#taylor swift plots ideas Tumblr posts

[fruitaes]

plots baseados em taylor swift : lover !

aproveitando a vinda da maior de todas para o brasil e minha incapacidade de comprar ingresso para o show ( estão ouvindo meu choro ? ) criei uma lista com seis plots baseados na era lover da loirinha ! todos os plots tem como fonte : vozes da minha cabeça . por isso podem soar aleatórios em alguns momentos . mesmo assim , espero que possam gostar , utilizar e se divertir com as ideias aqui escritas ! caso achem uteis , irei pedir apenas para darem like e reblogarem , se puderem , é claro ❤️

cruel summer — após o término de um namoro , muse a é apoiado a superar todas suas mágoas com muse b , com qual mantém uma amizade de anos . entretanto o que se inicia com idas em boates e criação de perfis no tinder , termina com beijos e amassos no banco de traz de um carro . muse a sempre foi alguém romântico , o tipo de pessoa que sentia tudo profundamente , mas muse b era o seu completo oposto , saindo com pessoas diferentes a cada semana , sem uma visão definida de relacionamento . mesmo assim , houve um acordo explicito : ninguém iria se apegar ao que tinham , eles não eram nada a mais que uma curtição , pois logo poderia acabar . mas era possível resistir aos encantos de muse b ? não para muse a . a cada dia que se passava , sentia que estava se afundando mais em um buraco de não poderia sair tão cedo e o combinado que outrora haviam feito , estava se perdendo em meio aos momentos que viviam .

lover — em uma noite de dezembro , muse a , que está no inicio de sua carreira na musica , é parado por muse b após um show em um bar vazio . embora nunca estivessem estado frente a frente , muse b admite que esteve durante o último mês acompanhando cada show de muse a naquele bar e convida para tomar uma bebida consigo . de corações vazios e ocos à cheios de romantismo e esperança , toda a noite passa em um piscar de olhos , terminando com conexões mais intensas do que qualquer um dos dois haviam sentido anteriormente . porém muse a não ficará na cidade por muito mais tempo e se planeja mudar ao iniciar de um novo ano , afim de iniciar uma vida nova , com mais oportunidades para sua carreira . e é em um momento de loucura e romantismo onde se pergunta : muse b iria consigo nessa viagem sem rumo ?

the archer — traumas são o bastante para destruir uma pessoa . se alguém sabe que o mundo não perdoa ninguém , essa era muse a . sempre lutando para sobreviver , sua vida era o completo oposto de muse b , a quem nunca precisou implorar por nada em nenhum de seus anos lembrados . por isso , quando o relacionamento começa , quase claro que as brigas são geradas pela incompatibilidade de ambos . muse a não consegue crer em uma relação descomplicada e simples , não consegue acreditar poder ser amada , não consegue sobreviver sem buscar alguma falha em muse b , afinal o que lhe ensinaram era aquilo : todos tinham seus lados sombrios . já muse b acredita em amores fáceis , sentimentos intensos e duradouros . não consegue se ver deixando muse a , nem durante os momentos mais difíceis , nem durante as brigas mais intensas . e por isso , sem estarem dispostos a abandonar um ao outro , precisam achar uma forma de sobreviver sem permitir que as inseguranças destruam o que tentam construir .

miss americana & the heartbreak prince — muse a e muse b se conheceram ainda no tempo da escola . conhecidos como rei e rainha do baile , os dois possuíam o tipo de romance que todos invejavam e desejavam ter , o tipo de romance que iria durar para sempre . e de fato , por um tempo durou . muse a virou uma modelo reconhecida , sempre pousando para os flashs nas melhores revistas e muse b se tornou um jogador de grande time de futebol . o casal desejado da escola se tornou o casal desejado do publico . mas a vida de ambos era corrida , sem que nenhum quisesse abrir mão de seus sonhos . e , é claro , quando se estão tão afastados um do outro , é quase óbvio que boatos vão surgir . afinal , todo mundo viu quando muse a foi para aquela festa com um ator que começava a ganhar reconhecimento , não é ? os tabloides não perdoam ninguém , fofocas cruéis começam a se espalhar . como muse b não viu o que estava para acontecer ? as mentiras ganham mais forças que a verdade , o afastamento de ambos é quase instantâneo . muse a não o traiu . mas se todos falam uma mentira , parece que ela começa a se tornar verdade . e agora , com uma confiança abalada , muse a e muse b precisam buscar formas de se reestabelecerem e recuperarem o amor de anos que agora se encontra machucado .

afterglow — muse a não sabe amar alguém destruir . não importa o que faça , o quanto tente , nunca foi capaz de construir algo sem machucar a outra parte . muse b é o tipo de pessoa que se apega facilmente , construindo uma dependência pouco saudável em seus relacionamentos . não são os tipos de pessoas que deveriam se envolver . mas como se a água chamasse pelo fogo , eles se conheceram e se encontraram , e então muse b estava pronto para ser consumido por muse a . aos primeiros encontros , sentiam que poderiam sobreviver toda uma vida juntos tendo somente um ao outro ali . entretanto o sentimento doce logo foi se tornando amargo , criado através de brigas e desavenças , lágrimas grossas e palavras amargas . mas em meio a toxicidade , muse a vê algum sentimento diferente ser criado em seu peito e , durante mais uma briga , decide que não quer perder muse b . por isso , se vê então disposto a mudar toda a sua história , enfrentar seus defeitos para que assim consiga se manter firme naquela relação .

paper rings — muse a faz parte da alta sociedade , sempre usufruindo dos desejos mais restritos , comparecendo as melhores festas e utilizando das melhores marcas . muse b é artista de rua , nunca conheceu metade dos luxos de muse a , suas roupas são de segunda mão , suas festas são em bares de esquinas em sua rua e prefere restringir os seus prazeres pelos dos outros . durante um bico de segurança , muse b acaba esbarrando com muse a que fica completamente fissurada pela aparência alheia . após noites em claro de pesquisas no instagram , consegue localizar o perfil que equivale a muse b . não demora tanto para que mande uma mensagem , ignorando tudo que sempre havia sido ensinada . o problema é que muse b não faz ideia de quem seja muse a ! ou , pelo menos , finge não saber durante as primeiras interações . veja , não é somente muse a que se encanta no primeiro esbarrar . é então que , primeiros encontros em locais ilegais , saídas em carros baratos e grafites em muros particulares se tornam o tipo de vida que estão dispostos a ter . muse a se vê disposta a abrir mão de tudo que tem por muse b , mas será que isso é mesmo necessário ?

[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

Would yall read a lottienat x reader fic inspired by Taylor Swift's song Gorgeous...

[firstelevens]

from the prompt list: 21 and Sam/Bucky ✨

21. you come and pick me up, no headlights

For a second, when Sam wakes up, he can’t remember where he is. He’s the kind of disoriented that only comes from sleeping deeply and for way longer than you’re supposed to, a little over-warm under the covers and still fuzzy on the details of the room around him.

It comes to him in pieces: the bed is perfectly firm and the sheets are comfortable the way hotel bedcovers never are. The room is cool and dark, and the pillow beside his carries the familiar scent of too-fancy haircare products. Sam presses his face into it for a moment, not quite ready to be awake but not tired enough to go back to sleep.

He’s back in Delacroix, he realizes belatedly. He’s back in his own house, in his own bed, after a mission that felt like it had gone on forever and didn’t feel finished even after he’d signed the last piece of paperwork. Being home is always a relief, but never more so than when a mission reminds him of all the things that he still can’t do, even as Captain America.

Memories of last night slowly filter in the more he wakes up: flying in on the quinjet with aching shoulders and a worrying tightness in his knee, and dreading the hour long drive to a house that would be empty, thanks to Thunderbolts business taking Bucky from Louisiana before Sam had left for his own mission.

When they’d touched down, Sam had barely managed to avoid stumbling off the jet, shield and wingpack in one hand and duffel in the other. As he picked out the shape of his truck in the distance, he spared a second to be grateful for Carlos, who’d offered to drop it off earlier so Sam wouldn’t have to wait on a ride after he landed.

He’d almost made it to the driver’s side door before getting the shock of his life, nearly dropping his bags as the supposedly-empty truck started up with a growl. Sam had been tired enough to think of that one Stephen King book and wonder if this wasn’t revenge for the new cars he had test driven last week, but the headlights weren’t on, and he seemed to remember something about those being kind of important for an evil car.

It was in the middle of that slightly delirious train of thought that the door had opened to reveal Bucky, who was out of the cab and already loading Sam’s bags into the bed of the truck before Sam had fully processed what was happening. He’d gone without protest when Bucky had chivvied him into the passenger seat, fully intent on asking when Bucky had gotten home and instead immediately knocking out once the engine started up.

Sam can’t quite remember getting home or making it into bed—there was a bath in there, maybe, and a cup of tea when he’d refused food—but he knows enough to be sure that he’d fallen asleep with Bucky’s arms around him, his face tucked against Sam’s shoulder blade. 

The other side of the bed is cold now, but Sam can hear Bucky making a ruckus down in the kitchen, utensils clinking as he talks animatedly to…someone. If they’re answering him, Sam can’t make out the voice. It’s a phone call, probably.

He drags himself out of bed, rolling his shoulders as he stands and noting with surprise that yesterday’s aches haven’t lingered as much as he expected them to. He puts a little pressure on his knee just to test it, braced for the twinges of pain that he’d felt for the entire quinjet ride, but at worst, it’s just a little stiff, and even that dissipates with some stretching.

Absently, Sam rubs at the spot on his lower back that always hurts after a long day with the wings on and finds that that feels better, too. He’s confused until he spots the little jar of muscle salve that Bucky always grabs when they’re in Wakanda, some kind of superpowered Tiger Balm that he usually rations between visits in case his shoulder flares up. Sam makes a note to tell Shuri that they’re running low so that Bucky doesn’t have to go without.

He just needs coffee, he decides, and starts making his way to the kitchen to find some. When Sam gets to the landing, he stops for a second. He just means to listen to the sounds of home for a second: birds chirping outside and Alpine playing with whatever her latest bell-and-sparkly-tinsel toy is and Bucky clattering around the kitchen, fussing with the newest recipe that he’s been taught by the circle of parish grandmas, all of whom are technically younger than him. (Sam would be hard pressed to admit it, but watching Bucky and Miss Irene and Miss Letty commiserate over how terrible powdered eggs were back in the forties ranks among the top ten cutest things he’s ever seen.)

It’s Bucky’s voice that stops Sam in his tracks, carrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Over the years, Sam has heard the Brooklyn accent peek through from time to time, rearing its head when Bucky’s tired or he’s spent a couple days around someone who hits their vowels the same way. In all that time, he can’t think of a moment when he’s heard it this thick, sweet and almost crooning.

He’s so distracted by the accent that Sam doesn’t even think about who Bucky might be addressing, transfixed by how much younger he sounds, how much lighter his words are.

“Did you do that all by yourself?” he’s asking. “You’re so smart, bubs. I didn’t realize we had a prodigy on our hands.”

Sam frowns, trying to figure out who Bucky could possibly be talking to. The most obvious choice would be Alpine, except she’s curled up in the sun at the foot of the stairs, and while both Sam and Bucky tend to baby her, he’s not sure either of them would shower her with praise for doing the exact thing that she spends roughly fifty percent of her time doing.

(Okay, maybe they both would do that, but Alpine is out here with Sam and not in the kitchen with Bucky, so this can’t be about her.)

As if in direct answer to Sam’s unspoken question, a baby’s laugh sounds from the kitchen, giggles rising in pitch until Bucky is shushing them, and now Sam is only more confused.

Where on earth did Bucky get a baby? Does it have to do with the Thunderbolts? Is that why he came home earlier than expected from his mission? That makes sense, honestly. Sam’s met Val; if there were a choice between leaving a baby with her or a literal tiger, he might seriously consider the tiger. 

“Take it easy, huh?” Bucky says, as the baby coos at him. “We can’t have you tiring yourself out, can we? How’re you gonna charm everyone at the park today if you’re napping?”

There’s a pause for the babble that the baby offers in response, and Bucky hums thoughtfully at the end of it.

“That’s a good point; you probably could charm them all even if you were sleeping,” he says. “Like I told your Ma, you’re too cute for your own good. You gotta learn to use that power responsibly.”

The baby babbles again, punctuated by another shriek of laughter. Sam stops spinning out baby acquisition scenarios to appreciate how adorable it is that Bucky is talking to this literal infant like they’re having a full blown conversation.

“Come on, kiddo,” says Bucky. “I thought we had a deal. You don’t wake up Sam while he sleeps off this mission and I play peekaboo with you until my arms fall asleep.”

“Bah!” is the baby’s emphatic response, and Sam’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but Bucky is.

“Oh, yes we did. We shook on it.”

A gurgle, and then another laugh.

Bucky lets out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, fine, I shook on it and you just tried to eat my left hand. Still. That’s a gentleman’s agreement.”

Sam muffles a laugh behind his hand, and the sound is apparently enough to disrupt Alpine’s time in the sun. She casts an imperious look back at him before curling up in her spot again, having sufficiently expressed her distaste. Sam wonders if her mood has anything to do with the fact that Bucky’s attention has been claimed by a different adorable someone, and confirms his theory by sitting down on the stairs and waiting her out as he listens to the conversation in the kitchen.

The step squeaks under him, but he’s pretty sure he gets some cover from the baby yelling, “Buh!” and clapping excitedly.

Alpine startles at the noise and gives Sam a look like, Are you seeing this right now? He shrugs at her in a way that he hopes is commiserating, and she responds with a flat stare that she unquestionably picked up from Bucky.

From the kitchen, Sam hears Bucky say, warm and encouraging, “Yeah, that is a bird. You want to go look at the birdfeeder?”

The baby makes another noise that must be a yes. Alpine, now probably offended by the baby and the talk of birds, has begun a stately prowl up the stairs. Sam avoids looking at her as she makes her way up, but immediately offers chin scratches when she settles in his lap.

There’s a running commentary on the birds at the feeder now, finally giving Bucky a use for all the bird facts he picked up while helping Cass with that project on local ecosystems last month. 

“That’s a goldfinch,” he’s explaining, and the baby lets out a soft ooh at whatever the bird is doing. “Uh-huh, he’s real pretty, right?”

Alpine curls up more comfortably in Sam’s lap, and he rests his head against the railing and lets Bucky’s voice wash over him, comforting the way it always is, even when they’re arguing over something stupid.

“You see that one over there on the railing? All showy with the blue and white? That’s a blue jay. Sam likes those, but there’s this red finch that’s his favorite.” He pauses for what Sam assumes is more baby babble. “You, too, huh? Yeah, I guess they’re nice. Not my favorite, though.”

The baby must make an inquisitive noise, because then Bucky’s humming thoughtfully.

“I’m trusting you not to tell anyone, okay? This is top secret stuff.” The baby gurgles and that seems like reassurance enough, because Bucky goes on to say, “All these years and my favorite bird is still Sam.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. At some point, that joke is going to get old, he’s sure, but as far as Bucky’s concerned, it hasn’t happened yet.

“I know, I know,” Bucky’s saying. “But the first time I saw him fly, he literally knocked me off my feet. That sort of thing tends to leave an impression.”

More cooing from the baby.

“Yeah, okay, so I’m a little biased,” says Bucky, and punctuates it by blowing a raspberry that sends delighted giggles carrying through the house. “But you’ve never seen him fly. He’s nice to look at all the time, but when he’s up in the air? It’s like he was born to be up there. There’s nothing better.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Sam’s heart too full to even think of a quippy response.

“He really is beautiful,” Bucky says, completely sincere, and the part of Sam that hasn’t completely turned to mush feels a little bit guilty for eavesdropping on Bucky like this. The feeling immediately dissipates when Bucky adds, a little bit louder, “It almost makes up for how bad he is at sneaking around his own house.”

Sam looks down at Alpine. “This is your fault,” he tells her as she looks up at him. “I was just trying to figure out if your dad had stolen a baby. I would’ve been like a ghost if I hadn’t sat down to pet you.”

There’s a snort from Bucky, who appears in the doorway to the kitchen with a curly-haired baby on his hip. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“I will,” says Sam. In his lap, Alpine perks up as soon as she hears Bucky’s voice, then rears back at the sight of the baby. They watch her hop off of Sam and flounce her way into the family room, probably in search of Fig. “So are you gonna explain where this baby came from or…?”

“I’m not sure I have time for an entire birds and the bees talk right now,” Bucky says, blinking at Sam as innocently as possible. “I’d offer to give you the highlights but I think Jordan’s a little young to hear all that.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” says Sam, as he takes the last couple of steps moves towards the kitchen. He smiles at the baby, holding a finger out for him to grip. “Hi, Jordan. You have fun birdwatching with Bucky?”

Jordan looks at Sam, wide-eyed at the sound of his own name, and grabs onto Sam’s hand before turning to Bucky with a beatific if gummy smile.

“Did you say hi to Sam?” Bucky asks, tickling Jordan’s stomach and making him giggle. “Did you tell him you like blue jays, too?”

There’s something about the way that Bucky moves with a baby in his arms, swaying and bouncing just the right amount, alert but not tense. He’s confident anytime they’re out in the field, and time in Delacroix has helped him shake off the shyness and hesitation that colored his earliest visits here, but there’s an element of this that goes beyond that. It seems instinctive, somehow.

Sam has the mildly embarrassing thought that he could watch it for a while and not get bored, and decides not to test how obvious this inclination is by coming up with a distraction. “I’m starving,” he says. “Have you eaten yet?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Got a little distracted when Miss Letty showed up with this one,” he says. “And he keeps touching my left hand, so I didn’t want the metal heating up near the stove.”

“If I make breakfast, you think you and your co-pilot over there can handle putting on some coffee for us? Is there a stroller or something that we can put him in?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Bucky, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Juggling a kid and making breakfast?” asks Sam, as he pulls eggs and milk out of the fridge. “Who are you, June Cleaver?”

“You know I don’t know who that is.”

Sam just shrugs, letting Bucky have the out if he wants it, and gets a mixing bowl from the cabinet so he can start making pancake batter. After a few moments of working in relative silence—Jordan is still as chatty as ever, and Bucky keeps up his end of the conversation—the coffee maker starts burbling, and Sam feels Bucky come up to stand beside him, his chin resting on Sam’s shoulder as he peers into the mixing bowl.

It’s like waiting Alpine out on the stairs earlier. Sam keeps working, measuring out his flour and whisking in baking powder and salt. Bucky nudges the carton of eggs over before Sam has to reach for them, and he just hums in acknowledgment when Sam thanks him.

“Evie went through a phase,” is what he finally says, when the batter is nearly done. “Right after Rose was born, when she wasn’t the baby of the family anymore. Any time she saw Ma holding the new baby, she’d want to be held, too. I got real good at juggling a two year old in one arm and whatever I needed to get done in the other. Then Ma went back to work, and I would sit up with Rosie when her colic got bad, walk her around the apartment until she calmed down enough to sleep.”

Sam can picture it perfectly: teenaged Bucky, still growing into the dashing good looks that were memorialized in all the textbooks, but with the same sense of duty that would keep him at Steve’s side years later, soothing tears and finishing fights in the same afternoon. There are so many skills that Bucky carries that Sam has watched him struggle with, not knowing whether HYDRA put them there or why he might have needed them. He can’t help but feel relieved that Bucky also gets to keep this, too, this muscle memory that belongs wholly to the person he was before tragedy could touch him.

It’s rare for Bucky to talk about his childhood at all, between the gaps in his memory and the grief over what he’s lost. As a rule, Sam tries not to make a big deal out of it when it happens, so in spite of how full his heart feels, he just leans into Bucky’s warmth, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away.

“Sounds like they were lucky to have you,” Sam murmurs.

“Yeah, maybe,” says Bucky, sniffing a little. “I guess so.”

“They were,” says Sam, more firmly this time. “Trust me. I know the feeling.”

He has the sense that Bucky’s about to argue, but then Jordan cuts him off with another well-timed, “Bah!”

“See?” Sam says, pointing at Jordan. “You have to listen to us. You’re outnumbered.”

Bucky lets out a gusty sigh, looking down at Jordan, who just coos at him. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”

“He saw a better deal and he took it,” says Sam. “Sorry, baby.”

“Fine,” grouses Bucky. “I’m conceding, but I’m gonna be persnickety about it.”

“You can be as persnickety as you want, as long as you know I’m right,” says Sam, carrying the bowl of batter to the stove.

“In that case, if I tell you that you’re right again, will you add those pralines we bought to the pancakes?”

“I’m above flattery, Barnes,” he says, but now he’s thinking about brown sugar and pecan caramelizing against the pan and it sounds delicious. “But yeah, maybe.”

Bucky sets a coffee mug on the counter in front of him and steals a kiss. “Chocolate chips, too?”

“Don’t push it,” says Sam, but he’s already turning to grab the Toll House bag from the pantry, and he can’t even be that annoyed about it when Bucky crows about his victory.

It’s good to be home, he thinks, and throws a chocolate chip at Bucky’s head for good measure.

[sunlightera]

ive been watching g1 and im on season 2 and its very funny i love it in the same way i love like. captain planet. but also i am very patiently waiting for my wife to show up

[ayowotsdis]

Now, most of what i write is very grim dark fantasy with a lot of midsummer nights dream whimsy but BUT what I told you I have a standalone in works (which could take years) which a is a PURE love story between a court jester and a maid, who have been friends for long. I watch them go from bickering friends to still bickering absolutely enamoured lovers luke these two need each other to BREATH kinda love. And listen, Jane Austen is my GURU, the aesthetic of this book is the 2005 Pride and Prejudice but with more fantasy, a LOT more kisses and every one of them will feel like the "Mrs Darcy" one or I will scream into the cosmos. The friendship between those two is inspired by an irl friendship of mine but we're more platonic. Likeeeeeeee, I absolutely hate modern romantasy because I like smut but why is it just always smut. I want romance, I want the before sunset, p&p 2005, 90s romcom vibes. I want LIGHT, ITS GOLDEN SHE LIKES SHINY THINGS BUT SHE'LL MARRY HIM WITH PAPER RINGE KINDA STUFF. So I took matters into my own hands. The maids name hasn't been fully confirmed yet but my friend named the clown Patricio. Oh and I got the inspiration for this story from staring at the kiss by Gustav Klimt for hours :)

A very casual convo between me and my friend :p

[theamazingannie]

Gaylors really gonna come out in full force over Taylor having a song in a Heartstopper scene when not so long ago we had to deal with people forcefully outing Kit like can we fucking LEARN????

[slayingfiction]

Story idea/ Writing Prompt

Weekend writing prompt:

Your MC has always had karma on their side. Karma deals its fury swiftly and without prejudice, its sense of justice a vengeance like no other. A kid stole your toy on the playground? The next day their house floods and all their toys are ruined. Someone broke their heart? Within a month they’ve lost their job and are living on the streets. Your MC loves the sense of power. They get to enjoy life peacefully knowing if anyone does them wrong, karma will enact its rage for them.

Then one day, your MC falls in love. Head over heels. But every little mistake the love interest makes comes at a cost, and the longer the relationship continues, the worse the consequences. Now, your MC is in a race against the clock to protect the one they love, but how do you protect someone from a concept? An idea with no corporeal form? I

Is the relationship doomed and bound for tragedy, or will they get their happily ever after?

Inspiration: Karma by Taylor Swift

[rotzaprachim]

so interesting to me how many of my “he would not fucking do that” fic moments come from romance tropes executed in ways that don’t unpack power dynamics or agency etc but just have men be kind of controlling or denying of female partner’s agency. like no canonically he would not fucking do that, in this way. it’s why marriage of convenience or arranged marriage fics are either literary masterpieces or trashfires - how well can they actually unpack this dynamic? but in general with many things itsssss

[tintysun]

♪ And I could see you being my addiction You can see me as a secret mission ♪

Taylor Swift | I Can See You

[schmingitt]

Taylor Swift Songs as Plots

Hey guys! I’ve been using a lot of Taylor Swift songs as inspiration for my plots when writing, so I thought that I would share with you guys! I’m a swiftie as well.

Just so you guys know, some of the songs don’t correlate to the lyrics, but to the song title ‼️

If you guys like this, I might use other songs as plot ideas 🤗

1. Speak Now - Character A has had a crush on Character B, but they’re engaged to Character C. A sneaks into the wedding to try and stop it. Character A succeeds.

2. Mary’s Song (Oh My My My) - Character A and B’s parents are best friends and so are Character A and B. As they grow up, they realize their feelings for each other. Their parents joke about them being together, but never are serious about it.

3. Mastermind - Character A schemes a plan with their friend, Character C, to get with their crush, Character B. Character B knew all along Character A’s plan.

4. Timeless - Character A walks past an antique shop. They find old photographs and it reminds them on their old love, Character B.

5. Sparks Fly - Character A and Character B go on a date to watch some fireworks go off. (Bonus points: if they’re just friends who went to go see the fireworks and at the end of the night they end up falling in love)

6. Labyrinth - Character A has a hard time dealing with the fact that their falling in love, especially after they swore off love.

7. Paper Rings - Character A and B were childhood friends who made promise rings out of paper. They meet again, the paper rings don’t fit anymore, but they carry them around like a good luck charm.

8. Foolish One - Character A checks their mailbox every Valentine’s Day. Their best friend, Character B, knows about this. Character B has had a huge crush on them. The next time Valentine’s Day rolls around, they put anonymous love letters in Character A’s mailbox.

9. Sl*t! - Character A and B are fake dating. Others around them (classmates, colleagues, etc.) believe Charater B shouldn’t belong with Character A. People start calling Character B a “sl*t” and a “wh*re”. While all of this is happening, Character A and B start to fall for each other but Character A pushes it away. Character B eventually gets sick of it all, and doesn’t mind people calling them names, as long as their with Character A.

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

[fruitaes]

plots baseados em taylor swift : speak now ( taylor’s version ) !

voltando aqui para mais uma listinha da saga : plots baseados em taylor swift ! dessa vez com o speak now ( ou fala logo para os intimos ) . ‘tô trazendo para vocês uma lista de sete plots baseados nessa era , seguindo a mesma lógica da lista passada ( que caso não lembre ou não tenha visto é só clicar nessa frase <3 ) : todos foram criados a partir de vozes da minha cabeça sendo assim pode ter o total de zero lógica para algumas pessoas ! espero que possam gostar , utilizar e se divertir com as ideias propostas , pois todas tiveram carinho durante sua escrita . e irei pedir para , caso achem úteis , darem like e reblogarem , se for possível , é claro ❤️ e , ah , se quiserem podem sugerir os próximos álbuns ou músicas , sintam - se a vontade , porque eu sou extremamente indecisa e quero fazer tudo de uma vez !

sparks fly — nascer em uma família com crenças enraizadas , para muse a , não era difícil e sim parte de sua história . há muito a rigidez não se tratava de religião imposta a si , mas sim de uma necessidade constante do controle de seus parentes para com todos os âmbitos de sua vida . não importava o motivo , se tudo iniciara por ser a única prole nascida de seus pais ou pela necessidade de controle dos progenitores , entretanto era mais que claro que a vida de muse a fora planejada e cronometrada como bem entenderam , moldada a perfeição de seus pais . por tal motivo , o cúmulo do absurdo seria o desejo de viver por si , mudando o rumo do que muitos tentaram ajustar . o cúmulo seria se deixar cair ao mundo , se aproximar de pessoas tais quais  muse b . o interessante da história é que não era apenas o desrespeito as regras básicas que faziam com que muse b soasse interessante e sim a liberdade de poder ser quem era , de poder agir como bem entendesse e de fazer , mesmo por alguns instante , fazer com que muse a se sentisse da mesma forma . seus os encontros ocorriam durante tempestades , os seus beijos ? escondidos atrás dos portões da faculdade . a adrenalina que surgia em muse a . e o medo constante dominava a si , principalmente em saber que nunca , em hipótese alguma , aquele tão errado iria se tornar o certo em sua vida . 

back to december — as melhores escolhas nunca são as que o coração anseia  . para muse a , descobrir isso foi fácil e rápido do que desejava . muse b era uma pessoa doce , gentil e carinhosa . exatamente tudo que muse a almejou por toda a vida . então . . . por que ? por que quando se aproximou , nada em muse b fez seu coração bater da maneira certa ? por que as fagulhas não explodiam em um toque ? por que , ao invés de eu te amo , quando abriu a boca , as palavras que saíram foram : acho que deveríamos terminar ? e , por que motivo seu coração doía tanto agora , ao ver muse b realmente indo embora e seguindo com sua vida ? o coração partido não era seu , a dor não era sua . mesmo assim as lembranças voltavam cada vez mais fortes , a saudades do perfume , do sorriso e de como se sentia acolhido . porém implorar não funciona mais . um coração partido não se cura fácil e muse a terá que entender isso para tentar recuperar muse b , caso seja isso que realmente queira e não apenas um egoísmo balançando em seu peito .

speak now — desde que se lembro por gente , muse a teve uma paixonite mais que clara por muse b . consegue se ver ainda criança roubando flores no parque para entregar ao amado . acreditava que , se este não havia notado a queda , a culpa era integralmente dele . porém deve admitir que anos passados sem confessar-se não havia sido uma boa escolha . principalmente quando muse b iniciou um namoro que findou em muse a sendo convidada para ser madrinha de casamento . há quem diga que isso chegava a ser cruel , a melhor amiga do noivo , parecia até mesmo um clichê . muse a , sem a menor dúvida , deveria ter exposto o que sentia antes , gastado o tempo que usou escrevendo em seu diário para olhar na cara de muse b e dizer : oi , eu estou aqui e gosto de você . entretanto nunca fora corajosa o bastante , pelo menos não até ouvir o padre dizer : fale agora ou cale - se para sempre . um gatilho, a ideia de nunca mais poder fazer algo para que muse b fosse seu , uma necessidade de humilhação pública ! sem ao menos perceber , muse a estava em pé encarando todos na sala , inclusive seus pais . por vários segundos — os quais pareceram eternos — a sua boca abriu e fechou até as palavras fluírem e deixarem todos horrorizados naquele altar . mas , a única pessoa que importava era uma , muse b . só que ele também estava . . . de boca aberta ? merda . o olhar que lhe rondava era felicidade ou horror ? bem , muse a nunca pode descobrir , afinal sua única reação foi fugir tão longe para que nunca mais pudesse ser achada .

the story of us — o relacionamento perfeito existe ? o amor a primeira vista , os dedos encostando e faiscando . se alguém algum dia perguntasse quem era sua alma gêmea , com certeza muse a responderia muse b . mas então por que a distância entre eles parece tão grande , mesmo nessa sala pequena ? términos não são fáceis ou bonitos . principalmente em um amor tão ardente e intenso . mesmo que muse a tente se aproximar , consertar as coisas , o orgulho de muse b conseguia ser tão grande ao ponto de nem enxergar o quanto esta a quebrar quem ama . a cada dia que passava , muse a ficava mais afundado na tristeza , na saudades . mas era tão sufocante , nunca ser correspondido em meio ao silêncio tão gritante . em sua última tentativa , a última batalha , tudo aquilo pelo que lutaram um dia , está sob as mãos de muse b . entretanto , a felicidade parece distante . e , encoberto de incertezas , ninguém consegue prever o findar dessa história .

enchanted — breves encontros , sorrisos trocados , memórias marcadas como tatuagens em seu peito . muse a sempre teve a crença que absolutamente tudo acontecia por algum motivo . até mesmo a grama que crescia em seu jardim ou a abelha que lhe picou quando tinha 4 anos e fez parar no hospital por 2 dias e meio . é claro que ter muse b a sua frente não teria sido diferente . em uma noite , após algumas taças de vinho servidas por garçons tão bem vestidos , muse a estava parada ao terraço tentando fugir da onda de curiosos que vinham lhe procurar . nunca havia desejado a fama que seus pais deram a si , nunca havia sentido como se o mundo fosse partir por um divórcio . porém manter a farsa por fora de si ser tornara um padrão . tentava manter a pose , tentava não desabar quando muse b chegou a perto de si . com um lencinho de papel e um sorriso doce , muse b fez com que muse a esquecesse a vida ao seu redor . enquanto a festa acontecia metros abaixo de si , o terraço virava seu local secreto , onde podiam rir , flertar e sentir o que seu peito desejasse . a conexão não esperada causou uma esperança a tempos não sentida . um desejo de novos encontros , uma vontade de que o tempo parasse para que a fantasia juvenil nunca mais acabasse .

better than revenge — ódios bem estruturados , vinganças banhadas na mais pura raiva , distância extremamente bem programada. muse a e muse b não conseguem se suportar , todos sabem disso . qualquer um que as conheçam , planejam distância máxima para que elas não se encontrem . alguns dizem que a origem desse ódio vem de um episódio passado , onde muse a “ roubou ” o namorado de muse b , que o levou de volta a casa 3 meses depois . é claro , ninguém fala da índole do homem , mas com certeza lembram de como as duas brigaram até serem separadas por policiais . entretanto , não é o que ocorreu na boate do dia 8 de julho , onde a bebida parecia deixar as duas um pouco alta e as luzes piscantes com certeza fizeram com que muse b esquecesse que aquela a qual estava enfiando a língua era sua maior inimiga da vida . provavelmente , por alguns instantes ela até tentou relutar mas . . .  por que a boca de muse a era tão macia ? e por que o corpo parecia tão estrategicamente junto ao seu ? é claro que , ao acordarem na mesma cama , iriam sair e fingir que nada aconteceu , iriam continuar vivendo ignorando que o ódio , no fundo , era um puro tesão e tentariam fervorosamente esquecer que a única vontade que mantinham naquele momento era repetir de novo e de novo o que havia acontecido .

 i can see you — ah , namoros proibidos são sempre tão emocionantes , não é ? os olhares pelos corredores , corações acelerados quando sente a aproximação tão desejada . muse a e muse b sabem muito bem como isso ocorre . ambos são atores iniciantes , em seu ápice de sucesso . tiveram a grande chance de estrearem em uma série com ótimos números de audiência , que lhe deram inúmero contratos . o problema ? há atuação que eles demonstram em frente as telas deveria ser só isso , atuação . entretanto o que mais pode acalentar corações jovens do que noites sozinhos estudando textos em seus camarins ? ou uma comida chinesa no hotel após uma viagem exaustiva de trabalho ? ou o beijo roubado na festa de comemoração pela ótima audiência que os dois tanto se esforçaram para ter . os mais velhos talvez achem que é apenas um prazer sexual , algo que irá passar com o final do show . mas não acreditam nisso , pois o sentimento que surgem em seus peitos , cabe apenas a eles . e por isso , não admitem a ninguém , vivendo sua felicidade as escuras , prontos para enfrentar o mundo para o seu segredo . 

[jirsungs]

NO IDEA ☆ l.dh

pairing: loser!donghyuck x fem!reader

no idea synopsis: a story where both you and lee donghyuck seem to get what you want. he's the perfect pawn in making your ex-boyfriend jealous and the smarty pants tutor helping you pass your math class. donghyuck has it easy too, he's finally able to seek out and experience the world of dating through you, his long-devoted crush and surprisingly enthusiastic tutoring student. but then again, when meaningless tutoring sessions soon evolve into reciprocated feelings, is it really that easy?

genre: college au, nonidol au, fake dating au, social media au (includes written chapters), classmates to friends to lovers, he's a nerd & she's a popular cheerleader (you see where this is going), he fell first but she fell harder trope, kinda based off to all the boys i've loved before, fluff, crack/humor, angst, one-sided pining that turns into mutual pining

warnings: explicit language, unrealistic college partying, talks about family issues (this does NOT reflect any of the idol's families!), yuqi has an ex gf, some alcohol consumption, kys and sexual humor, bullying, hyuck and his buds are mistreated ☹️, hyunjin is a bad bf!!!, cheesy af, unrequited love, bad insults that sound like they're from the 2000s, HELLA miscommunication

no idea playlist: btr's no idea, taylor swift's you belong with me, the vamps + demi lovato's somebody to you, james arthur's can i be him, ariana grande's daydreamin, fitz & the tantrums' out of my league, shawn mendes' treat you better, bruno mars' just the way you are, lonely god's marlboro nights, the 1975's i'm in love with you, sam smith's like i can, arctic monkeys' wanna be yours

author's note: FIRST HYUCK SMAUU! how we feeling 😏 i needed to get this idea out of my system! plus, i love this type of trope, and haechan just fits the nerdy role 😭 I HAD TO! but happy reading :D <3

comment if you wish to be tagged for the story's updates!

profiles: "ncu freaks" + jeno 🤔 | gal pals & two men

intro. #manifestationiskey 🩷

ep 1. but a FAILING?

ep 2. i guess i'm her tutor

ep 3. WHY IS HE ATTRACTIVE

ep 4. COUGH y/n bag him COUGH

ep 5. i know i can treat youuu bettterr

ep 6. YNHYUCK PLOT IS FINALLY SAILING!

ep 7. bro texts with his 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓪𝓵𝓹𝓱𝓪 mode on 🐺👅

ep 8. bro fumbled HARD 🤦‍♂️

ep 9. LET THE BOY LIVE!! HES IN LOVE!!

ep 10. THE HARD LAUNCH GOES CRAZY

ep 11. lemme guess, fake boyfriend responsibilities? (written)

ep 12. jeno got me up... plotting

ep 13. AMAZING fake boyfriend

ep 14.

ep 15.

ep 16.

ep 17.

ep 18.

more to come. . .!

started: 09/06/24 finished:

© JIRSUNGS. ANY TRANSLATIONS/REPOSTS/PUBLISHES OF MY WORKS ON ANY PLATFORM ARE STRICTLY PROHIBITED! ALL COMMENTS, REBLOGS, LIKES, & FEEDBACK ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I LOVE YOU, MWA! <3

[aduh0308]

canines [kang taehyun]

kinktober 2024 !! summary: there's a cute quiet boy in your college class that's sweet to everyone, but there's something just slightly off about him. something that becomes very apparent when he insists begs you come over to study one specific night of the month. genre: college au, soulmate au, smut, p with little to no plot warnings: werewolf taehyun, dom!taehyun, sub!reader, perv!reader, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dacryphilia, sir kink, knotting, possessiveness, praise kink, he calls reader ‘pretty’, ‘darling’, ‘good girl’ and ‘bitch’ (once, I felt it was necessary), he’s got body hair lol, mentions of biting (no blood tho!) just for cam <3 word count: 3.7k 🎧 — sparks fly (taylor swift) + mmmh (kai) + mastermind (taylor swift) + red moon (kim wooseok) a/n— this is perhaps the worst thing I have ever written and posted so have fun (@beomsmiracles helped so much tho tysm <333) + happy bday to @bamtorin !!

Your legs tremble as they wrap around his waist. Bleary eyes struggling to stay open as your usually charming classmate’s cock practically tears you in half. In the pale night of the full moon, shining through the thin curtains of his bedroom, Taehyun looks almost inhuman. And as you catch a glimpse of his almost animalistically sharp teeth, you start to think that he might actually be. 

Taehyun’s always been strange. But you thought you were crazy to think such a thing. Everyone else seemed to like him— they were drawn to him. He was kind, charming, smart, and most importantly, handsome. He was perfect. Too perfect. There had to be something seriously wrong with him. Something so sinister that he had to have everyone around him enchanted for his poison to not take effect. Or at least so you thought. 

But your skepticism only seemed to draw him in further. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You slide into your seat right as your professor’s alarm rings. The tone signals the start of class— thank god you weren’t late. The morning had been hectic, traffic lining every lane of the highway on your drive. Maybe next year you should just room here instead.

The boy next to you shoots you a small smile as class begins. You know of him, you realize. Everyone does.

Kang Taehyun is a loner, but not in the usual sense of the word. He doesn’t have a set “friend group,” more he sits alone, talks to whoever is around him. You’ve heard nothing but nice things about him. How smart he is, how polite, how surprising it is that he doesn’t have more friends. Or a girlfriend.

They’ve said he doesn’t like to fall in love— he’s never been seen within less than a foot and a half of a woman the whole time he’s been at this university.

You can see what attracts people to him now. He holds himself with the kind of confidence that only comes from someone so sure of themselves that they don’t need the validation of those around them. It’s attractive, actually. 

And so is he. You can’t help sneaking peeks towards him during the lecture. You’d have to borrow the notes from your friends because every word falling from your professors lips go in one ear and straight out the other while your eyes are on Taehyun. He’s got straight, black hair that falls to the end of his nose, and big brown eyes that send a sensation straight to your lower abdomen when he glances over at you. The way his t-shirt grips his biceps is a plus too, of course.

You have no idea how you’ve never noticed him before. Because fuck, now that you have, it’s like you can’t look away. It feels perverse, almost, the way your eyes rake up and down every inch of his body. But you can’t help it— it’s like you’re drawn to him.

He bends over to grab his water bottle, and the way his Adam’s Apple bobs up and down when he swallows has you pressing your thighs tight together. You’re so close together in the 3-person table that his arm brushes yours when he scribbles down a note on his lined paper. He was left-handed? Lucky for you, because that means whenever the both of you write something, your elbows touch.

Fuck, you feel like a thirteen year old again, giggly inside just from the simple touch of the opposite sex.

But you can’t help it! Something about Taehyun is magnetic and there must be metal in your eyes because if eyes could have sex, his would be pregnant. 

You hope to catch a word with him before you both have to go, because a single two-hour period of time is not enough for you, at all. 

At the end of class, when he stands, you stand too, so fast that your pencil case falls to the ground. 

“Here, let me,” Taehyun mumbles, stooping to pick it up for you.

Your heart’s pounding so fast you can hear it in your ears. He extends his hand to give you back what you dropped, but you’re frozen, eyes flicking from his face to where his shirt clings to his frame at his chest. 

His voice again snaps you out of your stupor. “Come on, darling. Eyes up here, I don’t have all day.”

If it were anyone else, every single one of those words would’ve sent you running. But from Taehyun, let’s be honest, you’d get on your knees in seconds if he asked in that tone.

“Sorry,” you whisper. Your fingers brush when you take your pencil case back, and Taehyun smiles at your flustered expression.

“You’re all good. I’m Taehyun, by the way.”

“I know.” Your eyes go wide. “Not in a stalker-y way! I’ve just.. heard of you. That’s all. I’m not a weirdo.”

Fuck, why’d you say that?? Now he must think you’re some sort of awkward, obsessed girl who can’t even have a normal conversation.

You’re in luck, however, because he laughs and leans his hip against the table. The two of you are alone in the room— everyone’s walked out and your professor is on her lunch break now— and his proximity is making your legs tremble.

“Got it. So, Miss Not-A-Weirdo, should I keep calling you that or..?”

You rush to introduce yourself. 

“Alright then, y/n. See you tomorrow?”

His eyes are innocently wide, looking at you with a sparkle in them that is so endearing you have to break the eye contact. “Sounds good.”

You take one last look at him as the two of you part ways at the doorway. There’s something just slightly off about his appearance, and you can’t put your finger on it. He doesn’t look entirely human, if that makes sense. Maybe it’s only the way his sideburns reach to the end of his ear, but he just seems a little… wolfish? Or vampirish?

You’re making things up. He’s just got an interesting face, sharp incisors and all. 

But he’s on your mind all the rest of the day, well into the night, and you’re surprised by the craving that your mind has developed for Taehyun.

Much to your surprise, the next day, he starts up a conversation with you. Just something small, about the work for the class, but the day after that he’s asking you to eat lunch with him.

“Are you being for real?” Your voice comes out like a squeak and you could punch yourself.

“Why would I be kidding?”

“I mean, I don’t know, you’re kind of famous for not sitting with people.”

The two of you are walking out to the courtyard, backpacks slung over your shoulders. When Taehyun stops you with a hand on your shoulder to point you in the direction of his lunch spot you can feel your heart speeding up.

“Over here.” He hops up onto a slab of concrete right next to the stairs. “Just because I don’t sit with friends doesn’t mean I don’t sit with people.”

He’s got you there.

“I guess. Anyways, how come you don’t have friends?” You realize you sound like a total bitch and rush to correct yourself. “I just mean, you seem like a nice person, how come no one bothers being friends with you?”

Taehyun gives you a small smile. “I don’t know. But I don’t necessarily mind, either. I like talking to different people. You hear such interesting things when you don’t bother yourself with the same people every day.”

That makes sense, you guess. “But you’d bother with me?”

The tips of his ears go pink. He doesn’t answer, only unwrapping a chocolate-chip cookie from its aluminum foil shell. “Cookie?”

His change of topic doesn’t go over your head, but you accept the offer. The sugary sweetness coats your tastebuds and you give him a thumbs up. “Thanks,” you say once you swallow.

“Of course,” he hums, and you slip into a soft, comfortable silence.

“You wanna come over to study sometime?” Taehyun asks a moment later. 

Your eyes go wide. Hell yeah you do. Being alone with this fine-ass man? Yes please.

But, keeping it nonchalant, you simply say. “Sure. I’m having some trouble with what we’re working on now.”

“I can help with that.” Of course he can. “Do you want to come over Saturday night?”

You pull out your phone to check your calendar. “I’m supposed to go out with my friends that night.”

“Please?”

The tone of his voice has your stomach twisting. Pleading, almost, like it’d ruin his whole year if you didn’t come over. 

You look down at your phone again, to where it says ‘date with the girls’. “I really shouldn’t…” But his eyes are on yours again when you look up, and you backtrack so fast you surprise yourself. “I’ll reschedule. Plus, there’s like ten of us, it’s not too bad if I’m not there.”

The grin Taehyun shines your way is absolutely dazzling, but, once again, the angle of his canines catch you off guard. They’re sharp, longer than his other teeth, and something seems weird about them. 

You mentally shake off the feeling. You’re going to his fucking house. It’s time to celebrate, not think about the strangeness of his teeth.

You shoot a quick text to you and your friends’ group text thread, explaining that you have a “tutoring session” that night and will unfortunately have to miss your date. :(

A little bit of guilt curls itself in the pit of your stomach, but not enough to outweigh the pure excitement at the prospect of a few hours all alone with Taehyun. He gives you his address and apartment number, as well as his phone number, and you type the three into your phone with shaking fingers.

Saturday was only two days away, but it couldn’t have felt any further.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You knock twice on the door to Taehyun’s apartment. Goosebumps pelt every inch of your exposed skin while you wait for him to answer— it’s October and you forgot your jacket.

But you don’t have to wait long. You hear soft footsteps padding to the door and seconds later it’s opening and Taehyun’s wrapping an arm around you to pull you inside. 

“You’re freezing, come in, let me get you a jacket…” He’s bustling around his apartment, which is a perfect reflection of the Taehyun you only know a little of. 

It’s neat, organized, coffee-with-cream walls devoid of decoration, and there are shelves upon shelves of books lining the edges of the living room. And his room too, once you enter it.

The air is cozy, some sort of fuzzy intimacy presenting itself as you sit side-by-side with Taehyun in his bed, now wrapped in an oversized hoodie of his that fits you just how you like. You try and convince yourself that the unspoken emotions hanging themselves in the air are purely figments of your own imagination.

But when he opens his notes, clearing his throat to speak, there’s a choked twinge to his voice that lets you know in a second that, whatever it is, he feels it too. You can’t even let your bare skin touch his without getting all warm inside.

And the black tank top he’s got on is not helping at all.

“Here, this is what I got from what Professor Barns was saying.”

You have to lean yourself against his shoulder to read the tidy scrawl of his handwriting. “That makes sense, but how does it correlate to the reading? That was what I didn’t get.”

Taehyun’s explaining to you exactly what’s going on, but his heart doesn’t seem to be in it, and as the light of the full moon peaks in through his open window, your peripheral vision tells you something is happening to his face.

It’s almost as if he’s shifting a little bit— canines getting even sharper, the hair on his arms thickens, the muscles in his body seemingly filling out even more. You must be seeing things, that’s simply not possible.

But even as you think it, he turns to you, and the look on his face is purely predatory.

And an idea hits you, but it’s not possible, is it? That this boy right here is a fucking werewolf? 

Not a werewolf in the typical way, not like Professor Lupin’s transformation in Harry Potter. No, it’s more subtle. If you hadn’t been paying so much attention to him, you wouldn’t even have noticed in the first place.

But the glint in his eyes is hungry. For you.

Taehyun’s on you in seconds, lips claiming yours, and you could nut at the feeling alone. Well, that’s a stretch, but his touch does set off something in you that settles itself under your skin and stays there.

“Fuck, I knew it..” He whispers, lips shiny from a mix of both his salvia and yours. “I knew it was you.”

You don’t even bother asking what he means, mainly because he doesn’t give you a second to, tugging your leggings down your thighs and throwing them onto the floor. Taehyun unbuckles his belt, and his jeans and shirt quickly make a pile with the rest of your clothes. 

And fuck, is he a sight to behold above you. The lines of his body are statuesque, defined and absolutely perfect. You reach up to trace a slow hand down his torso. The contact of your skin on his makes the both of you shiver, and without warning, he’s pulling your thighs around his waist. You can feel him against your clit through both his boxers and your underwear.

“Let me fuck you, please, need to.” He’s breathless, pants painting the skin of your neck.

You can barely muster a nod, but thankfully, that’s all he needs.

Your undergarments are on the floor in seconds and Taehyun presses the head of his cock to your soaked cunt. Thank god you’re dripping, because he’s fucking into you without warning, hands on your hips dragging you farther down on his thick cock.

Your mouth is hung open in a perpetual silent scream as he fucks you so purely animalistic that you’re shaking, black spots overtaking your vision. You’re rendered senseless underneath him in seconds, dick filling you so good, it’s like you were made for him.

You must be on the same wavelength as him, because that’s what he’s mumbling in your ear over and over again. “Fucking built for me, knew it, could tell the moment you sat next to me, pretty body so warm next to me, of course it’s you.”

You move to touch him again, tears wetting your lashes as a pathetic whine wrenches itself from your throat, but he shakes his head. “Let me fuck you good, pretty, it’s my jab now.”

“Okay,” you whisper, breath knocked out of you at the repeated smack of his pelvis against your ass. He’s hoisted your legs up and over his shoulders in order to get closer to you, and the tears finally slip down your cheeks when he finds that perfect spot inside you.

“Okay, sir,” he mumbles, and your eyes blow out wide.

“Fuck, feels so good, sir.” Your voice is fucked already, you can hear it in your own ears.

His dick twitches deep inside you at the name. You can feel the warmth in his body as it seeps into you, like he’s laying himself under your skin. "ah— fuck, so fucking good around me, taking me so good, what a good girl..."

You flutter around him at his words and he lets out a low moan. It’s purely pornographic, erotic in the best way possible. You can barely breathe by this point, big cock practically rearranging your insides.

“Feel good, pretty?” Taehyun coos in your ear, fingers lacing with yours. You nod quickly, tears pooling on the pillowcase under your head. “Yes, sir,” you whisper, and he only smirks from above you. 

“Good, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing, only wanna make my pretty mate feel good…”

Mate? Oh, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into.

Your question must show plainly on your face because he grins at you almost sadistically. “Don’t you realize? You’re supposed to be mine, it was written into existence by the moon herself. Can’t you feel it?”

You can. 

The whole time, you’d been swearing you must be ovulating or something. Because the way you feel anytime you get close to Taehyun is not normal, in any way at all. It’s like there’s a burn under your skin that can only be satiated by the touch of his.

Taehyun smirks at your fucked expression. “Of course you can, I’m so glad it’s you, so fucking pretty under me. Gonna be mine forever, won’t you?”

You nod frantically, tears leaving paths all down your cheeks. “Wanted you since the first day of class, wanted you inside me, thank you, thank you so much.” Your voice is strained, barely above a whisper, but Taehyun can hear and it sets him off.

“T— too fast, fuck, Tae—ah— hyun, gonna cum, feel s’ good.”

God, the sight of you under him is the purest form of art he’s seen in his life. Eyes glossy, body limp, he’s left reddening bite marks up the line of your tits, up to your jaw. And oh, you feel perfect around him, gummy walls sucking him in like he belongs between your legs and should stay there all day long.

“Go ‘head, done so good, taking me like an angel.” Taehyun noses up your neck, sucking a mark onto the softness of your skin. Your scent is absolutely intoxicating to him, sweet and winding itself around him like a python around its prey.

Your whole body trembles against him as the ivy tendrils of pleasure wrap your form, coaxing quiet noises of pure ecstasy to fall from your tongue. His tip kisses your cervix with every movement, and little gasps of whimpers slip past the restraints of your parted, swollen lips.

Any word you try to get out is slurred, but Taehyun catches his name mixed in with strings of profanities that has him trying to settle the race of his heart. 

“There we go, pretty, could cum at the sight of you liked this, fucked out on my cock, aren’t you?” You can’t even fathom responding, walls still convulsing around the girth of him. He grins down at you, sharp teeth on display, hips losing their perfection as he nears his own high.

“Gonna knot you, pretty little bitch, gon’ be all full with my pups, make you a mommy, how’d you like that?”

His voice is a growl and sends a shiver down your back, straight to your cunt. You can only nod, mumbling something about how you need him, want him to fill you up so perfectly.

It almost feels like he’s getting bigger inside you, the base of his dick swelling before his cum meets your fluttering walls. You’re sure it makes its way to your womb, but you couldn’t care less. The only thing that even crosses your mind is the fact that he’s trembling above you, dick twitching inside you while he still fucks into you relentlessly. 

“Fuck, can’t take it, pussy taking me so good, so perfect,” he exhales, collapsing on top of you. Taehyun’s forearms shake while he tries to hold himself up, and you lay a gentle hand on the smooth skin of his shoulder.

You want to say something. You really, really do. But your brain is so fuzzy that you can’t string two words together mentally.

Luckily, it seems that even in this feral, half-animal state, he can understand the things you’re trying to convey. He lays himself next to you, and you give him a single smile before you’re out cold.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You wake up beside a very normal-looking Taehyun, a headache pounding at your temples. If it weren’t for the fact that your inner thighs are white and sticky from his cum, you’d think that you’d made up the whole thing.

You take a moment to just look at him. That’s funny, simply because that’s what you’d been doing for every day of class the past week.

But something about him looks different, now that he’s next to you, shoulders peeking out from under his grey comforter. His face is relaxed, jaw slack and the tips of his sharp incisors visible past the pink of his lips. He looks comfortable, off-guard, none of the “loner” facade from before.

“Can feel you staring,” he mumbles.

Your cheeks go hot and your gaze drops when his eyes open. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right, darling, I’d do the same.” Taehyun sits up in bed and you could curse at the small hitch in your breath when the blanket falls to his waist. His body must’ve been designed by the gods, because holy fuck, it was insane. Big arms with veins curling around the girth of his forearms, defined pecs that made you want to take a bite, and abs like fucking Hawaiian bread rolls.

You have no idea how you hadn’t noticed last night.

He’s smirking at you when you finally look back at his face, and the smirk tugging his lips causes something to twist inside you. That, combined with the sparkle of his eyes on yours, is enough to have your heart pounding in your throat.

“I got so lucky, with you as my mate, so pretty.” Taehyun leans his face in his hands, cheeks pink, like he’s embarrassed himself by his own sudden declaration.

You don’t say anything— there are too many things rattling around in your brain. But you do press your lips to him, so gentle he makes up for your tentative action by kissing you back, hands cradling your face.

It’s like this kiss makes up for everything the night before didn’t include. Intimacy on another level, a warm feeling rising up your neck. Being in his arms feels right, like you belong there. His lips are soft, searching almost, prodding against yours with such certainty that you’re trembling against his strong form. 

And something about the way he looks at you when you finally pull away from him has you pulling him down onto you again.

The corner of Taehyun’s lips twitch up into the ghost of a smirk, arms on either side of you.

“Let me make love to you this time, won’t you, pretty?”

[x0xomady]

made with love

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

summary: harry and you are in london for fall, so you make cookies, listen to old music, and fall even more in love.

(harry styles x female reader)

warnings: 18+ it’s not heavy smut, but there is still some smut in it, oral fem reciving, sickingly cute fluff.

a/n: my last few stories have had some heavier themes and plots, so i wanted to write something sweet! this is all autumn themed since summer is over :)

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

the cold streets of london are filled with dew from the rain, fallen leaves, and people. harry and you are walking along the street back towards his apartment after being at the store. after much debate and harry threatening to sleep in the guest room for a month, the two of you decided on making chocolate chip cookies.

⋆｡˚⁺｡ one hour earlier, at the store ｡⁺˚｡⋆

“what do you mean, chai cookies? what the hell is a chai cookie? that’s a tea, not a dessert, sweetheart.” harry looks at you in confusion as you walk through the baking isle of whole foods looking for ingredients.

“it’s a thing! you know it has chai, nutmeg, cinnamon, all that good stuff.” you shrug and continue looking for the bags of flour.

“uh no it isn’t. we need to make chocolate chip cookies! everyone knows chocolate chip cookies are the best classic cookie.” harry sighs dramatically and drops the container of chocolate chip cookies into the basket. “where’d you even the get the idea for chai cookies?”

you smile and try not to laugh as you turn and look back at harry, knowing he would be mad about the source of your new fixation. “you know…. taylor swift posted them on her social media-”

harry gives you a deadpan look and doesn’t say anything.

“yeah, yeah, fine we can make chocolate chip cookies, you drama queen.”

⋆｡˚⁺｡ present ｡⁺˚｡⋆

as you make your way through the crowded streets, the cold night air nips at your nose and leaves your hands feeling cold and stiff. the light of street lamps falls upon the wet pavement, casting a faint yellow glow upon it, while the buildings look dull and dark against the dark sky.

harry and you walk silently beside one another, dodging other pedestrians who seem to be just as bundled up against the cold.

you look up at the sky and see the clouds are beginning to move in, covering up the stars and making the city darker. harry looks down at you, his breath visible in the cold night air.

“you warm enough?” he carries the bags in one hand and reaches over, lacing one of your hands with his.

you feel the warmth of his hand against your cold skin and give him a small nod.

“yeah i am,” you say with a smile, feeling harry’s rings against your hand as you walk. “you sure we have everything we need?”

“i think so,” he says with a small shrug, squeezing your hand in his. “eggs, milk, butter, vanilla, flour, sugar, and chocolate chips. and i even remembered the baking soda. which by the way- i had no idea what that was until today.”

you roll your eyes and smile at his words. if there was one thing harry could not do, it was bake. he could write albums, go on world tours, and play multiple different instruments, but if he had to mix ingredients, it turned into world war three.

“you could’ve just bought premade cookie dough,” you point out with a smirk, looking over at him. “or we could’ve made something easier, like rice crispy treats, or brownies-“

“first of all,” he begins with a mock offended tone. “rice crispy treats are a kid's food. secondly, we’re trying to get the full autumn experience, okay? none of this “store-bought” nonsense.”

“we can get the full experience by cuddling on the couch under a blanket and watching a spooky movie,”

you counter, raising an eyebrow as harry rolls his eyes at you. the cold from the air gives him a light pink tint to his cheeks as you walk through the streets. “but i guess you’re right…. watching you trying to bake is horror enough.”

he gasps, looking down at you in mock horror. “you think i’m that bad?!”

he grabs your hand tighter and pulls you down the street faster as you get closer to his apartment. “that’s it. i’m going to make the best fucking cookies and force you to eat them.”

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

“okay…. add…. 3/4 cup of sugar.”

you nod and start measuring the cup of sugar. harry’s sat on the counter with his legs dangling off the side, reading the ingredients out for you to add to the bowl.

“aaaand… 3/4 cup of brown sugar.”

you smile at the sight of harry sitting on the counter so casually. he’s wearing his favorite “DAMN” hoodie that he wore whenever he could. you add the brown sugar to the bowl and look at the dough.

“okay it looks good. come help me roll it out so we can bake it.”

harry smiles and hops off the counter, standing next to you eagerly and looking down at the dough.

“ohhh so i AM allowed to help, good to know.” harry sighs sarcastically and moves the sleeves of his hoodie up, revealling his tattoos.

you roll your eyes and put the dough on the counter. harry had TRIED to help you mix the ingredients at the beginning, but...

⋆｡˚⁺｡ a few minutes prior ｡⁺˚｡⋆

“okay add the flour, h. i measured it, just drop it in the bowl.” you nod towards the cup of flour and watch as harry picks it up.

instead of dropping it into the bowl like a normal person, harry decided to hold it up about three feet, so when it fell in, flour shot EVERYWHERE.

“oh….” harry looks over at you with flour coating his entire face and hands, letting out a sneeze as the flour goes in his nose.

“oh for fucks sake, harry.”

⋆｡˚⁺｡ present ｡⁺˚｡⋆

so he was benched after that.

“yeah, yeah, stop whining and help me roll it out.” you smile at the sight of your boyfriend squishing the dough around.

he grins at you at you and begins squishing the dough with his hands, pushing it out with his palms. the sound of harry’s favorite fleetwood mac song, “over my head” is playing throughout the kitchen.

“i’m over my head… oh but it sure feels nice” harry is mumbling along to the lyrics as he rolls the dough around. your heart flutters and you smile a little at the sound of harry singing. you could never really get over having harry styles around like this.

“this is fun. just mashing around some sticky dough and getting it in my fingernails for no reason whatsoever.”

you roll your eyes again and start forming the little balls of dough, putting them on the greased pan. “stop being gross.”

“no no i can’t help it, it’s too fun.” he grins at you, shoving one of his hands in the dough and holding it up to you.

“see look, my fingerprints!”

he presses the dough against your cheek before you can protest, laughing as he leaves a sticky, doughy handprint on your face.

you gasp and push his hand away, feeling the sticky dough on your cheek. “harry!”

he laughs loudly and holds his hands up in surrender. “i’m sorry, i couldn’t resist. you’re just too cute.”

he moves closer, bringing his face close to yours and licking the dough off your cheek. “mm tastes good. not that you don’t always taste good, because trust me, you do.”

“oh shut up,” you scoff, playfully pushing him away as a blush spreads across your cheeks.

he grins and kisses your cheek before going back to rolling the dough into shape. after a second of silence he speaks up again. “oh shit- it’s everywhere.”

you turn to see that, sure enough, almost the entire counter was covered in dough, with little bits of it clinging to your skin and shirt. you look up at the sight of harry’s hands completely covered in sticky dough.

“harry how did you manage to get dough EVERYWHERE?”

“uhm, excuse me, i think you mean how did WE manage to get dough everywhere.” harry grins as you give him a look. he holds his hands up, admiring the dough on them. “see, we’re bonding.”

harry’s smiling and giggling like crazy. you roll your eyes and give his shoulder a gentle shove. “yeah, bonding over dough. i think we’re at peak relationship goals right now. just put flour on your hands to get some of the dough off”

you couldn’t be mad at him at all. you knew what harry meant by “bonding.” harry had been on tour for almost three years straight, and you finally had the chance to spend more than a week at a time together. you knew he felt guilty about being gone so much, and that’s why he was so set on having a “perfect fall” together.

you look at your messy hands and sigh, shaking your head. “okay let’s finish putting these in the oven.”

harry grins, shaking as much of the dough as he can from his hands, sending little clumps of it flying into the air. he giggles and grabs some paper towels, wiping the rest of it off his hands.

“yeah okay i guess i’ll try not to get any more dough on your stuff and everywhere,” he responds, moving back to the counter towards you. “just because you’re being so sweet about it.”

you smile at his words and give him a peck before grabbing pans and putting them in the oven. “mkay… lets go pick a movie”

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

“johnny depp is so hot in this movie.” you sigh dramatically and take a bite of your cookie, watching the iconic scene of him in a crop top.

harry nods in and takes a bite of his own cookie. “yeah i agree.”

the two of you are sat on harry’s large couch, watching the perfect scary movie, “a nightmare on elm street.” you’re sat on the couch, laying back with your head on harry’s chest eating your cookies. they didn’t come out perfect, harry’s large (and just a little awkward) hands hadn’t formed the best shaped cookies.

but it was all perfect.

the front window of the apartment was left open, letting in the cold breeze and smell of rain as the clouds and mist filled london. each cookie was made with love and it was evident in the taste. you could tell harry was happy. he was so anxious about making sure you spent time together, and he was finally making it happen.

your large, fuzzy throw blanket is draped over the two of you as you watch the classic horror movie. harry’s hands mindlessly run over your waist as his focus on the movie.

he lets out a small breath as his hand rubs up and down your hip. he lets his fingers trail down, tracing little patterns against your skin.

it had been so long since the two of you could just be together like this. tour schedules had been hell, and he hadn’t had a break for almost a year. he was trying to make the best of it, he could tell you were also having a good time. you were so happy to just be near him, he could feel it in the way you relaxed into his touch.

“ughh that is disgusting. acting is…. mm subpar” harry says sarcastically and fake gags at the sight of johnny depp’s characters gruesome death scene. he grabs another cookie and puts it in his mouth, wincing at the sight of the blood.

“yeah yeah, I forgot I was with an experienced actor,” you scoff sarcastically, looking up at your boyfriend, who’s pulling a face. it was cute how affected he was by a cheesy 80s horror movie.

he rolls his eyes and grins down at you, still continuing to make a face as he watches the movie. “hey i’m allowed to criticize, remember don’t worry darling? yeah that’s right, masterpiece.”

he brings his hand from your waist down to your leg, gently squeezing your thigh as he looks back at the tv and watches the movie.

you smile and shake your head at his words, taking another bite of your cookie. “oh that’s right. please forgive me.”

the two of you continue to watch the movie, occasionally commenting on the acting or the plot. harry's hand never stops moving, tracing patterns on your waist and thigh, and you can feel yourself relaxing more and more with each passing moment.

the rain outside picks up, making a soft tapping noise against the window. the cool breeze from outside makes the room feel cozy and warm.

harry pulls your sweatpants down and tosses them to the side before grabbing your thighs and pulling you closer to him. he starts pressing kisses along your legs, starting from your ankles and working his way up. his stubble scratches gently against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. he takes his time, savoring every inch of your legs as he moves higher and higher.

the rain outside continues to fall, creating a soothing background noise combined with the quiet sound of the movie that only adds to the intimacy of the moment. you can't help but let out a soft sigh as he reaches your inner thighs, his fingers digging into your skin.

as he reaches your core, you gasp and grab onto harry's thick curls underneath the blanket. he presses a kiss against your folds, and you let out a low moan. your heart races as he continues to explore, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin. you lean back against the couch, your body going limp as you let yourself be consumed by the sensation.

harry's hands move up to your hips, holding you in place as he continues to taste and tease.

you feel his warm breath against your skin, and his tongue darts in and out, sending shivers down your spine. he suckles your sensitive nub between his lips, holding your body close to his. the scratchiness of his stubble gives a delicious sensation as his mouth, and chin scrape against your mound.

your fingers dig deeper into his curls, holding him in place as you arch your back, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. "yes, please h, need more." your voice comes out as a whimper as you push your hips to meet his face.

harry's hands grip tighter on your hips, pulling you closer as he continues to taste and tease. he can feel your body trembling beneath his touch, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. he takes his time, exploring every inch of you as if it's the first time he's ever tasted you.

but suddenly, he pulls away, leaving you wanting. he pushes the blanket off, revealing your flushed skin and the desire in your eyes. he gives you his signature cheeky grin, his green eyes meeting yours.

"what do you need, love?" he asks, his voice low and husky. his hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

you bite your lip, your breath still coming in short gasps. "i need you," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

harry's grin widens as he hears your words. he leans back in, pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh, keeping his eyes on yours. "yeah?" he asks, his voice low and husky. "need my fingers, baby?"

you nod and holds onto his curls. harry takes his time, tracing a path with his fingers up your thigh, making you squirm in anticipation. when he reaches your core, he gently slides a finger inside of you, making you gasp at the sensation. he starts to move his finger in a slow, steady rhythm, his thumb pressing against your clit.

harry's eyes never leave yours, watching every reaction and response to his touch.

"you look so good," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. he presses a second finger past your entrance, and you let out a low moan as he begins to explore deeper. "so, so, so pretty," he says, his breath hot against your skin.

he continues to move his fingers inside of you, building up a rhythm that has you pressing your hips up against his hand. your breath comes in short, sharp gasps as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

harry's fingers curl inside of you, pressing against that spot that makes your whole body tremble.

"oh, shit," you gasp, your fingers tugging on harry's hair for support. he smirks against your skin, his fingers continuing to thrust in and out of you. he presses tight circles on your clit, pressing light kisses against your thighs and mumbling words of encouragement.

you can feel your orgasm building up inside of you, your body tensing up as you get closer and closer to the edge. harry's fingers continue to move inside of you, his touch driving you wild. you whimper out, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as your orgasm finally crashes over you.

harry smiles as he feels your walls squeeze his fingers, his eyes locked on yours as he watches you come undone. he gently presses kisses against your clit, his lips soft and gentle against your sensitive skin. slowly, he moves his fingers out of you as you ride out your orgasm.

"good job, baby," he whispers, his voice low and husky. "you look so pretty." his eyes are filled with adoration as he gazes at you, his fingers still tracing patterns on your skin. you can feel your body relaxing, your muscles releasing the tension as you come down from your high.

“love you so much,” he sits up from where he was kneeling on the floor between your legs and grabs a towel to gently clean you up. he stands up and presses a kiss to your forehead. “told you, you taste better than any of those damn cookies.”

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

i may or may not have been inspired to write this after i made taylors chai cookies 👀

-💋

[nelle-y]

You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath

Synopsis: trying to spend time with your boyfriend while keeping your relationship private… or a secret…

Content: Alhaitham x fem!reader, low-profile/secret relationship, angst no comfort, writer!reader,

Warnings: slightly toxic if you squint, guilt-tripping, neglect, arguing, long intro (it gets good i promise), cursing, not proofread

Note: (Title from Taylor Swift’s ‘All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor’s Version)’) I tried to make this as in-character as possible while trying to convey the conflict of the plot so please let me know if there are any inaccuracies

—

The walls of Lambad’s tavern grew dim as the sun set; you, Tighnari, and Kaveh sat at a table having a little get-together. It didn’t feel complete, though, because two members of the group have yet to arrive. Cyno said he would be late due to an interrogation he has to do. And Alhaitham… he didn’t really give a notice but you all figured he was busy, being the acting grand sage and all that.

After a 30-minute rant about Kaveh’s clients, you talked about writing a new novel but you had no idea how to start it.

“Questions are overrated,” said Kaveh as he downed his drink, “I suggest you start with an at-large murder suspect being chased down by government officials—not guardes or the millelith, literal government officials.”

“You could ask Cyno for inspiration,” Tighnari suggests. You consider the idea but you figured Cyno wouldn’t have the time. “Or you could ask Alhaitham. I remember he has some experience in that field too.”

“Ah, yes,” you reply meekly. “I had forgotten.”

Hearing Alhaitham’s name felt like a stab to the heart, a curse laid upon you. You weren’t sure if it was out of love or suffering. After two years of dating, not a single soul knew about the two of you. As you asked yourself why that is, you give yourself an excuse that he simply wasn’t ready to be out. That he wanted you to make a name for yourself in case people would only remember you as the acting grand sage’s partner and not your rightful title as a writer.

When he first introduced the idea of keeping your relationship low-profile, you thought nothing of it. You knew he had no ill-intentions with the situation, so you agreed. But you thought the coast would be clear 6 months into the relationship.

During that time, the only signs of affection you got from him were when he was seldom tired from work and came home to you, longing for your warmth and drowning you with the most beautifully crafted compliments you could only dream of hearing. It was the side of him only you got to see. It was almost an honor being able to witness such greatness, all the while feeling like a goddess, worshipped and gratified by the gift of your presence.

Nowadays, you no longer felt like a deity worth praying to; that side of him became rarer than it already was.

The times when you were together—together being with the rest of your friends—you would always try to make some sort of contact with him just to feel the thrill of love your heart was aching to have, only for him to starve you of it and leave.

You felt alone, neglected, desperate, nonexistent, like a forgotten dream worth pursuing.

Everytime you thought of leaving, frames and fragments of his flattering psalms and echoing touch seemed worth the mind-numbing pain you’re going through. You’re the only one for me, he’d say. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. He would gaze upon you like you were a full moon, and you would embrace him like he was the sun.

But basking under the sun is bound to get you burned.

About an hour later, already midnight, Cyno had already arrived but Alhaitham was nowhere to be seen. Kaveh has had too many drinks and is now drunk to the core. And with the hopes of seeing Alhaitham’s face for once, you drank your fair share too. Your cheeks glowed with a drunken flush, a fire setting aflame to your frozen heart. Something he could never do.

“Looks like the acting grand sage will not be joining us,” Cyno pointed out.

A guffaw escaped from your throat, “What is there to even expect, Alhaitham has been busy since that damned Azar did… something.”

You can’t think clearly. The laugh you let out almost sounded like a sob, and to be honest, you were on the verge of crying. You were just tired. You needed the warmth only the love of your life could provide.

Then out of the blue, the voice you longed for an eternity echoed through the tavern, tired and monotonous. “Apologies for my utmost tardiness, there were some issues at the akademiya I needed to handle.”

Alhaitham.

Your stomach hurt all of the sudden. You watched as he walked to the seat opposite of you. Shouldn’t you be happy now? You were just about to break down because he wasn’t here. Now that he is, you should be content and watch your boyfriend from afar. But all you could feel was betrayal, the blank agony of despair, the cruel sting of rejection.

He failed to notice the tears that glossed your eyes, assuming it was the reflection of the light. Your gaze pierced his soul with desperation, begging for him to console you and just… do whatever. You were asking for even a squeak, a sliver of concern, the bare minimum.

“Tighnari, how is Collei doing with her studies?” Like he had a shield for your painful daggers, he didn’t even glance at your direction. Disappointment filled you like a glass of wine. You should be used to this by now—the overwhelming weight when he avoided your leg, another desperate cry you needed him to hear.

Tighnari shared Collei’s progress after seeing that you were okay. As much as you were proud of her, you prayed to every archon not to let her be in your situation. Your heart shreds for the other person, it screams his name like a priest in worship, and all that for naught.

The group laughed at something, you weren’t listening all that much. You just felt… empty.

Kaveh’s voice called your name, “Isn’t that right, Y/N?” The group turns to you, who was dazed and distracted. The architect immediately noticed this. He patted your cold hand, “Y/N?”

“Hm? Ah, yes. Yeah, sure.”

Alhaitham laughed, “You seem distracted tonight, Y/N. If you’re looking to write for the akademiya, that kind of attitude will not be tolerated.”

Somehow you got defensive. Was it Alhaitham’s obliviousness? The way he made it seem like you were aloof? His laugh that mocked you in your desolate state? Maybe it was all of the above. Whatever it was, it made you snap.

“Ah, Alhaitham, akademiya this, akademiya that—there are more things to life than work, you know.” Your voice covered up your attacks as simple friendly banter. You’ve gotten good at sucking up your anxieties and steadying your voice all thanks to him. Now you can cover yourself up real nice when you commit a crime. You have a knife in mind, and you’re ready to kill. “Like, I don’t know, a partner, per say.”

Stab.

The grand sage scoffed, “You know very well I don’t have time for such trivial things.” His muscles flex as he crossed his arms. So these were the words he chose to say to you, after centuries of broken promises and empty plates.

“Maybe you would if you actually made the time for one.”

Stab.

“You are aware that you just ignored what I just said, right? Are you even listening?”

Stab.

“Oh, I’ve been listening. For the past two years, I’ve been listening my butt out for you.” It was scarring how unbothered Alhaitham was; you wanted to scream at him. The tightening of your chest, the prickling of tears behind your eyes, the weight of despair settling in your stomach, could he see what you’re going through? “Now, all I ask is a little bit of sympathy because I have been suffering all alone, waking up to an empty bed, not even a-“

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Alhaitham interrupted you, somewhat panicked. You didn’t realize how loud you were being, up from your seat with your palm stinging from how hard it hit the table. “You know, if you’re having boy problems, you don’t have to take it out on me. It’s not like I’m your boyfriend.”

Right then and there, your world began crashing down. “Alhaitham,” Cyno muttered disapprovingly, making Alhaitham realize how rude he sounded. The tavern’s customers hushed to listen to your table. You hadn’t realized there were so many people.

Without even looking around, you could feel their eyes on you, whispers riddled with scandal.

“They’re being so loud.”

“Has she no shame?”

“In the presence of Acting Grand Sage Alhaitham, too.”

“Look, the general mahamatra is there; she really needs to watch herself.”

The embarrassment, the anger; it all fuelled you with a feeling you could not explain. No metaphor could capture the entirety of the wickedness of a man. How come he gets to sit there with everyone’s respect while you grovel in your puddle of tears? How come he’s having the time of his life while you’re burning in hell?

“You’re right,” you began, eyes dulled and void of life—of love, “You’re not. Okay, that’s all the liquor I can handle, guys. I think I’ll be heading home now.”

“Y/N,” Kaveh called, standing from his seat to escort you on your way out.

“I can walk myself, Kaveh.” You grabbed your things and took a sip of water. “Acting Grand Sage, humblest apologies.” Once again, you looked at him with utmost disappointment before leaving the tavern and heading home.

—

I am adrift in a sea of longing, drowning in the silence of his absence, clutching to memories like driftwood in a storm-tossed ocean. Yet still, I cling to the fading embers of our love, fearing the darkness that awaits should I let them fade to ash.

Hours after you returned home, sleep had not been your friend. As much as it would be typical, you cried until your eyes stung. It was now 4am, the time Alhaitham usually wakes up. Lost in your never-ending, ever-agonizing thoughts, you stared blankly at the dining room, wondering if he will finally recognize his mistakes, how much pain you’ve been in.

The knob of your front door twisted open, and surprise, surprise, it was Alhaitham who entered your apartment. “What the FUCK was that, Y/N?” He was not one to raise his voice like that, or even curse.

“Of all the nights I was available, this was when and how you choose to talk to me?” Your voice was the opposite—calm, sad, empty.

“Do you realize you nearly told everyone about our relationship?” He spotted a notebook on your crossed lap and grabbed it. “What’s that, ‘I am adrift in a sea of..’ what? Y/N, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“You specialized in languages, Alhaitham, you’ll figure it out.”

The man scoffed, “I’m not a mind reader, Y/N, if you could stop being immature-“

“You’re calling me immature? Okay, what about you keeping our two-year relationship a fucking secret?” The both of you continued raising your voices at each other. If people in the tavern hadn’t already spread rumors, this will surely start them. “Just tell me you’re ashamed of me, Alhaitham!” Then the man fell silent. Serves him right. “Tell me you don’t love me, so you can have a concrete reason to leave!”

“You know being the acting grand sage was never an easy task. The Fatui and other rebelling organizations have me as their number one target, and they are more than willing to hurt anyone to get their way! I was keeping us a secret to protect you! Seeing you getting hurt would mean the end of the world.”

“Getting hurt?” You scoff, “If you never wanted me to get hurt, you’re doing a terrible fucking job. I had to sit through multiple tables with empty seats because you were never home. Do you know how embarrassing that is for myself? I had to tolerate every ounce of contact you avoided because ‘someone might see us.’ In case you couldn’t get how much pain I’m in, let me sum it up for you—IT HURTS MORE THAN DEATH, ALHAITHAM!”

As the last echoes of your argument faded into the silence of the empty apartment, it felt as though the very foundations of your world was crumbling around them. Each word spoken was like a dagger to the heart, tearing apart the fragile bonds of love that had once held you together.

Every word you said stung his chest, the last part beating him to a pulp. It was too late for regret to cross his mind. “I really did love you, Alhaitham, more than anything.”

Those words… he hadn’t heard them in what felt like eternity. All he wanted to do was melt into your arms and apologize endlessly for all his wrongdoings, the times he barely came home, the mornings he could’ve spent with you. He’s been feeling this way for what feels like centuries. If he opened his arms to you, would you still embrace him? Would you still forgive him?

“But I can’t keep giving myself excuses to tolerate all of this.”

He looked at you, your eyes that were once so full of light now dimming of any source. The desperation, the longing you both share. There was so much sadness in your eyes. Have you always looked at him that way? Alhaitham was always quick on his feet—he had to find a way to convince you to stay!

“Y/N,” he began, “We can’t just give up on everything we’ve been through. All the dates, anniversaries, everything we took our time to make—it will all be a waste if we give up now.”

“I think you gave up on us the first time you dropped my hand when I reached for you.”

You were slowly slipping from his grasp, from his future. “I’m willing to give you all the time you need. Every meal, every date, every word you desire, I will make time for all of it. I promise you.”

“How can I know this will be another empty promise? How will I know you won’t do this again? You were never the type to offer everything so helplessly, Alhaitham.”

“Y/N, can’t you see-“

“Where were you during my sleepless nights? Where were you when I had prepared the perfect dinner for us? Where were you when I stood in the middle of the park, waiting for a certain someone to show up?

You were never there, Alhaitham. But I forgave you for all of that. I gave you a million last chances.”

A million last chances… you were thinking of leaving him beforehand? When he couldn’t seem to move his mouth, you decided you’ve had enough.

“Please, leave.”

It was too late for him now. He was long gone from saving you, from saving this relationship. There was nothing left to say, or do.

In the dim light of dawn, you both stood alone, tears a silent testament to the shattered dreams and broken promises that littered the floor like shards of glass. And as you watched your former lover walk away, a part of you knew that the wounds inflicted that night would never fully heal, leaving behind nothing but the bitter taste of regret and the haunting echo of what could have been.

(A lot of you guys are having trouble with the link😭 anw I tried copying a new link of part 2, lmk if it works)