#after we collided fanfic

[wqnsho]

resurface | kang dae-ho x gn! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after years of heartbreak and betrayal, you’ve learned to bury your emotions to survive. but when your high school sweetheart, kang dae-ho, unexpectedly appears in the deadly game you're also in, the walls you built around your heart begin to crack. As past and present collide, survival becomes about more than just staying alive *.✧ word count: 10.1k (yeah) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, trauma, toxic relationships, cursing, fluff, angst. your number is 389. *.✧ note: dae-ho won against in-ho by just .2%! thank you all so much for the support. my in-ho fanfic reached 1K notes already, while 1k+ of you participated in my poll! I'm very thankful for the support :> i was in the middle of editing in-ho's fic when the polls finished, when i saw how close the votes were i laughed. luckily i only needed to tweak a bit in this fic for it to be done. enjoy reading!! >:) dae-ho is such a cutiee!! long italicized texts are flashbacks. masterlist | request here

“Shit, I just moved didn’t I?” Player 196 asked in a lighthearted tone after swatting the bee that landed on her. Before anyone could answer, she dropped dead to the ground, a bullet from god knows where piercing through her skull.

The area erupted in chaos as players realized the horrific truth: to be eliminated meant death. Others tried to make a desperate run for it, while some froze, paralyzed from fear, and you were one of them. 

Your eyes trailed down to the corpse laying a few feet in front of you. Your heart dropped. That could’ve been you.

You should've trusted your gut. You should’ve known that whatever bullshit that shady man in a suit said was too good to be true. But here you were, paying the price of your stupid decisions.

The air was thick with panic as a bloody massacre unfolded before your eyes. People who ran got shot left and right, while those who stayed survived. Once it cleared those who moved, the mechanical doll turned around, its eerie voice rising in song. The players were too stunned to move. Only one person had the courage to act—Player 456. With unwavering resolve, they ran ahead and instructed you all to hide behind someone bigger than you.

The rest of you followed suit, moving quickly. You ended up behind Player 230—Thanos, a rapper drowning in 1.19 billion won of debt. You didn’t trust him, and your instincts proved right. As the game progressed, he shoved people ahead of him, ending their lives without hesitation. Yet, you had to give him some credit: the man could hold a pose.

One by one, players crossed the finish line. As the timer reached 0, the hellish game finally ended. You were shaking, your body trembling with the aftershock, but at least you were still alive. The guards escorted everyone back to the main area, where the survivors collapsed to their knees, begging for mercy, begging to go home. You could hear them, desperate, pleading. It was almost unbearable.

“There must’ve been a misunderstanding,” the square guard’s voice rang out, cutting through the despair. His tone was flat and devoid of emotion. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

His words did little to reassure anyone. Your eyes rolled at their response. Misunderstanding my ass! The chance of survival, of escape, felt more like a cruel joke than anything else. But before the guard could continue, a voice rose above the rest, sharp and commanding.

“Clause three of the consent form!” Player 456 called out, his voice filled with defiance.

Everyone turned to look at him, some surprised, others hopeful. You were no different. You hadn’t expected anyone to stand up in this situation. You didn’t even know what clause three was, you skipped that part and immediately signed the form, but there was something in the way he spoke that made you believe he knew more than the rest of you.

“The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, correct?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving the guard.

The square guard responded without missing a beat, his tone unchanged. “That is correct.”

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 pressed, his voice firm and unyielding.

There was a brief silence before the guard spoke again, acknowledging the request with a chilling calmness. “Of course, we respect your right to freedom of choice.” He paused, and in that moment, you could feel the hope that had been buried deep inside everyone start to stir. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “But first, let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.”

With the press of a button, the room shifted. The cold, sterile space took on a strange new color, bathed in a soft, eerie glow. A massive piggy bank, almost comically large, descended from the ceiling, its mechanical limbs creaking with the weight. The sound of bills filling it echoed through the room, a surreal sound that only added to the strangeness of the moment. It felt like something out of a twisted casino, a game that didn’t care about the lives it destroyed, only the money it could accumulate.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard continued, as the money filled the piggy bank at a steady pace. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you choose to quit the games now, the 365 remaining players can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.”

“How much is that?” Player 100 asked.

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard answered flatly, almost as if it was an insignificant amount.

You could hear the gasps of disbelief that rippled through the crowd. It was hard to wrap your mind around it. You almost died for that? The amount seemed insignificant compared to the terror you’d experienced. You could hear others murmuring, their frustration and disbelief growing louder. What good was 24 million won when you had been pushed to the brink of death, when you had witnessed so much suffering?

“Twenty million? You said 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice filled with outrage.

The guard’s response was cold, calculated. “The rule was that a hundred million won would be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

The answer felt hollow, like an empty promise that was meant to keep you on the hook.

“Then how much will it be if you survive until the very end?” someone asked, their voice tinged with desperation.

“As I already told you, the total prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will equally divide the 45.6 billion won.”

A hush fell over the room, as the reality of the prize set in. 45.6 billion won. It was an obscene amount of money. The sum felt impossible, unreal. But at the same time, it was exactly what so many of you needed. The temptation of that massive prize loomed in the air, a beacon in the darkness. Could you really leave with only 24 million? Was that all your life was worth?

“So, if you’re the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion won?” Player 230 asked, as if the question needed to be confirmed, just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

“That is correct,” the guard answered, his voice detached, like it was just another part of the game.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to breathe in unison. The weight of the prize, the gravity of the situation, pressed down on everyone. People began to murmur among themselves, the excitement in their voices unmistakable. The idea of that unimaginable sum of money—more than they had ever seen in their lives—became a tangible thing in the air. People who had been trembling in fear moments before now looked around, their eyes glinting with a new kind of hunger. The atmosphere shifted, the air thick with the scent of greed and desperation.

“So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, voice laced with uncertainty, but also with a flicker of hope.

“As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote after each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point,” the guard confirmed. “We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

The voting began, and the room filled with tension once again. Player 456  was the first one to vote. He stepped forward, pressing X without hesitation. Others followed, some pressing X, others O. When your turn came, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t hesitate. You stepped forward, pressing O with a sense of finality, the sound of the button clicking louder in your ears than it should have been. You placed the patch on your jacket, marking your decision, and walked back to your side of the room.

You didn’t look back.

You weren’t sure when you had made up your mind, but the choice was clear. Despite everything, despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your resolve, you knew you couldn’t walk away now. 

Out there, in the real world, the debt that had dragged you into this nightmare would still be waiting. The vultures would circle, just as they always had, but now you could fight back. You could take a step toward something better. The thought of going back to the crushing weight of your debts, to the life that had led you to this point, filled you with dread. There was nothing for you out there anymore.

The prize, the money, the possibility of escaping this endless cycle—this was the only chance you had left. There was no turning back now.

As much as you sympathized with those who wanted to leave, You just couldn’t. Here, at least, there was hope. A sliver of it. And if you survived, you could finally break free. You could pay it all off. You could start over. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a chance—one that you couldn’t let slip through your fingers.

Your gaze wandered to the others, watching as they made their decisions. Some pressed X with shaking hands, their faces filled with desperation to leave and go home. Others pressed O with grim determination, their eyes locked on the future, no matter how uncertain. And yet, the overwhelming weight of it all crashed down on you again, heavy and suffocating.

You looked up at the piggy bank hanging high above, its golden glow mocking you with promises of salvation. If you made it—if you became the lone survivor—you’d earn it all. 45.6 billion won. Enough to erase every debt. Enough to silence the loan sharks who haunted your dreams. Enough to leave it all behind and disappear.

But as you stared at it, bile rose in your throat. Was this all your life had become—fighting for money, sacrificing everything just to survive? Your stomach twisted as your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms.

Reaching for your necklace, you clutched it tightly, the familiar weight grounding you for a moment. Its warmth offered a flicker of comfort, but even that couldn’t silence the emptiness creeping in. Here, hope felt like a dangerous thing to hold onto.

Out there, you had nothing. No one. Over time, everyone had given up on you. Your friends had drifted away, unwilling to carry the weight of your problems. Your family had turned their backs, tired of the chaos and the shame. And then there was... him.

He left without a word. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone, as if you had never mattered at all.

When he disappeared, it felt like the last thread holding you together unraveled. You tried to move on, to make sense of it, but the truth was simple: no one stayed. Out there, you were invisible—a burden no one wanted to carry.

But here? Here, you had a purpose. As twisted and brutal as it was, the games gave you something to hold onto. Every step forward felt like proof that you could still fight, still matter, even if it was only to yourself.

You tore your gaze from the piggy bank and stared down at your shoes. It used to be white— pure. Now it’s scuffed and worn, much like you. Each scratch and stain told a story of a life lived in survival mode, clinging to scraps of hope. You couldn’t help but wonder—if you walked away now, what would be waiting for you? Nothing but the same endless cycle of despair.

At least here, you had a chance. A sick, twisted, blood-soaked chance.

And that was more than the outside world had ever given you.

In the midst of your inner turmoil, you didn’t notice someone standing beside you. They were looking at you, as if they wanted to make small talk yet didn't know how.

There was something bugging Dae-ho and he didn't know what it was. He couldn't stay still, couldn't think properly, couldn’t stay calm. He desperately needs a distraction, and he needs it now. But what could he possibly do? He can't just slap himself or shout. No way, that's too embarrassing. 

The male thought deeply before an idea popped up in his head. Eureka! He could try and talk to someone! His excitement died down as fast as it came. Yeah, he could try and talk to someone but who? His eyes scanned the crowd. To his dismay, most of the people surrounding him were scary oldies, and he was not willing to take the risk. He looked to his left, spotting a full head of hair. 

His gaze landed on you. You're young, he thinks— the white spots in your hair were less than those around him. He felt a little nervous, unsure of how to approach you, but he had no choice. This was his chance.

He coughed lightly, a test to see if you would notice him. 

No response. 

He tried again, this time a bit louder. 

Still nothing.

He began to get irritated, were you deaf or something? Shaking his irrational thoughts, Dae-ho got ready to fake cough again.

Then, out of nowhere, an old man in front of him turned and glared, sending a shiver down his spine. The male stopped, his face flushing. He needed to stop being a coward. He steeled himself, like the marine he was before doing it the right way.

He then stared at your unresponsive figure with intense, wide, and bulging eyes hoping that you would feel his intense stare and finally look at him. When that didn’t work, he began chanting “Hey! Look at me!” in his head just in case you were a mind reader. 

To nobody's surprise, his ‘plan’ flunked. Letting out an audible sigh, Dae-ho shook his head. He stopped being a wuss and garnered courage like a true marine. He should just approach you the right way, a single tap on the shoulder wouldn't hurt anybody right? Right.

As soon as his hand touched your shoulder, you ducked down and sneezed—an odd timing. He froze, unsure whether this was a sign to stop or if you were actually a mind reader and was avoiding him. But before he could pull his hand away, you reverted back to your original position— bumping into his outstretched hand.

He jumped back, startled. His cheeks flushed again as he realized he’d intruded on your space. In a sudden burst of nervous energy, he bowed deeply— a perfect ninety degrees, his hands clasped in front of him.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to... you see, I was feeling a little bored and wanted to talk to someone. Between you and me, I don’t want to talk to some old gray-haired people in debt. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, you’re free to slap me and ignore me!”

He spoke in one long breath, the words tumbling out faster than he could control. Then, he froze, bracing himself—waiting for a slap, a harsh word, anything to tell him he had crossed a line. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for you to give him a sign that it was all okay. The silence that followed was suffocating, hanging between you like a heavyweight, neither of you dared to break.

When you didn’t respond, he began to doubt himself. Was this a joke? Was he imagining everything? Had he pushed too far?

And then—

“…Dae-ho…?”

The silence that was there from the beginning stretched even further as Dae-ho froze, his heart pounding. He could feel his chest tightening with every breath, his thoughts spinning in circles. Was this really happening?

He slowly lifted his head, praying, hoping that what he was thinking wasn’t true. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign that this was just some cruel illusion. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but it didn’t help. You were still there, staring back at him, just as real as the cold walls of the room around him.

“[Name]...”

How could this be real? The years apart, the silence, the pain—it had all carved its place deep inside you, wounds that never fully healed. And yet, here he was, standing before you like a ghost dragged from the past to haunt you. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You stared at him, unable to look away, yet every second felt like a fresh wound. How could he just stand there, shaking and silent, as if you weren’t the one left to pick up the shattered pieces of your life when he walked away? Your chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

He looked so different, yet so heartbreakingly familiar. Those same eyes that used to meet yours with warmth now avoided your gaze like a coward. The same hands that once held yours trembled at his sides, as if they carried the weight of something unsaid.

You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers to the questions that had haunted you for years. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he say goodbye? The questions burned in your chest, but no words came. The silence between you was louder than any explanation he could give—louder than the ache of the years he left you to carry alone.

And yet, some small part of you hated yourself for hoping, for wanting him to say something that would make it all make sense. But as his lips parted and nothing came, his silence was louder than any excuse could ever be.

Cheers suddenly filled the room as the two of you looked away from each other. Looking at the scoreboard, you released a sigh of relief as O won, meaning the games would still proceed. 

Following the guards orders to disperse, you walked away as fast as you could. You needed to run away for a while, away from everyone, away from him. You weaved through the sea of players, ignoring the chaotic mix of relief and despair filling the room. Every step felt heavier, your mind still reeling from the sight of him. Why here? Why now?

Your chest ached. The large room offered little solace, the murmur of restless voices and distant footsteps a constant reminder of where you were. You sought refuge in the thin, scratchy blanket of your assigned bed, pulling it over yourself as if it could shield you from the weight pressing down on your chest.

Laying in a fetal position, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop the trembling in your hands. But his face—his eyes—kept flashing in your mind, a painful reminder of everything you thought you’d buried.

Anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. You clenched your fists, an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. But no amount of control could erase the gnawing ache in your chest.

“[Name]...”

The voice froze you in place. 

“Can we… talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Under the covers, you exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “What’s there to talk about, Dae-ho?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a cautious step closer to your bed. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you here. I didn’t think I’d see you again at all.”

“Neither did I,” you replied curtly. “And yet, here we are.”

He flinched at your words, guilt flashing in his eyes not that you could see it. “I know I owe you an explanation.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “An explanation? After all these years? After you disappeared without a word? You think I need that now, here of all places?”

His lips parted as if to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked down, his hands gripping the fabric of his jumpsuit. “I wanted to explain. I really did. But I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, incredulous. “You didn’t know how to tell me you were leaving? That you were giving up on us? That you—”

Your voice cracked, and you stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. You refused to let him hear you cry. Not here. Not now.

“I didn’t give up on you,” he said softly.

His words hung in the air, but they did nothing to soothe the ache inside you. You shook your head once more, your voice trembling. “You left me alone, Dae-ho. You walked away without a word, and you left me to deal with everything by myself. Don’t tell me you didn’t give up.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. You could feel his eyes on your figure under the covers, before hearing footsteps walk away. You didn’t expect much, knowing that all he does is run from his responsibilities. But why did it still hurt? 

As you went to collect your dinner, you couldn’t help but overhear familiar laughter. Laughter that you used to love listening to. Silently gazing at Dae-ho’s figure, you watch in silence as he makes small talk with a group of men in the corner of the room. A small smile crept up your face, even after all those years he still has his charming laugh. You moved your gaze to the guard as they handed you your food, with a small bow you thanked them before going back to your bed. 

Looking at him one more time, your eyes widened in surprise as a set of eyes clashed with yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t Dae-ho. It was 001. There was something in his stare that made you scared. Maybe Dae-ho told them about your history and now they were angry at you, either way, who were you to care? You broke eye contact first, setting your gaze elsewhere as you retreated back to your assigned bed. Little did you know Dae-ho was doing the same, looking at you with longing eyes every time you had your back turned from him.

The next day came quickly, the game even quicker. You convinced a group to let you join their team with your gonggi skills. They were reluctant at first but had no choice but to let you in as the timer was nearing its end. Your team went through the games with ease, everyone was a pro on the games— you included. 

As the guard placed the table in front of you, you and your team squatted, the familiar weight of the stones in your hands grounding you. It reminded you of something, something far simpler, back when you were young.

“The slowest will have to buy the winner dinner, deal?” you said with a playful grin, your voice filled with mischievous confidence as you laid out the challenge.

Dae-ho’s eyes widened, shaking his head dramatically. “That’s unfair! You only say that because you’re a pro at gonggi!” he shot back, his voice half-laughing and half-complaining, clearly trying to defend himself.

Currently, the two of you, still in your high school uniforms, are sprawled on the floor of your room, surrounded by an amusing mess of half-done activities. The afternoon had been a carefree escape from schoolwork and responsibilities, as you had decided to skip school for the day. Your parents were away, so you had the house all to yourselves.

The floor was scattered with papers, a few textbooks left open, and snacks you’d absentmindedly snacked on while getting lost in your own little world. Dae-ho’s hair was a chaotic mess of clips, ties, and failed attempts at creating something resembling style. 

Meanwhile, your face was painted with makeup. Your eyes were covered in uneven eyeshadow, and your lipstick had smudged onto your cheeks in a way that had you wondering if you'd even be able to wash it off later. It was ridiculous, but it was also perfect. There was no need for perfection when you were together, just moments of unfiltered fun. You didn’t mind looking silly—it was a shared experience, after all.

You leaned back on the floor, hands resting behind your head, watching him with an amused expression. He had always been competitive, and you knew he wouldn’t let this challenge slide without giving it his all. But you also knew he wouldn’t back down.

"You're just mad because I'm about to beat you,” you teased, raising an eyebrow and holding the gonggi stones in your hand. “I’ve got this in the bag."

Dae-ho let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be defeated, but his eyes betrayed him—the challenge was on. “Fine. The loser buys the winner dinner.” he said, as the fire in his eyes burned brightly.

You smiled, leaning closer and placing the stones carefully in front of both of you. “You’re on,” you replied, your voice light but determined.

The game, which was just supposed to be a simple way to pass the time, had suddenly become a full-blown competition, complete with stakes. Dae-ho didn’t like losing, and you knew that meant he would give everything he had to win, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

With that, the tension between you both shifted. You could feel the energy change as you both focused on the stones in front of you, your hands hovering over them, ready to begin the game. The silly banter was still there, but now it was mixed with a more serious undercurrent—a challenge that was both fun and a little bit intense.

Dae-ho glanced at you once more, his expression playful but competitive, and you could see the slight smirk forming on his lips. “Get ready to buy me that dinner,” he said with mock confidence, ready to show you he was the better player.

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see about that, Dae-ho.”

And with that, the game began, the stones flying through the air as you both competed to see who could win the challenge, the promise of dinner hanging in the balance.

After breezing through the first rounds, you placed all the stones on top of your hand, heart racing. You nervously exhaled, forcing yourself to focus.

“I’m honestly jealous of your gonggi skills,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you sat beside Dae-ho at your favorite hotpot place, a small smile playing on your lips as you stirred your bowl of soup.

Dae-ho, who had just taken a sip from his drink, blinked at you in mock surprise. “You? Jealous of me? You’re the one who won!” he said with a playful glare, his tone lighthearted.

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. “Not that part, silly! I always notice that you always catch all five stones with ease. Even if I’m fast, I still mess up once in a while.” You looked down at your half-eaten bowl, the warmth from the hotpot filling your chest, but it wasn’t just from the food—it was the company that made everything feel so right.

Dae-ho’s expression softened as he put down his chopsticks, giving you his full attention. He nodded thoughtfully, then smiled, and for a moment, you felt as if the world outside didn’t exist, just the two of you, sharing this simple, quiet moment together.

“Well, my lovely [nickname],” he said, his voice taking on that playful, teasing tone you knew so well. “I can always tell you a trick,” he continued, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “But it’ll cost you. My secrets aren’t free, you know.”

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head, giving him a playful. “Go on, then.”

Dae-ho’s smile widened as he turned his cheek toward you, tilting his head just enough to make it clear what he wanted. You giggled, rolling your eyes but giving in, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his left cheek.

He grinned, the sparkle in his eyes making your heart skip a beat, and without missing a beat, he pointed to the other side, silently asking for more. You couldn’t help but smile, kissing his right cheek just as lightly.

Then, Dae-ho tilted his head again, offering his forehead with that trademark mischievous smile. “And this one?” he asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

You didn’t even hesitate, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his forehead, your heart fluttering in the simple affection. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the more you kissed him, the more the world around you faded away.

He stretched his hand out next, offering the back of his left hand with an expectant grin. You chuckled at how silly this game was becoming, but you still kissed it gently, your heart swelling with warmth. His grin only grew wider, and before you knew it, he was extending his right hand, offering it up for another kiss.

You kissed it too, your heart fluttering again at how effortlessly he could make everything feel so special. Each little moment, each silly gesture, you loved it all.

Finally, with that signature grin of his, Dae-ho turned fully toward you, his eyes sparkling with playfulness. “And this one?” he asked, tilting his face toward yours, the question hanging in the air like an invitation.

Without even thinking, you closed the space between you and kissed his lips, a soft, lingering kiss that felt full of promise and affection. The moment was so pure, so simple, that it left you breathless in the best way. Nothing mattered but the two of you, sharing this quiet, tender connection.

Dae-ho smiled against your lips, his arms subtly drawing you closer as he pulled back just slightly, a lovestruck expression on his face. “You’re the best, [nickname].” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he nuzzled you gently. His voice was soft and full of affection, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with warmth.

You leaned in, your voice teasing. “So? What’s the trick?”

Dae-ho let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated but still smiling. “Can’t I have a lovely moment with you?” he asked, his tone light and affectionate.

“Dae-ho.” you said with a small laugh, nudging him playfully.

“Fine, fine! You’re a party pooper!” he joked, giving you a nudge back before getting serious. He shifted slightly, sitting up straighter and showing you a more focused expression. “Alright, listen carefully.” He mimicked the motions as he spoke. “What I do is first calm myself down. Inhale... and exhale.” He demonstrated the breathing technique, his chest rising and falling slowly. 

He paused before looking at you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you copied his movement. Inhale and exhale.

Satisfied, he continued. “Once you find your peace, you put all your might in your palm so the stones don’t fall. Strong foundation.”

You nodded, watching him carefully. “Got it,” you said, your gaze fixed on his hands as he continued with his instructions.

He smiled, clearly pleased by your attention. “Then you throw your hand upwards—just right. Not too low, not too high,” he said, raising one hand and showing you the perfect motion. “Count one...” He paused dramatically, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Count one,” you repeated, laughing softly at how serious he was being, yet how cute he looked while teaching you.

“Then catch!” 

You threw your hand up. It felt natural. It felt right. The stones landed, and you caught them all in one smooth motion.

“Hey! I caught it on the first try!” You grinned, excitement rushing through you. You looked up, expecting to see Dae-ho’s proud smile, the one that always made your heart race.

But instead, you met the cold, expressionless face of a guard. Reality hit like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t Dae-ho. This wasn’t your favorite hotpot place.

Your heart twisted, the warmth you replaced by the emptiness of this place. You tried to smile, but it felt hollow. The distant cheers of your teammates did nothing to drown out the silence in your mind.

You couldn’t shake the memory, his teasing smile, his quiet words, the way his lips brushed against yours. Those were moments you could never go back to. As you moved on to the next station, the sting of that memory lingered, sharp and painful. The sweetness was gone. It was just you, alone in this game, with no place for memories of simpler times.

Everything was a blur after that, your mind occupied by what happened during the second game. Gonggi was something you always bonded over, and that game brought unwanted memories back. It got to a point wherein the way you’d always made decisions, small or big, was by playing gonggi. Where to eat? Play gonggi. Who’s paying the bill? Gonggi. 

But now, as you lay at your bed, staring at the ceiling, it wasn’t the same. Your mind wandered back to that moment, remembering his smile, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. That warmth, that sense of belonging, was gone. The past felt distant, like a dream you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the memory away. Suddenly, the light went out. 

The light went out? That wasn’t right.

You opened one eye and saw Dae-ho standing above you, looking down at you with that nervous, familiar expression.

“Congrats, [Name]. I knew you could do it.” he said softly.

You looked up at him, emotions swirling in your chest. “Congrats also, Dae-ho.” you replied quietly. 

You stared at him as the weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you. You had so many emotions running through your veins—hurt, betrayal, confusion, anger—and yet, here he was, standing in front of you, trying to explain himself, trying to make sense of everything.

“[Name]... Please, talk to me.” he repeated, his voice soft but desperate.

You didn’t move at first. The space between you, filled with so many unspoken words. Finally, you stood up, leading him to a quiet corner between the bed frames, away from the chaos. The moment felt strangely intimate, but so far removed from anything you could have ever imagined.

Dae-ho was the first to break the silence, his voice shaking with the weight of his confession. “I didn’t want to leave, [Name]. I didn’t... but I had no choice.” He paused, his face twisted with guilt as he rubbed his hands together nervously.

“My father...” His voice cracked as he spoke, his words thick with regret. “He was... always trying to control me. Pushing me into things I didn’t want. He never let me make my own decisions. But when it came to you... he saw how much I cared. He saw how soft I was because of you, and he hated it. He thought I wasn’t strong enough to survive—how I wasn't becoming a real man, so he sent me away. He made me join the Marines. He didn’t even let me choose. I tried to fight him. I tried to say no, but he didn’t care.”

You felt your heart break all over again. “But... Why didn’t you fight harder for us? Why didn’t you try harder to stay? To... tell me?” The words were out before you could stop them, and they stung more than you’d expected.

“I... I couldn’t,” he whispered. “He had me. I thought if I left, if I did what he said, it would all be over. That he’d leave me alone. But when I came back, you were gone. I couldn’t find you. I looked for you everywhere, [Name], but you and your family were gone. And I thought... I thought I lost you forever. And I couldn’t fix it.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying. “But you didn’t even try to find me, Dae-ho. You just... disappeared. I waited for you. I thought I was worth waiting for, but you made me feel the  opposite. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces of my life without you.”

“Please don’t say that. You are worth fighting for [Name].”

His eyes filled with sorrow, and he reached out for you, but you pulled back slightly, not ready for his touch just yet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I could make it right when I came back, but... it wasn’t the same. And now I’m afraid I’ve lost you for good.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your emotions in check. “You didn’t lose me, Dae-ho. If anything, I still think about you. Every street I walk, every place I visit. I always tried to find any sign of you. You just… you never gave me a chance to be part of your life anymore. I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend everything’s okay, because it’s not.”

“I understand,” Dae-ho said quietly, his voice laced with sincerity. “I know you’ve been through so much. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now. Let me make it right. Please…”

He paused, swallowing hard before speaking again, as if the weight of his words was too heavy to bear. “If you just vote to go home, we can leave all this behind. We don’t have to keep playing. We can go back to the way things were. We can be free. We can live together.”

His words hit you like a punch to the stomach, leaving you breathless. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what he was asking. He wanted you to vote to go home? That’s all it took? To end this nightmare?

You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. The sudden flood of emotions was overwhelming—confusion, anger, hurt, all rolled into one. “Is that what you think this is about, Dae-ho? You think you can just tell me to vote to go home and everything will magically go back to normal? That we’ll just go back to living in some fairy tale together?”

His face faltered with guilt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The words were already tumbling out, and the anger was building with each second. “You have no idea what it’s like for me out there. I don’t have anything left. No family. No safety. No way out. If I leave without the money, I’ll be dead before I even make it out of the game. The people who own me—they’ll come for me. They’ll end me.”

You couldn’t stop the rise of panic and fury in your voice. “You think voting to go home is going to fix everything? Do you think that’ll save me from what’s out there? You think that’s going to protect me?”

You were shaking now, your words louder, sharper with each passing second. “I’m not here by choice. I didn’t sign up for this game to have some fun. I’m here because I have no other option. I need the money. I have to win. I don’t have the luxury of walking away. If I don’t make it, I’m dead. They’ll take everything I have left. They’ll take my life. And you want me to just throw that away?”

His face went pale, his hands trembling as he reached out, but you stepped back, your emotions running too high. You were drowning in your own fear, your own anger, and he was standing there, asking for something you couldn’t give. Not now. Not when your very existence was on the line.

“I’m not going to die for you to feel like you’ve done something good,” you spat, your voice cold and full of finality. “I’ll keep playing. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep voting O if that’s what it takes to stay alive. Because I don’t have the luxury to just quit. I don’t have the luxury to go home. If I die here, then I die here. But at least I had a chance. A chance to keep living.”

You could see the regret flooding his face now, the guilt in his eyes clear as day. But it didn’t matter. You had already crossed the line, said everything you needed to say. The wound had already been made, and nothing would heal it now.

“They took everything from me,” you whispered, voice cracking with the weight of the confession. “I don’t have anything left. This game, this nightmare is all I have. If I leave without any money, without anything... they’ll take me. They’ll take my life.”

His expression was full of pain now. The words hit him hard, and you saw the guilt swirling inside him. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. You saw the regret in his eyes, the apology he couldn’t voice—but it was too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, his voice thick with regret. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was this bad. I didn’t know you were fighting for your life.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back from him. “You didn’t know? You never bothered to ask. You didn’t care enough to understand what I was going through. You just assumed everything would be fine, that we could go back to normal. But you didn’t ask, Dae-ho. You didn’t care.”

His face crumpled with the realization of what you were saying, and the weight of your words hit him like a ton of bricks. But you didn’t care. Not now. Not when you were holding on to the one thing that mattered to you right now—your will to survive.

“I’m sorry, Dae-ho,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but full of emotion. “But I care about surviving. I care about living. And if I have to vote O, if I have to keep playing to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

For a long moment, you stood there, facing each other in the silence, your hearts both full of unsaid things. But the anger slowly began to fade, replaced by a deep sadness, a sorrow that neither of you could fix.

He stepped closer to you, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry... I never wanted this for you. But I’ll always be here, [Name], even if you hate me for it.”

You looked at him one last time, the weight of everything you had said sinking in. And for the first time in a long time, you let the tears fall—not from anger, but from the overwhelming fear of it all. The fear of what your life had become, of how far you’d fallen, of the choices you had to make that never felt right.

Dae-ho stared at you as you quietly wept, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. Without a second thought, he reached out, pulling you into his arms. He wrapped you in the comfort of his embrace, guiding your head to rest against his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t speak at first, just held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from the world, from everything that had happened, and everything you feared. His hand gently rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, offering what comfort he could in that moment.

“I’m sorry… I know I can’t take away all the pain,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But I’m here, [Name]. I won’t leave you. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. Please... just let me be here for you.”

You clung to him, not knowing if you wanted him to fix everything, but just needing the solace, the warmth that came with knowing he was still here. Still trying. You didn’t know what the future held, or if you could ever truly forgive him for the past, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to feel something you hadn’t in so long—comfort, even if it was fleeting.

He tightened his hold on you, letting you cry, never pushing you away. “I’ll always be here. I promise.”

You didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually, the tears started to slow. The tightness in your chest eased just a little, and you found yourself breathing a bit easier. Dae-ho, still holding you gently, never let go. He simply let you rest against him, giving you space to process everything, even if that meant staying silent for the moment.

You looked at him, your chest heavy with everything you’d just let out. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured, voice low and shaky. “I... I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I was just... I don’t know. I was scared. I couldn’t—couldn’t bear the thought of losing everything. But I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Dae-ho shook his head softly, his fingers brushing your cheek again. “No... I deserved it. I made you carry too much, and I never gave you the chance to say how you really felt. I was so focused on my own guilt, I didn’t see how much I was hurting you.”

The weight of the words sank in, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, though this one wasn’t filled with anger—it was filled with a sadness you hadn’t let yourself fully feel until now. “We both messed up,” you whispered, the ache in your heart growing.

Dae-ho’s gaze softened, his hand gently squeezing yours. “But I’ll try to make it right. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll keep trying, [Name]. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

You took a shaky breath, finding comfort in the sincerity of his words. “I don’t know where we go from here, but... I can’t pretend like it’s all fine. I need time.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just... sorry. For everything.”

The air between you was thick with unspoken apologies, regrets, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both find a way to heal from this. You both had a long road ahead, a game to survive. But for now, the silence was no longer heavy with tension. Instead, it was filled with a quiet understanding, one that neither of you had expected to find, but one that was slowly, carefully beginning to piece things together.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

The moment the announcement was made, you felt a cold shiver run down your spine. Voting had begun. This time, you were going first—before Dae-ho. He stood beside you, his presence steady and calming, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. His hand brushed your back, the soothing gesture almost feeling out of place in this chaotic, life-or-death situation.

“Choose what you need,” Dae-ho whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t be mad.”

His words settled over you like a gentle blanket, but they couldn’t remove the weight of the decision you had to make. To survive, to keep moving forward, you knew you had to vote for O. You had to keep playing if you wanted a chance at surviving, but even as you stood in front of the voting machine, you felt a sickening sense of dread.

Was it really worth it? Pushing yourself, forcing the belief that survival was your only option, knowing the outside world would swallow you whole. What was the point of living if the only person who ever made you feel truly alive has always been Dae-ho? The thought echoed in your mind, and the walls of the room suddenly felt like they were closing in around you. Dae-ho had become your anchor in this madness—your reason for pushing through.

But now, you had to choose. You needed to choose for your own survival.

Your finger hovered over the button for O, but then you thought about everything you’d been through, everything you’d sacrificed already. At that moment, it was no longer just about survival. It was about the life you had left to live. You didn’t want to keep going without him.

X.

You slammed your hand down on the button, your choice made in an instant. The harsh reality of it stung as you tore off the patch you had placed on your jacket earlier, replacing it with a new one. As you made your way to the X side of the room, your heart felt heavy, but there was a strange sense of finality to it. You have made your decision.

You couldn’t help but look over at Dae-ho. The surprise on his face was so pure, so raw. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, like a fish caught out of water, and the shock in his gaze hit you harder than you expected.

Despite the tension and the gravity of the moment, you found yourself quietly laughing at him, unable to hold it in. The absurdity of it all—of choosing to walk away from everything that had kept you going—made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. God, you felt like a fool. After your dramatic show earlier, how you had confidently claimed that you would continue voting O, ready to survive, ready to keep playing. Yet here you were, choosing X, choosing to stop. Choosing him.

Dae-ho just stood there for a moment, still processing, before going up the platform to vote. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, as if he were trying to piece together what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him. The moment was so surreal, so at odds with everything you’d said before. 

You watched him, heart hammering in your chest as he stood at the voting machine. His back was turned to you, but you could almost feel the confusion radiating off him. His hesitation was palpable, and you wondered if he understood. If he saw why you made the decision you did.

The sound of his vote pressing echoed in the silence, a soft click that seemed too loud for the room. He immediately walked to where you stood, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Why... why did you choose X?”

The answer was too simple, too complicated, and maybe too painful to say out loud. Instead, you gave him a small smile, one that held so many unsaid things. “Dae-ho, I’ll always choose you.”

In the end, your vote didn’t matter. Since O won by a landslide, the next game was inevitable. But for the first time in days, or maybe even years, you found yourself smiling—a real, genuine smile—as you were introduced to Dae-ho’s little group. You exchanged pleasantries, introduced yourselves, and felt something warm stir inside you.

The following day came quickly, and with it, the next game. One moment, you were lying in bed, your mind running wild with the uncertainty of what was to come. Next, you were on a spinning platform, waiting for the music to stop. Your eyes immediately sought out Dae-ho, and when you met his gaze, he reached for your hand, gripping it tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, a promise in his words. “I won’t let go.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I know.”

The rounds passed, too smoothly, almost disturbingly so. You all survived the first four rounds with ease.

But everything was about to change. 

7.

“Five women, and two men. Go!” Gi-hun’s commanding voice cut through the noise, demanding attention. Without hesitation, 007 shot his hand into the air. “I’ll go with my mother!” he announced, stepping forward. Gi-hun nodded, relieved to have a volunteer. He scanned the group again, waiting for the next person to step up.

Dae-ho raised his hand, his voice strong as he called out, “We’ll go!” He pulled you closer to him, offering a small smile that was laced with worry. His eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, revealing the weight of what was happening. The air around you both felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation. Still, you clung to each other, walking together toward the door.

Your group of seven—007, 149, 120, 095, Jun-hee, you, and Dae-ho—ran toward the nearest empty room. The sound of your hurried footsteps echoed in the tense silence. But just as you were about to step inside, something caught your eye and made your heart drop.

Player 095, frail and struggling, was being shoved aside by a group of players. Seeing her so helpless, you couldn’t just stand by. Without thinking, you yanked your hand from Dae-ho’s grasp and rushed to her side.

Dae-ho’s heart skipped a beat the moment he felt the loss of your hand. Panic surged through him. Where did you go? He scanned the chaos around him, his eyes frantic as he searched for you in the crowded room. His heart tightened when he saw you helped 095 into the room, making sure she was safe. He could see the determination in your eyes as you ensured her well-being, but once it was your turn to come into the room, to rejoin him, disaster struck.

A group of four players, each desperately fighting for their own survival, barreled into you.

The impact was brutal. Your body was slammed to the ground with overwhelming force. Everything around you seemed to blur and slow down as you hit the floor, your breath knocked from your chest in a violent rush. A sharp wave of pain shot through your body—your limbs aching, your head spinning—but strangely, you couldn't feel it all at once. The shock of the fall seemed to disconnect you from your body, like you were floating in a painful haze.

In that split second, time seemed to stretch out. You felt a sudden sense of numbness as your body tried to process the damage, and your heart raced as you struggled to breathe. Your vision blurred, and for a moment, you feared that you wouldn’t be able to get up again. But then, the rush of adrenaline kicked in.

Determination surged through you like a lightning bolt. You couldn't afford to stay down. You had to survive.

You pushed yourself off the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain in your limbs, and scrambled to your feet. Gritting your teeth, you ran with every ounce of strength you had left, your focus fixed on the door. You had to get inside—it was the only chance left. The room was just a few feet away now, but each step felt like an eternity as you sprinted, your legs shaking with exertion and fear. Every part of you screamed for rest, but you couldn't stop. Not yet.

"[Name]! Let’s play Mingle!" Dae-ho’s voice rang out with excitement, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, already knowing his playful nature.

“With just the two of us?” you asked, teasing him. A grin tugged at your lips despite yourself, knowing that whatever he had planned would likely be a mix of fun and absurdity.

“Well...” Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, pretending to think deeply, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. He was already scheming.

It was your third anniversary together, a day you both decided to celebrate in your usual style: by skipping class and spending it alone in your room. Both of you were still wearing your high school uniforms—uniforms that no longer felt like the serious attire they were supposed to be. The two of you had spent countless afternoons like this, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company, without a care in the world.

“I’ve got it!” Dae-ho suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he dashed to your bed. He scooped up a handful of stuffed toys with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Let’s use our children!” he declared, holding them up like he had just discovered the most brilliant idea.

You stared at him, your laughter bubbling up instantly. "Our children? Really, tiger?" you chuckled, wiping away the tears that had already begun to form from laughing too hard.

"Hey, don’t laugh! This is serious!" he protested, feigning offense, but you could see the twinkle in his eyes that told you he was only pretending to be upset. He adjusted the toys in his arms, a determined look on his face.

“Alright, fine,” you replied, still laughing but wiping your eyes. “Let’s play.” You were already game—who could resist when Dae-ho was this excited?

Dae-ho carefully arranged the toys in front of you both, giving each one a position with a level of care that made it clear he was taking this game very seriously. “Okay. For this round… Three!” he announced dramatically, holding his hands out in front of him like he was preparing to start a battle.

You didn’t even wait for him to finish before snatching up two of the nearest toys. His jaw dropped in mock betrayal, and he huffed loudly, feigning offense. "Not fair! You should partner with me. Always!" he said, acting like you had broken some sacred rule.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing. “Stop being a sore loser! I’m just playing by your rules.”

"Fine," he grumbled. He pouted dramatically, a little over-the-top for someone so competitive. He then scurried around the room, gathering two more toys to prepare for the next round.

The game continued in the same playful vein, with the toys being eliminated one by one. The room filled with the sound of laughter, teasing, and mock outrage as each round got more dramatic. The toys “lost” in ways that made no sense, their plush bodies being thrown to the side in exaggerated defeat.

"For this round,” Dae-ho said, his voice suddenly turning serious. “Two!” He gave you a look, as if to challenge you to keep up with him.

You smirked, ready to grab him this time. But before you could react, he swooped down and grabbed the last remaining toy, holding it close to his chest with a triumphant grin. “Hey!” you cried out in mock outrage, throwing your hands up.

"Sore loser!" he teased, clearly pleased with his victory.

You crossed your arms, pretending to sulk. “Whatever.” you muttered, rolling your eyes for effect.

Dae-ho chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. He set the toy down, then knelt in front of you. “Wait, wait, don’t be mad!” he said, holding the toy up to his face like a little puppet. He moved its tiny arms in a dramatic fashion, as if it was trying to “walk” toward you.

"Eomma! Please don’t be angry at Appa! Pleaseee!” he said in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice that made you burst out laughing.

Your faux anger crumbled immediately, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. He was ridiculous—and that was one of the many reasons you loved him.

Still holding the toy, Dae-ho slowly lowered it from his face, a more tender look in his eyes. You hadn’t noticed at first, but there was a delicate necklace hanging from the toy’s tiny paw. Your breath hitched as he gently removed the necklace and held it out to you.

"Here," he said softly, his voice unexpectedly gentle. You could feel the warmth in his words as he looked at you with such sincerity. Without warning, he leaned forward and clasped the necklace around your neck. The touch of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver through you. "Happy anniversary, [Name]."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat as the rush of emotion hit you unexpectedly. His gesture felt like everything—a simple, yet deeply meaningful way of showing how much he cared. You blinked back the sudden welling of emotion in your chest.

Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips in gratitude. You then buried your face in his shoulder, hiding the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Dae-ho chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, comforting hug. “Anything for you.”

In that moment, everything else faded away. There was just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth, sharing a quiet, simple happiness that felt bigger than any words could express. Time seemed to slow down, and you didn’t want to think about anything else.

As you pulled back, your laughter bubbled up again, light and carefree. You couldn’t resist teasing him once more. “You’re still a sore loser, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dae-ho replied, rolling his eyes but still grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him with affection. “I do. Now help me with this necklace!”

Your hand stretched toward the door, the cold metal just within reach. 

Then everything went silent.

[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.

[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. 

You’re not stupid. Tina 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 if you need anything, 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.

[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)

[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.

[class1akids]

BNHA 423 - Thoughts (aka how to fumble your ending: a masterclass by Kohei Horikoshi)

I won't have time on Sunday, so I'll write up my chapter thoughts today. Probably the last time for this series (unless we get a Todo-family moment in the epilogue).

I've joined this fandom 6 years ago and written countless meta and analysis. I'm grieving today not that the story has come to an end, but the way it fumbled its landing.

Last chapter: Deku after a combo from everyone Rises to everyone shouting Ganbare and All Might Annointing him as HIS personal Jesus Greatest hero

This chapter:

Everyone's aggregate animosity (including 16 members of Class A - missing: Uraraka, Bakugou, Shoto and Aoyama) and the strength Deku added to OFA in 2 years kill AFO-in-Shigaraki's regen (even though he was engineered by Ujiko to be able to hold OFA).

Deku punches the body of that little crying boy he yapped about saving of the big bad and it starts to crumble. So AFO looks for a new host in Deku.

We get to the only good point in this chapter: as Aizawa is yelling for Midoriya, ShiraGiri worries about Tomura. The tragedy of how their lives went in separate ways. The only person on this battlefield who cares about Tomura is Kurogiri

WTF - I'm emotional. This must help bring Tomura back, right?

Let me see! what's happening on the vestige side?

Is Kurogiri dead? Why?

I NEED ANSWERS!!!

Or fuck that - let's get to Bakugou, because why not. Obviously, he's in desperate need of another highlight.

Let's even make sure he gets personally praised in case in the last 5 chapters he was not mentioned we forgot how he's the awesomest. Who cares about Kurogiri dying in the background? Who cares about Aizawa's or Mic's feelings? The most important question is how Bakugou got to the battlefield.

Oh, wait, here comes the twist. Remember that crappy little panel of Shoto in the last chapter? No? Don't worry. Neither does 99% of the fandom, except a few die-hard Shoto-fans.

Well, you see, that crappy panel was actually Shoto being hidden as he lifted up Deku at the end of that long combo to give him his last push. And the one above, is not a BKDK combo but an Origin Trio combo. It's just cropped the same way BKDK shippers always crop Shoto out of any Trio pictures.

Congratulations, Kohei Horikoshi-sensei! What an amazing twist. You managed to write Schroedinger's Origin Trio scene! It happened, but maybe it never did. Thanks for stringing me along all these years through the rollercoaster rides of Origins and Risings. I'll take that playground from you and give it to fanfic writers who actually care about maintaining it.

While Bakugou is yelling in the background, Deku is pulling a Mirio on AFO and calls him friendless. The worst thing that can happen to a Shonen boss.

There is some incomprehensible mumbo jumbo about OFA-magic - but don't worry peeps - it's all a set-up for Deku getting it back (in case you are one of the people who seems really to be worried about that)

And then AFO realizes - due to Deku transferring the last bit just so - that he was just a sad little human who loved his brother all along. Yoichi's lifelong efforts to make an impact on AFO didn't do anything. Only the Jesus-Punch-of-Magic did. Too bad.

Oh no, the whole fucking peanut gallery is back to nobody's surprise. (Actually All Might is missing, which may suggest Deku will only get the stockpile back). Even if Deku gets OFA back, please don't transfer these guys back. I'm so sick of them. They were a total waste of time and took Deku's precious real estate for introspection. Fuck that. I don't actually care. Deku has been damaged beyond repair.

GROUP FIST BUMP!!! Amazing Climax. Maybe a double spread, Sensei?

HK: Sorry, I used up my double spread quota on Bakugou!

I'm not one to criticize Horikoshi's artstyle, but boy, this panel is so underwhelming compared to the stuff he drew in this endgame. Is this your big AFO vs OFA clash????

What happens when Ghost Fist collides with Real blood? Of course, it will transfer all that sweet Ghost-DNA!!!

Aka - Horikoshi is saying - Don't worry, Deku won't be quirkless.

OK. Well. Let's move on.

Here is another line from Horikoshi's outline. Did you want to see a heart-warming scene between Nana and Tenko? Too bad for you. You get Bakugou, you voted for him.

(Btw, Shoto is not the only one who doesn't seem to be allowed to have a proper scene with his mom, I guess Tenko cannot even get an emotional afterlife scene. If you are an abuse-victim in story, Horikoshi says - fuck you! Take a swan dive and hope to be reborn as a bully in your next life).

Well, at least Tomura noticed that Kurogiri mysteriously died after Horikoshi couldn't think up an actual proper endgame for him.

OK, onto the MAIN ANTAGONIST's final monologue. It will be deep after being built for 400 chapters, right?

Shigaraki: Well, I didn't even manage to destroy your hand. I amount to just a crying boy.

Deku: Well, I still hate you for stabbing Kacchan and the others. (forget the others, I never cared about the others). I killed you because I was sick of your moping it's the International Board of Therapist's recommended therapy for victims of abuse and grooming.

Shigaraki: Well, what do I say to that. That's so fucking stupid.

Shigaraki: And to my gay little boyfriend, I leave my treasured Nintendo controller.

Deku: Yeah, whatever. I don't really have any thoughts. I've stopped introspection in Act 2. Your life sucked. You need to fuck off now and stop spreading the sadness, I have a victory punch to perform.

Deku: This is the story of how I became the greatest hero by punching the fuck out of this crying, abused little boy and then bathing myself in his nasty pixie dust. killing 2 main villains for the price of 1 in under 7 pages and changed the weather for the dudebros on Twitter can cry about the blue sky in the anime again. I also eradicated sadness with punching it hard enough.

Also - I probably still have a quirk. Tune in to find out in two weeks.

Sensei, with all due respect - this chapter was ass. Visually, thematically, from a storytelling point of view. Even the good ideas were executed badly or were crammed in with terrible ideas. What a fucking let-down.

Will Shigaraki go and be the hero of the villains?

I can see him reconstruct with Overhaul and magic, or I can see that we will get a reveal where Deku had the Lion Turtle solution all along and he has punched Shigaraki just at the angle to magically manifest 5-year old crying Tenko and save him and he was cold and aloof because he already "saved the boy".

I can see a BS solution incoming. But it will not fix this chapter for sure, nor the broader writing issues with Deku's character and with the Deku - Tomura dynamic.

[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

[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.

[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?

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

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Party Twenty Seven)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Twenty Seven: Y/N and Cillian have an unsettled night. Both tired and tense, little things aren't so little in their small hotel room. Facing a day on poor sleep, anxieties and tempers are a little frayed. [Anxiety themes. Adult conversations]

@strangeions @watermeezer @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @cherry-cilly @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @borntodiemp3

--------

You groan as you're dragged from sleep, annoyed when your hard achieved slumber is destroyed after hours of tossing and turning by the noises of Cillian fumbling around and string of curses that would have been comical if it were not three am and you hadn't only been asleep for an hour. “Fuck sake, Cillian,” you huff.

“I'm after nearly breaking my fucking ankle on the runners you left by the bathroom door, and all ye have for me is ’fuck sake, Cillian’?” he hisses at you. The room is almost pitch black, what small illumination there is comes from a streetlight behind the curtains and it isn't significant. “Nearly fucking pissed myself just trying to get into the fucking toilet.” he tutted.

“If you weren't waking up in the middle of the night to go, like a seventy year old with prostate issues, then you wouldn't be waking me up after a single fucking hour of sleep.” You match his tired annoyance. “Or maybe if you weren't sinking bottles this evening…” you dig at him as you turn over, your back to him as he gets back into the bed. He sits on the side for a moment, and you can feel his eyes burning into your back. You know there was no need for your comment, and you know a simple ‘sorry I left my shoes there' would have been enough, but you're exhausted, and now you're awake you feel sickly, and he'd woken you up!

“Sinking bottles?” He snaps at you, “Two fucking beers when you were after telling me you're pregnant? Fuck off, Y/N. How about you don't leave your fucking shit at your arse, and put your shoes somewhere other than the middle of the fucking floor.” He threw himself down against the mattress and as he moves, his backside collides with yours and you smirk at him giving you his back in his mood. You decide there and then that he's as childish as you are, if not worse.

You try to settle your annoyance and calm yourself to return to sleep, but now you're awake you need a pee, and your mouth is dry, and you kind of wish he'd turn around and spoon you, cuddling you so you can fall asleep with his arms, and his heartbeat, and his signing little breaths. But you're annoyed at him, and he can fuck off if he thinks you're going to apologise, and he can also fuck off if he thinks he's getting a blowjob in the morning (not that he was even aware thar you'd thought about it for a split second earlier that night), and he can further fuck off if he thinks he's ever touching you again because all you want to do is fucking sleep! You sigh and turn over onto your back, then turn your head towards him. You're able to make out his shape beneath the covers and the back of his silvery head. He feels far away, and your annoyance begins to seep from your body, replaced by the urge to hold him. You turn onto your side and shuffle close, pushing yourself up behind him, and wrap your arm around his waist. You move your hand until you find the hem of his shirt, then slide your hand underneath and rest your hand against the skin of his abdomen, moving your fingers in the trail of dark hair beneath his belly button. You push your face into his back, between his shoulders, and sigh as you inhale the smell of his skin and clothes, and close your eyes. “I'm sorry.” You whisper into his shoulders. “You should be able to pee without breaking bones.” You feel his tummy muscles tighten for a moment beneath your hand as he scoffs a small laugh.

“I've to wake up in a couple of hours for work - go to sleep.” He says, and he's calm and sleepy, and the contempt has gone. He hasn't apologised for snapping at you, but you're breathing him in and he's warm and you're willing to concede that you're the problem this time. But to yourself - not to him. He shifts slightly and he reached his arm back and rests his hand against your hip for a moment before drawing it back again. Was that his sorry? It'll do.

You sigh contentedly as you keep your body close behind his, and you will sleep to return. You can hear and feel when his breathing changes as he falls asleep, and you envy him. You keep your hand on his belly and try to breathe steadily like he is, wondering if it'll relax you and put you to sleep, but after ten minutes you just feel a little breathless and you're still wide awake. You reluctantly decide to leave him be and move slowly away from his body. You turn back to your side of the bed before sitting on the edge. You get up and walk slowly and carefully to the bathroom, and shut yourself inside before you turn on the light, worried that the flood of it into the room might wake him again. When you emerge, you ensure the light is off before you pull the door fully open, and frown when you realise he's awake. “Cill?” You whisper into the dark.

“Flushing that toilet makes a fucking racket in here,” he croaks. “Not your fault,” he adds, though it's distorted as his jaw drags down in a sharp yawn. He groans as his mouth snaps shut again. “What time is it?” He asks, despite his phone being very much within his reach and his watch on his wrist.

“Nearly four,” you say quietly, looking at your own watch.

“Fuck sake,” he grumbles. “Well, will we shag like rabbits?” He says, absolutely not serious at all, and he sits up, legs over the side of the bed, and reaches out to the locker beside his pillow to flick on the lamp. A soft white light bathes the room and you blink to adjust your eyes.

“Want tea?” You offer, mostly for something to say. He shakes his head as his left hand scratches against the back of it, and he yawns once again. He looks fed up, and tired, and he keeps pursing his lips and you know his brain is full of many things. “Hug?”

He pushes up his bottom lip as he looks at you, and his eyes have a soft smile to them even if his lips don't. “I always want a hug,” he says, still grumbly, and he opens out his arms as you walk towards him. You stand between his knees and hug his head against your bust. His arms are tight around your back, and he hums - grumbly but contented - as you run the nails of your left hand back and forth across the back of his head, through the more tightly cropped section of his hair. Evidently, it feels good. After a minute, he laughs and tips his head back. His chin rests between your boobs and he raises his eyebrows high. There's a cheeky glint and an almost smile. “So are we riding or wha’?”

You tut and swipe the back of his head where your hand rests. “No.”

He forces a comical pout, “Ah, you're no fun.” He smirks, and adjusts his head again so that he is resting his right cheek on your right breast. “I can already tell I'm gonna be in foul humour all day,” he sighs. “You'll come again today, yeah?”

“I think it's too distracting. Especially now, knowing… you've not slept properly, you're stressed, you've a job to do. It'd be better if I wasn't there. You need to focus, love.” You say gently, “What time are you on set this morning?”

“Nine,” he says, yawning again. He taps his hand against your back and it's the silent calling time on the hug he always does. He sits back and looks at you. “You'll have to get in touch with the doctors when we're home.” He says and sits forwards again, one hand held out to rest against your stomach. He places it just below your belly button, over your shirt, and twists his lips. “Make sure everything's alright, like.”

“Why wouldn't it be alright?” You frown, a little bemused.

“Jays, there's a whole load of things that can go wrong, and sure some don't even…” he stops abruptly, and then he looks up at you, looking very guilty. “Ah, no, Y/N. Everything will be grand.” He insists quickly.

“Why would you say something like that?” Your frown deepens. “Is that why you're being so fucking calm about all this? Got your fingers crossed that something goes wrong?”

He looks genuinely shocked at your words, “Hey, no, of course not.” He says, and take this hand away from your abdomen. “Absolutely not, Y/N.”

“Well you're pretty fucking chill considering your speeches recently, Cillian. And why would you say something like that, just now? Why would you even be thinking about it? This is supposed to be a happy fucking thing.” You can't keep your tone from being sharp, but you do well not to shout. You shake your head as he looks back at you, a little dumbfounded admittedly. “I can't believe you.” You sigh.

“Jesus, if I'd have lost the head of meself, I'd have been a prick. Telling you I'm not unhappy but I'm scared apparently also means I'm a fucking prick. I can't win!” He pushes himself off the bed and stands before you. “It was a throwaway comment, I didn't mean to frighten you. And I am not hoping for something to go wrong here, that's be terrible, Y/N.” He sighs and you watch his cheek push out as he runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “I didn't mean to scare you, but things can happen, you do understand that? Maybe it isn't a bad thing to be prepared that you mightn't like something you could hear.”

“Like?” You push. “You mean like disabilities? I wouldn't terminate a child for….I don't know, Down's Syndrome, or limb differences, Cillian. Not a chance.” You tell him, your face firm and your tone even firmer. “Is this your way of telling me you would?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Jesus, all I said is things can happen. And I shouldn't have. I didn't think or say anything else, I didn't secretly fucking mean anything else.” He sounds pissed off, actually, and you want to punch him on the nose. He walks away from you and digs around by the dresser at the far end of the room. When he turns around, he has his jacket over his arm and his cigarettes and lighter in his hand. “I'm going for a smoke.”

“Cillian!” You call out as he approaches the door. He stuffs his bare feet into the trainers he had left there and throws his jacket on over his pyjamas. “You childish little shit.” You shake your head, laughing sarcastically, as he drags open the door and disappears out into the hotel corridor. “Prick!” You bellow, knowing full well he could hear you out there.

[solarpotato]

My first fanfic would love to know what you guys think. Also, English isn't my first language.

One small fight -

The room was buzzing with restless energy after another rufless game. (y/n) has just returnd from the bathroom making her way towards her group of freinds. she was lucky in that regard, finding some good people in the form of the former Winner and the group that formed around him. While some dismissed him, other were drown by the fire in his eyes. and you wanted to belive in his cause, saving people and stopping the madness of the games.

while making her way through the labyrinth of beds and People, she was stopped by players 350, 240 and 211. A small group that formed early in the games. "Hi sweetheart" player 350 said looking her up and down with appreciation. "We were just about to sit for lunch, you should join us" he gustard towards a secluded area.

"Thank you, but I'll have to decline" (y/n) said amicably trying to sidestep them, but 240 got in her way smiling. A smile that send a shiver down her back. She saw this group before, they were loud and volatile, and she made sure to keep away from them, somethings she was successful in, untill now. "Come on sweetheart, you can't keep hanging with those old geezers, they are liability in those games" 240 stepped closer making her take a step back. Player 211 stepped behind her, making her back collide with his front. 211 brought his hand up running them up and down (y/n) arms. Shit, she was surrounded, and her meek knowledge in self defence, would not be useful against those three, she coursed and looked around trying to catch someone gaze, but her luck run out, most people were still in line for food, she was alone with them.

"Come on don't be shy". The grip on your arms tightened almost hurting, she knew that it will leave a mark. "I really should go, my friends are waiting for me" (y/n) tried once again "don't be like this we won't bite..much" the chuckles made your skin crawl. In this deadly environment, could people really be this cruel?

Call her naive but (y/n) wanted to see the best in people. Even in places like this there were the like of Gi-Hun who tried saving others. Or player 069 who give his place to number 222 the pregnant lady, there was always hope as long as there were good people around. A debate she kept having with Young-Il, she could rell he didn't believe in this, but was polite enough to entertain her musing.

"That quite enough" Young-il apperd next to them. He came looking after you, worrying what took you so long. And good thing he did.

The sence in front of him made him angry. (y/n) was surrounded by the three players, obviously uncomfortable and skittish. While they were way to close too comfort.

He could see the relief in her eyes and she let a soft breath out. He always made her feel safe. Something about him always so clam and collected, the way his eyes fall on her made her relax, she was safe now, she will always be safe when he is next to her.

Player 350, you realise you didn't even know their names, nor did you wanted to, the less time around them the better. Eyed him "this is a private conversation, get lost".

"Yea old man mind your own business" 240 said. Young-il sigh, young people those day had no respect. (y/n) made a move to join Young-il, but the hold on her didn't relent. Young-il eyes locked on heres for a second, making sure she's okay, and then to 240 hands on her. He gritted his teeth and decided not to waste any more of his time on those numbers. "Manners" Young-il said tearing 240 hands away from her. "Are very important" with a quick twist 240 fell to his knees, his hand held painfully behind his back. 350 lunched forward throwing a punch that Young-il dodged without a problem. Holding 240 with one hand he punched player 350 straight in the nose. 350 stumbled backwards, hand flying to his bleeding nose "You bastard". 240 tried to shake 001 off him just as 211 went on offence. With a sharp move 240 was shoved into 211, a quick and strong kick to the the back of the knees send them both stumbling down.

The fight was over as fast as it started. The three players laid on the floor, with a last glare in their direction. Young-il turnd to you, "Are you okay?" He asked. She nodded "thank you" you offered a grateful smile "come" he said hesitating for just a second before putting his hand on the small of her back, guiding them away from the mess "You took too long and we got worried". With his hand still comfortably holding her, she finally felt herself relaxing. "Thank you, that was too close to comfort," she shivered. He looked at her, eyes brown and warm, "Like i said, Manners are very important. You really need to choose your company more carefully," he kindly said. "Shut up, I keep a great company, I keep you around, aren't I?" He chuckled, and the sound helped her shake the last of the nerves. As long as he was around, she was safe. She just knew it.

[middlingmay]

Shameless Fanfic Masterlist

For any Shameless (US)/Gallavich moots, I'm dropping a list of my fics on AO3 below!

DisEnchanted

Shameless Big Bang 2020. Prince Ian had never felt like he belonged in Andalasia. Then one day he finds himself plummeting through a portal into modern day New York. Mickey is a single dad who was well aware of how cruel the real world could be. He had no fuckin' time for six foot redheads running around talking about true love. But when their worlds collide, they quickly have to discover who the real monsters are. Or, the Enchanted AU that nobody asked for.

Grade A Booty

Kev had struck out with one gay man on the Southside. Now it was time for round 2. Or, Kev worries about getting old and reaches out to the wrong person to prove he was still attractive.

For Better and for Poorer

Mexico isn't the fairy tale they thought it would be, and Ian is finding it difficult to hide his frustrations. Mickey is pretty sure this is the end.

An Eventful Evening

Tony Markovich was a simple man with simple pleasures. But the Gallaghers always did like to put a spanner in the works.

What Mandy Knows

Mandy's POV on Gallavich after Mickey brings Ian home from the fairytale in season 4

Queer by the Quinoa

Gentrification had come for the Southside, but that wasn't the most surprising part of Mickey's return.

The Completely Fucked Up but Entirely Platonic Courtship of Linda Karib and Mickey Milkovich 

As Mickey finds his footing after prison and forges new relationships, a familiar face blows back into town.

Down in Mexico

Ian really needs to know what happened in Mexico. Mickey doesn't agree.

TMI

Mandy likes to talk about Lip's prowess in bed. Ian's sick of it, and decides to get even.

Nothing but a Smile

It was a law in South Side. Milkoviches didn't smile. So what the fuck was Fiona witnessing?

We Got Time 

After the credits rolled in 9x06. Ian and Mickey might just get the chance for something they never had before.

Breaking and Entering 

Lip plans a simple job and recruits Ian's help. When it inevitably goes wrong, Ian hides out in someone's apartment. This someone notices.

A Calamitous Proposal

After thwarting Mickey's attempt to propose, Ian gets a wonderful idea. But as usual for a Southsider, the best laid plans oft go awry.

A Proposal, Interrupted

Two years after they get out of prison, Ian and Mickey are happy in Mexico. But noisy ass neighbours making stupid assumptions about their relationship get Mickey thinking.