, like daughter.”

The comment hits you like a punch to the gut, the pain in your knees forgotten as a deeper ache settles in. The room is filled with your classmates, yet you’ve never felt so alone. Some stand in silent shock, others hold back amused grins, enjoying the spectacle.

“So yeah, stay away from him. Got it?” Tina snaps her bubble gum, her eyes daring you to respond.

They don’t wait for an answer, turning away and leaving you frozen in place. As you open your locker and reach for your clothes, you realize with a sinking feeling that they’re soaked. Water drips onto the floor, soaking your sneakers, and panic rises in your chest. You quickly grab your backpack, hoping it’s unharmed, but find it just as wet, the contents inside ruined.

Murmurs and giggles fill the room as Tina’s voice drifts over again, soft but cutting. “Sorry about that. Maybe next time you’ll know your place.”

You leave school wearing your damp clothes, shivering as the rain falls down on you. The thought of enduring two more hours of English literature is unbearable. Despite your efforts to dry your clothes and backpack, the dampness clings to you, making the weight of it all feel heavier. The mile-long walk home feels endless as your mind replays the scene in the gym and locker room. You wonder how you could have been so naive, so foolish to think you could find a bit of happiness without something going wrong. The cold air stings your wet cheeks, and you wipe them with the back of your hand, your eyes fixed on the ground. Your knees burn, but nothing compares to the deep, burning shame inside you.

When you finally reach home, you’re grateful your father is still at work, sparing you from having to explain why you’re home early or why you look so miserable. You retreat to the shower, letting the hot water pour over you until the steam is so thick you can’t even see the tiles. Later, you curl up on the couch under a blanket, staring blankly at the TV, your mind far away. The phone rings, breaking the silence, but you don’t have the energy to answer it. Whoever is calling is persistent, though, and the ringing continues.

Taking a deep breath, you finally pick up the receiver, trying to keep your voice from sounding hollow.

“Hello?”

“It’s Billy.”

His warm voice is like a balm, soothing your frayed nerves, but it also brings back the harsh memories of the day. The ugly events replay in your mind, and guilt washes over you as you imagine him waiting by his Camaro, only to realize you wouldn’t be showing up.

“I’m sorry. Sorry about that,” you croak, clearing your throat. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“What happened?”

“I’m just under the weather. That’s all. I think I’m getting sick.”

A heavy silence hangs between you as you twist the phone cord around your fingers, the tension in your grip turning your skin white. You can only hear your own breathing, and you hope desperately that he believes you, that he won’t push for more.

“You sure?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes, I promise. I just need to rest.”

“Alright,” he sighs. “See you tomorrow then.”

“Hey, Billy?” you blurt out, stopping yourself before your voice cracks. The knot in your throat tightens as you struggle with the urge to be honest with him. It doesn’t seem fair to lie, knowing this might be one of the last times you hear his voice. “Thanks for calling,” you manage to say once you’re sure your voice won’t break.

“Don’t mention it. Bye, sweetheart.”

You hang up before you can respond, the warmth of his endearment slicing through you, leaving you on the verge of tears. It’s not just him—it’s everything. The whole situation weighs on you. You glance at the picture of you and your mom on the hall shelf, taken when you were just two years old in her arms. Your dad still keeps it, a reminder of the past. Billy has managed to make your life easier, not by making you forget, but by showing you that happiness was still possible. But today, all those old wounds are reopened. The void left by her, and now by him, feels deeper than ever. That’s the risk of letting people into your life—they eventually leave, and all you’re left with is the emptiness they once filled.

You stay home for the next two days. On Friday, it still hasn’t stopped raining. The day drags on endless, each hour feeling like an eternity. You struggle to find the strength to peel yourself out of bed, your stomach tied in knots, rendering breakfast an impossible feat. As rain continues to patter against the window, casting a dreary backdrop, you find yourself lost in a numb trance, gazing blankly at the vivid greenery outside. Only in the afternoon does your hunger finally overpower the turmoil within, prompting you to rustle up a simple cheese toast to appease your growling stomach. Settling in front of the TV, you attempt to distract yourself from the weight of the day's events. By the late afternoon, as your dad arrives home, you force yourself to summon a facade of composure, determined not to burden him with worries. Then the doorbell rings, snapping you out of your trance, and you get up to see who's there. 

As you open the door, Billy is standing here, his hands on his leather jacket pockets, his gaze wandering off to the side, but turns to look immediately at you. He’s as pretty as the last time you saw him. His eyes lock with yours, making you weak in the knee. 

“Oh. Hey.” you softly say, completely taken off guard by his presence on your front door. 

“Hey.” 

“Uh, what are you doing here?” you ask, trying your best to not sound rude. You’re just confused. 

Billy shrugs. “You didn’t answer when I called. Figured I would come to you instead.” 

His response leaves you speechless. You’re struck by his persistence, amazed that he hasn’t grown tired of you, given his tendency to quickly lose interest in people. He says it so casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and it stirs something inside you that you can’t quite put into words.

Amusement flicks over his face. “You gonna let me in, or what?” 

You excuse yourself by straightening up from your position against the door, opening it wide to let him in. Billy wipes his shoes on the doormat before stepping in. A strange energy seems to be unleashed when your bodies are close to each other. It makes you feel electric. You’ve never believed in those things, but it’s almost like your auras are touching.

You look up at him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you look at each other.

“Sorry, my dad’s here,” you say as you see him look up behind you toward the living room.

Although very subtle, you notice how his body tenses up when your father approaches him and you introduce Billy to him. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Your dad shakes his hand, a warm smile on his face. “Ah, so you must be Billy. She keeps talking about you.”

Billy lets out a nervous chuckle, briefly glancing at you. You find yourself looking at the ground, cheeks flushed. "Hope she said good things."

“All I can say is that you’re good to her, son. Haven’t seen my daughter smiling this often in a long time. She never talks to me about her friends.” he rests his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” you can feel Billy’s eyes on you, boring a hole through your skin. “She’s good to me too.”

Your dad gestures toward the kitchen. “Have you had dinner yet? We made some roasted chicken tonight, it’s delicious.”

Billy shakes his head. “Thank you, sir, I had dinner earlier.” 

“Come have a drink then.” your dad already walks backward to the kitchen. “What can I get you?”

“Dad…” you softly say at his enthusiasm. You never have people over. It’s been a long time since you had them. Not since…well. And you understand your dad lights up as a candle with joy. He’s getting too enthusiastic already.

“You look over eighteen. Beer? Some red wine?” 

Billy glances at you, his hand in his pockets, then slowly follows him to the kitchen. He looks like a wary animal taking in his surroundings.  “Beer is fine. Thank you, sir.”

You follow behind Billy, feeling suddenly so uneasy in your own house. Your eyes follow his broad back as he enters the kitchen, the air already smelling like leather. Like him. 

Your dad, with a casual wave of his hand, says, "Ah, don't bother with all those formalities around me.” 

Billy leans against the counter as your dad extends an uncapped bottle of beer, clinking it against his own. You notice how he stiffens slightly again when your dad mentions remembering his last name, knowing his father. His attitude becomes more reserved, and he answers with small sentences. Especially when your dad mentions how despite having talked to him only a few times at Melvald’s downtown and the bank, he looks like a tough guy. However, your dad is easygoing and his attitude warm, and slowly, throughout the conversation, Billy seems to ease up too. His shoulders relax, and a real laugh escapes him a time or two. You knew they shared some interests, but you didn’t expect them to talk about California for so long. Your dad recounts his younger years living in there, how he spent his days surfing and working in a garage for his own dad’s friend to get some money. Billy did the same back there. He tells your dad how you mentioned some of it to him, then how many more people there are since the 60s, how Will Rogers State Beach is now crowded with tourists. 

“You’re sure you don’t want anything to eat? Hell, there’s plenty of that chicken and it’s only the two of us.” you dad offers again. 

Billy settles the empty beer on the counter. “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you. I was hoping to take her on a ride, to get some fresh air if that’s alright with you.”

Your dad looks at you and you give him a small smile, though you didn’t expect or plan any of it. He nods in approval.

“Sure, kids. Be careful, yeah? It was nice to meet you Billy.”

“Same. Thank you for the beer.”

Your dad winks at him. “Anytime. You’re always welcome.”

At first, silence hangs between the two of you. Billy doesn’t mention it as he drives you toward downtown, and your mind is elsewhere. You’re there physically, but your thoughts are consumed by how wrong it feels to be in the car with him. Your plans to keep your distance have been shattered by his unexpected presence. His decision to come to you makes everything ten times harder. You’re unsure how you’ll find the right words to express yourself without offending him—or worse, hurting him. But then again, maybe you’re overthinking it. Perhaps he doesn’t feel as connected to you as you do to him. Chances are, you’ll be the one left hurting in the end.

Billy casually suggests getting a milkshake at the diner, then lapses back into silence, leaving you unsure whether to thank him or ask him to break the quiet. He doesn’t make it easy. When he parks in front of the diner, he opens the passenger door for you. Physical contact has become second nature between you two—small, almost unconscious gestures, especially on his part. But they always send your heart racing. This time, as he touches your back, gently guiding you inside while holding the diner door open, your heartbeat spikes dangerously.

You usually have a sweet tooth, and the milkshakes at Starlight Grill are delicious, but today, your thoughts have robbed you of your appetite. Billy insists you get something, and when you hesitate, he suggests sharing a milkshake.

When the waitress brings the milkshake along with the bill, Billy takes the first sip. You reach into your pocket for some coins.

“What are you doing?” 

“Just, paying.” You murmur absent-mindedly, counting the coins. Billy's hand appears in front of you, putting them aside.

“Put that away.”

You sigh, meeting his gaze. "Billy."

He casually slides the milkshake in front of you, his half-lidded eyes locked on yours, completely unfazed by your feeble attempts to resist. The purple lights of the diner cast a soft glow, highlighting his features and making his mustache stand out more than usual. You can't help but marvel at how effortlessly handsome he always looks. Meanwhile, you feel out of place in your loose jumper, with no makeup and your hair barely combed.

You notice that there is only one straw in the milkshake. “Oh, they didn’t bring another one.”

“It’s fine. Drink it,” his features shifting to an amused look.  “Unless it grosses you out.” 

“No, no! Of course not.” you hastily assure him before bringing the straw to your lips. The rich taste of chocolate floods your senses with a pleasant sensation, despite your lack of hunger. You resist the temptation to indulge in a bit of the whipped cream from the top of the milkshake.

“Feel better today?” he asks as he watches you, leaning back against the bench.

“Uh, yes. A bit better.” you lie, your eyes on the table. You’re unable to look at him.

You instinctively tighten your grip on the cold glass of the milkshake, startled by the sudden warmth of his palm on your forehead. 

“Yeah. No fever, anyway,” he says.

“How did you do on the test yesterday?” you ask instead, eager to change the topic.

Billy leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he brings the milkshake closer to himself, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Eh, not bad. I think I passed," he replies before taking a sip from the straw. “Jesus, this shit is sweet as hell.” he mutters, peering down at the milkshake as if it personally wronged him.

You let out a soft laugh at his expression. When you sat down, he asked you what flavor you liked and ordered it without hesitation. You realize with a pang of guilt that you hadn't even bothered to ask him if he liked it. 

“Sorry… too much?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Just a bit sweet.” he pushes the milkshake toward you, your fingers brushing each other as you take the glass. “I’m more of a savory type of guy.”

"Oh," you sheepishly respond, brushing your thumb against the cold glass to clear away some moisture. “I’m more of a sweet type of girl.”

"You are," he says, his voice carrying a subtle warmth that catches your attention. 

You lift your gaze toward him, struck by the underlying tone in his words. Billy dips his pinky in the whipped cream and brings it to his mouth. Red lips suck around the skin, his tongue licking the whipped cream away. You take a sip of the milkshake to distract yourself from the stirring movement in your lower belly. 

“So what’s your favorite?” he then casually asks, as if he didn’t just do the most provocative thing ever. 

“My what?” you ask as if coming back to reality. 

“Your favorite dessert.”

“Oh uhm, I guess my mom’s tiramisu,” you stop to think about all the summers spent eating your mom’s tiramisu in the back of your house in the garden, the happy memory becoming bittersweet. “I didn’t like it when I was younger, I used to make all of those faces when I tasted the coffee.” Billy snorts a soft laugh as he looks at you. “She used to make it all the time when it was warm outside.” you say as you play with the straw.”

“You know how to make it?”

“Yes. She taught me.” 

“You’ll have to make me one, someday.” 

You meet his eyes, still intently on you, and you lower your gaze while stretching your lips into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. How you wish there was a chance to do this. 

“What’s yours?” you ask instead, ignoring how your heart is aching.

Billy hums thoughtfully, dragging the milkshake toward him. “I’d say the tacos from the Mexican joint in Mission Beach. Hands down.”

“What do they put in them?” 

Billy sucks on the straw before setting the glass aside. “Okay, so picture this,” he leans his elbows on the table. “They have this way of cooking the beef, it’s tender and juicy ‘cause they dip it in the stew, and it’s seasoned just right." 

A smile slowly spreads on your face without you realizing it as he gets enthusiastic about it.

“Then they sprinkle some lime on it.” he mimics the sprinkling, his eyes squinting a tiny bit. "And then there's the crunch of the shell, just crispy enough to contrast with the beef. Then they top it with cheese and jalapeños. Man,” you giggle as he lightly slaps his palm on the table. He turns his head to the side, momentarily lost in thought as he contemplates. “It’s something else.” 

“It sounds delicious.” you nod, a laugh escaping your lips.

As Billy looks back at you, his face is closer to yours as you leaned on the table too. His blue eyes bore into yours. “It’s five-star type of food, babe. Unmatched.” 

His voice is warm like dripping honey and your stomach flips, his half-lidded gaze trapping you there is both charming and dangerous. You’re scared of the things your body is feeling.

“I wish I could try it.” 

“You will. Told you I would take you there.”

He scans your face, catching each of your reactions from up close as your breath hitches in your throat. “I thought you were joking.” 

“I never was.”

You wonder what would happen if you just listened to your instincts right now. If only he lifted the sleeves of your sweater, he’d see the goosebumps on your arms. If he could press his ear to your chest, he’d hear your heart racing. But following your instincts feels too risky. A little voice inside reminds you that all this chemistry between you two might just be in your head. You're building castles in the air; your deluded heart is playing tricks on you. Tina’s voice chimes in too: “What would a guy like him want with someone like you?” So, you pull away, and as you do, your heartbeat slows down a little.

You clear your voice, grabbing the milkshake. “Anyway, I better get home soon. It’s almost ten.” 

With only a little milkshake left, you finish it without meeting his gaze, deciding to switch the topic to how you caught up with homework while staying at home. He doesn’t comment on it, biting into it and telling you about the history test on that Wednesday.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” he asks you once on the drive home.

He lowers the volume of the radio, Eagles’ ‘Take it Easy’ reduced to background noise. You hesitate. You don’t know how to tell him. You’ve never been good at cutting ties with people. You’ve never been ready. You never will be.

“I’m just not in a good place right now.”

"Yeah, I gathered that much," Billy responds, his voice low and steady. "But what's got you feeling this way?"

You figure that the best way is to be straightforward, though. 

“I know this might sound weird," you begin, already feeling a pang of regret for how you're about to phrase it. Your nails press into the palm of your hands as you twist them together, your eyes locked on the shifting scenery outside. “You’ll probably don’t understand it. But I think we have to stop seeing each other. Hanging around together.”  

At first, your words hang heavy in the air, met only with silence that feels like a weight on your chest. You can't help but replay what you just said in your mind, wondering if you came off too harshly. It's a familiar feeling, the aftermath of saying something you can't take back, and in this moment, it feels far too aggressive.

As you battle with yourself, searching desperately for the right words to soften the blow, you find that every script you rehearsed in your head falls short. Billy's silence only adds to your internal turmoil, leaving you mentally slapping yourself for the brutal way you phrased it.

Billy licks his lips. “If I did something wrong,” he starts.

“No, it’s not that.”

“...Or if I made you feel uncomfortable, you gotta tell me.”

“No. Billy, please don’t think that. You haven’t done anything wrong.” you interject quickly, reaching out to touch his arm in reassurance.

He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road, his expression unreadable. The tension in the car is palpable as he waits for you to explain further.

“I just…” you begin, running a hand through your hair in a nervous gesture. “I don’t think it’s good for you to be around me."

"Huh," he responds, his tone indicating he finds your reasoning perplexing. "What does that mean?"

You begin cautiously, choosing your words carefully, "I'm just not... I'm not exactly the embodiment of happiness, you know? And I don't want to bring you down with me."

"You think you're gonna bring me down?" 

You nod slowly, unable to meet his gaze. "I just don't want to drag you into my mess," you admit quietly. “I have a lot to deal with myself. Please believe me when I say that it’s not a good idea.”

"That's it? That's why you think we should stop hanging out?" Billy's voice carries a blend of disbelief and skepticism as if he's attempting to peel back the layers of your explanation.

His response catches you off guard. Shouldn't your reason suffice? After all, it's what led to the end of friendships with Nancy and Claire. They understood and let you go. And deep down, you understand that too.

“No, it’s not just that…” you feel increasingly frustrated with the situation, it feels harder than you anticipated.

"Hey, if I'm not your cup of tea, or if I'm making you feel awkward, just say the word. No hard feelings. We can't all be everyone's favorite flavor. But let's keep it real, yeah?"

"No, it's not that at all, Billy!" you blurt out, your voice rising slightly with surprise. "I like you. I really do," you continue, your voice softening as shyness creeps in at the urgency of your confession. As you speak, Billy pulls the car to a stop in front of your place. "More than anyone else in this whole town."

Billy doesn’t talk for what seems like an eternity. You don’t dare to look at him. After almost a minute, he finally breaks the silence. “Okay, what is it, then?”

“It’s just…wrong.”

“Wrong?” he says. “Look, it’s not like I have a girlfriend and I’m ditching her to hang out with you or something.”

“Well, Tina doesn’t seem to be on the same page,” you mumble to yourself out of instinct. 

Billy frowns. “What?”

That’s when you realize you talked out loud. You sigh, looking out of the window. You really hoped to avoid this conversation. It just feels wrong to use a lame excuse. You don’t wanna do that. It’s not working, anyway. You figure the best way to put it without having to unravel the whole thing. 

“I don’t know what you guys are to each other-…”

“I fucked her once. That’s it.” 

You wince at his words, carrying on. “...but she made pretty clear that I should stay away from you.”

At first you’re met with silence, but then Billy's reaction is a mix of disbelief and irritation. He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “She's nuts," he mutters, his tone laced with frustration. "Can't believe her. Jesus."

As you fidget with your hands in your lap, a sense of resignation washes over you. That doesn’t change things. You made up your mind already. They succeeded pretty well in making you see things for what they are. In a very sadistic way, that’s for sure. It is the reality nonetheless.

“Listen, don’t pay attention to her.”  

You let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s kinda hard, she’s really committed to making my life a living hell.”

Billy's expression shifts, his gaze now fixed on you with newfound seriousness. “What do you mean?” 

“Nothing, just…” you sigh. “It’s just what I said. Bottom line is, I’m not good for you, Billy. I’m messed up and I can’t give anything good. You should be spending time with people who are stable, who have something to offer.”

Billy turns his attention back to the trailer ahead. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he pieces together the puzzle. Before you can prepare yourself, he's already connecting the dots.

He scratches his chin, then looks back at you. “Does it have to do with you ditching school for the past days?” his tone calm but unwavering.

Your answer is instinctive and almost too immediate. "No, that's..." you start, but Billy cuts you off with a knowing look.

“Don't lie to me.”

You know if there’s one thing he doesn’t like, it’s when people lie to him. He told you that before. There is no way out of this. If anything surprises you about Billy, it’s his emotional intelligence. His ability to understand what you feel just like that. How he easily and often picks up what’s on your mind. You explain everything that happened to him, noticing how his face hardens progressively as you recount the events that have weighed heavily on you. From that moment Tina deliberately tripped you up in gym class, sending you sprawling to the ground in front of everyone, to the tense confrontation in the locker room. You feel drained after talking, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. 

“Fuck those bitches.” he growls, his voice thick with anger. 

“They’re right though. We really are different.”

“Different in what? I’m a guy, you’re a girl. But then?” 

“It’s not about that,” you mumble, your eyes fixed on the window.

“Well, tell you what, I like spending time with you. That’s all I know,” you turn in surprise at how bluntly he said those words. “Did we ever argue or anything?”

You think back on all the times you've spent together. Whenever you were with him, it felt like everything else faded away, and it was just the two of you against the world. There was never any arguing or discord between you; instead, he had a knack for making you forget about any troubles or worries you had. Being with him was like finding a safe haven, a place where you could just be yourself and feel at peace.

“No,” you admit, feeling a knot form in your throat.

“Do you feel any different when it’s just you and me?”

“No.”

“Are you ever bored when we hang out?”

“No, never.” you breathe out, shaking your head.

“Me neither. So it’s sorted.”

“Billy, I’m…I’m complicated. My life is complicated.” 

He shrugs, shifting in his seat. “I like complicated.” 

Billy's stubbornness despite the doors you're trying to close between you is overwhelming both in the best and worst way.

“I just don't think you really know what you're doing," you protest weakly, unable to shake the nagging doubts that linger in the back of your mind.

“Pretty sure I do.”

“Billy,” heat rises in your cheeks as shame gnaws at your insides, your heart weighing heavy. It's hard for you to acknowledge it, let alone put it into words. “Look at me,” you point at yourself, your throat burning.

Billy's eyes scan your face, a hint of amusement dancing in his features. “I am.”

You shake your head, your throat feels ready to burst from how much it hurts. “No. Look at you, then look at me. Look at this,” you gesture toward the darkened trailer.

“You serious?”

“I am. Trust me, you don’t want to…”

“Hey, hey. Sweetheart. Come on, now. Look at me.”

You realize Billy has leaned over the console as he gently grasps your chin. “I don’t care. All I know is that I like you, alright? I don’t give a shit about the rest.”

His words cut through you, threatening to shatter the fragile barrier holding your emotions at bay. His thumb delicately traces the curve of your chin as his piercing blue eyes search yours. Frozen in place, you dare not move or speak, afraid that the slightest exhale might betray the storm of emotions raging within you.

“You hear me?” he drops his head slightly, as he softly shakes your chin to get your attention, his eyes finding yours. “I don’t care.”

You content to nod, a tear breaking free and running down your cheek. Billy licks his lips, his face inching closer to yours. “C’mere.”

He leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that feels as ancient as time itself, as though you've shared this in a thousand other lives. It's tender, lingering, filled with an unspoken longing that resonates deep within you. As you lose yourself in the kiss, his breath dances with yours, and you taste tobacco, mint and something distinctly him on his tongue, sending a wave of euphoria through you. Your hand instinctively rises, fingers curling gently around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, yearning for more. Your heart is beating so fast you swear it’s going to explode. As you break the kiss first in search of oxygen, you’re vaguely aware of his mouth seeking yours, his face tilting forward, his half-open eyes unfocused. His fingers travel on the back of your neck, curling around it and pressing your lips more firmly against his. It’s so good that it doesn’t feel real, your body is the only thing you're aware of. It's ablaze, your heart thundering in your chest, your breath resonating in the car. But he’s here too, he’s real. Real as one can be when you feel his hot skin against your fingers where you’re holding his shirt, as his mustache tickles your mouth, then your cheek, your neck.

He’s certainly real when his voice comes as a muffled and open-mouthed whisper against your skin, buried between your neck and your hair between kisses.

“God, baby.”

It’s a soft plead, a gentle need that swells your heart. Your fingers are tangled through his curls at the nape of his neck. They’re as soft as you imagined them. You could’ve never imagined one day your fingers would run through them. His mouth finds yours again, your senses filled with the scent of him and you can’t help yourself and rest your hand on his cheek, wanting to feel him more. Time is not something tangible anymore. You don’t know how long elapses. It may be minutes, it may be hours. You just can’t seem to get enough of each other to finally break apart. Nothing has ever made you feel so good in a long time. That’s why you don’t question your tongue tangling with his, his hand searching for skin as it ventures beneath your jacket and settles on your waist, warm and big. 

The loud thud of thunder outside makes you jump slightly on the seat, and with the realization that you must get inside, you slowly but finally break apart from him. 

“I have to go.” you manage to say as his lips kiss your cheek and the corner of your eye instead. 

His breath fans against your skin, a gentle caress that makes you shiver. Billy's eyes, still glazed with desire, slowly refocus as he registers your words. There's a flicker of disappointment, but he nods in understanding. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you better get inside,” he replies in a husky voice, his eyes roaming over your face. 

His lips are red and swollen with your kisses, you can’t help but steal another kiss which her eagerly accepts, planting a couple more against your mouth. They’re not as deep but full of meaning, resonating in the air. 

“Call me tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yes, I will,” you mumble, your cheek feeling red as you internally wish you could stay with the him forever.  

As you leave the car, the cold rain immediately envelopes you, sending shivers down your spine. The rain soaks through your clothes as you navigate through the darkness. As you reach the door, you steal one last look at Billy's car, watching as he drives away into the night, the memory of his touch still lingering on your lips.

[vivwritesfics]

hiii!!! if you can can you please make a fanfic like (sorry for my bad explaining) basically a fluff fic with oscar piastri and y/n where they meet at like the streets of paris or something romantic like that? (you can give it any ending you want lols)

one of my best friends is from paris and we talk about how it's not the romantic place we all fantasize it to be. but i got you boo

Paris, France:

The hotel was awful, just awful. But that was what she got she got for booking her holiday on a budget.

The bed must have had bedbugs. She saw one review online (after she had checked in) that suggested it. And, ever since, she could feel the little fuckers crawling all over her skin.

If the bathroom wasn't down the hall, she would have been throwing up from anxiety. But, instead, she shut her eyes and tried to fall asleep.

And then her neighbours started shagging. Like, bed hitting the wall behind her kind of shagging. Holy shit, she needed to get out of here.

Grabbing her jacket and placing her valuables into her pockets, she headed out of the hotel.

The streets of Paris were a little bit terrifying in the dark. If one of her friends had just done with her, they could have gotten a nicer hotel and she wouldn't have been terrified to walk the streets in the dark. She shouldn't have been out there, she knew, but it was either have a panic attack on the disgusting floor of the hotel room or get out for some fresh air.

It was like there were eyes on her all the time she was walking. She pulled her jacket closer to her body and walked a little faster. Her eyes were trained on the floor as she pretty much marched down the streets of Paris.

Her body collided with somebody else. "Shit," she cried as this persons arms wrapped around her, stopping her from falling.

"Are you okay?" He asked, voice not accompanied by a French accent. "Sorry, I should have been looking at where I was going." He shook his head, floppy, Prince-Charming-from-Shrek hair falling in front of his face.

"It's okay," she said, tightening her grip on the things in her pocket.

He released her. "I'm Oscar," he said, holding out his hand.

She didn't take it, but she did smile at him. "Nice to meet you, Oscar," she replied, not giving her own name.

It was almost like a game, on the streets of Paris. Oscar twisted his wrist and looked at his watch. "Where are you headed? Do you need me to walk you there?"

The red flag in the back of her head was taking a long ass time to raise. "I'm good," she said, because he was still a stranger on the streets of Paris. She began to walk past him. "It really was nice to meet you, Oscar," she said and began walking again.

Santorini, Greece:

The view from her balcony was so fucking pretty. The glittering ocean, the pale sand, the gorgeous architecture. It was a far cry from Paris.

Even on a budget she'd managed somewhere nice. A lot nicer than that hotel room in Paris. Here she felt safe. She left her valuable things in her hotel room (in the safe) and went out to dinner.

It was so damn peaceful. This was the getaway she needed, not those few nights in Paris. This was fucking bliss.

But then he showed up. She was in a little beach front restaurant, having a drink when he came walking past. What did he say his name was? Oscar? What the hell was he doing in Greece?

Her initial reaction was to think he had been followed. But the way he was looking at her, all confused before that look of familiarity crossed his face, it was all so genuine.

"Are you following me?" He asked it in such a teasing way, she immediately knew he wasn't serious.

She kicked out the chair in front of her. "Come have a drink with me, Oscar."

He obeyed and sat himself in the seat opposite her. Almost immediately a waiter came over to take his drink order. As soon as the waiter was gone, she was staring at him. "So, tell me about yourself, Oscar."

"Aren't you gonna tell me your name?" He asked as she sipped her drink.

She thought about it for a moment. "Tell you what, tell me about yourself, and I'll tell you my name."

He held out his hand, and this time she took it. "Deal."

Italy:

Italy had never been on her list of destinations. She didn't understand why not, because it was gorgeous.

But seeing the sights was such a small part of it. She walked behind Oscar, Oscar Piastri the Formula One driver, as he led her through the paddock.

"This can't be real," she said for the fourteenth time since they'd climbed out of the car.

Oscar laughed at her. "It's real," he assured her as he took her to the McLaren garage. He stopped for a second and gave her a minute to step closer and take his hand.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were a race car driver," she said as she squeezed his hand. It wasn't a comforting squeeze, but it had Oscar laughing, again.

"I did," he insisted.

"Yeah, after we'd had four cocktails!"

He led her through the garage, to his drivers room. "Okay, okay. How can I make it up to you?"

He shut the door behind him and she stepped closer. "Hmm," she said and pushed his hair out of his face. "Take me back to Paris?"

"Paris?"

She hummed.

"Okay," he answered, still holding her hand. "I'll take you back to Paris."

[fioredeciliego]

Sweet like Sin (Extras) - Kim Minji x Fem!Reader

a/n: sooo i really liked this fanfic, and i already miss it:( so here are a few gag reels!

--

Y/N takes Minji to volunteer, hoping it’ll be a straightforward way for her to practice kindness.

Y/N: handing Minji a ladle “Just serve the soup. That’s all you have to do.”

Minji: enthusiastically “You got it, boss!”

Minji accidentally tilts the pot too far, sending soup splashing across the counter.

Minji: holding up the empty pot “Well, at least no one’s hungry anymore!”

Y/N: groaning “Minji, no one even got a bowl yet!”

Minji: grinning sheepishly “Oops?”

--

Y/N decides Minji might connect with the gentleness of animals.

Y/N: watching Minji pet a baby goat “See? This isn’t so bad. Just be gentle.”

Minji: nodding “I’m always gentle!”

The goat suddenly nibbles on Minji’s hair, startling her.

Minji: flailing “Ah! It’s eating me!”

Her wings flap in panic, causing a nearby chicken to squawk and scatter. This sets off a chain reaction of chaos.

Y/N: dodging a stampede of farm animals “Minji! What did you do?!”

Minji: standing in the middle of the mess, holding the goat protectively “I think I made a new friend?”

--

Y/N thinks a group painting session will let Minji’s creativity shine.

Y/N: demonstrating “Okay, just dip your brush in the paint and add your part to the mural.”

Minji: excitedly dipping her brush “Got it!”

She accidentally flings paint behind her, splattering the nearby artists.

Minji: whipping around to apologize, sending even more paint flying “Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

Y/N: now covered in paint “Minji, please stop moving!”

Minji: freezing, looking down at the paintbrush in her hand “Does this mean I’m not getting an A for effort?”

--

Y/N suggests Minji hand out balloons to cheer up the kids.

Y/N: handing Minji the balloon bouquet “Just walk around and hand these out. No flying, no stunts.”

Minji: saluting dramatically “Yes, ma’am!”

Minji trips over her own feet, releasing the balloons, which drift toward the ceiling.

Minji: looking up “Well, uh... at least the ceiling looks happier?”

Y/N: facepalming “Why did I think this would be simple?”

--

Minutes after Minji receives her halo.

Minji: poking at her new halo “So, uh... how do you keep this thing from falling off?”

Y/N: sighing “It doesn’t fall off. It’s literally a part of you.”

Minji: leaning too far forward, her halo slipping and wobbling “Then why does it feel like it’s about to fall—oops!”

The halo tumbles off Minji’s head and lands in the stream, causing a splash.

Y/N: pinching the bridge of her nose “Only you, Minji. Only you.”

Minji: grinning sheepishly “Guess I’m a work in progress?”

Y/N: sighing but smiling “Always.”

--

Minji decides to cook dinner for Y/N to show her gratitude.

Minji: wearing an apron that says “Kiss the Cook” “I’m going to make the best meal you’ve ever had!”

Y/N: sitting cautiously at the table “I’m terrified but also impressed by your enthusiasm.”

Minji accidentally turns the stove too high, causing flames to leap up from the pan.

Minji: panicking, grabbing a pot lid “Is this supposed to happen?!”

Y/N: rushing over “No, it’s not supposed to happen!”

After extinguishing the fire, Y/N surveys the smoke-filled kitchen and the ruined meal.

Minji: offering Y/N a charred piece of toast with puppy-dog eyes “Still romantic, right?”

Y/N: taking the toast with a sigh “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

--

Minji insists on giving Y/N a ride through the skies to impress her.

Minji: smirking “Hop on. I’m an expert at this.”

Y/N: nervously climbing onto Minji’s back “If we crash, I’m revoking your flight privileges forever.”

Minji takes off but wobbles as she tries to do a fancy loop. They narrowly avoid colliding with a cloud of angelic doves.

Y/N: clutching Minji tightly “Watch out! That was someone’s choir practice!”

Minji: laughing nervously “Okay, so maybe I’m almost an expert.”

Y/N: reluctantly laughing as they land safely “You’re a menace, but that was... kind of fun.”

--

Minji challenges Y/N to a game of angelic trivia, confident she’ll win despite her lack of celestial knowledge.

Y/N: reading a question “What’s the primary duty of a seraphim?”

Minji: with over-the-top confidence “Uh, setting stuff on fire? They have so many wings; they probably need to do something cool.”

Y/N: laughing uncontrollably “That’s... not even remotely close.”

Minji pouts as Y/N racks up more points, eventually flipping the board in mock frustration.

Minji: dramatically “This game is rigged!”

Y/N: teasing “Maybe if you studied instead of trying to cheat, you’d actually win.”

Minji: leaning closer with a sly smile “Or maybe I just wanted to see you laugh like that.”

--

Minji convinces Y/N to teach her an angelic waltz.

Y/N: leading Minji through the steps “One, two, three. One, two, three. See? Not so hard.”

Minji: accidentally stepping on Y/N’s foot “Oops! Uh... graceful like a swan?”

Y/N: wincing “More like a duck on roller skates.”

Minji spins Y/N too forcefully, and they both tumble to the ground in a heap, laughing breathlessly.

Minji: still holding Y/N’s hand “I think we nailed it.”

Y/N: smiling despite herself “You’re impossible.”

--

Minji tosses Y/N’s halo into the air like a frisbee, despite Y/N’s protests.

Y/N: chasing after it “Minji, stop throwing my—oh no!”

The halo gets stuck on a tree branch. Minji tries to retrieve it but accidentally knocks the entire branch down instead.

Minji: sheepishly handing the halo back “Good news: I got it down! Bad news: that tree might need a little help.”

Y/N: taking the halo with an exasperated smile “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

--

Minji spots a line of angels gracefully sliding down a rainbow bridge for fun and decides to join in.

Minji: excitedly “This is going to be epic!”

She dives headfirst but slides too fast, knocking over three angels like bowling pins before landing in a fluffy cloud.

Y/N: arriving breathlessly “What did I say about blending in?”

Minji: popping her head out of the cloud, grinning “I did blend in—just... dynamically!”

Y/N: facepalming “You’re a celestial hazard.”

--

Minji volunteers to sing in the heavenly choir, claiming she has a “demonically good” voice.

Choir Leader: politely “Follow my lead, and keep it soft and harmonious.”

Minji belts out a dramatic rock rendition of the hymn, complete with air guitar motions. The other angels look horrified.

Y/N: yanking her off the stage “What part of angelic choir did you misunderstand?”

Minji: shrugging “I thought it needed some... spice?”

Y/N: sighing “You’re banned from music practice forever.”

--

Minji finds a group of cherubs playing a game with halos and decides to show off her “skills.”

Minji: grabbing a halo “Watch and learn, kiddos!”

She attempts a trick shot, tossing the halo into the air, but it ricochets off a harp, bounces into a fountain, and lands on Y/N’s head.

Y/N: deadpan “Impressive aim.”

Minji: proudly “See? I’m a natural!”

Cherubs: cheering “Do it again!”

Y/N: groaning “Please don’t.”

--

Minji discovers a pile of angel feathers meant for crafting and starts a playful pillow fight with the angels nearby.

Minji: hurling a fluffy handful at Y/N “You’re going down!”

Y/N: dodging “Minji, this is not a—”

Before she can finish, Minji slips on the feathers, sending both herself and the pile flying. She ends up sprawled on the floor, covered in white fluff.

Y/N: trying not to laugh “Congratulations. You’ve invented angel snow angels.”

Minji: making one “I think I nailed it.”

--

Minji insists on sliding down the golden staircase like a kid at a waterpark.

Y/N: arms crossed “Minji, you’re supposed to walk gracefully.”

Minji: already halfway down, yelling “Too late!”

She crashes into a group of dignified seraphim at the bottom, who glare at her in disapproval.

Minji: dusting herself off, sheepish “Uh, first-time slider privileges?”

Y/N: apologizing profusely to the seraphim “I don’t know her.”

Minji: grinning at Y/N “Oh, you definitely know me.”

[elbiotipo]

There are real issues with space colonization (which are way too exaggerated by anti-space people, who seem to be a very vocal and numerous group for reasons I truly don't understand) but trying to transplant the issues of colonialism on Earth (with real people who are still suffering with it) to space is nonsense. I actually think it's kind of offensive to compare the real-life suffering of people right now and extend it to an argument of "we shouldn't touch asteroids".

And if life was found in some of the many worlds humanity will visit in the future, do you think the people involved in space would just want to bulldoze through it? After finding the most important discovery of all of history? If they found such a thing in say, Europa, they won't twirl their moustaches and say "hehe time to destroy the native life for profit", that place would be off-limits for eternity except for all the scientists who FINALLY found life in space. People have spend THEIR WHOLE LIVES waiting for it.

There's also the economic/environmental argument all the time... And cost of a rocket launch might sound huge on its own, but it's negligible compared to the daily consumption of the fossil fuel industry, aircraft or cars, I doubt that even in a world where we launched dozens of rockets a week it would approach anything beyond those. I'd also much rather prefer the resources that might be otherwise be wasted into building nuclear missiles or I don't know, advertising, to be used in things that expand our common knowledge and open the door to future opportunities.

In fact, if space is such an expense and we shouldn't do it until we solve our problems here on Earth, then what about things like international sports tournaments, they're so expensive. Should we suspend the World Cup or the Olympics? Should we close down art museums? They're so expensive. Stop digging dinosaurs? Close the particle colliders? shut down the telescopes? Why are you studying art, why are you writing fanfic, don't you know there's Problems to solve?

It reminds me of people who are angry about AI because "it's souless art". There are arguments and then there's whatever that is.

[chlorinecake]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝟐 — a yang jungwon fanfic

Previously ⊱✿⊰

𖤣 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after sharing with Jungwon your true feelings about the way he treats you during a fight, unexpected changes take place as you learn more about him

𖥧 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: abduction themes, swearing, violence, crying, nudity, attempted assault, slow burn, moody, not proofread ~

𖡼 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.3k ~ The next part...

✎ note: In no way does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. I write purely for entertainment and creative purposes. Reader discretion is advised. 

You sat in the bath completely naked before Jungwon. He was still dressed in his work clothes as he hovered over the edge of the tub, lathering an orange scented soap all over your grimy skin.

Jungwon had forgotten you outside in the garden after assaulting you on the picnic mat that day. It wasn’t until a whole 48 hours had passed before he finally came back, only to find a cold and hungry you balled up under a bush. The trembling in your stomach remains as if it was yesterday, even though by now, the incident was more than three days ago.

You didn’t expect Jungwon to apologize for leaving you in the wilderness all that time, as part of you believed it was some sort of punishment for rejecting him. Though, if you were crazy enough, or maybe even smart enough, you probably would’ve tried running away when you had the chance—

“How’s the water,” Jungwon asked softly, using a comb to pick with the remnants of wildlife that decorated your hair, leafy bits falling into the warm rose petal bath.

“It’s lovely, Won-ah,” you replied with a blank expression, “I really don’t mind cleaning myself, though.”

“I insist, love. It’s the least I could do after letting you get so dirty in the first place.”

Oh, so that’s what he’s calling it now.

You watched as a cluster of bubbles swam on the surface of the bath water, reminding you of lily pads before they crashed into your legs, melting at your skin. Jungwon mirrored the bubbles in a lot of ways. At first glance, he seemed bright and friendly, bumping along pink waves that only drew him closer and closer to you. Though, once you finally collided, it’s like he couldn’t help but to absorb the contact.

Devouring you.

“I can tell there’s something on your mind, ____,” he interrupted your daydreaming, using a wash towel to rinse the muggy suds from your hair. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Pop.

The bubbles faded away as if knowing what was about to come.

“I-I don’t… it’s just,” you felt your breath grow unsteady as you struggled to answer him, let alone honestly.

The truth was, you hadn’t gotten much rest over the past few nights as you couldn’t shake the thoughts of what he almost did to you in the garden. You also didn’t want to provoke Jungwon by telling him what was truly on your mind.

Though, like a true predator, he sensed the fear in your silence.

“Why’re so scared of me,” he half-chuckled, putting the towel down before sitting on his knees. “It’s like you think I’m waiting to pounce on you or something.”

“Jungwon—”

“Look. Unless you plan to be honest with me, I’d rather you just keep quiet again.”

“Jungwon—”

“I’m listening, love,” he said, looking into your eyes with an intense gaze.

You were frustrated with his lack of patience yet also by your own hesitance to his curiosity, strangely making you feel guilty. You sunk deeper into the water, folding your arms over your bare chest as an attempt to make yourself feel more comfortable in your nakedness.

You sighed, “I haven’t gotten much sleep over the past few nights.”

He blinked, “____, if this is about the lamp, I’ll put it back in your room—”

“No, Jungwon.”

“When we first met, you told me that you were afraid of the dark. I’m so sorry for overlooking that, love—”

“Won, I didn’t finish what I was gonna say—”

“Do you want me to start sleeping next to you? I really don’t mind! You don’t have to be embarrassed about it either! I’d leap at any chance to get closer to you.”

Jungwon rested a hand on your shoulder which caused you to flinch away from him, clinging to the farther end of the tub. A bit of water splashed from your movements, wetting his clothes and the floor. He scoffed at your behavior, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Do you have any idea how it makes me feel when you jump at my mere touch? Like I’m some fucking monster?”

You stared back at him, chest heaving in regret.

He waited a few moments before getting up abruptly, leaning over the tub and pulling your soaking wet body out.

“Jungwo—” your words were cut short as he forcefully pinned you to the cold ground, your wet hair sprawled all over your frightened features. He ignored the puddles of water that you left on the floor, maintaining his grip on you by caging you between his legs.

Flashbacks resurfaced in the back of your mind. Or maybe this was all just a terrible sense of déjà vu. You wrestled beneath him, knowing good and well that your strength stood feeble against his. Still, it felt better to retaliate than to give in.

“Let go of me, Jungwon,” you fought, earning yourself a slap to the face.

“I’m only gonna give you few seconds to calm me down before I fuck the shit out of you on this bathroom floor.”

You winced at his words at if they cut you physically, still holding in the tears that wanted to spill from the slap.

You tried swallowing the fear that meddled at your core, knowing that when to it came to Jungwon, choosing silence was synonymous with suicide. Suddenly, your fright was replaced with a familiar rage.

“How am I supposed to tell you anything when you’re always seconds away from snapping on me?!” Your voice cracked.

He blinked at your words, “What did you just say?”

“I can’t sleep at night because of you, Jungwon! Why would I be afraid of the dark when what’s hiding in it is way fucking worse,” you swore, not being able to maintain the polite tone you usually spoke with.

He leaned back from your body, confused eyes wondering all over before something clicked in his mind: “You can’t force me to love you. Not like this.”

Immediately, he reached for the large towel that hung over the bathroom sink, draping the material over your shoulders as an attempt to cover you.

The bathroom by now was a dripping mess that he’d have to take care of later, but for now, his focus was on you.

He forced you to sit up, meeting him eye to eye on the damp tiles. He thought about the way you flinched at his touch. The way you tried covering yourself when facing him. The way your lip quivered before you could push out any words.

I am a monster, he thought to himself.

Tears grew in his eyes that mirrored your own red ones. His previously hostile hands rested sweetly in his lap, cautious not to touch you again. His shoulders rose and fell as he tried to calm his sobs, while all you did was sit uncomfortably and watch.

“Unless you plan on apologizing, I’d rather you quit your crying already,” you spat resentfully.

He looked at you with a frown, “Don’t talk to me like that.”

You shook your head at him, “And why not? Huh? Why not, Jungwon? When you can call me anything from your lover to a bitch and still expect me to believe it’s a matter of kindness!”

“____—”

“When every moment we share has to feel like I’m walking on the very egg shells of your erratic emotions!”

“I have to be this way for us—”

“When you threaten to rape me and get upset once I’m disgusted by you—”

Jungwon knocked over the bottles of shampoo that sat on his bathroom shelf, wailing at your words like a baby. Your body tensed at the chaos, ears ringing from the sudden noise. “Fuck, I’m sorry, ____,” he whined in between his frustration, “I am so… fucking… sorry.”

He didn’t bother wiping the tears that fell from his face, as they were gonna keep coming anyways.

“Sorry’s not good enough, Jungwon,” you sniffled, face still burning with emotion.

“Then I promise I’ll never hurt you in that way again. I swear to God, ____, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to,” he pleaded, his nose and cheeks turning a soft shade of red.

He met you on the ground again, fingers fidgeting as if desperate to touch you again.

“Please say something, love.”

You sighed, “What is there to say, Wonnie?”

He sniffled at your words, hanging his head low with shame, “Fuck, ____, can you let me hug you at least? Can you hold me?”

You froze at his request. It was odd hearing Jungwon of all people ask for your consent, seeking comfort from the very person he constantly took it away from. He looked as if he would crumble if you told him no, so you gave in with a nod, allowing him to fall into your arms.

You ran a hand over his back as you tried soothing his nerves, feeling his hands desperately cling to your naked body as if he were the victim here. It never failed to shock you how his emotions could switch up, going from soft, sinister, to sullen in just a few seconds.

Cradling him granted you a satisfying sense of dominance, finally making him feel shame for the way he treated you, even though it’d only last for the moment.

“You can stop crying now, Jungwon. I’ve already forgiven you.”

That night, you and Jungwon slept in the same bed together, which was a first for the both of you, yet thankfully not as awkward as you thought it’d be. When you woke up, he was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding a steaming cup.

“What’s that?” You asked as the scent of foreign herbs hit your nose.

“I didn’t mean to leave you, but this tea couldn’t wait. It’s a mix of medicinal plants from my garden. It should help you sleep better,” he smiled, scooting closer to you on the bed.

“Drink up!”

“B-but it’s still morning, I can just drink it tonight.”

“It’s not fast acting, ____. You’ll need to drink it a few hours ahead of time in order for it to work,” he said, bringing the porcelain cup to your lips for you to sip.

“There are a few things I need to teach you so you won’t need me as much when I’m away. Besides, I could really use your help around the garden. How’s that sound?” You swallowed, “Don’t you have work today?”

“I got off early, love. I’ll be back with a change of clothes for you and we’ll meet outside,” he smiled again, biting back the urge to kiss you before walking out of the room.

After taking care of your hygiene, you got dressed in the oversized flannel and joggers he gave you, meeting Jungwon outside in the sunny field.

“It’s not morning anymore, is it?” You asked shyly, earning a fit of giggles from him.

“Yeah, no. I was honestly surprised when I came back and you were still sleeping.”

You took in the scenery of green grass and daunting forest frees before he placed a hand at the small of your back, guiding you a few feet further in the pasture. “D'you see that,” he pointed at the sky, sun rays glistening against his honey brown eyes that were still slightly swollen from the night before. “It’s around 6pm. Whenever the sun falls in between the top of that hill and the tallest tree to its left, you’ll know that I’m on my way back from work… or that it’s almost time for dinner,” he chuckled.

You hesitantly reached for his arm to examine the wristwatch he wore, reading the time that read 6:02pm. You always heard about people being able to tell the time from the sky, but you never actually believed it untll now.

“You never told me what you do for work?”

He sighed playfully in response, “So many questions, my love, but the answers will have to wait.”

Your eyes wandered off again before landing on a secluded green house with sage-stained glass trimming the domed ceiling.

“I have just one more question, Jungwon.”

“Mhm, and what’s the catch?”

“That if you answer honestly, I promise not to ask you anything else for the rest of this week.”

“Aww, what a stingy time frame,” he pouted, trying to hold back a smile, “what must you know, love?”

“That green place over there,” you said, pointing in its direction, “I wanna know what that is. If you don't mind sharing...”

You could see Jungwon swallow deeply at your question, placing his hands on his hips before slowly pacing back and forth.

“You promise you won’t ask me anything else if I tell you this,” he asked, meeting your eyes with his own nervous ones.

“Yes, Jungwon, I promise.”

He took a deep breath before speaking, “I’ll start with saying that it’s forbidden. Though, it’s where I keep the more…precious of my belongings. And exotic plants, too, like the ones I put in your tea.”

“Why is it forbidden—”

“Nuh-uh, no more questions, love," he interrupted, taking your hand in his before heading back to the cabin. "I'll take you to the kitchen where I keep my first aid supplies. It'll come in handy if you ever injure yourself while I'm gone."

You were still feeling relatively sleepy after just getting up, but you knew it'd benefit you later if you payed attention to his teachings.

"I know how to use a band-aid, Jungwon," you joked, skipping behind him with lazy steps.

“Well, in that case, we can skip this lesson," he said, letting go of your hand before rushing inside. Only a few seconds passed before he ran back out with a shotgun in his hand.

"I'm sure you'll want a tutorial for this one."

☆ Special thanks to @guessm0del for requesting a continuation of this piece! I'm honestly not too proud of this one, but hey, I tried! Hopefully it’ll come together better if y’all want a part 3...

☆ taglist: @fanficfactoryfoxxx @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @03sunoos @kaykay11sworld @gigiramirezsblog @hoonsyo @en-thralled  @night-en-shining-armor @cutiejseong @j-wyoung @rickysblkgf @bambangan @wonbyf @4imhry @zhangyi-johee @naddii  @valhrts @lisaaannna @lovelycassy @addictedtohobi @gardenwons @nikipedia07@tubatusoobs @03sunoos @clarisabutterfliescupcake @yevene @heecries @rosiemiayyxy @jungwonieee @edgykoo @luvmlkw @idkhoomanmaybe @sunsinmyskies

[lookforsomeoneelse]

Just wanted to say that I love your work and can't wait for more also if you ever run out of ideas then here I had these in my head it's the only things in there so take good care of them please (.1 what if after they failed to bring the reader to them they went to the reader to reverse isekai style. 2 {not sure of your boundaries when it comes to writing so please ignore this if you feel uncomfortable with it also sorry if it makes you uncomfortable} what if reader is hurt like self harm/ assault/ robbery or something like that how would the characters react would they be mad?. 3 what if you made a hand made gift for every character how will they react and for my last idea how would they react to the reader singing or cooking or even the characters reading a fanfic about the reader maybe even a book the reader made?) anyway that's all that's left in this head but remember to take breaks even if you don't feel like you need one trust me you do burn out isn't something that's fun also remember that even if your mind plays tricks on you and tries to put you down remember that you are loved and appreciated also take care of yourself to many people aren't doing that and I don't want to be anyone's mom yet

From 🐉

wow

cool first emoji anon

alright uh

i’m gonna split this into parts

writing the first and second suggestion first because i think they would work well together

Started creation on: 7/7/2024

cw for (implied?) death and the incredible tension and maybe some other things

Breathe in.

Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Somebody is in your house. Don’t panic. Whoever it is doesn’t know you’re here. It’s a small, cramped space that you’ve hidden in, but you don’t notice that fact when your life is on the line.

You’re not sure if the intruder is armed or not, but you aren’t giving up your disguise to find out.

A long creak of the door notifies you that they’re definitely approaching your safe haven- which is slowly becoming a danger zone.

You place both hands around your mouth to try and mask some of the sound your breathing produces.

You can hear footsteps.

The light is let in.

You let out a scream.

_________________________________________

They- more specifically the combined intellect of the geniuses of the realm that stood- were sure.

Blue moon the chances may be, the geniuses could hold and draw upon fortune and fate just for this very moment, as the imaginary concepts were drawn in by the thought of the madness they were going to commit once again-

They were trying to see their beloved Guide once again. Having learnt their lessons from the last attempt, the new collider was much more durable and steady; and more importantly, it was safer. Because now the devotees weren’t just attempting to bring the Guidance to them, no, they were trying to transfer theirselves to Their realm.

“Is everything in order? We don’t want to fail a second time, don’t we?” Walking down like a bride on the aisle, the (most definitely) unmarried Herta stared at her work partner, Screwllum.

“Affirmation: Absolutely. The Absolute Exclusion Harness is ready for use. All we need now is for someone to use it. Question: Who will take up the mantle?”

“Me, of course! I had the Harness tailored to my proportions, after all.”

Screwllum paused for a moment, his CPU processing the information given to him.

“…Question: You… brought your actual body here?”

The puppet that Herta was using shut down and fell limp, its eyes going dark as a sign of lost connection. Herta- The real, in the flesh, Herta- waltzed into the room. She looked more mature than most of her puppets, though still quite young for her certain age.

“Of course. What kind of acolyte would I be if I couldn’t even see my master in person?”

”Affirmation: You already know the answer.”

They both remained silent for that fleeting moment, before Herta decided to make her move.

“Start it up.”

_________________________________________

It’s a small, cramped space that she appears in, but she can manage. She knows already that it will lead to the greatest moment of her lowly life.

“Looks like the harness didn’t come with me,” She mused, “I’ll have to improve on the design…. that can wait, though.”

She opens the door to what she assumes is a closet, letting the light in. She ponders why The Almighty would live in such poor conditions compared to what They deserve.

A corpse falls out of the closet she was just in. It brings her disgust.

And then she sees who the corpse is- or rather was.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

nononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononono nononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononono

She hadn’t cried in a long time. Her eyes began to pour tears, and when no more were left, she cried blood. Like a child scared of the dark, with a closed door and no nightlight, she held her God ever closer, trying to find some sort of signal that They were still alive- breathing, pulse, brain activity, anything.

In place of her dreams, now there was an eternal nightmare.

Like a banshee, she- and the rest of the universe she called home- would weep.

_________________________________________

First Edition completed on 7/10/2024.

A/N: wow procrastination hit me hard. also i am very sorry for the low quality ending. maybe i might make edits to this? anyway i have more to work on so i’ll get back to the other suggestions later

[size0forhollywood]

Metafiction

Pt1.

Content Warning: assault, space travel, fourth wall break attempt, NSFW, smut, Physical and mental harm, degrading, being held in captivity, penetration, SA, angry Sylus.

21+

Synopsis: you’re just an ordinary woman who regularly indulges playing a mobile game called Love and Deepspace…and occasionally read filthy fanfictions about your favourite character Sylus. Your whole world is turned upside down after rescuing a baby crow and you’re transported into a world where the game isn’t a game and Sylus is real…and all those fanfics you read did NOT prepare you for this.

A/N: I’ve had this idea stewing in my mind for a very long time. Please forgive me if it doesn’t translate well. But I hope you enjoy and join me on this mind bending journey. And if you bear with me..we will eventually see sylus’ sweet side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your screams echo and make your ears bleed. Lights all colours of the cosmos blinding you in a blur of movement so fast you think maybe your eyes are bleeding too. Agony washes through you as it feels like your body is getting stretched thin like spaghetti and then bounces back to normal just for it to happen again.

You were falling, stars and space dust collide around you. Images of different worlds and planets surrounding you. Why is this happening? What is happening? You feel as though your heart is gonna burst from your chest with every stretch and pull.

Then you see it. An image of a black crow with glowing red eyes appears before you in a dusty haze, you reach for it feeling your fingers stretch towards the familiar bird.

As soon as your finger tips touch the dusty particles that make up the image of the crow a bright light shines and blinds you. You cover your eyes with your other arm and feel yourself falling hard and fast. Suddenly you collide with something hard, your face hitting hardwood floor. You groan as you lie there, body too weak to move.

“Who are you?” You hear two voices say in unison. You slowly raise your head, vision unfocused.

But you swear you can see two men dressed in black wearing bird masks. Confusion washes over you as you whisper.

“Luke? Kieran?” You don’t know why but these men do look like Luke and Kieran from the game. You notice them stiffen and their voice getting more aggressive.

“Who. Are. You?” They demand.

You can feel yourself getting nauseous and dizzy. Your vision goes blank and you pass out as you see them stepping towards you.

~

Your muscles start to twitch, consciousness slowly returns and you wake to the feeling of sore muscles and your head pounding. You’re still on the floor but you’re somewhere different.

It feels colder here and a chill runs down your spine as you feel you’re not alone.

“You’re awake.” A deep voice resonates in the air.

You look up eyes still blurry but you know that voice. How could you not. But this wasn’t possible. None of this is possible.

You suddenly feel a burning pain snaking around your body, you look down and see black and red mist enveloping you. You groan in pain as the mist lifts you into the air and brings you closer to the figure sitting on a chair. You land on your knees in front of him.

The painful mist still holding you in place. Tears stinging your eyes, you look up. Your vision is still blurry but you can make out the Silver hair and the deep, red eyes. There was no mistaking it.

“S..Sylus?”

The man’s brow furrows, he leans down and grabs your chin hard pulling your head up to look you in the eyes.

One of his eyes glows bright as he asks “who are you?”.

You tense your body expecting to feel some more pain in your head as you expect Sylus to read your mind but nothing changes.

He gets angrier being unsuccessful in his attempt to read your mind. You feel your body get jerked up into a standing position. The black red mist constricting you like a snake.

“Please..stop.” You beg. “I’m no one. I don’t know how I got here. I’m not from this world.”

Sylus steps closer, his hand on your jaw squeezing your cheeks together.

“Then how do you know me and my men.” His voice was deep and seething with rage.

Tears start to spill down your cheeks from the pain.

“How did you get into my base unnoticed?” His grip tightening.

“I..don’t know!” You sob through squished cheeks. “Please let me go” tears are falling uncontrollably now. Your body in so much pain, your head still pounding.

“Not until you answer my questions.” He growls.

A dark glowing tendril snakes up your body, you feel it slide up your neck and towards your mouth. Your eyes widen in fear as the black tendril goes into your mouth and before you could scream it plunges down your throat, suffocating you.

The sounds of you choking fill the room. You’re trying to scream, trying to move but you can’t. You’re paralysed and absolutely terrified. Just as the corner of your eyes go black, the tendril is yanked from your throat. You gasp and cough. Saliva dripping out the corners of your mouth.

“Please.. you don’t need to do this.” Your voice hoarse. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.” You sob.

“You’re right, I don’t need to.” He steps closer to you closing the distance. A finger smears the saliva on your lips. “I want to.”

“No please! Don’t!” You sob as you feel the black tendril touch your face. Unwilling to go through that again you pass out.

~

As you start to regain consciousness once again, you feel you’re somewhere softer. Your arms hurt, and you look up to see both wrists are handcuffed to a headboard above your head. You’re half sitting, lying down on what feels like the most comfortable mattress you’ve ever been on. A blanket covers your lower half.

Your eyes take in the dimly lit room. Dark velvety walls, dark carpet, beautiful goth paintings decorate your surroundings. Book shelves filled to the brim and by the corner sits an old timey record player.

You wriggle your wrists and pull on the cuffs but it’s no use. Your body is still aching and now your throat hurts too.

Your heart beat quickens. This isn’t how you thought your throat would hurt because of Sylus, is it y/n?

You shake your head and sigh to yourself. This can’t be real.

“This has to be a dream..” you whisper to yourself.

“It’s not a dream.” Sylus’ thick voice cuts through the silence.

You look towards the bedroom door to see him standing there leaning against the frame.

“Sylus..” you barely whisper. He starts slowly walking to you, each step closer putting fear in you.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

He’s standing over you now, once again grabs your cheeks with one strong hand and squeezes. One eye starts glowing as he tries to read your mind again but nothing happens.

He scowls and lets go.

“Why isn’t it working?!” You can feel his anger in every pore of your body and you get goosebumps.

“I-I don’t know.” He grabs your hair and you yelp in pain.

“I swear I don’t know!” You cry out. “Where I’m from there’s no such thing as evols or aliens. Nothing!”

You see his brow furrow even more and he pulls on your hair, stinging your scalp.

“Please! It’s the truth!” You sob. “Where I’m from you’re a video game character! You’re not real! None of this is real!” Tears are streaming down your face again.

Sylus let’s go of your hair and sits on the edge of the bed. “If none of it is real how did you get here?” His voice sharp like a hot knife.

“I don’t know.. I swear!” You start to ramble. “You’re just a character in a dating sim game, a virtual boyfriend. That’s how I know your name, how I know Luke, Kieran and Mephisto…”

“A virtual boyfriend?” Sylus looks at you with disgust and then he chuckles. There was no humour behind it, it was mocking. “How pathetic.”

He pulls back the blanket that was covering you from the waist down. Once the cool air pricks your skin you realise you’re not wearing any bottoms or underwear, you’re completely naked.

He rests a hand next to your hip and leans forward. His face only inches from yours.

“Tell me…are most girls pathetic like you to resort to a virtual boyfriend?” His hand starts to slide up your thigh. “Did you imagine what it was like to get fucked by me hmm?”

You try to keep your thighs together but he’s much stronger than you and spreads your legs. He leans in closer to whisper into your ear. “Did you enjoy it?”

You sob as you feel one of his fingers slide between your folds.

“Please stop..” you whimper. But he doesn’t.

“Stop? But look at you. You’re absolutely dripping.” He inserts his finger in you and you gasp at the intrusion.

“Please, I’ve told you everything..” more and more tears slide down your face and you try desperately to ignore the pleasurable feeling building inside you.

“This isn’t about getting information anymore.” He adds another finger, picking up his pace as he shoves his long fingers in and out of you. Feeling your tight hot walls as he does. “Say I do believe you. This is about humiliation.” He sits back and watches your reaction.

You screw your eyes shut so that you don’t have to see his red eyes staring you down. Your face feels hot and the tears just keep flowing.

“I’m begging you.. p..please stop…” you pull at your wrists but the cuffs just dig into your skin.

“You say stop but your body says don’t stop…it feels so good.” He taunts. You turn your face and try to hide it behind your arm.

“Look at me.” He demands. You don’t move. He starts thrusting his hand faster to the point of pain and you cry out. “I said look at me.” He growls.

You open your eyes and the red orbs send chills throughout your body. It was menacing. It was evil.

The door to the bedroom clicks open and Kieran walks in. He’s completely unphased about what is happening and talks to Sylus.

“Boss there’s been chatter of a wormhole that opened up around the same time she fell through. Luke and I are going to go investigate now.”

Sylus, still thrusting his fingers in you, just casually responds. “I’ll meet you two there.”

Kieran nods and walks out of the room closing the door behind him. You can’t believe that just happened, that he acted like nothing horrible was happening.

Sylus looks back at you, he curls a finger up and finds your g-spot. You gasp and moan and mindlessly buck your hips up.

“Look at that…” he says mockingly and he keeps rubbing that sensitive spot making your mind go crazy. Waves of pleasure surging through you but you hate it. At least you try so desperately to hate it and fight it.

“Are you gonna cum hmm? Cum for a fictional character like a pathetic, ugly woman?” The words are like ice shards slicing through you.

“Please..” you sob one more time but it’s too late. You cum and you cum hard on his fingers squeezing so tightly he can barely move them.

For a second you thought you heard him groan but you dismissed it as you ride out your orgasm. Your sobbing gets a bit louder as your mind starts to clear up.

Sylus scoffs and pulls his fingers out, wiping your juices on your thigh. He stands up, still looking down at you.

“Disgusting.” He doesn’t even cover you back up before heading to the door to leave.

You sniffle and sob and watch him walk away. Just as he reaches the door you speak up.

“I hate you.”

He pauses for a second, doesn’t even turn around.

“Good.” And with that he left shutting the door hard behind him.

~

It felt like hours had passed, your arms and wrists aching so badly. Your tailbone was starting to hurt now too, causing numbness in your legs.

You’re silently crying, wishing you were back home. You hear the flap of wings in the room and a black crow with red eyes and metal wings lands on the bed near your feet.

“Mephisto..” you whisper.

The crow tilts its head at you and starts hopping towards you. You can’t help but let out a tiny laugh. You’ve always liked birds. Especially crows and when they would hop like that.

“I found a bird like you..” you know whatever you tell Mephisto Sylus will hear but there was something comforting about the way Mephisto approached you.

“A little baby crow was injured outside my house..I helped him and nursed him back to health.”

Mephisto flapped his wings and came up to land on your shoulder. He nudged his head against your cheek and you couldn’t help but smile at the tender action. You leaned in and rubbed back.

“It was so cute. I even named him Mephi..after you of course.” Mephisto cawed in response.

“But as I was redressing Mephi’s bandages…his eyes..they just started glowing. I thought I was going crazy.” You felt Mephisto nuzzle against your cheek again, it was as if he was wiping away your tears.

“Next thing I know I’m surrounded by bright lights and feeling like I was getting sucked into a vacuum…it was horrible and painful. I honestly don’t know how or why I’m alive right now..” your voice begins to shake. You look at Mephisto.

“Then I saw you. With everything else I was experiencing I saw you. I reached out to touch you and a light so bright almost blinding me appeared.” More tears roll down your cheeks. “Then I end up on that floor in front Luke and Kieran.”

Mephisto spread his wings and cawed again. He took off and disappeared into a cloud of black mist.

“Good chat..”

You sigh and look up at the ceiling and close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

How are we going to get out of this one y/n?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sunny374940]

Orphans and foundlings

(So I've never written fanfic but these two have taken my brain hostage and here is the result. What if Emmrich and Rook had a baby. Where would they even get a baby?. It got away from me, so the rest is under a cut. Whoever happens to read this, enjoy :) )

Something strange was happening at the front door. Instead of the thundering of feet followed by a hug attack (which usually knocked anything he foolishly forgot to let go of right out of Emmrich's hands) that normally came after Rook's return home from an expedition, there was almost complete silence, broken only by an occasional muttered word.

Emmrich got up from his armchair to investigate, but before he could walk out of the living room, Rook entered, smiling sheepishly. There was something strapped to his chest, a definitely novel way of carrying one's belongings, Emmrich thought.

“Hi, Emmrich,” Rook whispered.

“Hello, my dear,” Emmrich whispered back. “Would you mind telling me why we are whispering?”

“I don’t want to wake her up,” Rook answered.

“Wake who up? And what is that on your chest? Do you tire of carrying a backpack the usual way?” A crease appeared between Emmrich's brows at Rook's strange behavior.

“That’s a baby,” Rook said, looking down at the bundle on his chest as if to check. “Yeah, definitely a baby,” he grinned.

Emmrich gaped at him. “And might I ask why you have a baby strapped to your chest?”

“Well, Myrna taught me how to wrap her, it helps her sleep, you know. And it keeps my hands-”

“Dearest, I believe you are being deliberately obtuse,” Emmrich interrupted. “Even though the fact that Myrna knows how to wrap infants is interesting, I would prefer to know why you specifically have a baby I have never seen?”

Rook's smile faltered. He looked to the side anxiously before speaking up. “Remember the researcher, Ingellvar? They found him abandoned in the crypts as a baby, did you know that?”

“As a matter of fact I did, what does he have to do with-” Emmrich's hands flew to his mouth. “Oh no,” he whispered.

Rook looked at him with a rage in his eyes. Were there tears, threatening to overflow?

“Oh yeah,” he said darkly. “I dropped by to see Myrna and Vorgoth on my way home and I visited the Memorial gardens to give some flowers to your parents… it was late, there were no people around and I heard something weird from the lower crypts, so I went to have a look and-” Rook's voice cracked, a few tears spilling down his cheeks. “She was there all alone, Emmrich, someone left her! How can someone just leave a baby like that?” He sighed, shakily. “So I took her with me. She seems to like me well enough, if the last few days are anything to go by. Don't you, little Ellie?” He added, addressing the baby girl that was just starting to stir.

Emmrich was stunned into silence. He looked dumbly between Rook and the girl, as finally his mind latched onto a thought he could manage to deal with at the moment.

“Ellie?” he questioned.

“Yeah, short for Elanora, you know. Like your mum. Seemed appropriate since I found her after visiting your parents. Is it a problem?” He asked, searching Emmrich's face for a clue as to how he felt.

“N-no, not at all,” stammered Emmrich. “Excuse me for a moment, please, I need some air!”

Emmrich practically ran out of the house and into the garden. He ended up sitting on a bench under a cherry tree, which was just beginning to bloom.

His thoughts were moving rapid-fire, colliding with one another, it was like a thousand bees inside of his skull. He put his face in his hands. What would they do with a baby? But he couldn't have a child at his age! Why did Rook have to find her? Why did he have to bring her here? Oh, but that was so unfair to the poor child. No, but they couldn't take on such a responsibility. Could they find her parents? Even if they did, they have shown clear disdain for her safety. She needed someone to cherish her, not toss her away. Oh. Oh no. He was not going to be able to convince Rook to give her to someone else to raise, he saw the adoration in his eyes when he looked at little Elanora. Curse Rook for choosing this name, how was Emmrich supposed to be reasonable under such circumstances. Someone had to be reasonable and it clearly wasn't going to be-

His thoughts were interrupted by Rook sitting down next to him with Ellie in his arms.“You know, Emmrich, you think so loudly you didn't even hear us come down here,” Rook chuckled, placing a hand at Emmrich's knee. He looked aside for a moment. “Did you get enough air or should we leave?”

Emmrich looked wearily into the distance. “I'm not sure more air would help. Rook, what are your plans with the little one? You can't expect me to become a father at my age! I am too old for this!” His voice tightened. “What would become of her if something were to happen to us?”

“Emmrich, that is a risk every parent takes,” Rook squeezed Emmrich's knee and continued. “But it doesn't mean you don't get to try to be there for the kid, right? Besides, we already have Manfred, you know you can do it.”

Emmrich sighed, raising his eyes to meet Rook's for the first time since he sat down next to him.

“I believe there is no convincing you to reconsider? This may not be the wisest decision. Can you imagine the responsibility? The sleepless nights?”

“Hello, have you met me?” laughed Rook. “Wise decisions don't come easy around me. But I know we can make this work. For her,” he said, as he looked at the girl who was currently occupied by trying to remove the clasps of his coat.

“So what do you think? We already have a skeleton son, what about a flesh and blood daughter?” The hope in Rook's voice was almost palpable.

“I-” Emmrich stammered once again. “I think I would like that, my love. But you must allow me to worry at least a little bit.”

Rook flung himself around Emmrich's neck, as much as the baby on his lap would allow, and found himself on the receiving end of a quite enthusiastic kiss.

“Now,” Rook chuckled, “do you want to be the one to tell Manfred he has a little sister?”

“Gladly,” answered Emmrich with a warm smile, as he led the way back into the house.

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭

pairing: jisung x fem!reader x male oc (afab)

genre: producer!jisung/hairstylist!reader. badboy!jisung. enemies to lovers. twin dynamic. cheating/infidelity au. some angst. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. thematic elements. just a tad bit of angst in this, but mainly, it's just degenerate shit. cheating is a big part of this. smut warnings below cut!! 

word count: 4.1k

summary: the han twins are infamous in south korea for being the #1 duo in the country, with han jisoon gifted in rapping and han jisung in producing. jisoon is the best man a girl could ever ask for- and a wonderful boyfriend. it's just too bad that jisung is the one you truly want out of the two brothers. 

18+ warnings: unprotected sex (keep it safe, my friends). kindaa jealousy sex. harddom!jisung. cheating sex. sub!reader. fingering. dom/sub undertones. degradation (slut, whore, etc.). manhandling kink. size kink. humiliation. dumbification. ownership/possession. jisung edges reader a bunch. overstimulation galore. lots of dirty talk. breeding kink!!. subspace. orgasm denial.

a/n: OKAY- SO !!!! 😖 I first got inspired to write this months ago just from watching this edit over and over again. 😩 originally, this was gonna be a chan fic, but I decided to change it to hanji at the last minute, so here we are lol! 😂 honestly, this is kind of an interesting premise for a longer series, so idk... if I'm feeling inspired to, I might expand on this oneshot and make another part to it... lmk if that's smth you guys would be interested in!! 🤎

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). do not copy, spin-off, or write inspired work based off of this fanfic without full permission to do so. ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

"W-We shouldn't be doing this," you gasped out, feeling the rise of your arousal flooding every part of your mind. It overtook all of your senses - forcing you to see stars, making the blood in your veins boil deliciously, casting visions of rainbows across your mind, flashes of effervescent violet and topaz coating your eyelids. "It's... it's not right." 

The man between your legs was incessant in his movements, pressing your spine a little harder into the shower's cool tiled wall. One hand clamped down onto your hip, nails digging into sensitive flesh there, as he held you up, continuing to hoist your legs around his waist tightly. His other hand was busy at work between your colliding bodies, thumb drawing messy circles around your clit. It was so fucking puffy and felt like it was engulfed in a vat of flames. 

"Why? Because you wanna deny that you're mine? That only I can make you feel this way, only I can fit this pussy so well?" His messy raven locks curled underneath the shower's hot steam, his entire naked form covered in a glistening sheen of suds and sweat and water. "You stay with him- with that prick, but you and I both know that he doesn't bring you to your knees like this- doesn't fuck you as well as I do." 

And the worst part about it- was that you knew he was right. 

Deep down, in the depths of your heart, mind, and spirit, you knew he only spoke the truth. 

That's the thing that killed you the most. 

The Han twins were infamous in the music industry - raising their empire of success from the ground up in the basement of their parent's house when they were just young boys in middle school. As they grew older, they only became better at their crafts - Han Jisoon with his rapping, and Han Jisung with his producing. 

Soon after their 18th birthday, they made their official debut in the Seoul music scene. Instantly, their first track was a complete hit - sweeping the nation with its catchy rhythm and unique rap lines. It was unlike anything anyone had ever heard, and by the time the twins turned twenty-one, they were on track to be the biggest stars of their generation - overtaking all other duos in the industry and winning all the year-end awards. 

You met Jisoon, the singer out of the duo, when you were training to become a hair colorist and he was in his late twenties. One day, a mysterious man came into your salon in Hongdae. Soon after you heard your teacher talk about who he was to some of the other stylists there - you realized that the man you would be working with was none other than the biggest star in the country at the moment. 

Instantly, there was a connection between the two of you. His smiles were so warm, the way he spoke to you so soft and delicate, his laugh contagious. His happiness was infectious, and like a drug, you began to think of nothing but him. After work that day, you came home to watch all of his performances and interviews, completely captivated by his persona. 

As it turns out, he decided to use your salon for his monthly appointments - and soon, after you graduated with your specialty license in hair color, you became his personal hair colorist. 

It didn't take long after that until you two grew a deep connection, and then he was asking for your number before he took you out on your first date together, and the rest... was history.  

Honestly, he was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. He was so fucking kind and sweet and considerate. He wasn't selfish in the least bit and always wanted the best for you. And when you told him you wanted to keep things on the down-low in regards to your relationship, he heeded your wishes. Over the three years that you two had been dating, not a single word had gotten out to the press about your relationship. Sure, his fans speculated about his relationship status, but no one ever came out with any hard evidence of his true girlfriend.

He had even met your parents during Chuseok soon after your first anniversary, much to their delight. He brought over gifts for your mother and spent time out on your father's boat fishing in the early morning even though he hated fishing and always got seasick. Your mother fell in love with him during your trip, and wouldn't stop talking about the expensive rice cakes he had brought her for that holiday season. Your father also took a keen liking to him, saying he enjoyed having a fishing partner, which was your father's way of saying that he approved of your choice of a man.

All of your friends loved Han Jisoon too. Your best friend, Ryujin, was obsessed with your relationship - and was always checking up on the two of you. She was just chomping at the bit for him to propose, and every Christmas that passed, she claimed that 'next year, he'll do it on New Year- I swear to you that he will.' 

Jisoon liked to hang out with you and your friends when his schedule allowed him to, and you did the same with his large group of friends. Granted, most of his connections were either famous producers or other popular singers, but still - you liked the fact that he wasn't afraid to introduce you to the important people in his life. Because all of it made you feel important to him.

Not to mention all of the gifts he got you - sending you huge bouquets of your favorite flowers when he was away on tour, and sending you little gifts here and there 'just because.' Like the box of chocolates during a particularly shitty day of your period, or the small teddy bear that was programmed with his voice and said 'I love you,' that he bought for you during one of his promotional business trips to Taiwan. 

Overall, he was the best person you had ever met. He was funny and quirky and so fucking entertaining to be around. Not to mention talented- he could write thirty lines of rap within an hour, something you never could get over even after years of knowing him. He was perpetually changing his hair color too, thanks to your help - and for the past year, he had been rocking a dusty blonde look. He also loved to dress in bright colors and wasn't one to shy away from all the new fashion trends.

So... everything must've been amazing, right? 

You had a beautiful, unique boyfriend who fucking adored you and practically worshipped the ground you walked on. 

So then, what was the problem? 

Well, for one thing, the root of the entire bane of your existence was his twin brother, Han Jisung. 

With his perpetually messy black hair, onyx eyes, and scowl he always seemed to wear no matter what. You had never seen him dressed in anything other than dark clothes - grays and blacks only. 

His temperament matched his outward appearance, with his downright rude personality at times and his snide comments that were always directed towards you. He was an absolute thorn in your ass and he loved being one. 

He and your boyfriend couldn't be more different from each other, and you were almost surprised when you first met him after you and Jisoon first started dating. Because... they were such stark opposites of each other it was almost comical. 

But Jisoon loved his brother, despite his flaws and all, and since they had an entire career together, you were forced to share space with your boyfriend's other half. When Jisoon would invite you over to the studio late at night to listen to some of the new lyrics he had written, there Jisung was. Sitting at the desk in the recording studio, directing everything and making changes to the track... just brooding for a fight.

When he worked, Jisung was even more serious than his normal day-to-day persona; changing into this silent, man with a menacing kind of aura surrounding him as he sat behind a huge desk in their shadowy recording studio. 

You'd be turned on by the sight of it all if you were dating Jisoon - his twin brother. 

But as it turns out, life has a funny way of playing tricks on you... 

On your mind and heart and everything you had grown accustomed to. 

And before you even realized it was happening, your dynamics were changing. No longer was it you and Jisoon against Jisung. Slowly but surely, throughout your relationship, you somehow grew closer to your boyfriend's twin brother. 

It started with him being a little nicer to you randomly during your visits to the recording studio, or during the luncheons you'd sometimes attend with your boyfriend and his entire crew. 

Han Jisung turned out to be kind of... nice. 

Despite all of his flaws and rude mannerisms. 

But even so, he was still an asshole, he was still annoying most of the time and a total prick. He liked to get under your skin, and wiggle around in there - teasing you just enough to the point where you were close to blowing up at him. But he always pulled back eventually. 

Almost like, he enjoyed the thought of edging you irrevocably, for years on end. 

Things came to a screeching halt though, when the twins were on tour and Jisoon invited you to tag along with him to their dates in Japan. Not wanting to deny the offer since you had always wanted to visit the country, you joined him during the four days that he and Jisung would be in Tokyo. 

At first, everything was going smoothly. 

Their rehearsal the night before their first show went well, and you enjoyed sightseeing with your boyfriend after he was finished with preparations. After the two of you got back to your hotel, Jisoon quickly fell asleep in your shared queen-sized bed, completely exhausted from his busy schedule. 

And then somehow, you had found yourself roaming the halls of the luxurious hotel, stumbling upon a small alcove in the back of the spacious place, fit with a self-serve mini bar and a few velvet-lined seats overlooking the glittering night's cityscape. 

But the person who was sitting in one of those seats was the thing that surprised you the most, with his black tresses and even darker stare. He regarded you with a tilt of his head, swishing around the ice in his crystal glass that was filled with dark bourbon. 

Pathetically, it only took you three drinks in. 

Perhaps the red wine they served at the hotel's mini bar was more potent than the stuff you were used to in South Korea. 

Or, perhaps you were just as exhausted as your boyfriend Jisoon from spending the day traveling across the city and sightseeing.

But before you knew it, you had somehow migrated onto Jisung's lap, allowing him to place his palms on your ass that was just barely covered by the mini skirt you had changed into to tour the city with Jisoon earlier that night. 

"I have a boyfriend, Jisung," you had said, as the man before you leaned in a little closer to your form. Nose coming close to your exposed neck, he had breathed in a deep sigh. Your spine shuttered from how near he was to you. Nearer than the two of you had ever been before. "Jisoon- he- he loves me." 

After that, Jisung looked up at you with a raised eyebrow, a dark, familiar look twirling right there in his eyes. He stared on at you in silence, before he let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Oh please- you couldn't give a flying fuck about my brother. Especially not when you're with me..." 

The moment his lips had come in contact with your skin, you melted instantly - like a bar of milk chocolate being held over the high flames of a fire. The fire ended up being him, his heat engulfing you as his mouth came around the spot between your clavicle and neck, teeth biting down there slowly, tongue darting out and licking ever so slightly. 

"I've seen the way you stare- you're practically begging me to fuck you at any chance that we're together," Jisung had grunted out, his mutterings fanning against your skin and making the butterflies erupt even faster in the pit of your stomach. "Such a little whore- why have one brother when you can have two, right?" 

After that, you were trying to push him away. Palms on his muscular chest, you tried to move off of his lap. But his digits just dug in harder to the supple flesh of your asscheeks, and when you moved slightly, you could feel the hardness of his middle gently hitting up into your warm center. 

In the end, you couldn't deny the wetness that was slowly growing in your panties. But you could sure try your damndest to forget about it all. "I'm dating someone else, we... can't..." Your voice trailed off after that, as his mouth traced up the column of your neck, pressing light, heart-fluttering kisses against your jawline and the corner of your mouth. 

"Too bad you're such a horrible fucking liar then," Jisung said in a low voice, staring into your eyes and giving you that look - the one he always leveled your way when he was officially done with your bullshit. "Too bad I can no longer ignore the wetness that's growing between your legs- ignore the way you press these cute little pussy lips together each time I make you squirm with my taunting." 

In the next instant, he was pressing his mouth against yours, swallowing up your groan of surprise, quieting the moans that threatened to slip free from deep inside of you when his tongue danced against yours. 

Turns out, he was right. 

Without even really realizing it, you had been taunting him. 

For fucking years. 

With your combativeness, and playful banter. Not to mention, the long stares and shifting in your seat every time he made you feel... bothered.

He was like a powerful magnet, something you couldn't deny the pull of any longer. 

Your kiss there on the chair in the hotel alcove turned into something heated and disastrous, and soon, you found yourself locked up in Han Jisung's hotel room - hands pinned against the soft downy mattress as his thick cock ripped you right open. He drew the filthiest of sounds out from the depths of your soul as he pounded into you completely raw, fucking you well into the night. He edged you for hours - just like he did in your regular lives - before bringing you over the brink of five different orgasms. 

The sex with your boyfriend Jisoon was good, 

but nothing could compare to the way that Jisung made you feel that night. 

How filled up you had felt - completely whole in every way possible. 

Usually, the sex with your boyfriend was fairly quick, very vanilla, and in the same three positions. 

Meanwhile, Jisung had you in all kinds of ways that night - knees, back, stomach. You name it, he somehow coaxed you into it. 

And afterward, after he finished coating every crevice and surface of your insides and outsides in his seed and sweat and saliva, Han Jisung helped to clean you up. The two of you lay side by side in his bed for a little bit, soon after he had wiped your skin clean. 

No words had been spoken between the two of you then, but you just felt, that nothing had to be said. The deed had been done. You had gotten over the hardest part. 

And now... there was no going back. 

When you had crept back to the room you were sharing with your boyfriend and laid down beside him just as the clock was about to strike five in the morning, you realized that things were completely ruined. 

Nothing would ever be the same again - because no one would ever compare...

To the way Jisung made you feel that night, and how he had made you feel over the past few years, without you even fucking realizing it. 

Slowly, as you lay there underneath the covers, hair disheveled and the marks of Jisung's lips littered across your body - your legs and arms and pussy sore from his arduous, heated attention - the tears slipped out of the corners of your eyes unchecked. You stared at the back of Jisoon, your boyfriend, and cried yourself into a listless kind of sleep, void of any dreams or thoughts. 

"I'm sorry, babe," you had whispered to his sloped shoulders, just before your eyes had slipped shut in finality in the early morning rays of sunlight for that day. "I'm so fucking sorry..." 

Three weeks after they were finished with their Japanese leg of the tour, and back home in Seoul resting before they finished up with their encore concert in America, Jisung paid a visit to the apartment you shared with Jisoon in the heart of Gangnam. Your boyfriend was out for the day, visiting his parents for the rare break that they had in their schedules. 

The moment you opened your door and saw him standing there on the step, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. But the two of you didn't have to say anything, because you already knew. 

Things had been ruined the moment you stumbled upon him late at night in that hotel, all those weeks ago. 

That day, you christened every surface of your apartment with your mixed essence. Every place you could imagine, Jisung fucked you on: the kitchen counter, the living room couch, the dining room table, against the front door, in the shower, on the study room's floor, and perhaps worst of all... in your very own bed. The one you had shared with your boyfriend, who was also Jisung's twin brother, for years.  

The sex that day was mind-blowing and cataclysmic, as Jisung led you over the brink of so many orgasms, you lost count after the third one. By the time the two of you were finished and the sun was beginning to set, you were so deep into an odd limbo state of mind that you couldn't even form a coherent thought or sentence. 

And like a thief leaving in the middle of the night, like a ghost visiting you for only a time, Jisung just kissed you goodbye, promising he'd come back soon, and left you in your apartment right before your boyfriend came back. 

He left you as a pile of messy hair, weak limbs, and a murky mind, sprawled out across your bed, completely naked and littered with bite marks and violet hickies. You managed to throw a nightgown on before your boyfriend came home and saw you that night. 

You were so fucking ashamed, but no matter how bad you felt about it all, you couldn't stop yourself. And apparently, Jisung couldn't either. You two were drawn to each other, for whatever reason. And no external factor - even the idea of a long-term boyfriend - was going to stop the trainwreck that you were slowly causing with your secret meetings. 

Over time, the periods spent with your boyfriend's twin brother bled together into a fever dream of passion and the greatest sex you had ever experienced in your life. Any chance you could get alone with each other, with your boyfriend nowhere in sight, the two of you were fucking...

In the recording studio, during the rehearsal for a TV appearance, at the hair salon you worked at, in the bathroom during a late-night dinner with their company. And soon, you found yourself falling into a weird kind of rhythm with Han Jisung. Half of the time, you spent it with your boyfriend, Jisoon. And the other half, you spent it with Jisung... fucking and delving into each other in all different ways. 

Your time spent with the other brother became so intense and all-consuming that you lost track of how long it had been since everything had started. And that's how you found yourself that specific Friday night, with your boyfriend spending the night at the studio working on a recording. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, his twin brother was between your legs. 

Jisung had already taken you wholly atop the dining room table earlier that night after you had finished eating the takeout he had brought over. Once you were done chewing your orange chicken and fried rice, the dark-haired man was upon you with a vengeance - ripping off your panties and pushing you atop the wooden table. His fingers had this magic touch to them, and within just a few minutes, with a couple of practiced strokes, he always brought you over the edge in a blinding light of arousal. 

After he was finished with you on the table, you two took a shower together and somehow... he ended up inside of you, once again, for the millionth time in a row. 

"W-What about Jisoon..." You whined out, head bumping against the tile wall at your back with every hard thrust of Jisung up into you. His cock stretched you out so deliciously, and you ground your hips against his, loving the feel of his hand clamped down on your clit, rubbing at it with a rabid kind of heat. "He... He'll die if he finds out, Ji..." 

He flashed you a swarthy, devilish kind of smirk, before he leaned into you, pressing his teeth against your shoulder and biting down on your clavicle. Tongue coming out to press against the purple spot left there, he chuckled lowly. "Oh, just shut up already- I think we're past the point of you giving a fuck about him." 

And then you were clutching onto his wet locks even harder, as he drilled his cock so far deep into you, entire galaxies and other worlds flashed across your vision. Gasping out in pure bliss, you moaned out his name breathlessness, your whines getting swallowed up by the sound of the running showerhead above you. 

"Yeah, that's right... moan my name, bitch," Jisung coaxed in a deep voice, his thumb drawing figure eights around your puffy clit as his cock fucked the squelching juices back into you. "We both know this - us - is never ending... either you leave that fucker, or he finds me fucking you one of these days and everything turns to shit. Your choice." 

You were so fucked out, mind fuzzy with arousal and the pit of your stomach on fire from all of the feeling coursing through your system that you could barely form a coherent sentence. Even still, you managed to crack your eyes open just a tad bit to level Jisung with a serious frown. "N-No... never- don't want to ruin this..." The breath caught in the middle of your throat as the tip of his rigid cock hit that soft spot deep inside of you, making your legs shake around his waist, cunt clenching around his length. 

"Then take everything, you slut- be a good little whore and take daddy's cock," Jisung commanded out in a stern tone, pounding into you incessantly and making your ass bounce back and forth against the shower wall. "Open wider for me, baby doll- wanna see this pretty pussy of yours bulging with my cock." 

As always, you did what he commanded of you. Spreading your legs wider and hugging them a little closer around his hips, your head shot back against the tile of the shower wall when you felt Jisung's cock prodding into you. 

He pushed down on your lower belly, feeling the way his thick cock rubbed up into you so far, he bulged out against the seams and the outline of him displayed deep inside of you. "Oh fuck- such a cute pussy... fits me so fucking well..." Jisung said in a low voice, as he rubbed a little harder against your clit with his thumb. Meanwhile, his dick was reaching all new lengths inside of you, drawing out a flurry of moans from between your lips. "J-Just a little longer... just hold on a little more, 'kay kitten?"  

And in the end, you heeded his commands. All of them. You did everything he wanted, because truthfully- you couldn't help yourself. Couldn't deny him, no matter what. 

Fin.

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[silver-tongued-deovel]

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A/N: Two of my main interests at the moment are horror movies and call of duty fanfics. Naturally, I decided to combine the two. I got through the first chapter of a fanfic. However, I can't tell if I like it or not. I was hoping you guys would share your opinions and suggestions on where to take it!

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☆A Movie that I've Seen Too Many Times☆

♡Word Count:~2.6k♡

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"You're either fucking stupid or printed out the worst directions possible! After being stuck in the car with you all day, I'm beginning to think the former!" Your husband half-shouts.

He helped you pick this route, but you don't mention that, nor do you argue. He's been driving all day, and you're sure he's frustrated. He doesn't mean to take it out on you, you lie to yourself. He snatches the map out of your hands.

"Maybe we should pull over, honey,” you suggest. Anthony has always been a distracted driver; you hate it.

"I can multi-task," he argues while swerving. You suck in a breath and close your eyes, trying to will yourself to be patient. This is supposed to be a vacation for both of you. It's supposed to be relaxing and renewing to your relationship. That's what the therapist said.

Reminding yourself of this, you re-open your eyes. You're met with the wide eyes of a deer standing in the middle of the road, "Anthony!" You start to scream. He looks up just in time to watch the car collide with the deer.

The deer goes flying above your car, only to fall back down in front of it again. During the ascent, it smashes against your windshield. The glass shatters, and you feel the shards collide with your skin. Some shards lodge themselves in your skin; other shards leave behind artificial cuts. As it descends, it lands with a thunk. Anthony has let go of the wheel to shield his face but hasn't braked in time. Upon hitting the deer's body again, the car juts into a ditch. It finally stops; the only thing that can be heard are the deep breaths coming from you and Anthony, along with a faint beeping from an error message on the dashboard. Fuck.

It takes a while for either of you to speak or even move, for that matter.

----

"Stupid fucking deer," Anthony finally curses as he bangs his hands against the steering wheel. He quickly retracts them and hisses. You understand why; everything hurts. There's silence again.

"We should call someone," You say after a few more minutes of silence. For once, Anthony doesn't argue with you. You're glad. Instead, he nods and pops open the center console. He pulls out his black flip phone before closing the console again. You leave your phone in there. You see no use in grabbing it; it's not like you have anybody to call.

"I'll call the insurance's roadside assistance line," he informs you. You're surprised he didn't suggest calling his family first but then remember how late it is. You're glad. You hate his family. Not that you'd ever admit it.

"Ok," you say, though, you don't think you need to. Anthony goes to flip open his phone. The screen is damaged; multiple colored lines are all that's displayed.

"You can use mine," you offer. Your voice is soft, but Antony's eyes still snap over to you. He shakes his head.

"The thing should still be able to make calls," he says. He's never liked your phone. It's an old touch screen, Nokia. As he starts to punch in the numbers, you see lights in the distance.

"Anthony, look," you nudge his arm. He goes to reprimand you but stops as the lights get brighter while they approach. You squint your eyes and make out a large truck.

"Stay in the car. I'll flag them down," Anthony says as he puffs out his chest. You don't think the car offers you any protection at this point, but listen nonetheless. You're exhausted, and you don't feel like arguing. Besides, if you argue now, you might miss potential help.

Anthony's door is jammed from the accident. He has to slam against it to scramble out. He hisses as he puts weight on his feet. You know he'll tell you all about the problem later. For now, he rushes to the side of the road and waves hands.

The truck comes to a screeching halt beside him. You can see everything clearly from the car. You notice a carry-on trailer attached to the truck. The pickup driver rolls down his window and stares down at your husband as he frantically explains what happened-or his version of what happened. The only thing you notice from your spot is that this guy is wearing a mask. A mask with a skull on it. Why would someone need to drive with a skull mask on? You want to put your head in your hands and scream. This man is going to murder you and your husband and do God knows what with the bodies. It's the only conclusion you can come to.

As your husband finishes up his speech, the guy's head slightly turns as he inspects the damage of the vehicle. You swear his eyes stop on you for a few seconds before he mumbles something to your husband and puts the truck in park. Then he swings open the truck door and steps out. He's huge-easily over 6 feet. He towers over Anthony, then he's walking past him and towards your car.

You're going to die. You're going to get murdered by this beast of a man, your brain unhelpfully repeats as you remain frozen in the car. It takes a few seconds to realize the man has asked you a question. He must notice your confused look because he repeats himself.

"Why are you still in the car? Could be unsafe." He says as he approaches the passenger side.

"Uhm," you're going to make an excuse for your husband. However, your brain stops that from happening as the man pulls open your door and lifts you out of the car. You're stunned at his display of strength. It feels like you weigh nothing as he holds you close. You whimper at the feeling; the impact has left you aching, and multiple areas where the glass broke through skin are still bleeding.

The man looks down at you when you whimper but provides no comfort. Although you think his grip loosens just a tad, he carries you up to the road, past Anthony, and prys open his truck door. Anthony doesn't say anything, but you see him glaring. You wiggle a bit in the man's arms, stuck between fight, flight, and freeze. It doesn't seem to bother him as he sets you down in the middle seat and closes the door. You're relieved to hear him offer both you and your husband a ride, as well as to tow the car. Anthony enthusiastically accepts the offer, seemingly forgetting about his previous grievance, as he cooperates with the masked man to haul the car onto the trailer at the back of the truck.

Next thing you know, Anthony is getting into the truck on the passenger's side, and the man is getting back into the driver's seat. You can't help but stare. He stares back, but he's not staring at your face; you look down to where his eyes meet your arm. Your long sleeve has ridden up, revealing a hand-shaped bruise. You tug the long sleeve bag down hastily. Eyeing both men beside you, you notice Anthony hasn't seemed to notice the interaction.

As the man starts the truck, Anthony introduces the two of you. The man eyes the both of you as he drives.

"Friends call me Simon," he responds.

"Thanks for the help, Simon," Anthony interrupts.

Simon glares. "You can call me Ghost, though,” he finishes.

The drive continues in silence.

----

It's been about 45 minutes, according to the trucks built-in digital clock. The silence has made it feel longer, but now you're driving up an old gravel road. The jagged road jostles the three of you. It hurts, and the dried blood has been making you uncomfortable the whole drive, but you remain silent.

You think you can see a porch light on. Your heart sinks. You've been anxious the entire ride. Pulling up to a house in the middle of nowhere seemingly confirms your fears-that Ghost is taking you to the middle of nowhere to murder you.

Logically, you know you're probably at a house because it's much too late for any auto shop to be open. But you don't want to think logically. You want to be in a very public area - without a masked man sitting next to you. The truck gets shifts into park.

"Oh, honey," you turn towards Anthony. "Simon," he clears his throat, "I mean Ghost, has been kind enough to let us stay the night. One of his roommates is going to take a look at the car tomorrow."

You look toward Ghost now. Your hands are sweaty as you grip your thighs. Please, by some miracle, let him be super against traditional gender roles or even a fuckboy; please let his roommates all be girls, you beg internally.

Ghost eyes your hands before shifting his gaze to both you and Anthony, "Yeah. Texted ‘em earlier. Let me make sure they know. Stay outside,” he explains shortly.

Anthony nods and begins to exit the vehicle just as Ghost does. You're rooted to your seat. You've watched too many horror movies for this. Noticing that you're unmoving, Anthony grabs your wrist and unkindly tugs you behind him. It hurts, given the still-healing bruises and new gashes, but you've gotten good at biting your tongue.

You and Anthony wait on the porch as Ghost ducks inside. As soon as you're sure he's out of ear shot, you speak. "Are you sure this is safe, Anthony?" you ask.

"What better option do we have?" While you know he's right, you hate the venom in his voice. You remain silent for the rest of the wait.

You hear the footsteps of Ghost, along with two other people before you see them. The door is swings open, and they all pile outside. All three are men. All three are huge. Anthony shakes their hands while you cautiously his lead. The men grip your husband's hand rough as they introduce themselves: Soap and Price. What odd and obviously fake names.

They're much more gentle with your hand and much chattier than Ghost, especially the Scottish one.

He has a mohawk, which, admittedly, looks good on him. You've never seen anyone actually rock a mohawk and look good, until now.

"Yer a pretty lass; yer husband's a lucky man," Soap says as his handshake turns into a hug. The force of it makes you groan.

"Careful, Johnny; the poor girl's clearly hurt,” Price reprimands him, and Soap allows you to pull away from his embrace, as if he is just now noticing your injuries from the wreck.

"Poor lass," he says with a frown. "We'll get you fixed up, then to bed, so you feel better in the morning!" He reassures you.

You're pretty sure there won't be a morning for you. Three men who live alone in the woods, and who just gave you fake names? You and Anthony are done for.

As you step inside, Soap pays Anthony no mind, while Price dissects him with a scrutinizing glare. "Let's get inside," Price finally says. Soap guides you in front of him, Ghost follows closely behind, then Anthony, and lastly, Price. The lock clicks shut behind him.

Sitting on the couch is another man, the lamp beside him casting a warm glow over the medical supplies laid out on the coffee table. Great, there are four of them. You are so dead. You don't realize you've stopped until Soap nudges you forward.

“It's okay, lass. That's just Gaz,” Soap reassures you. These men are all strangers, and you are not reassured, but you force yourself forward anyway as Gaz waves you over.

“Come on, take a seat. Let me take a look at your injuries,” Gaz says as he pats the cushion next to him. His voice is softer, and he appears friendlier than the rest, but you can't shake the feeling of dread.

“You're cut up pretty bad,” Gaz says, his voice thick with sympathy. You want desperately to believe it's genuine, to relax, and let your guard down. But your instincts scream at you to stay alert as he soaks a cotton ball in alcohol.

Anthony has seated himself on the love seat, while Ghost is crouches in front of him, patching your husband up without words. Price watches closely. Soap moves to the other side of you. You know Anthony is pretending to be tough in front of these four men; he's always had a low pain tolerance. You suspect they know, too, but nobody says anything.

“This might sting,” Gaz says, pulling you out of your thoughts with his warning. You look towards him and nod. You figured as much.

“I'll hold yer hand if ye want, bonnie.” Soap offers with a grin. You shake your head no, but he takes your hand anyway. You don't argue. Gaz starts to dab the cuts on your upper body, cleaning them, removing any remaining glass when necessary, and bandaging the wounds. A few need stitches, a task he handles with ease. You're scared to ask how he's so well-versed in the skill. You occasionally squeeze the Soap's hand when a cut particularly burns. He grins every time and talks through the whole process. It's a nice distraction, especially when Gaz has to reveal more of your skin. He's surprisingly respectful about it, but everyone's gaze (except Anthony's and Ghost's) lingers on various bruises for far too long. Since the bruises are in various stages of healing, it's clear they're not from the accident. You're embarrassed; you don't like to appear weak.

But you might be weak. Weak enough to stay, at least. You think, regretfully. You can't bring yourself to tune into Soap's chatter. You're tuned into your own thoughts. You were stupid to think this vacation would change anything. There wasn't even going to be a vacation now. You and Anthony are going to have to deal with the bill of fixing the car. The money was going to come from the vacation fund, among other funds with how bad the thing looked. That'd mean more hours at work for the both of you. Anthony would cope with his frustrations with booze and violence. Possibly even other women, you wouldn't put it past him.

A hand touches your face, snapping you out of your thoughts. You realize Gaz has stopped stitching the area on your shoulder-it was the last wound that needed to be cared for. He had removed a particularly large piece of glass from it.

Soap turns your face toward him. “You okay, bonnie? You look like you're about to cry. You can tell us if it hurts,” he says, his voice the softest you've heard it all night. You blinked the tears away that you hadn't noticed were there.

“I'm okay; you can continue,” you mumble.

“Are you sure?” Gaz asks. “We can take a break.”

“I'm sure,” you say, closing your eyes.

You realize everyone is looking at you. Ghost must have finished with Anthony a few moments ago as he's taken a seat next to him now. You note that he man-spreads when he sits. Price is still standing, arms crossed. He may be looking at you, but he's clearly lost in thought. Anthony is staring at you with a mean look in his eyes as if he thinks you enjoy attention-that you're enjoying this. You're not.

[hugemilkshake]

i am rapidly approaching to your location. /j

i am CRAVING for more ananas dragon fanfics. theres barely any more of em im gonna CRY, its my daily activity to search for any new ananas fanfics and all of them are rotting OLD and i dont see new yummy content :,<

so may i request YANDERE ananas dragon x reader ples? im feeling hungry for yandere dragons muahahaha...i jst LOVE the thought of clingy touch starved ananas lol its so silly whatthehell--- okok tries my best to serious........ scenario : basically reader is always busy, being well-known and always spending their time with their peers instead of ananas. i wonder how yandere ananas would react to this lol maybe jealous? its always a permanent thought in my head hehehehaw, hcs or oneshots, whatever u prefer! thanks so much and disappears

-this user LOVESSSS yandere dragons and is wildly obssessed with ananas dragon.

Enjoy the milkshake! Tbh we better be getting a new dragon in kingdom because I might start biting someone if they don’t/j

Jealousy kills

-Romantic-

!TW! Under the cut there are themes like implied death, kidnapping and unwanted affection

Jealousy. At times it’s not a threat. But others, jealousy can be a threat on you or someone else’s life.

Mango Cookie always invited you to visit the golden dragon. But unfortunately you were never able to go, you were busy and had jobs to do since you were a highly respected member in your tribe.

But one day it came to a boiling point. Mango Cookie invited you to see the dragon but he seemed… desperate…

“Y/N Cookie please! I’m begging you! I-it won’t be that big of a deal just please!”

You refused like usual. You were busy. All that Mango Cookie could do was sigh

“…at least I tried..”

After that you didn’t see Mango Cookie for the rest of the day, which was odd. He was always bouncing around chatting with other cookies.

As night was falling, you were about to finish up a task, you just had to talk to someone then you could go home and sleep, and you didn’t have anything to do tomorrow so you could visit the golden dragon with Mango Cookie!

But when you entered the living quarters of the cookie you were meant to talk to but… you saw blood, and what you swore to be some scales…?

But before you could inspect the scene more, the world went black as you felt a strong pressure collide with the back of your head.

—————————————

When you awoke, you felt… cozy? Like a blanket of warmth was being wrapped around you. Your vision was still very blurry but you could tell that there was an abundance of gold and yellow colors, it was harsh on your eyes, but you soon adjusted.

You lifted your head only to feel your head collide with something, or someone. You turned your head a little and you saw that you were on the lap or Ananas Dragon. To say you were scared and confused would be correct.

On a positiveish note, the dragon seemed to be asleep, and on the negative, you might have been kidnapped by Ananas Dragon.

You didn’t want to move, what if you anger the dragon? So there you sat. Still as a tree.

Which got you thinking… what led to this?

Mango Cookie.

Mango Cookie always bragged about you. Ananas Dragon found you interesting from how you were described.

But the more times the dragon found themselves getting frustrated that they haven’t met you, and jealous of cookies they’ve never met..

All because you were busy.