#you know when someone writes such good fic

[hyuckiefluff]

casual | mark lee

pairing: idol! mark lee x waitress! fem. reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers wc: 8k summary: you wouldn’t normally fall for a guy who left his number on a dinner bill. too bad that guy was mark fucking lee. content warnings: slightly suggestive content (making out), light cursing, food mentioned, parasocial themes, reader works a service job, a very overworked mark lee :(. no explicit smut in this part. a/n: hiii before anyone yells at me—yes, i know this isn’t the haechan fic i’m supposed to be working on (promise i’m still on it!!) but listen… i went to the smtown concert last week and it fully reignited my delusions, so i wrote this as a coping mechanism :P ik we’ve all been out with friends maybe at a restaurant, and thought, “what if my bias walked in right now?” right?? that’s basically the entire premise of this fic. pretty unrealistic but super fun to write & i hope it’s just as fun to read! also no smut… yall know what that means lol if you want a part 2... just say the word. ps: if you’re ever at an italian restaurant, do yourself a favor and get the gnocchi. trust me.

giving up your one free day to cover someone else’s shift wasn’t how you planned to spend saturday. but when your coworker begged with teary eyes and a story about her sick cat, saying no felt impossible.

so instead of sinking into your couch with a pint of chocolate ice cream and pride and prejudice on repeat, you were hustling through a saturday night at one of the city’s busiest restaurants.

it was hour six of your shift and you were at that breaking point where one starts fantasizing about quitting—or at least hiding in the walk-in freezer for five peaceful minutes.

any weekend here was a carnage with nonstop orders, zero patience, and customers who thought yelling would grill a steak faster.

but it was finally past eleven which meant the dinner rush had slowed and the only remaining stragglers were either couples too in love to notice the time or office workers too tired to cook at home. just two more hours, you thought to yourself.

“y/n! table four,” your coworker called, rushing past with a stack of empty plates.

you snapped out of your daze and walked over, expecting tired business executives or another couple feeding each other breadsticks. instead, you made eye contact with the two people you least expected to see here.

mark lee and johnny suh were looking right at you.

your heart dropped to your ass. for a second, you actually considered turning around. but even with your brain buffering, you knew you had to keep it together. the last thing you wanted was to make them uncomfortable.

you stopped beside their table, immediately recognizing the other two who had their backs to you as haechan and jungwoo. internally, you were combusting, but externally you prayed your expression didn’t scream that you were seconds from melting into the floor.

��hi, welcome to cecconi’s,” you said, voice steady enough despite your heart hammering your ribs.

when you handed over their menus, your fingers brushed mark’s briefly and you hoped he didn’t notice you flinch. that’s when you noticed the book peeking out of the front pocket of his hoodie.

you recognized the cover instantly— south of the border, west of the sun by murakami.

you cleared your throat, smiling before you could stop yourself. “that’s a good one.”

mark’s eyes followed where you were pointing and his eyebrows shoot up when he realized “wait… you’ve read this?”

you nodded, trying to be casual, as if you hadn’t picked that book apart alone on your bedroom floor at 2 a.m. two months ago. “i’ve read all of his stuff. but this one was a whole different experience.”

“i literally can’t put it down.” mark said, angling his body to yours with excitement. you could see he was tired but the small talk seemed to give him an energy boost.

“right? anything by murakami makes me feel like i’m eavesdropping on my own memories,” you said, mostly to yourself.

“that’s exactly it!” he said, eyes going wide. “i never knew how to put it into words before.” you had to look away before you got caught smiling at how boyish he looked when he got excited.

the other members stared with amused expressions on their faces, so you quickly straightened up and went back into server mode.

“right… uhm, our special tonight is black truffle gnocchi in a garlic cream reduction, topped with parmesan and chive oil. would you like something to drink while you look over the menu?”

“what kind of beers do you have?” johnny asked, leaning back in his seat.

you rattled off the list, stepping in to point them out on the menu. your hand was visibly shaking, but you hoped they’d chalk it up to general social awkwardness and not the fact that your four favorite idols were sitting in front of you.

“just water for me,” mark said softly. despite his smile, you could clearly hear how strained his voice was.

“great, i’ll bring those right out.”

they must’ve come straight from the venue. tonight’s show—the very one you’d missed because of this shift—had ended less than two hours ago. and now they were here, in your section, eating dinner. 

you walked to the bar, filled the glasses as requested except for mark’s. for him, you brewed a mug of hot water, dropped in a slice of lemon, a swirl of honey, and a small nub of ginger. it wasn’t even on the menu but something about his tired eyes and strained voice made you move on instinct.

you brought the tray back with all the drinks, placing them down carefully. when you reached mark, you set the mug in front of him.

“i hope this is okay,” you said quietly. “honey-ginger tea. it’s good for your throat.”

mark blinked, taken off guard. “oh… thank you.” he looked down at the mug, then back up at you. “seriously. that’s really thoughtful.”

you just smiled, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “are you guys ready to order?”

they each placed their orders, nothing too extravagant. jungwoo wanted pasta, johnny asked for a steak medium rare, and haechan—after a dramatic five minute debate with himself—settled on the truffle gnocchi. mark went last.

“can i get the steak medium rare? and the mashed potatoes instead of the fries, if that’s okay,” he asked, glancing up again, voice still carrying that soft exhaustion.

“of course,” you said, jotting it down. “i’ll get those in for you.”

you dropped the order slip at the kitchen window, still feeling weirdly out of sync with your body. it didn’t help that you had to keep circling their table to serve other guests. table five had just ordered dessert, the group behind them needed their wine refilled, and your feet barely touched the floor before you were moving again. 

still, awareness prickled at the back of your neck whenever you passed their table.

you turned your head slightly, pretending to scan the room. mark was looking right at you but quickly glanced away, suddenly very invested in the tea in front of him.

you hesitated. maybe they needed something?

smoothing your apron, you walked back to their table. your heart thudded way harder than it needed to, but you managed a smile.

“everything okay here?” you asked.

mark cleared his throat, shaking his head as a faint flush crept up his neck. “we’re good. thanks, though.”

johnny’s lips twitched, and haechan was very clearly hiding a smirk behind his glass.

you smiled again, warmth rising in your chest at how shy he looked. “no worries. food should be out soon.”

back behind the bar, you tried to focus. really, you did. but your eyes kept drifting back to their table. thankfully, they seemed too wrapped up in their conversation to notice. every now and then, though, mark’s gaze would flicker your way.

he’s probably just zoning out, you told yourself. or exhausted, probably both. don’t be weird about it.

still… he kept looking. did you have something on your face? was it obvious you recognized them? god, what if he thought the tea was too much?

you groaned softly and buried your face in your hands when no one was looking.

pull it together, y/n. finish the shift. freak out later.

they are pretty quickly and eventually, their table quieted down. it was past midnight now, and the restaurant was finally starting to shut down. you printed their bill, then hesitated, chewing your lip as your pulse ticked higher.

should i?

this was your shot. it was maybe a little silly and borderline embarrassing, but if you didn’t say something now, you’d regret it forever.

before you could second-guess yourself any more, you scribbled a note at the bottom of the receipt:

"hii, hope this isn’t weird but i’m a really big fan. you’re amazing and i hope you enjoyed your meal and that the tea helped. get some rest tonight! :)"

you took a breath, walked back over, and placed it gently in the center of the table.

“here’s your bill,” you said quietly. “no rush, of course.”

mark looked up first. the smile he gave you was a little tired, but genuine.

“thank you,” he said warmly.

you nodded and stepped away, legs wobbling slightly as you disappeared into the back.

it’s done, you told yourself. no going back now.

as you busied yourself cleaning other tables, you watched from the corner of your eye as they got up. haechan said something that made mark laugh quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your stomach flutter helplessly.

then they were gone.

you waited a few extra minutes before heading over just to be sure. as you cleared the plates, you reached for the bill with your heart already racing, though you told yourself not to expect anything.

but when you opened the leather folder, your breath hitched.

they’d left a generous tip—but that wasn’t what caught your eye. there was something written under your message, a response scribbled quickly in neat handwriting:

"thanks for taking care of us tonight. especially the tea! :)"

followed by a number.

your heart kicked so hard you had to brace a hand on the table edge. there was no name at all, just the number. the ink looked a little smudged near the dash like whoever wrote it had closed the presenter in a hurry.

holy shit.

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it was past one when you finally made it home, hair smelling like garlic butter and burnt steak. the city lay quiet, your apartment even quieter, yet your brain refused to join the calm.

with a tired sigh, you tossed your bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it, fingers still gripping the bill tightly.

you’d reread the message ten times already. the ink was even more smudged now from your fingers, but the number was still clear.

you exhaled loudly, then groaned into a throw pillow.

“what the hell is happening.”

it had to be mark. right? it felt obvious. 

then again, maybe another member had simply appreciated the gesture and thanked you on behalf of mark. after all, their handwriting wasn't exactly familiar. you’d seen them a few times on signed albums or online fan letters, but not enough to be certain. 

suddenly determined, you sat upright, snapped a quick photo, and zoomed in immediately.

“this is insane,” you muttered.

 but that didn’t stop you from opening a tab to search: mark lee handwriting.

this wasn’t your best moment. you were tired, emotionally compromised, and clearly spiraling. still you opened a second tab and went deeper until you were staring at stan twitter handwriting threads for half an hour.

after many more side-by-sides, you sat back and stared at the screen like it could confess to you.

“it looks like his,” you whispered.

just text him. what's the worst that could happen?

the thought alone conjured every embarrassing scenario possible and made you nearly throw your phone across the room. how would you even start that conversation?

“hi, is this mark lee from nct? because i’m lowkey in love with you and i really hope you're the one who left your number at my workplace tonight?”

your heart nearly stopped at the thought. you glanced at the clock again—2:17 a.m.

yeah. no. you needed to lie down. you’d sleep on it. calm down a bit and gain some perspective.

but three days passed.

three whole days. that’s how long you spent agonizing over a single text. you'd written and deleted at least twenty drafts—too casual, too eager, too weird. one even included a joke you cringed at the second you typed it, and deleted just as fast.

he’s probably already back in korea, you reminded yourself while folding napkins at the restaurant on tuesday. fan accounts had posted airport photos before you even got out of bed. mark in a beanie and headphones, eyes puffy with exhaustion.

two more days passed. eventually, courage outweighed dread.

on thursday night, curled up in your pajamas, you stared at the too-bright glow of your phone while netflix asked if you were still watching. just do it, you told yourself. again.

you opened a new message. typed. erased. retyped. your pulse pounded, drowning out mr. darcy’s proposal in the background.

hi! this is y/n, the server from cecconi’s last saturday night. i know you’re probably crazy busy, but i just wanted to say thanks again for coming in. hope you’re resting well :)

friendly. chill. not over the top—right?

you hit send and immediately shoved the phone under your blanket, like that could somehow shield you from the rejection.

an hour passed. then three.

nothing.

you forced yourself to sleep, pretending the tight knot in your chest wasn’t disappointment. the next morning, you checked your phone before even opening both eyes.

still nothing. no read receipt. no message.

it’s fine. they were idols. they were busy. you’d waited too long anyway. the group was back in rehearsals, buried in schedules. who had time to answer a text from a random server in another country?

another day passed. still no reply.

you tried to talk yourself down while making coffee. maybe it wasn’t even his number. maybe it was a manager’s. maybe his phone was off. maybe international sims are weird. maybe—

“why did you wait so long,” you muttered into the couch, face buried in a pillow.

you were just about ready to let it go when your phone buzzed softly against the coffee table.

your heart nearly launched itself out of your chest. you scrambled for it, almost knocking over the entire table in the process.

a new message.

sorry!! things got crazy once we got back to korea. i’m really glad you texted though. and we’re resting (sort of haha). it’s mark btw :)

you stared at the screen.

read it. then read it again. and again.

warmth flooded your chest. you'd been right.

it was him.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, brain scrambling for something to say. but for the first time in days, all you could do was smile.

you hadn’t realized how easily a single text could flip your whole mood until he replied. you must’ve read that message ten times before you even responded.

somehow, the conversation flowed naturally from there.

it started with casual back-and-forths. he’d talk about the tour, and you about your shifts. it quickly turned more personal though like blurry late-night snack pics from his studio, or mirror selfies of your server fits before dinner rushes.

none of it felt forced. but still… what was this?

you’d be wiping down table six or pulling espresso shots for a regular who never tipped, and suddenly your phone would buzz with a text message.

mark: can’t believe you’ve never seen inception…

you: maybe i was busy having friends

he sent back a string of laughing emojis and a photo of his laptop playing it.

mark: you’re watching it with me next time. no excuses.

next time.

you didn’t know what that meant, but it echoed in your head for the rest of the shift.

by the second week, it wasn’t just texts.

sometimes he’d call when your time zones aligned, and you were both free. once while you were folding laundry. another while he walked home from the studio, breath fogging the cold air as he complained about his busted heater.

“i feel like an old man,” he said once, voice scratchy. “my knees hurt”

“you’re twenty-five.”

“and breaking down.”

you laughed until your stomach hurt. he was quiet for a second, then said, “i like your laugh.”

you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright.

a month later came the first video call.

it was early morning. you were still half-asleep, texting with one eye open, when your screen lit up with a facetime request. you froze.

no makeup. puffy eyes. pimple cream still on your chin. but your fingers accepted the call before your brain could stop you.

he was lying down, hoodie half over his face.

“oh thank god,” he mumbled. “i thought you weren’t gonna pick up.”

“i almost didn’t,” you laughed, pulling the covers up to hide half your face. “you caught me in a vulnerable state.”

his eyes crinkled. “you look cute.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you just tucked your face further into the blanket.

after a few hours, the call fell into a comfortable silence, his eyes starting to flutter shut as you both lay in your respective beds.

you should’ve hung up, but you didn’t. you just stayed on the call, watching him sleep.

video calls became routine after that.

at first, they were short—ten, maybe fifteen minutes. he’d call after practice, his hair a mess, face still damp with sweat. the phone would be propped against his water bottle as he peeled off his hoodie and complained about sore calves.

but the calls started stretching longer. sometimes he was lying on a hotel bed, cheek pressed into the pillow, telling you about his comeback preparations. other times, he wandered through whatever city he was in, showing you the neon signs, quiet side streets, and cafés tucked into corners no tourist would ever find.

“i’ll take you here one day,” he said once, camera panning to a ramen shop. “i mean… if you ever visit.”

you didn’t answer right away. just smiled and pretended the idea didn’t stick in your chest like a pebble you couldn’t shake loose.

you started saving little things throughout the day just to tell him later. customer stories, songs that reminded you of him, strange headlines you knew would make him laugh. without realizing it, your brain made notes labeled tell mark this later.

he did the same. he sent you photos of whatever snack he was eating on set, told you about a dream where you both worked in a space bakery, asked what you thought of new songs he was writing. he never sent full demos, just a few seconds here and there—but it still felt intimate.

you started noticing things you hadn’t, even after all your years as a fan. how he bit the soft skin of his knuckles when he was anxious or the fact that he brushed his teeth for 6 minutes (yes, you counted).

neither of you brought up what this was. and maybe that was okay.

still, on some nights, you’d wonder does he text other people like this? has he done this before, video calls, sleepy laughter and quietly sharing his day?

you never asked.

you didn’t want to ruin the quiet magic of it all by needing too much too soon.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

mark eased you into his life bit by bit.

on a random thursday night, you were sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok when your phone buzzed. you smiled automatically when you saw his name and hit accept.

but it wasn’t him when the call connected.

“yo! she’s real!” johnny’s voice boomed through the speaker, far too loud and way too amused.

you blinked. “wait—what?”

the screen shook as mark scrambled to get the phone back. “okay, okay, stop—hyung, give it back!”

“nice to meet you,” jungwoo added brightly in the background. “finally!”

haechan’s face popped into view next. he hovered close to the camera, flashing a crooked grin. “she’s the one, right? the reason he’s always giggling at his phone like a loser.”

they were all speaking in korean, except for johnny—who made sure you caught the gist. you weren’t fluent, but you knew enough to piece it together. their tone said a lot, anyway.

“what did he say?” you asked, laughing nervously.

johnny leaned in. “he said mark’s obsessed with you.”

mark groaned in the background. “don’t translate that.”

“he talks about you,” haechan added in english, still half-hiding behind jungwoo but clearly enjoying himself. “all. the. time.”

you stared at the screen, wide-eyed, face already burning. “oh god—wait, we just—”

“aigoo, she’s cute,” jungwoo said with a grin, nudging haechan’s shoulder. “mark, you’re done for.”

mark finally got his phone back, his flushed face filling the screen. he was breathless from laughing.

“i’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “that was… i didn’t mean for that to happen.”

you were still blushing but grinning too. “so you talk about me all the time?”

he covered his face with one hand. “please. don’t start, they won’t let me live this down”

after that night, it became a running thing. sometimes you’d call just to talk to mark and end up ambushed by his members. taeyong once popped into frame with a plate of fruit, offering you a piece through the screen like you could actually take it. “for energy,” he said in halting English, then smiled and wandered off.

chenle appeared a few times asking random questions as if you’d been friends forever, one time he asked “do you like mark as much as he likes you?”

you sputtered something while mark tried (and failed) to shut him up.

renjun showed up once too, squinting at the screen. “so this is the girl,” he said, then walked off dramatically without another word.

it was chaotic, awkward, and constantly embarrassing but it also made your chest ache in the best way. knowing you weren’t some secret he was hiding. you were someone he wanted them to know.

and then one night, a few weeks later, mark called with a different kind of energy.

“guess what?” he said, barely able to sit still.

you blinked at him through the screen. “what?”

“we’re going to the US,” he grinned, and your heart nearly stopped.

“wait, seriously?”

“yeah, for a festival. just one weekend, but i’ll have a couple free days before the flight out. i—” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “i was really hoping i could see you.”

you stared at him, stunned for a second.

“you want to see me?” you asked softly.

“yeah,” he said immediately. “i mean, only if you want to, obviously. i just… i’ve been thinking about it for a while. texting and calling is great but,.. i kind of miss being in the same room as you.”

not just the same city,  not just in passing. but in the same room with you.

you swallowed past the nerves bubbling up in your chest and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i want that too.”

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you tried for tickets the second they went live.

you had alarms set, several tabs open, your card ready. but none of it mattered…

they sold out in minutes.

you stared at the screen in disbelief, refreshing the page over and over hoping the outcome would change. it didn’t. your chest tightened with each failed refresh.

you were so close. and now, you had no idea how to tell mark.

you waited a whole day, thinking they’d release more tickets, maybe someone would resell—but the prices were insane, triple what you could afford, and the longer you waited, the more hopeless it felt.

when he finally called you that night, you tried to act normal for about ten seconds before it all came spilling out.

“i didn’t get tickets,” you said, voice cracking before you could stop it. “they sold out so fast and now the only ones left are like impossible. and i know you’re going to be super busy and probably won’t be able to meet up anyway, but i was really looking forward to seeing you perform, and now i don’t even know if i’ll get to see you at all—”

“hey, hey, slow down.” mark’s voice was soft. “breathe, y/n.”

you inhaled shakily, pressing your forehead to your knee, curled up on the couch. “sorry. i just… i really wanted to be there.”

“i know,” he said gently. “and i want you there too.”

you went quiet, biting the inside of your cheek.

“but we’ll figure something out, okay?” mark continued. “don’t stress about it too much. just… trust me a little.”

“what do you mean…,” you said slowly, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckled. “nothing. just saying... maybe don’t give up hope yet.”

you narrowed your eyes at your phone. “you’re being cryptic.”

“am i?” he said, way too innocently.

you groaned into your pillow. “don’t do this to me.”

“i’m not doing anything,” he replied. “just... keep the day of the festival open, okay?”

you wanted to press him, but the look in his eyes was too confident. so you nodded slowly, heart still a little heavy but soothed by the warmth in his voice.

the day they landed in the US, you got the call while brushing your teeth.

your phone lit up with his name, and you answered with a mouthful of foam, spitting it out quickly as you mumbled, “hey, did you land?”

“we did,” mark said, voice laced with excitement. “and i have good news.”

your heart jumped. “what?”

“a car’s going to pick you up the day of the show,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “my team helped sort it out. we wanted to make sure you’d be there.”

you blinked, wide-eyed, toothbrush still in hand. “wait—what? you—what do you mean? mark—”

“you’re coming to the festival, y/n. you’re not missing this. not if i can help it.”

you clutched your phone, stunned into silence, overwhelmed by how much care he’d tucked into those few words.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i know,” he interrupted, voice softer now. “but i wanted to.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you’d never felt more anxious getting ready for anything in your entire life. not for job interviews, not for first dates, nothing compared to the fluttering anxiety buzzing in your chest right now.

it was almost ridiculous how much effort you'd put in. your hair was carefully styled in waves that took you half an hour to do, your makeup was done and redone multiple times until you finally settled on something subtle but pretty. your outfit had taken ages to choose, you didn’t want to look too casual but also didn’t want to make it seem like you were trying too hard. so you settled for a regular black skirt and a white long sleeved top, it was comfortable but not boring. you wanted to look good, even though mark had already seen you at your most tired, sweaty, and disheveled.

the car arrived precisely at the time mark had promised. your heart jumped to your throat when the driver opened the door for you, offering a polite nod. 

your hands trembled slightly in your lap the entire ride to the venue. you felt giddy, overwhelmed, and deeply nervous all at once.

but when you finally arrived, the excitement abruptly shifted into self-awareness. several staff members glanced at you warily, some whispering to each other and throwing quick looks your way. suddenly, you felt very out of place, shrinking slightly under their scrutinizing gazes.

“excuse me,” came a sharp voice behind you. you turned around to see a woman approaching, her expression serious, a clipboard held firmly in her hands. “you must be y/n?”

“yes,” you replied nervously.

“there are some documents you'll need to sign,” she informed you.

“documents? like—”

“standard NDAs, confidentiality agreements, liability waivers,” she cut in and handed you a clipboard, flipping briskly through pages filled with dense legal text. “you'll need to sign these before we move forward.”

you stood frozen for a moment, feeling incredibly naive and small as reality hit you like a slap to the face. you’d let yourself get carried away, almost forgetting who exactly mark was—who exactly these people were. they weren't just regular guys; they were idols, celebrities, people with management teams and carefully guarded images.

this was serious and you had somehow underestimated all of it.

the woman noticed your hesitation, her expression softening just a fraction. “it’s standard procedure,” she said, “mark personally asked us to ensure you’re comfortable, but we need to protect everyone involved.”

“okay,” you whispered shakily, taking the pen from her hand. your fingers felt numb as you signed, barely registering the words printed on the paper. 

once the woman was satisfied, she took the clipboard back, nodded curtly, and gestured for you to follow her. your heart thundered in your chest as you walked through the busy hallway.

then she stopped in front of a dressing room door, knocking sharply once before opening it slightly. “mark? your guest is here.”

you held your breath as the door slowly swung open, your pulse so loud you could hardly hear anything else.

mark appeared in the doorway, eyes widening slightly as he took you in. suddenly, all the anxiety, paperwork, and awkwardness faded into the background. his expression softened immediately, that familiar warmth returning as his eyes crinkled in a gentl smile.

“hey,” he breathed softly, clearly just as relieved to see you as you were to see him. “you made it.”

mark steps fully into the hallway, blocking the view of the bustling green-room behind him. for half a beat you both just stare, soaking in the fact that you’re finally sharing the same oxygen again instead of pixels on a phone screen.

“wow…” he breathes, cheeks coloring as his eyes scan you. “you look so—” he catches himself, smiles sheepishly, and opens his arms. “can i?”

you nod before your brain supplies coherent language, letting him tug you forward. the hug is quick—he’s hyper-aware of everyone around you—but his hand stays at your elbow afterward, grounding you.

“sorry about the fuss,” he murmurs, voice pitched low so only you can hear. 

“it’s okay… just a bit intense.”

“i know.” his thumb sweeps a tiny circle on your sleeve. “but you’re here now. c’mon, the guys are waiting.”

when you walk inside the room is buzzing with energy. there’s stylists zipping garment bags, a makeup artist following jungwoo around to touch up his lips, haechan drumming on a folding table with two half-empty water bottles. the second he spots you, his face splits into a grin.

“look who made it!” he crows, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “mark’s special guest.”

johnny swivels in a chair. “oh, the infamous y/n at last.” he stands, offering a hand that turns into a gentle half-hug when you take it. “nice seeing you again.”

jungwoo waves from a corner, cheeks puffed with gummy bears. “hi! mark’s talked a lot about you,” he says around the candy. 

mark groans. “ignore them, they’ve been insufferable since i told them you were coming.”

“insufferable?” haechan clutches his chest theatrically. “hyung, we’re just supporting your relationship!”

you feel your face go nuclear. “it’s not— we’re just—”

“friends,” mark supplies, shooting haechan a warning glance. but the tips of his ears have gone pink, and the little smile tugging at his mouth totally betrays him.

johnny leans closer, whispering, “lies, he’s always grinnung at his phone like a middle schooler whenever you talk.”

you let out a mortified laugh that turns into a squeak when mark nudges johnny away. “we have to be on stage in ten minutes, maybe focus?”

jungwoo claps. “right! you can watch backstage with staff.”

an assistant appears then, handing mark an in-ear pack. he hesitates, then squeezes your hand once before following the others toward wardrobe.

“sorry i gotta get dressed,” he says over his shoulder, “see you in a bit.”

you exhale for the first time since stepping off the car, pulse finally settling as the door swings shut. you tuck a stray hair behind your ear, catching your reflection in a vanity mirror. your cheeks are flushed and there’s a stunned little smile on your lips.

the staff member that escorted you in approaches again, her expression now more polite but still distant as she walks you down a narrow hallway. “you’ll be watching from here,” she explains as you reach a curtained-off section just beside the stage entrance.

the space is just wide enough for a couple of folding chairs, and a monitor showing the stage feed. even through the curtain, you can hear the low rumble of the crowd growing louder by the second—cheers, screams, the crowd chanting “ilichil, we love you!” 

you perch at the edge of a chair, feeling entirely out of place and wildly overwhelmed.

what am i even doing here?

this wasn’t some fantasy anymore. you weren’t watching fancams in your pajamas or whispering to your screen during late-night video calls. you were backstage, in their world, and everyone around you belonged to it except you.

you looked down at your outfit again, smoothing invisible wrinkles, suddenly doubting every choice you’d made that morning. your nails, your shoes, even the way you’d done your eyeliner. it all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

a soft noise pulls your attention back to the side curtain. one of the stylists slips through, handing off a mic pack to someone just outside your view. you recognize mark’s voice quickly.

he’s laughing at something jungwoo said, but even through the laughter you can hear the edge of nerves in his voice. it makes you feel… less alone in your own.

you peek around the edge of the curtain. they’re all gathered near the wings, adjusting their in-ears and bouncing on their heels to shake out last-minute jitters. mark’s back is turned at first, but then he glances over his shoulder almost like he can feel your eyes on him.

your breath catches when his gaze finds yours. through all the chaos and noise, his eyes meet yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t wave or call out—he just smiles.

he turns back as staff starts to guide them toward the entrance tunnel, and you’re left sitting there with your heart doing an unholy rhythm in your chest.

you hadn’t expected this, the building pressure in your chest, the way your emotions feel too big to hold.

but underneath all of it, layered between the nerves and the noise inside your own head, there’s a flicker of anticipation.

he’s just a few feet away now. he’s about to be on stage, doing what he was born to do, and you’ll be right here, watching not just as a fan anymore.

but as someone who matters to him.

the stage lights cut to black, and the low hum of the backing track pulses through the arena like a heartbeat. from your narrow perch in the wings you can feel the vibration under your soles, a physical reminder that this isn’t a dream.

a lone spotlight slices across the darkness—jungwoo steps into it, and the crowd erupts. the boys fan out behind him in practiced formation.

mark is near the center, head lowered, hand cupped over his earpiece as he settles into position. you’ve watched this opening on countless fancams, but up close everything is magnified: the hiss of their in-ears, the snap of jacket fabric when they turn, the ragged inhale before the first line.

johnny’s deep vocal rolls out, haechan answers with his bright harmony, and suddenly the whole place is singing along..

mark’s part hits next. he steps forward, eyes scanning the sea of faces before flicking to you. it’s only a second, a brush of attention so quick the crowd would never catch it, but it lands like a spark in your lungs. he grins, then pivots into choreography.

you never understood how performers could look both effortless and deadly focused until now. sweat beads at their hairlines within minutes, but they don’t miss a beat. haechan riffs a playful ad-lib, doyoung shoots him a mock glare, johnny laughs into his mic; the crowd screams, drunk on the interaction.

halfway through the set, they perform gold dust as a surprise, the stage lights go yellow. mark moves to the far edge closer to you and delivers his verse straight ahead. but on his last bar he tilts his head, eyes skimming the shadows where you’re standing. his voice drops into that warm, gritty register you know too well from late-night calls, and despite the roar of the arena the moment feels impossibly intimate.

you tuck your hands under your arms, trying to calm the goosebumps, but the sheer thrill of seeing him own that stage while still tossing these tiny pieces of himself your way is overwhelming.

the final song explodes in confetti cannons. the boys hit their last pose, breathing hard, grinning wide. the screams from the audience are deafening; even the backstage staff exchange awed looks.

mark bows with the others, shouting “thank you!” into his mic, but as they turn to exit he catches your gaze one more time. he taps two fingers against his chest, then points subtly toward the hallway where you’re waiting and mouths the words stay right there, i’ll find you.

and you waited exactly where he told you to.

or… at least tried to.

but the moment the boys disappeared off stage, chaos swallowed everything whole. several stagehands rushed past with crates, wires and gear flying in every direction, staff barking orders into walkies while backup dancers and security weaved in and out of the narrow corridors.

you stepped back into the corner, trying not to get trampled, but every second you waited the crowd thickened, people shouting over each other, crew passing by so quickly that you were bumped into more than once. you caught glimpses of the members being swept off into different directions—haechan laughing breathlessly with a towel around his neck, johnny taking a water bottle from someone. but there was no sight of mark.

“you can’t stand here,” someone snaps, grabbing your elbow and steering you quickly away. “please, move along.”

“wait, i was supposed to—” you start, but your protest drowns in the noise as you’re guided through the maze of corridors. 

you glance over your shoulder anxiously, panic rising in your throat. mark said he’d find you but you don’t even know where you’re going.

the staff member stops abruptly near a back exit, where a van is parked outside the open door. he gestures hurriedly. “wait in there, please. someone will be with you shortly.”

before you can question it, he’s already vanished back into the building. hesitantly, you climb into the empty van, settling awkwardly on the leather seat. not even a minute later your phone buzzes with a text from mark.

mark: where are you??? backstage is insane, i can’t find you.

you quickly reply: someone moved me to a van near the back entrance?

your heart pounds as minutes stretch into eternity and doubt starts gnawing at you—they will probably film some behind the scenes content now, interviews, livestreams, what if he doesn’t have time to find you before he’s sent away?

but just as anxiety peaks, the van door suddenly slides open. your eyes widen as mark appears, breathing heavily like he ran to reach you, his stage makeup slightly smudged, hair damp and tousled from the performance. he sighs in relief, shoulders visibly relaxing the second he sees you.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes, climbing quickly into the van and closing the door behind him. “i was so worried. everything okay?”

“yeah, it was just really hectic—” you start, but your words fade as he sits beside you, closer than you’ve ever really been. close enough that you can see the faint glitter along his jaw, the sweat glistening at his temples, the warmth in his gaze as it settles fully on your face.

“you were incredible out there,” you say softly. “i’ve never…  it’s different seeing it up close.”

his cheeks pink despite the post-performance flush. “i kept looking for you.” 

“i noticed,” you admit, smiling.

mark’s gaze drops to your hands twisting in your lap and he reaches out.

“thanks for being here,” he murmurs. 

your laugh is a shaky exhale. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“also…the NDA,” he starts quietly. “i didn’t want you to feel like i was cornering you into some weird situation. that’s not what this is.”

“mark, i didn’t think that. i mean—it was overwhelming, yeah, but i get it. you’re…” you gesture helplessly. “you.”

he laughs softly, but there’s no real humor behind it. “i hate it. you know, not being able to just… hang out with you. not having the freedom to do normal things, like… i don’t know—go get coffee or show you the city or tell people about you without it turning into a whole thing.”

“is that what this is? am i…” you hesitate. “something you’d want to tell people about?”

he looks up at you, and there’s not a trace of hesitation when he says, “yes. i think about it all the time.”

you blink, throat suddenly dry.

he leans in slightly. “i just… i didn’t want you to think i was trying to make you sign your silence just so i could keep you a secret. it’s not about hiding you. it’s about protecting something that means a lot to me.”

and there it is. the part he hadn’t said yet.

you mean a lot to him.

your chest tightens with the weight of being chosen in a world that doesn’t make space for this kind of closeness, that demands boundaries, a good image and clean lines drawn in ink. and yet here he is, blurring those lines for you.

“thank you for saying that,” you murmur, voice trembling a little. “i didn’t realize how much i needed to hear it.”

mark reaches across the space then, taking your other hand. “i don’t want this to feel like you’re walking on eggshells because of my life. i want it to feel real.”

your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

“it already does,” you whisper.

and when he finally closes the distance between you, pulling you into a quiet, careful hug, it feels so right.

his arms wrap around you and for a second the world outside the van ceases to exist. he’s warm even through his stage jacket, you can feel his heartbeat thudding fast against your cheek. you breathe him in, clean sweat and fabric softener.

when he pulls back, he doesn’t release your hand. his thumb brushes lazy paths over your knuckles.

“i kept picturing this,” he admits quietly. “all week. wondering if it would feel the same in person as it did in my head.”

“and?” you whisper.

“it’s even better,” he says without hesitation.

he shifts slightly, the space between you rapidly shrinking. his gaze flickers briefly down to your lips, and the movement sends your pulse racing.

“mark,” you whisper, voice barely audible, “i—”

his other hand gently finds your cheek, thumb tracing lightly along your skin, tipping your chin up just a fraction. he searches your face, breathing shallow and eyes heavy with something soft and vulnerable.

you lean in instinctively, eyes fluttering closed as his breath ghosts warm over your lips—

and then the van door suddenly swings open, a burst of noise and harsh backstage lighting flooding in.

“mark hyung, manager hyung says—oh shit.” haechan freezes halfway inside the doorway. “ohhh, sorry… was i interrupting something?”

mark jerks back, cheeks blazing crimson as his hand quickly leaves your cheek and lands awkwardly in his lap. “dude, are you serious?” he groans, dropping his head with a sigh and muttering a very un-idol-like curse word. 

you cover your mouth, laughing breathlessly through the embarrassment even as your pulse continues hammering in your ears.

“sorry, sorry,” haechan says, grinning wickedly, clearly not sorry at all. “but uh, we gotta go. manager hyung’s freaking out. we got an interview, hurry up.”

“yeah. coming.” he searches your face, apology written in his eyes “they’ll herd us to the hotel soon. can you wait a little longer? i want to ride with you after they clear the crowd.”

you nod, trying to ignore the throb of almost-kiss still sparking across your lips. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“give me twenty minutes tops, and then i’m kidnapping you for actual food.”

“bold of you to assume i’d say no.”

as he slips out, you catch the faintest curve of a smile before the door thuds shut and you’re alone again.

thirty minutes later, mark slips back into the van. this time freshly changed, hair still damp but swept under a dark cap.

“sorry that took forever.” he drops into the seat opposite you, knee bouncing with leftover adrenaline. “do you wanna come meet the other members properly before we leave?”

you follow him back through a quieter service corridor to a smaller green room that smells heavily like hair spray. inside, half the members are sprawled on sofas in various states of post-show exhaustion. the energy shifts the second mark ushers you in.

“guys, this is y/n,” he says.

taeyong shoots up first, hand extended. “the legend herself,” he jokes, grinning wide enough to prove he’s still riding his performance high. jaehyun offers a shy wave and drags over a chair so you won’t have to hover. yuta, also walks over and introduces himself politely.

doyoung is the only one who stays seated, arms folded. his eyes flick between you and mark, assessing. it lasts all of three seconds before he notices how relaxed mark looks—those shoulders that usually sit somewhere near his ears are loose, his smile easy. doyoung’s expression softens.

“thanks for cheering him up,” he says quietly, a little sheepish. “he’s been impossible the last few weeks.” the tease lands gentle, and mark flicks a sweat towel at him in retaliation.

the small talk bubbles up easily. the topic shifting from favorite festival moments, to whose in-ears cut out, and the confetti that caught in doyoung’s mouth during a high note. the atmosphere is warm and surprisingly normal, until a manager pops his head in to remind everyone they’ve got early rehearsals tomorrow.

mark steers you quickly back to the van after saying a quick goodbye.

“so…” he ran a hand through his hair and put his hat back on. “food?”

“please,” you groaned, head falling back against the seat. “i’m starving.”

“wanna go to a restaurant?” he offered.

you winced. “too risky.”

he nodded slowly. “true, my hotel’s worse.”

you turned your head to face him. “sasaengs?”

“they wait outside sometimes, follow the vans from the venue” he trailed off, already looking annoyed with the reality of it.

“we could…” you swallow, then barrel through. “we could go to my place? it’s not far, and no one knows where i live. we can order in.”

mark’s head tilts, surprised but already nodding. “are you sure?”

“only if you’re okay hiding out in a tiny apartment that smells like scented candles and stale coffee.”

he smiles brightly. “sounds perfect.”

you rattle off your address to the driver, heart hammering as you drive through the city. mark’s knee bumps yours every time the van hits a pothole, but neither of you moves away.

he glances over. “thank you for trusting me with your space.”

you breathe out a shaky laugh. “thank you for trusting me with… all of this.”

his fingers brush yours on the seat between you. outside, the van slows to a stop at your curb. the driver kills the lights for discretion. thankfully, the street is empty.

you turn to mark, pulse racing for an entirely new reason now. “welcome to my part of the world.”

he grins, tugging his cap lower and reaching for the door handle. “lead the way.”

your apartment is small, cluttered with book stacks and half-burned candles, but it’s yours—and when mark steps in, slipping off his shoes at the door like he’s done it a hundred times, it feels suddenly, impossibly domestic.

“so,” he murmurs, looking around with quiet curiosity. “what’s good for takeout around here?”

you settle on thai food after a chaotic five-minute debate that ends with mark looking up from your couch and going, “okay but do you trust me with your spice tolerance?”

you blink at him. “mark. i watched you cry eating jalapeño chips during that one livestream.”

“they were ghost pepper!” he defends, slightly pouting. “and i didn’t cry, my eyes were just... dry.”

you giggle and the tension that had followed you into the apartment fades with it.

while you wait for the food, he wanders around your space with curiosity. never touching too much, just observing. he stops at your bookcase, smiles at the titles stacked sideways, fingers brushing one of the cracked spines.

“so this is where you’ve been calling from,” he says as he returns to the couch, flopping down beside you. “it’s cozy.”

“that’s code for small, right?”

he tilts his head, grinning softly. “no. cozy means i don’t want to leave.”

you glance over at him, heartbeat spiking in your throat. his hoodie’s a little rumpled from the ride, cap tossed somewhere by your front door, and he’s leaned so close your shoulders brush.

“you’re kind of the only boy who’s ever said that,” you murmur.

“then they’re idiots.”

your lips twitch with a smile. mark leans his head back on the cushion, you get distracted by the cute bump on his nose and the lines of his jaw.

you both fall quiet for a while, your legs stretched out beside his on the couch, ankles knocking occasionally. your body relaxes more than you expect, as if it remembers this feeling from all those calls and imaginary versions of this moment.

when the takeout finally arrives, you both eat cross-legged on the couch, plastic containers open between you, your playlist humming low in the background.

you talk through mouthfuls of noodles about everything and nothing—his weird craving for peaches whenever he’s overseas, your childhood phase of putting ketchup on rice, how you both secretly judge people who don’t rewind movies when they pause.

somewhere between “i really miss my mom’s kimchi stew” and your story about the nightmare customer who demanded gluten-free breadsticks, your shoulders touch. a minute later his arm slips along the back of the couch, fingers grazing your shoulder each time he shifts. your nerves fizz under your skin, but the contact feels safe.

You lean into him. He doesn’t move away.

the conversation slows and when you glance up to make a joke, your nose brushes the edge of his jaw. his breath hitches at this, then a warm hand settles on your knee.

“this feels…” he starts, swallowing. “kinda unreal.”

“yeah.” a whisper—because your voice has gone missing.

his palm lifts to your cheek, thumb soft against your skin. “can I kiss you?”

you’re already nodding.

the first kiss is shy and careful, more smile than pressure. The next slips deeper, mouths moving in a lazy rhythm neither of you rush. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie; his other hand skims your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the quiet drum of his heart.

eventually the couch gets too cramped. mark breaks the kiss with a sheepish laugh. “my back is dying,” he murmurs.

you tug him down the hall to your room, giggling when he nearly trips on a sneaker. he perches on the edge of the bed and you climb into his lap without thinking, legs draped around him. his hands settle on your hips and he sighs.

“i really, really like you,” he says, forehead resting against yours.

“i like you too. a lot.”

he kisses you again. you spend the next half hour like that, trading soft laughs and softer kisses until the adrenaline drains from his limbs. head falls heavy on your shoulder, he mumbles something about the best night of his life…and falls asleep mid-sentence.

You ease him back onto the pillows, kick off your skirt, and curl into the space beneath his arm. One leg hooks over yours; his hand rests at the small of your back, protective even in sleep.

it’s the tenth call that finally wakes him the next morning.

mark groans into your pillow, dragging his phone blindly toward his face. “what…”

a second goes by and then he jolts upright. “shit. shit.”

you blink groggily, one arm reaching out for him. “what’s wrong?”

he’s already stumbling for his shirt which he doesn’t even remember taking off last nigh. “i slept in. i never—fuck, i never sleep in.”

you sit up slowly, watching him try to shove his hat over tousled hair while checking his phone. “i have like ten missed calls.”

he answers the incoming call hurriedly, voice tense and apologetic. “yeah, i’m sorry, i know… i’m on my way now, just got… held up. i’ll explain later.”

he glances down at you then, taking in your messy hair, swollen lips and sleepy eyes, and the look on his face softens just a little.

when he finally hangs up, he rushes back to your side, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i gotta run, but i'll text you as soon as i can. i promise.”

you smile sleepily up at him, already missing the warmth of his body against yours. “go. don’t get in trouble.”

he pauses briefly before leaving. “last night was… perfect. thank you.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you to curl back into your pillow, still feeling the ghost of his touch and the lingering warmth of everything you shared.

[mintyys-blog]

hey bestie, would you mind do a fake dating trope fic with mark x reader? it could be for a mission, or mark trying to prove he's a good catch to eve or amber, or mark needing a prom date to stop being the weird nerd, or to mess with reader's ex who for some reason hates mark's guts.

RENT A BOYFRIEND | mark grayson x reader

invincible masterlist

content warnings ; fake dating, swearing

Mark Grayson showed up at your locker looking like he’d just survived a life-or-death battle. In reality, he’d just come from lunch with Eve.

So, you know. Same thing.

He leaned against the lockers, dramatic sigh loaded and ready.

You raised a brow. “Rough day?”

“She said I’m sweet,” he muttered.

“…And that’s bad?”

“She said I’m sweet like… a golden retriever. Loyal. Kind. Comfortable.”

You blinked. “That sounds… incredibly nice?”

Mark groaned. “She basically called me safe. Non-threatening. I might as well be a golden retriever in a human hoodie.”

You bit back a smile. “Mark. You’re not a dog.”

“I bark when I’m nervous.”

“That’s a you problem.”

He ran both hands through his hair. “Look. I need your help.”

That was always a great sentence to hear. You crossed your arms. “What kind of help?”

Mark hesitated. Then:

“I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

You stared at him. He kept going like this was a normal thing to ask.

“Just for a bit. In public. Around Eve. I want to show her I’m not just ‘safe.’ I’m… desirable. Dateable. Someone worth a second look.”

You frowned. “And you think pretending to date someone else is the key to winning her over?”

He shrugged. “You’re hot. You’re funny. You scare people a little bit. You’re, like, the opposite of a golden retriever. If you’re into me? That says something.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That I have bad taste?”

“That I’m not just a nice guy! I’m someone a cool, smart, intimidating girl actually wants.”

“Your logic is flawless.” You gave him a long, slow once-over. “You know this plan is insane, right?”

“Yes,” he said, way too fast.

“And doomed to backfire.”

“Probably.”

“…When do we start?”

Mark’s head snapped up. “Wait—seriously?”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” you warned, already pulling out your phone. “We’re going Instagram official tonight.”

He blinked. “We are?”

“Don’t half-ass this, Grayson. I want full couple aesthetics. Matching hoodies. Dumb selfies. I want people to think you write me poetry at night and call me baby in seven languages.”

He looked dazed. “Wow. You’re scarily good at this.”

You smirked. “Fake-dating me means committing to the bit. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“I think I’m terrified.”

“Good. That’ll make it more convincing.”

It started with one picture. You, leaning on Mark’s shoulder, sipping from his milkshake with a caption that read: “mine ❤️”

Eve liked it within minutes. So did half the school.

People stared when you walked into class the next day holding Mark’s hand. And Mark? He grinned like he’d just won the lottery—but his thumb kept brushing over your knuckles like he was memorizing the feel of you.

You were supposed to be pretending.

You weren’t sure when it started to feel real. Maybe the moment he held open your car door. Or when he laughed at your terrible jokes like you were the funniest person alive. Or when you caught him staring—not at Eve, but at you—when he thought you weren’t looking.

He kissed your cheek once at a coffee shop and forgot to stop holding your waist.

One afternoon, Mark looked at you, all nervous energy and bitten-lip hesitation, and said, “So… you think we should tell Eve the truth soon?”

And your heart twisted. You gave him a careful look. “Do you want to?” He paused. Then smiled—slow and honest.

“Actually,” he said, “I kind of want to see what happens if we stop pretending.” You stared at him, heartbeat a little too loud in your ears. He wasn’t joking. Mark Grayson—dorky, heroic, painfully earnest—was looking at you like you were the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking.

You should’ve said something smooth. Something cool. Something casual, like “well, it is fun playing your dangerously attractive fake girlfriend.” But your mouth was dry and your brain was suddenly short-circuiting.

So all you managed was, “Mark…” He tilted his head, smile soft. “Yeah?” You blinked. “You want to keep fake dating me?”

Mark scratched the back of his neck. “I mean… I thought I did. But then I realized I like holding your hand when we’re alone. I like when you laugh at my terrible puns. I like—God—how mad you get when I pretend to forget your coffee order just to hear you yell at me.”

“You like me yelling at you?”

“I think I might be into it, yeah.” You narrowed your eyes. “That’s worrying.”

“I’m a very complicated man.” You snorted. And for a second, the moment cracked—just enough to let you breathe. Just enough to move.

And before you could stop yourself, before you could overthink it or ruin it— You kissed him. No warning. No grand speech. Just the quiet shift of weight as you stepped closer, hooked a hand behind his neck, and leaned in.

Mark froze for half a second. Then he melted into it like you were gravity itself. His hands found your waist. His fingers curled in your jacket like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Like if he let go, the dream would end. When you pulled back, barely an inch between you, you murmured, “There. Not pretending.”

Mark looked dazed. “Okay. Yeah. Nope. Not breathing. That’s fine.” You laughed, forehead brushing his. “You good?”

“I think I need CPR.”

“From me?”

He grinned. “Obviously.” You pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, softer this time. Sweeter. “What about Eve?”

Mark’s smile faded, but not in a sad way. Just… thoughtful. “I think I needed to prove something to her,” he said. “That I’m someone worth choosing.”

“And now?”

He looked at you like he’d already chosen. “I think I’d rather be your something.”

[wingfleur]

# — suguru is the type to make you work for it.

i found myself inspired by @snail-day's characterization of geto and ended up writing this half-decent fic about him. her stuff is so good, and she’s, like, the sweetest person ever. this mainly reads as canon!geto, but you can imagine him as yandere!geto, too. he comes off kinda-sorta-lowkey smothering, so i think both work. where there's a will, there's a way! :-) | wc: 1.4k words.

cw: nsfw mdni (18+), afab!reader, porn no plot, explicit sex (p in v), cowgirl, copious amounts of edging, suguru's a little mean :(, a sickening amount of praise (reader!recieving), creampie!!!, suguru says thank you for letting him hit like all the men in my fics do <3

when geto suguru tells you he’ll wait, you initially think he’s joking. 

it’s not like what he said was all that funny, but you can't help but laugh because, well, it was absurd. you’ve never been with someone who actually made you keep bouncing after the first or second time you complained while riding them, let alone offer to wait patiently as you took a break to regather your bearings. normally, it was like clockwork: you’d bat your lashes for a little bit, then whine for a little while longer, and before you knew it, you’d find yourself on your back with your knees shoved up to your chest, but now? well, right now, your thighs burn, your lashes are wet with unshed tears, and you’ve been fucking yourself up and down on suguru’s cock longer than you’ve ever done for anybody else in your life. but despite your numerous cries for relief, suguru doesn’t move. in fact, he remains steadfast in his position below you, softly smiling as he coos at you while running a warm hand up your side.

as much as you appreciate the sentiment, no amount of praise is able to speed up how long it takes you to get going again.

it’s hard to be mad when the pain is addictive. you’re dizzy off it; suguru’s cock stretches you out in a way that’s just right, his tip pressing against spots inside you that you could never dream of reaching yourself. the really unfair part, however, is that while you’re sweaty and red in the face, breathing hard as your legs tremble with exertion, suguru looks devilishly handsome. strands of his hair cling to his forehead from sweat, and those violet eyes of his are locked shamelessly on the way your cunt is spread around his cock, his shaft glistening in the low light from your slick.

the obscene sight is enough to make his jaw tick.

those dark eyes of his look up at your face, but in all honesty, you’re too busy trying not to fall over to see it. luckily for you, that’s exactly what he thinks is cute— seeing your focus, your head ducked down, too busy watching the way your thighs meet his hips over and over again. you swear he has a sixth sense when it comes to finding ways to embarrass you, because just as you fall into something resembling a rhythm despite it objectively being choppy, suguru jerks his hips up into you to throw you off balance. it tears a wanton moan from you— a sound of longing deep from inside your chest— and suguru finds himself surprised by how much effort it takes to choke a moan back at the sight.

“almost there,” he says instead, hand soothing the top of one of your thighs before sliding up further. he rests his palm on the fat of your hip and he splays his fingers in a way that allows his thumb to rub circles into your clit. “you're doing so good.”

like always, suguru’s words are soft and gentle, but you find them dripping down your spine like hot honey as you register how frayed he sounds around the edges. for the first time in the past god-knows-how-long, you feel relief, because this means suguru’s close. you wouldn't know this, but he always gets close fast whenever he’s buried deep in you, but for your sake, he chokes it down, content to wait as long as you need for you to bring yourself to the precipice of your own pleasure. 

unfortunately, that realization doesn’t change how much you are struggling. 

at this point, you hardly have the strength to go on— to keep lifting yourself on your knees to then painstakingly slide down the pulsing shaft of suguru’s cock. it’s infuriating; you’re on the cusp of an orgasm you can just tell will turn you to dust, yet just as it’s about to crest, it peskily continues to stay just out of reach. without fail, your legs begin to give out every time, dropping you right onto suguru’s lap where you can no longer stand to move. and, without fail, suguru patiently brings a hand up to your face, unsticking any stray hairs that are sticking to your skin. 

“i can’t,” you wheeze defeatedly, forehead knocking against the headboard of the bed. suguru looks up at you with so much admiration that you’re tempted to call it nauseating, his palms sliding down from your face, to your jaw, to your chest, before perching on your thighs. 

“you can,” he quietly says in reply, blunt nails dragging slowly across the top of your skin. goosebumps flare up as a result, a shiver shooting through you like lightning. “if you need to take a break, then take one.”

it's bewildering, the way he still sounds so patient, even when you know he's also hardly hanging on. briefly, it makes you wonder what the fuck is wrong with him.

“i’ll wait.”

and just like he said, he waits. he waits until your weight slumps against him, labored breathing slowing where your nose is pressed into his neck. he waits until the involuntary tremble of your thighs completely ceases, stilling where they tightly bracket his hips. he waits until his effort pays off, eyes fluttering the moment your hips begin to roll against his, hands balled up into fists on either of his sides. 

“‘m gonna cum,” you gasp with finality, each roll of your hips desperate and deep. suguru’s brows furrow and his lips part as he fails to strangle a moan, a surge of pleasure from watching you finally make it causing a chill to run down his spine. 

“let go,” suguru whispers, still as a stone statue with his hips glued to the bed. just as he has all night, aside from his brief bout of mischief, he lets you take what you need from him. it's dizzying, how easily his hand finds your hip so that he can resume rubbing your clit, working you in slow, firm circles that you continuously press into with every rut against him. “you’ve earned it.”

by the time your thighs begin to burn again, your eyes are so tightly shut that you see nothing but black, but at this point, you’ve decided that nothing is gonna get between you and finishing. despite the way your body protests, you push through the sting until your vision turns white, a violent tremor wracking your body as an orgasm washes over you like a wave. 

god, it feels so warm. warm enough to make the tear rolling down your cheek feel cool, dropping onto suguru’s skin before rolling down his own sweaty chest. suguru coos softly at you about how good you are and how beautiful you look the entire time until you’re twitching and achy, his balls twitching between his thighs as he waits.

patiently, adoringly, lovingly.

by the time he lets up and you bonelessly slump against him, suguru wraps his arms around you and slides his calloused hands down the skin of your back. he stops when his hands reach your ass, taking hold of each cheek as he begins to bounce you up and down himself. 

“just relax,” he breathes against the shell of your ear. “i’ll take care of the rest.”

you whine pathetically against his neck, resting all of your weight against your front as he fucks you on his cock. suguru’s breathing is labored and the moans he’s been holding back finally start to bleed through, desperate, needy, and so incredibly hot as he finally holds you down to fill you with his cum. 

“fuck,“ he whispers, jaw tight and thighs clenched as his hips smack against your ass. his eyes are locked on where your body meets, eyelids fluttering as his eyes finally give in to the urge to roll back. “‘m cumming—”

he shoots into you in long, thick ropes, hips twitching with the primal urge to carve himself a place inside of you. large hands press into the fat of your hips, nails biting into your skin as he comes utterly undone, all for you. 

then, when his cock stops pulsing inside you and his breathing evens out, the red blush on his cheeks fading into an exerted pink, he presses a kiss against your cheek, arms coming to wrap around your waist. you don’t make a sound, and suguru doesn’t expect you to.

“thank you, sweetheart.”

# — navigation

[thepinkpanther83]

Reader (person A) and Eddie (person B) are hanging out in eddies trailer and the following below happens but they don't talk about it until reader thinks of the chapstick challenge which leads to them confessing and making out? You can choose the flavors.

Please? Thank you 😊

The Cherry on Top

One-Shot Request: “The Cherry on Top”

Eddie Munson x Reader

💌 Author’s Note: Huge thank you to the wonderful @meankenna for inspiring this one-shot with such a fun, and flirty prompt! This story was an absolute blast to write- equal parts sweet and shameless, and I hope it gives you all the butterflies it gave me while working on it. You’ve got great taste (in fic ideas and chapstick). 💋

If you enjoyed this story, consider leaving a comment or reblog- it helps more than you know! Stay soft, stay curious, and never underestimate a well-timed kiss. ~Pinkie 🍒

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Summary:

A lazy afternoon at Eddie Munson’s trailer takes a turn when one little question about cherry chapstick leads to a moment neither of you can pretend didn’t happen. Suddenly, there’s tension where there used to be teasing, and silence where there used to be laughter. But when a certain “challenge” comes to mind, you decide it’s time to settle the score… with lips, not logic. What started as a joke, might just be the cherry on top of something real.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

The Cherry on Top

One-Shot Request: “The Cherry on Top”

The hum of the cassette player fills the trailer with the low, raspy growl of Dio’s vocals, humming like a heartbeat beneath your easy chatter. You’re sprawled on Eddie’s old couch, one leg tucked underneath you, the other stretched out dangerously close to where his thigh is angled across the cushion.

Neither of you are really talking about anything important. You’re just… there. Comfortable. Close. Too close, if you stopped to think about it- which you absolutely refuse to do.

Eddie’s sitting sideways, arm thrown over the back of the couch, rings tapping absent patterns into the upholstery behind your neck. He’s grinning, eyes half-lidded, face soft from the lazy rhythm of the day. There’s an open bag of pretzels on the table, forgotten. One of your hoodies is balled up at your side, still holding your body heat from earlier.

You’d watched a movie hours ago. Or at least started one. Now it's just staticy music and half-finished conversations, the kind that drift off when they get too honest.

And in a moment of autopilot, you fish out your cherry chapstick. Twist the cap. Swipe it across your lips.

That’s when everything shifts.

You don’t notice him freeze- not at first. But he does. Like someone hit pause on his whole body. His eyes flick to your mouth and stay there, lips parting the tiniest bit, as if caught in the middle of a thought he forgot to say out loud.

“…What flavor is that?” he asks, like it physically hurts him not to know.

You blink at him. “Uh. Cherry.” You roll the cap back on and toss the stick into your hoodie pocket. “It’s really good, too.”

Eddie nods once, slowly. Then leans in just a fraction. “Can I try it?”

You’re already reaching for your hoodie, digging out the chapstick again. “Sure,” you say, holding it out between two fingers.

He doesn't take it.

Instead, Eddie leans in, slow but certain, like gravity’s finally had enough of your mutual pretending. His hand brushes your wrist, lowers the chapstick gently. Then- without giving you a second to react… he kisses you.

It’s not rough. Not frantic. Just deliberate. Lips warm and firm against yours, tasting faintly of cherry and Eddie and a hundred things you’ve never had the courage to name.

He pulls back just a breath, close enough that you can feel the smirk forming on his mouth before he even speaks.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “You’re right. It does taste good.”

You stare at him, brain officially fried. Function: unavailable. Thoughts: error 404. All you can do is sit there, lips tingling, mouth open just a little, totally wrecked by one kiss and a comment about chapstick.

You’re still staring at him.

He’s still staring at you.

The trailer is quiet. Like, you can hear the hum of the refrigerator and the flick of his thumb as he nervously picks at a loose string on the couch.

Then Eddie clears his throat. Loud. Awkward. Dramatic. “So,” he says, voice about an octave higher than normal, “you, uh… think Dio would survive in a bare-knuckle cage match against Ozzy?”

What.

Your lips are still tingling, and this man is asking about metal frontmen hypothetical brawls like he didn’t just bypass years of friendship rules and press his mouth to yours like it was nothing.

“…Are we seriously not gonna talk about what just happened?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

He glances at you. Smiles. Shrugs.

“Dunno what you mean,” he says coolly, casually, the picture of someone who is not currently imploding on the inside. “I asked for chapstick. You gave it to me. I tried it. It’s good. Mission accomplished.”

You blink. “You kissed me, Eddie.”

He fake gasps. “I did? Oh no. Must’ve slipped. Could’ve sworn I was reaching for the stick.”

“Eddie-”

“Hey, d’you wanna throw on another tape?” he interrupts, already getting up, not looking at you. “I think I’ve got that W.A.S.P. live album somewhere in the crate. Or- wait, no- Queen! We need to appreciate the artistry of Brian May more.”

He’s practically scrambling toward the tape shelf, muttering nonsense, hair falling in his face, while you sit there in complete disbelief.

You don’t push. You don’t chase him down or beg for clarity. You’re too scared of what it might do to the delicate thread tying the two of you together- so you let him keep pretending. You help. You joke. You nod along when he makes some stupid remark about Freddie Mercury’s god-tier vocal range.

But neither of you laughs the same.

The air’s different now- tight, humming, like a storm you both agreed not to name. You make it through the rest of the afternoon with polite smiles and long, loaded silences where your knees accidentally touch and neither of you breathes.

Eventually, you say you’ve gotta head home. Something about chores, or helping your mom, or feeding your cat. It doesn’t matter. You just need to get out.

He walks you to the door, as always. He tells you to page him when you get home, as always.

He doesn’t mention the kiss. At all.

And you don’t either.

Not until you’re in your room later that night, lights off, fingers brushing your bottom lip like you’re checking to see if the feeling’s still there.

You try journaling. You write “HE KISSED ME” in all caps three times before ripping the page out and stuffing it under your bed like a confession. Then you pace. Then you lay down. Then you sit back up. Then you wonder what would’ve happened if you kissed him back just a little harder, or said something like, “Do it again.”

But you didn’t.

And now you’re spiraling, tangled in your sheets, a cherry flavored ghost still dancing across your lips, trying to figure out if he meant it- or if he was just being Eddie.

It’s been days.

Days since “The Incident.”

Days since the kiss he never explained. Days since you half-lost your mind and wrote a fake letter to him you’ll never send titled, Dear Eddie, please do that again, I beg of you.

Now you’re back at his trailer, like nothing happened- except everything did. You’re both pretending to be normal. Again. You’re on the couch. Again. He’s doing that dumb thing where he pokes your knee with his toe like a child seeking attention. Again.

But tonight, you’re ready. Tonight, you brought props.

You wait until the timing’s perfect- he’s mid-rant about how Ace of Spades was robbed at the Grammys' when you interrupt with:

“Hey, so… remember when you totally stole my chapstick with your mouth and then never brought it up again?”

He chokes on a handful of Doritos. “I mean, stole is a strong word-”

You raise an eyebrow. “Pretty sure there’s a federal charge for grand larceny of flavored lip balm.”

He snorts, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, maybe I panicked. Maybe I got carried away.”

You lean forward on your elbows, casual but not really. “You know there’s an actual Chapstick Challenge, right? Where you’re supposed to guess the flavor by kissing someone?”

He freezes. “…That’s real?”

“Yup.” You pull a little zippered pouch from your bag and spill a rainbow army of chapsticks onto the table. “I brought options.”

His eyes go huge. “You’re kidding.”

You smirk. “Nope. Wanna try the official version this time?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

He launches himself across the couch, lips crashing into yours with so much enthusiasm you laugh into the kiss. His hands find your waist like they’ve been waiting for clearance, and yours tangle in that ridiculous mop of curls. It’s messy and a little clumsy, both of you grinning like idiots between breaths.

You taste like strawberry first. He gets it right. Then vanilla mint. Right again.

“Okay,” he gasps between kisses, “I’m kind of a prodigy at this.”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

He does. Over and over between applications. With gusto. With reverence. With the sort of soft desperation that only comes from finally getting the thing you thought you’d never have.

“Wait- what flavor is this?” he mumbles against your mouth.

You blink, confused. “I didn’t put anything on-”

He grins. “Hmm. Must just be ‘You.’ That one’s my favorite.”

You shove his shoulder. He kisses you harder.

Eventually, you’re a giggling, half-dazed mess on the couch, limbs tangled and chapstick containers strewn around like colorful evidence of the war you just won.

He pulls back only slightly, forehead pressed to yours, and whispers:

“So… you wanna, I dunno… maybe be my cherry-flavored girlfriend or something?”

You smile and kiss him again.

Translation: Yes.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust @meankenna

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[monicaalexandraaa]

MUFFIN !!!!! This was so good!!!!

I loved the little awkward moments and how they were able to get into the dynamic / more comfortable by the end of this part. It’s actually really sweet seeing them go through the motions. I also loved how there’s moments of both him being her friend and then her sugar daddy. Like him being sweet when she told him she got fired but also suggesting he buy the company. And then when they’re starting the conversation of what he wants out of this with the added part of she knows the car is new because she went with him🥰And how he understands why she didn’t tell him but that he’ll always be there for her as a friend but also now as a sugar daddy AHHH !!!!

I loved this so much!! I can’t wait for the next part🩷🩷

Delicate: Appealing

Masterlist: Here

CW: minor language, tiny jealousy issues, smut (handjob and fingering), conflicting emotions and minor embarrassment.

Word Count: 5.8K

Tag List: @masochistfork @dipmeinhoneyh @sunshinemoonsposts @sweetmoonlove0214 @maudie-duan @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @hopefullimaginer123 @somewiseguy @emmie2308 @delanie881dlover13 @frankyrose7 @matildasatellite @run-for-the-hills @mema10 @indierockgirrl

Summary: You meet up with your potential Sugar Daddy and get more than you were prepared for 🌟

You sense him before your eyes can even find him, he’s always had a way of making a room feel smaller by just stepping into it causing everyone’s focus to pull in his direction even when it’s the last thing he wants. Now normally you wouldn’t mind seeing him, you’d actually be excited to see him since he’s one of your bestfriends and someone who can make you feel an immense amount of happiness by simply listening to him talk about whatever random hobby he’s obsessing over at the moment. But right now Harry Styles is the last person you want to be around as you step inside the coffee shop that’s too dimly lit in your opinion for being near seven at night.

You do your best to swallow down any remaining nerves as you walk up to the counter, ignoring the man that’s tucked into an armchair in the corner with his phone in his hand. As you scan the menu trying to decide between a hot latte or an iced coffee you feel the presence of someone standing behind you, when you take a step forward giving the man behind the counter a smile they return it before you watch their eyes look slightly above your head before looking back at you. Just as you open your mouth to tell him what you want you feel a familiar weight on your shoulder as a hand gives it a gentle squeeze.

“She’ll have an iced vanilla latte.” Harry says with a smile as he moves so he’s now standing next to you, his hand falling from your shoulder down to your lower back to guide you forward. “Muffin or no? I’m not sure what you like with your evening coffee.” He asks as he looks over at you with a quirked brow and before you can tell him you don’t want anything he is looking away from you and back at the man behind the counter. “One blueberry muffin as well please.” You want to roll your eyes at how he doesn’t even let you answer but right now you’re too busy trying to process what exactly he’s doing here.

“Harry.” At the sound of your voice he turns to look at you after pulling you to the side to wait for your order to be ready. “What-”

“Why are you having coffee so late in the day?” He asks as if he is just now realizing what he ordered for you not even two minutes ago. You just stare at him for a moment and let the idea that this whole thing is nothing more than a dream briefly float through your mind, because the more you think about it the more none of this makes sense. Harry isn’t supposed to be in the city right now let alone in this coffee shop you’ve never even heard of an hour before it’s due to close.

“What are you doing here?”

“Having coffee.” He answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I should’ve gotten you a decaf. You’re going to be up all night.” He mumbles as he turns to grab your iced latte and muffin from the nice man behind the counter.

“It’s Friday I’m allowed to be up a little late.” You argue as he walks over to the chair and table you saw him sitting in when you arrived, leaving you no choice but to follow him.

“How can you eat a muffin when it’s dark outside?” You roll your eyes as he hands you the baked good after you take a seat in the leather chair next to his. “Should be a law against it or something.”

“Harry what are you doing here?” You ask again as you take your drink from him. “And not just here in this coffee shop but here like in California because aren’t you supposed to be in New York until-”

“I came home early.” He answers with a shrug as he leans back into his seat. “And I was just in the area and saw this place and it-”

“You were in the area?” You know he’s lying by the way he avoids your eyes, opting to give you a nod as he looks down at his black trousers picking off a few random pieces of lint that’s stuck to them. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home early?” You ask between sips of your coffee and it’s not until he lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair that your eyes take in his full appearance, you feel the color drain from your face when you land on the red rose he has tucked into the front pocket of his black suit jacket that’s over a simple white tank top making it a appear slightly more casual than dressy.

“It was a spur of the moment thing I was going to-what’s wrong? Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“You-you have a rose in your pocket wh-why do you have a rose?” Harry looks down at the single rose in his pocket and then back at you with confusion etched on his face.

“Uh because I like roses just like everyone else? No one’s ever upset with roses.” That answer has your mind flashing back to a message you received earlier this morning from a man you were set to meet in this very coffee shop in just a few minutes.

“I like roses, no one is ever disappointed when they get roses.”

“Edward?” You watch Harry’s whole body stiffen as you whisper the name of the man you’ve been messaging with for a little over a week, the name of the man you met after mindlessly filling out a profile on a website at an obscenely early hour while taking a break from out job applications and emailing staffing agencies your resume.

“Wh-who who is Edward?” You close your eyes as Harry’s face goes bright pink automatically telling you exactly what you already were starting to piece together.

Harry is Edward.

“This isn’t happening.” You mumble as you take a few deep breaths and open your eyes so you can place your coffee down on the table between your chair and Harry’s. “This can’t be happening.” You feel your heart beating rapidly as you begin to remember all the things you and the man you assumed to be a stranger discussed after matching on the only slightly sketchy website that was designed to help potential sugar daddies meet with people interested in exploring that type of lifestyle.

“Can you explain to me what’s not happening? I-I don’t know what’s going on.” Harry says as he leans forward so his forearms are resting on the tops of his knees.

“Harry.” You say his name with an annoyed sigh and send him a glare. “You know exactly what’s happening don’t act dumb.”

“I’m flattered you think this is just me flexing my acting abilities but I really have no clue what’s going on.” The look he gives you tells you otherwise, his eyes are practically begging you to just go along with what he’s saying as they stare into yours and you wish you could but you have questions that you need answered before you can even begin to try to move on from this.

“You’re Edward the man I met on the internet who I was going to meet here for coffee to discuss things with and I know you’re him because he told me he was going to be wearing a rose so I’d know who he was.”

“You were going to meet some strange man off the internet in a coffee shop?” His voice has no playfulness as he stares at you with wide eyes. “What if he was a serial killer or some perverted freak ready to kidnap you?”

“Well luckily he’s none of those things he’s just an annoying green eyed man who thinks I shouldn’t have caffeine so late at night.”

“You shouldn’t.” He says as he motions to the coffee on the table. “That thing is gonna have you up till dawn.” You continue to glare at him as you cross your arms over your chest.

“You’re missing the point Harry.”

“And what is the point exactly?”

“You-” you let out a sigh as you contemplate what you’re about to say. “You want to be my sugar daddy.” Your words have him sitting up straight and clearing his throat as he looks around the nearly empty coffee shop.

“I uhm well-wait a minute you said you didn’t have a job? When did that happen or was that just to seem more appealing?”

“Is being jobless an added appeal for that sort of relationship?” You question making Harry shrug while running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know I’ve never been in that sort of relationship before.” He explains making you nod. “Are you really not working right now?” You bite down on your bottom lip as you look away from him, embarrassed that this is the way your bestfriend is finding out about your recent setback.

“I got fired.”

“From that shitty company? I’ll buy it and dismantle it bit by bit if you’d like? You know I’ve always hated your boss. Man’s eyes were never on your face they were always glued to your-”

“You can’t buy the company Harry.”

“Okay but what about beating up-”

“You can’t even beat up Niall what makes you think you’d be able to beat up my old boss?” You say with a laugh that makes Harry scoff as he reaches over for your latte so he can take a sip.

“It’s rude to bully the disabled and that includes Niall and his wonky knees.” He answers as he places your coffee down. “But really Jason is an asshole and I’m glad you don’t have to deal with him anymore even if it does make you-”

“Need a sugar daddy?” You say cutting him off making him shoot you a glare. “What? It’s just the truth and-can I ask why aren’t you more freaked out right now? I’m still in shock that it’s you I matched with but-but you’re just sitting there unbothered.” This just makes Harry laugh as he gives you a shrug.

“I mean trust me I’m shocked it’s you as well but honestly,” He pauses and looks at you with a small almost shy smile. “I’m sort of relieved it’s someone I know because-”

“Because I’m not a perverted weirdo serial killer trying to kidnap you?”

“Exactly.” He says as he watches you take a bite out of your muffin. “You know we can both just walk out of this coffee shop and act like this never happened right? We don’t need to-discuss anything. It’s fine.” You shake your head as you take a sip of your coffee to wash down the bite of muffin you just ate.

“That’s not true we’d never really be able to act like this didn’t happen.” Harry just gives you a small nod because he agrees, it would be hard to fully act like the two of you didn’t match on a sugar daddy website and then message each other about the things you’re both looking for and most importantly what you’re both comfortable with. “And besides I uhm-well bills are still due. The world doesn’t stop asking me for money just because I’m jobless.”

“So what are you saying?” He asks wanting to make sure he has a firm understanding of what it is you’re telling him. You let out a sigh as you stand up and grab your latte and muffin off the table before looking at him.

“I’m saying we should move this conversation somewhere more private so we can iron out the details of how exactly you want me to earn my rent money.” Harry rolls his eyes at your comment about earning your rent money as he stands up and slides a hand into his pocket to grab his car keys.

“Can I just ask you something?” Harry nods as he tosses his jacket into the backseat of his car that’s parked a few blocks away from the coffee shop the two of you were just at a few minutes ago. “You’re Harry Styles you can have anyone you want you know that right? You don’t need to make a profile under a fake name to get someone to spend your money on.” Harry lets out a laugh as you get comfortable in the passenger seat, placing your coffee in the cup holder before turning your body so you can look at him better.

“I’m not looking for someone to just spend my money on.” He answers as you break off a piece of your muffin, trying your best not to make a mess since you know he just got this car a few months ago because you went with him to test drive it as if you know anything about cars other than they help you get places quicker than walking or taking the bus.

“Tell me what you want out of this then.” You encourage with a smile when his eyes glance over to you as you break off another piece of your muffin.

“I want to be the person that makes someone’s life easier.” You watch him look down at his hands that are in his lap, messing with the ring on his index finger on his right hand. “A big part of that is obviously taking care of bills and paying for things but I want to be the person that makes someone feel like they don’t have to worry about anything when they’re around me because they know I’ll uhm- I’ll take care of them.” You have to swallow down your emotions as Harry confides in you exactly what he’s hoping to get out of a possible sugar daddy relationship.

“You want to be someone’s safe space.” He turns his head to look at you with a shrug, you smile and reach over with your free hand so you can place it on his forearm.

“I guess so.” He says with a chuckle as you give his arm a squeeze. “I have the time to devote to this uh relationship so that’s why I just made the profile a few weeks ago.” He explains as you finish off your muffin making him shake his head as he reaches over and cups the side of your face so he can wipe the corner of your mouth with his thumb, your eyes widen a bit at how the usually very normal interaction has you hyper focused on how warm his hand is as it rests on your cheek. “Messy little thing.” He teases but when he goes to move his hand away from your face you bring yours that was on his forearm up and wrap it around his wrist making his palm stay cupping your cheek.

“We should kiss.” You state making Harry’s eyebrows rise in surprise at how blunt your words are. “We should kiss to get it out of the way because if you suck at kissing then there’s no reason to even begin discussing the-”

“Excuse me if I suck at kissing? What if it’s you that sucks at kissing?”

“Oh please I’m a great kisser. Ask Zayn.”

“That’s a bit bold- wait ask who?” Before he can ask anymore questions you place a hand on his chest and pull his face towards yours by the soft material of his tank top. It only takes a second before Harry’s brain begins to process what’s happening, his lips slowly move against yours letting you to feel how soft they are as his hand on your cheek pulls you closer so the two of you are leaned over the center console.

His hand slides into your hair as yours moves to the back of his neck as he deepens the kiss, your mouths start to move together more urgently as you feel him swipe his tongue across your bottom lip as if asking for permission. You eagerly allow him access, having to fight the urge to completely melt into him when you feel him ever so slightly tighten his grip in your hair. When you hear him let out the smallest moan you slide your hand from the back of his neck to the front of his chest, gently pulling away from him.

“Okay.” You say breathlessly as Harry removes his hand from your hair and sits back in his seat trying to catch his breath. “I uhm think we are good with the uh-uhm what- what was I saying?” Harry lets out a laugh as he runs a hand through his hair.

“I think you were about to tell me I’m a great kisser.”

“No. Definitely wasn’t going to say that.”

“Fine but I know you enjoyed it.” He teases with a smirk making you roll your eyes as you get comfortable in your seat.

“So let’s get down to business shall we?” Harry looks at you with a quirked brow as clear your throat before looking over at him. “What would you like from me in return for-”

“I thought we talked about all that already?”

“I talked to Edward about that yes but I’m just checking if any of that has changed since well-now it’s me and you discussing it.”

“Nothing has changed.” He answers making you bite the inside of your cheek as you start to go through your mental list of things Harry had said he was looking for out of his sugar baby. “Of course you can take things off the table if they aren’t what you’re wanting to do since now you uhm know it’s me that you’d be doing them with.”

“God we are two adults why are we being so weird about this?” You ask with a laugh as you place your hands over your face to hide your pink cheeks. Harry just laughs along with you as he runs a hand over his face.

“Because it’s sometimes easier to talk about sex with a stranger than it is your bestfriend.”

“It shouldn’t be.” You huff as you place your hands in your lap. “I mean you just had your tongue down my throat so talking about blowjobs and-”

“I never mentioned blowjobs.”

“Oh sorry-what was it you said? Semi public stuff? I just assumed that meant blowjobs.”

“It can include blowjobs and handjobs or even over the panties teasing but I just never explicitly said anything about blowjobs.”

“Okay so what are blowjobs my choice? If I want to give you one then that’s fine but you won’t ever make me-”

“Everything we do will be your choice. You can always say no if you don’t want to do something.”

“But then how will I earn my rent being paid and my other bills getting taken care of?”

“By spending time with me.” You try to let his words sink in as he reaches over and grabs one of your hands. “Let me take care of you-that’s what I want in return for paying your rent at that tiny little condo of yours okay? Just come with me to a few events I have lined up over the next few months and-”

“Give you handjobs?”

“I mean your rent is worth at least a handjob and maybe some over the shirt boob grabs.” He tries his best to lighten the mood but he knows he’s failing when you bite down on your bottom lip for a moment before speaking again.

“How do you want this to work? For every swipe of your card you get something or is it just for certain things?”

“You’re overthinking this.” He says with a soft smile as he brings your hand into his lap. “It’s not that transactional okay? I will take care of you in anyway you need and then maybe you’ll want to take care of me in return down the line. But my pleasure will come from knowing your life is easier because of me.”

“You really are a narcissist.” You mumble making him laugh. “I uhm know you mentioned you like to be in control does that just mean in the uh-bedroom?” You feel your cheeks get hot as the question leaves your mouth.

“No I meant it in a sense that you won’t have to think about things like where to eat for dinner or what to order. I’ll have it all taken care of so you don’t have to worry about things when you’re with me.”

“Oh that-that sounds nice.”

“But it can cross over into the bedroom but we can talk about that later.”

“How do we keep this from making things weird?”

“We just keep things separate.” He tells you with a squeeze of your hand. “When we are just hanging out as friends we can just be how we normally are with each other.” He explains making you nod as he leans towards you over the console. “But then when I ask you to events and to spend time with me as my-muffin then we will act accordingly does that make sense?” His eyes flicker down to your mouth and then back up to your eyes as the petname slips past his lips.

“Muffin? Really?”

“It’s one of the first things you let me buy you so it’s fitting.” He answers with a smirk making you roll your eyes.

“That’s the code word then? For when we aren’t together as friends but as something else?” He just nods as he leans in closer so the tip of his nose is almost touching yours.

“Does that work for you?”

“Yes.” You answer as you swallow thickly making him smile as he lets go of your hand so he can reach over and brush some hair out of your face.

“Good.” He says as he leans back into his seat, you have to fight off the urge to pull him back towards you. “Now do you want to go over what you need-”

“This is just temporary right? Until I find a job?” You ask all of a sudden feeling a surge of uneasy at the idea that Harry might have to pay for your life for more than a few months. Harry, being your bestfriend immediately picks up on your change in mood and gives you a soft smile and puts his hand on your knee.

“It’s for however long you want it to be I’m not going to make you sign a contract or anything this isn’t fifty shades.” He says with a chuckle making you let out a small sigh of relief but Harry knows you’re not totally convinced so he gives your knee a soft squeeze. “You’re in control of when this ends and what you want me to take care of for you okay? I don’t need to see how much or what I’m paying for if you want to just use my card that’s fine it’s really up to you.”

“You’ll just give me your card?”

“I’ve let you use it before so it’s not a big deal.” He answers with a shrug. “I trust you.” He adds as his eyes lock with yours.

“If I use your card won’t you see what the charges are?”

“No? That’s what accountants are for.”

“God you’re so rich it’s almost annoying.”

“We both know it’s not my money that makes me annoying.” You let out a soft laugh as his hand moves up to your thigh. “Can I ask you something?” His tone is soft as his thumb brushes over the material of your jeans.

“No I’m not calling you daddy we already talked about that.” You tell him firmly making him laugh.

“I know this isn’t about that I just-why didn’t you tell me you lost your job?” You look down at his hand on your thigh and let out a sigh.

“I didn’t want you to worry about me so I was just going to tell you when I landed something else but it’s just-it’s taking longer than I thought it would.” You feel his hand give your leg a squeeze as you slowly turn your head to look at him, his eyes are a light shade of green and the smile on his face is one you’ve seen hundreds of times, it’s the smile he gives you that lets you know he’s listening and he understands.

“I always worry about you. But I know you like being independent so I get why you wouldn’t tell me. But you-you know I’m always here for you right? If you ever need anything.”

“So much for being independent I’m about to let you pay my rent and my cellphone bill.” He gives you a look that has you placing a hand over his that’s still resting on your thigh. “But I know you’re always there if I ever need you and I’m sorry you had to find out about me getting fired like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” He says reassuring you making you just nod. “I’ll have a card for you tomorrow that you can use on whatever you need.”

“Do I have like a weekly limit or something?”

“Uh do-do you need a weekly limit?”

“I don’t know? In the movies they get like an allowance of some sort and if they need more they have to uh earn it in some-someway.”

“What kind of bad porn have you been watching? No you don’t have an allowance just spend what you need and then make sure you’re also using it on things you want.”

“What do you mean use it on things I want? Like I want my rent paid so does that count?” You question making Harry give you a playful glare as you mess with a ring on his hand that’s on your leg.

“No that doesn’t count. If you have issues spending money on things you want that’s fine I’ll just buy stuff for you.” Your eyes go wide making him stare at you with a questioning look. “What? I know what you like it’s not as if we’ve never been shopping before.”

“You can’t just buy me random things Harry.”

“Uh yeah-yeah I can it’s part of the whole having money and wanting to spoil someone thing.” He tells you making you glare at him.

“Harry that’s-” before you can finish complaining about him wanting to buy you things that you don’t need he leans over and places his free hand on the side of your face, his thumb pressing against your lips effectively stopping you from talking.

“Now muffin you can’t tell me how to spend my own money.” His voice has an edge to it that you’re not used to hearing as he leans over, his grip on your thigh tightening just a bit. “That’s not for you to worry about understood?” All you can do is nod as you watch him lean in closer so his lips are right next to your ear. “Good.” Is all he says before he places a very quick kiss to the side of your neck, sending chills down your spine as his thumb moves so it’s under your chin.

It’s as if everything happens in slow motion, one moment he’s just starting into your eyes with his hand on your cheek and then he’s leaning in until his lips are on yours and his tongue is slipping into your mouth while your hands find their way into his hair. You feel a surge of something go through you as his hand on your thigh starts to slide further up, but before they make it to the waistband of your jeans you lean in deepening the kiss as you remove one of your hands from his hair and slide it down his chest to the button on his trousers.

His lips travel down your jaw to your neck, feeling him let out a soft moan when you place your hand over his hardened length that’s being restricted by his pants. When you begin to mess with the button, trying to undo it with one hand Harry lifts his face from the comfort of the crook of your neck so he can look at you.

“You don’t-”

“I want to.” You answer cutting him off by placing your lips on his for a quick kiss before pulling away. “Need to see if I’m any good at this before you waste your money.” Harry lets out a scoff that’s followed by a sigh when you finally get his button and zipper undone.

“I wouldn’t be- fuck.” He mumbles as he closes his eyes as you push his pants down just enough to free his now painfully hard shaft letting you wrap your hand around him. “You’d never be a waste of money- oh god.” He pants as he leans his head back against the headrest, his hand sliding over your jean covered center so he can press his thumb over your sensitive bud causing your hips to jerk.

“I see why you’re so full of yourself.” You playfully tease as your eyes take in the sight of him, while you’ve known him for years you’ve never once seen him completely naked but you could always tell by the way some of his shorts or pants fit that he was larger than average. Harry lets out a breathy laugh as you give him a slow pump with your hand.

“Yeah? Do you want to be full of me?” His voice is deep with desire as his eyes look at your face while his thumb increases the pressure of the circles it’s rubbing over your jeans, you let out a soft gasp as you instinctively grind down on his hand.

“M-maybe another time.” Harry chuckles as you grind down against his hand matching the steady circles his thumb is rubbing on your clit.

“Fuck that feels good.” Harry groans his hips rising at your touch as you begin to stroke him slowly, teasingly at first enjoying the heat of him pulsing beneath your warm fingertips.

He moans as your thumb circles his sensitive tip spreading the slickness that gathered there, making your hand slide smoothly down his throbbing shaft. Harry’s breathing gets heavier as his hips thrust slightly into your hand as you quicken your pace. He matches your pace with his thumb making a moan erupt from deep in your chest when you feel your a wave of pleasure wash over you making you grind down harder onto his hand.

“God yes-just like that.” He rasps, his head falling back against the seat and his eyes closing in pleasure as you tighten your grip and begin stroking him faster. The car is filled with the sounds of Harry’s moans and the slickness of your hand pumping his hard shaft in determined quick motions. “Fuck-don’t stop.” His voice is thick and desperate as his hips buck uncontrollably into your hand.

“Faster Harry please.” You whine as you grind down onto his hand, Harry’s eyes open so he can look over at you while his thumb works quick circles over your clit and just as your mouth opens to let out a moan his lips crash into yours for a kiss that’s filled with nothing but need as you relentlessly stroke him until you feel him shudder under your touch as his warm release spills onto your hand.

“Fuck-shit.” He pants as he pulls away. “Need you to come for me muffin.” Your new petname has you letting out a moan as he nips and kisses down your jaw, his breath hot on your skin. “Make a mess in those pretty panties so you’ll think of me the whole walk home.” He whispers into your ear, his dirty words sending you over the edge as your hips roughly grind down against his hand and your head falls back and his name falls from your lips as you come undone.

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, letting each other ride out the high and catch your breath. It’s not until you feel him place a little kiss to the spot below your ear before he pulls away from your neck that the reality of what just happened begins to hit. You let out a deep sigh as you rest your head on the headrest behind you, it’s a little unsettling how fine you feel with the fact your hand is still loosely wrapped around Harry as he gets his breathing under control, oddly you don’t feel disgusted or ashamed you just feel the floaty sensation and lingering tingles of your orgasm. And when you look over at Harry and see him staring at you with small smile on his face you know he feels the same.

“That was-”

“Amazing? Wonderful? Everything you’ve ever dreamed it would be?” You glare at him as he reaches over to the glove compartment to grab some tissues to begin cleaning himself and your hand up of any mess he made.

“What makes you think I’ve ever dreamed of this?” Harry shrugs as he tosses the dirty tissues into his backseat so he can toss them in the trash once he gets home.

“You talk in your sleep.” He answers as he tucks himself back into his pants, you stare at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks making him let out a laugh as he grabs your coffee so he can take a sip. “Don’t worry you’ve never said anything scandalous.”

“You’re so annoying.” You tell him as you give his arm a harsh swat with your hand. “Call me tomorrow before you come over because Zayn wants to have breakfast so I might not be home till the afternoon.” Harry just nods as you gather your purse before opening his passenger door so you can get out.

“Have you really kissed Zayn?” He asks as he leans over the console so he can hand you your coffee. You give him a shrug and a playful smirk as you take it from him.

“See you tomorrow Harry.” With that you close the door and begin your short walk home to your tiny little condo, trying your hardest to ignore the slightly uncomfortable wetness between your legs caused by your bestfriend who is now also your sugar daddy. You feel your phone vibrate in your purse, a smile spreads across your face when you read the message from Harry.

Text me when you get home and no more meeting strangers off the internet.

“This is gonna be fine.” You tell yourself as you slide your phone back into your purse, feeling confident that this new dynamic between the two of you won’t cause any issues with your friendship. But then your phone vibrates again making you pull it back out of your purse.

Oh and don’t worry muffin just send me the dry cleaning bill, hopefully those pretty panties aren’t ruined.

“He’s so annoying.” You mumble as your cheeks get hot and you slide your phone into your back pocket. “But it’s going to be fine. We will be fine.” You say with a determined nod, but you can’t help but have the nagging feeling in the pit of your tummy that everything is about to change you just aren’t sure if it’s for the better.

[elliespassagerprincess]

Can we please have yandere Ellie

To Be Near You - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i wasnt sure if you wanted headcannons or a fic, but lmk if i should do seomething else instead. I hope you enjoy:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me songs or your silly ideas:)

HUGE WARNING: Yandere behavior, obsessive thoughts, emotional manipulation, stalking, slow burn, psychological themes, implied torture, confinement, disturbing intimacy, kidnapping

Summary: Ellie was quiet at first, just watching from the background — protective, helpful, always there. But her interest wasn’t harmless. What began as care turned into control, and slowly, you realized she was never going to let you go. Even when you stopped fighting, her obsession only grew stronger.

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

Ellie didn’t remember when it started—when you became the only person she thought about. Maybe it was that time you sat two rows ahead of her in biology, your head tilted slightly, scribbling so fast in your notebook she thought smoke might rise from the page. Or maybe it was when you laughed at something stupid the professor said, that quiet little snort that made her chest feel too tight.

It didn’t matter. All Ellie knew was that you were hers—even if you didn’t know it yet.

She wasn’t stupid. She didn’t approach you like some lovesick idiot. No, she watched. Observed. She knew your routines down to the minute. Mondays, you always bought the cheap coffee from the cart near the arts building. Wednesdays, you skipped your last class and sat alone under the fig tree near the library with a book in your lap, legs crossed, headphones in. You always listened to that sad indie shit, the kind that made Ellie feel like your soul was a snow globe someone had shaken too hard.

She memorized the curve of your neck when you tied your hair up. The way you rubbed your thumb against your phone case when you were nervous. The way you always said “thank you” to the cleaning staff. You were good. Pure. You didn’t belong in a world like this—surrounded by people who wouldn’t protect you the way Ellie would.

So she started small. A bump in the hallway. An apologetic smile. The “accidental” sighting at your favorite coffee spot. She watched the way your eyes lit up when someone remembered your name. She made sure to say it just loud enough that you’d hear it from behind you in line—like it had only just occurred to her. “Oh, hey, y/n, right?”

You smiled. And Ellie’s obsession twisted tighter.

She told herself she’d wait. That she’d earn your trust. That you’d come to her in time, love her the way she already loved you—desperately, painfully. But every time she saw you talking to someone else, laughing too loud with some guy in class, her hands clenched in her jacket pockets until her nails drew blood.

She followed you home twice. Not close—never too close. She just needed to see. Needed to know you were safe. That no one had touched you. That you were still hers, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

And then came the night she saw you crying on your porch, phone to your ear, voice shaking as you muttered, “It’s just been a lot lately.”

That night, Ellie sat awake in bed until 4 a.m., writing a letter she never sent. She had to be careful. She didn’t want to scare you. Not yet.

But you needed her. You’d always needed her.

And Ellie would wait. Quiet. Patient. Because love like this—raw and unshakable—wasn't something people found in this world anymore.

She just had to make you see it.

The first time Ellie spoke to you, really spoke to you, was when she “accidentally” sat next to you in the library.

You were curled up near the window, highlighters scattered across your table like candy. Your brows were furrowed, a half-finished smoothie sweating beside your laptop. You looked stressed, overwhelmed, and so goddamn beautiful in your chaos that Ellie could hardly breathe.

She slid into the seat beside you like it wasn’t calculated. Like she hadn’t waited for this exact time and day, tracked when you usually studied alone here. Her notebook hit the table with a soft thud, and you looked up, a little surprised.

“Oh… hey,” you said with a polite smile.

Ellie felt the burn of her heart thudding in her throat. “Hey. Sorry, didn’t realize this spot was taken.”

“It’s okay,” you offered quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You can sit. I don’t mind.”

Of course you don’t, she thought. You’re so kind. You’d let the devil sit here if he smiled the right way.

She didn’t say anything for a while. Just opened her notebook, pretending to study, even though her eyes flicked to you every other second. She watched the way your pen tapped against your notes. Watched the crease between your brows deepen.

“You look like your brain’s about to melt,” Ellie joked softly.

You laughed — you laughed — and Ellie felt her ribs close in around her lungs.

“Tell me about it,” you sighed. “I have a paper due and like, zero motivation.”

And just like that, the door cracked open. Ellie stepped inside your world with a careful smile.

“I could help, if you want. I’m decent at writing. Got a lot of practice, thanks to Dr. Collins’ essay-from-hell last semester.”

Your eyes lit up in a way that made her throat ache. “Wait — you had Collins? You survived?”

“Barely,” Ellie chuckled. “But yeah. I made it out alive.”

You scooted over just a bit, angling your laptop toward her. “I will accept any and all help. Seriously.”

And that was it. Ellie was in.

She started popping up more — casual run-ins that were anything but accidental. She brought you coffee on the days she knew you had early classes. She left sticky notes on your desk in the library with dumb little jokes. You laughed every time. It was perfect.

But then you started talking about someone. A guy.

A classmate. A friend, you said.

Ellie’s hand clenched around her pen so tight it snapped.

You didn’t notice. You just kept talking, smiling softly, voice floating with affection.

That night, Ellie followed him home.

Just watched from a distance, hoodie up, breath steady despite the adrenaline in her veins. She just needed to know where he lived. Who he was. Whether he was a threat.

And when she saw him ignore your texts, leave you on read for hours, Ellie made her decision.

He wasn’t good enough for you.

She would be patient. But not forever.

You were already hers. She was just taking her time showing you that.

Ellie didn’t sleep for days after she saw your face fall when you mentioned him again — that guy. The one who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.

She watched as you waited on campus, phone in hand, eyes scanning the crowd. You were standing outside your lecture hall, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater. You’d dressed nice today — makeup done, hair a little neater than usual.

All for him.

And he didn’t show.

Not until twenty minutes later, slouched and half-interested, offering a sheepish smile and a shrug like that could make up for your disappointment.

You smiled anyway. You always did.

Ellie’s jaw locked. Her breath stayed even. Her eyes didn’t blink.

He’d made you wait. He’d made you feel small.

She followed him home again, but this time she didn’t stay outside.

She waited until the lights in his apartment went dark. Waited until he was alone, headphones in, playing some stupid game on his console. He never even heard her come in.

The first hit wasn’t lethal. A metal pipe to the side of the knee — deliberate, punishing, shattering bone and pride in a single sickening crunch. The scream was immediate, high-pitched and raw.

She shoved him down hard, duct tape already in hand.

“I’m only going to say this once,” she muttered, eyes dark and unshaking. “You don’t talk to her again. You don’t look at her again.”

He gurgled something behind the tape, tears already running down his face.

Ellie leaned in, face inches from his. “You don’t even think about her. Got it?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She didn’t need one.

Hours passed. Time didn’t matter. The sounds he made were pathetic, and she took her time — slow, cold, efficient. He needed to understand.

When she was done, she left him tied and bloody, tossed across the room like garbage. Alive. Barely. But enough to live in fear.

A message.

A warning.

No police report would follow — she knew his type. Weak. Cowardly. A memory she'd already erased from your life.

The next day, you looked a little confused, almost concerned. You mentioned you hadn’t heard from him.

“He probably ghosted me,” you said, trying to laugh it off. “Wouldn’t be the first time a guy flaked.”

Ellie put a hand gently on your shoulder.

“I don’t think you need someone like that anyway.”

You looked at her, softer than she expected. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Maybe you’re right.”

You didn’t pull away when she touched your arm. You leaned into her comfort. Into her warmth.

It was working.

Ellie smiled all the way home, blood still under her nails.

You didn’t think much of it when Ellie offered to drive you home that night. You were both on campus, it was dark, cold. And you trusted her to an extent.

It was late, you were tired, and she was already waiting by your car, leaning against it like it was hers. You hesitated — maybe because something in her eyes looked different. But she smiled, soft and familiar, and you told yourself you were being paranoid.

You shouldn’t have gotten in.

The drive started off normal enough. Familiar roads. Ellie humming lowly to a song you used to love. But then she made a turn you didn’t recognize. And then another. You frowned, asked her where she was going. She didn’t answer at first — just tapped the steering wheel and said, “Shortcut.”

You stopped memorizing the turns after a while. There were too many. Too quick. Trees instead of buildings. Darkness instead of streetlights. Your phone? Gone. She'd taken it before you even noticed.

“Ellie, turn around.”

She didn’t. Her knuckles were white on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes forward.

“You’ll be safe now,” she muttered, almost to herself. “Finally.”

Your pulse pounded. You tried the door once — it was locked. The child-lock kind. Her kind.

You never expected it from her. Sweet, quiet Ellie. The one who helped you study, who brought you soup when you were sick. But this Ellie was different — sharper, obsessive, like she'd been waiting to snap.

Eventually, the road ended, and the cabin appeared — old, isolated, deep in the woods where no one could hear you scream. You begged. You reasoned. You cried. But Ellie only looked at you like she’d finally gotten everything she ever wanted.

“You don’t need anyone else,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as she led you inside. “You have me now.”

The days began to bleed together.

You didn’t know how long you had been in Ellie’s cabin—if you could even call it that. Hidden somewhere deep in the mountains, no cell service, no internet, no roads visible from the windows. Just trees. Endless, quiet trees.

At first, you screamed. You cried. You didn’t eat.

Ellie didn’t punish you for it. She just watched. Quiet. Patient. Like a wolf waiting for a limb to go still so she could safely bite off the infection.

“You’ll feel better if you eat,” she’d whisper. Her voice low, cracked like old vinyl. “I made your favorite. I remember you said it once… back in class. Thought I wasn’t listening, huh?”

She remembered everything.

The chipped nail polish you used to wear. The way your eyes fluttered when you were nervous. The offhanded comments you made about never feeling seen.

“I see you,” she told you one night. And something in her voice made your stomach flip—not in fear. Something… deeper.

You hated that part.

You hated that after four days, your hands stopped shaking every time she opened the door. That on day five, when you cried and she wiped your tears with her thumbs, you didn’t pull away.

“It's okay,” Ellie whispered. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You wanted to scream that he didn’t hurt you. That Ellie was the only one who ever had. But your voice cracked. And you didn’t want to see that look in her eyes again—the one that was both love and danger, stitched into the same grin.

She started brushing your hair.

“I used to imagine this,” she murmured. “You, right here. Safe. Close to me.”

Her hands were gentle. Too gentle. As if afraid you'd break.

“You’re learning to trust me now, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. But your head leaned ever so slightly into her touch.

That night, she let you out of the room for the first time. Not outside—never outside—but into her world. Books. Sketches. Maps marked with little red Xs.

“This is everything I built… for you.”

There was a soft bed in the corner. New sheets. Lavender scented.

“You can sleep here tonight,” she said, fingers brushing your lower back. “Closer to me.”

And you did.

It wasn't trust. Not really. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe your mind, frayed from isolation. But when Ellie wrapped her arms around you under the thick quilt, and whispered “you’re mine” against your hair, something inside you cracked.

Not a break.

A splinter.

You stopped counting the days.

There was no point. No clocks, no sunlight. Just the quiet hum of Ellie’s voice when she read to you at night. The sound of her boots on the wooden floor. The soft clink of silverware she set down with each careful meal.

There was something peaceful about it—if you didn’t think too hard.

You had screamed. Begged. Raged. And still, she had stayed. Never yelling. Never raising her hand. Just watching. Waiting.

Now, you didn’t scream.

You didn’t fight when she helped you bathe. When she dried your hair with a towel that smelled like pine and her.

You didn’t flinch when she kissed your cheek and whispered, “Good girl.”

She’d reward you when you were obedient. More time out of the room. A book. A blanket from home. A drawing of you she spent hours perfecting—eyes too soft, mouth too sad.

"You’re safer now,” she murmured one night, tracing your collarbone with her fingertips. “You don’t have to run anymore.”

You didn’t answer. Because she was right. There was nowhere to run. Not anymore.

The turning point wasn’t loud. It didn’t come with violence. It came with a whisper. A flicker. A moment where you looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the fear in your eyes anymore.

You saw her.

Ellie.

All-consuming. Ever-present. Everything.

So when she curled into bed beside you that night, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face into the crook of your neck, you let her.

You didn’t close your eyes right away. You stared at the wooden beams above. You breathed with her. Matched her rhythm.

"I knew you’d come around,” she said softly. “I just had to be patient. You were always mine. You just didn’t know it yet.”

You didn’t cry. You didn’t flinch.

You just let her hold you, let her hand find yours, let her whisper love into your skin like it was salvation, not damnation.

In the morning, she painted your nails. Brushed your hair with a comb she’d carved your name into. Called you her wife.

You didn’t correct her. What was the point?

She kissed your temple.

“You’re perfect now,” Ellie said. “Exactly how I dreamed you’d be.”

And in her green eyes—those bright, haunting eyes—you saw it:

Obsession disguised as love. Love tainted with control.

And you?

You were no longer a prisoner. You were a possession.

And slowly—terrifyingly—you were starting to want to be.

The cabin was warm. Not just in temperature, but in the way Ellie moved through it like it was a home you built together.

Your toothbrush sat next to hers now. She’d written your name on a tag and tied it with twine.

There was a mug on the counter—chipped and faded—that said “World’s Best Wife.” You weren’t sure where she found it. You didn’t ask.

You never asked anymore. Ellie called it your honeymoon phase.

She woke you gently every morning with kisses to your shoulder. She cooked, always your favorite dishes—eggs, tomatoes, sourdough bread, strawberries. She pulled your chair out at the table and watched you eat like it was her reward for every horrible thing she'd done to bring you here.

You weren’t chained anymore. But the door was always locked.

You didn’t try it anymore, not since the last time—when she’d found you standing in the kitchen, your hand hovering over the doorknob, and her voice had gone cold in that way that turned your bones to ice.

“You’re not thinking of leaving me,” she’d said, stepping closer. “Not after everything I’ve done for you. Right, baby?”

You had nodded. Fast. Too fast. She forgave you. But not without consequence.

That night, she didn’t let you out of bed—not even for water. She held you tight, almost bruising, whispered how much it scared her to think of you gone. How she’d die without you. How she’d kill for you.

You believed her. You still did.

Now, she was too happy.

She sang while she cooked. Danced with you in the living room, hands firm on your waist, eyes never blinking. She kissed your forehead too long. Said things like “I love you more every second,” and “You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

You nodded every time.

And yet… something in her had started to snap again.

It was little things at first. The silence when you mentioned your old life. The way her jaw clenched when you looked too long at the photo of your family she’d allowed you to keep.

Then came the photos. The ones she took of you while you were asleep. Hundreds of them.

Piled in boxes. Taped to the walls of a room you weren’t allowed to enter until she “surprised” you one night.

“I just love you so much,” she breathed, showing you the shrine. “I had to make something that felt like you were everywhere.”

You had smiled. You didn’t know what else to do.

But the worst came next.

She came back from town covered in blood.

You had asked—trembling, afraid, already knowing.

And Ellie… she didn’t lie.

“He kept asking about you,” she said. “Your ex. The one who used to text. I couldn’t have that, baby. I won’t let them take you from me.”

She cupped your cheek with her bloodied hand, eyes soft, voice like silk.

“I did it for us.”

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry.

Because in your heart, that last thread of resistance had snapped.

You realized something then:

You weren’t staying because you were trapped.

You were staying because this was the only place her love made sense anymore.

Twisted. Devoted. Terrifying.

But yours.

[half-of-a-gay]

Hello:) i hope its not too much of a bther to ask but could you do an modern au angst-comfort fic with Ambessa perchance? Maybe a scenario ambessa fucks up a little by kissing somebody while drunk and reader finds out, they go on an ambigious break and Ambessa is just doing all that she can to take reader back:( Pathetic ambessa is a spiritual need i fear

A/N: [Not a bother at all! In fact, this request is everything! I love a powerful woman on her knees!

If anyone has muscle mommy requests feel free, I'm very willing to write for any of them (Sevika, Ambessa, Vi, Grayson, Abby Anderson...)]

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

Ambessa Medarda was a name that opened every door. First Black woman on the cover of Forbes three years in a row. CEO of Medarda Holdings. Billionaire by 35. Voted "Most Intimidating Person in Tech & Finance" by Vanity Fair, twice. Her life was gold-dipped and diamond-cut. Every moment was a press statement, every movement was calculated.

Except you.

You weren’t calculated. You were a chaos she welcomed. Messy, mismatched socks left on her expensive rug. Your chipped mug next to her sleek, minimalist espresso machine. A toothbrush you "forgot" that had been sitting in her marble bathroom for months. You weren’t really together, you've never made it official. But you were something.

And Ambessa called you hers, in every way that didn’t involve saying it aloud.

Dating her was like trying to warm your hands on stone.

At first.

She didn’t flirt the way others did. She asked precise questions. Paid attention. Listened. And when she started showing up with coffee just the way you liked it, or rearranging meetings to catch an art show with you, it wasn’t flashy but it was intentional.

And intent with Ambessa meant more than flowers or poems ever could.

The first time she touched you - not sex, just touched you - was when she brushed your hair out of your face one night and said, almost like an afterthought, “You’re hard to stop thinking about.”

Your heart had leapt. Hers had clenched. Vulnerability was a battlefield she had no map for.

You kissed her that night. She kissed you back like she’d been starving.

That was the start.

She wasn’t good at being soft. But you never asked her to be anything she wasn’t. That was the thing. You just made space for her to be something else, if she wanted to be.

She wanted to be better. She just didn’t know how to ask for help doing it.

And when she kissed that stranger - stupid, meaningless - it was less about lust, more about cowardice. She had been afraid of how much she needed you. Of how much power you held over her simply by loving her.

And she broke it. Carelessly, like all things she touched. God, what a thing to throw away.

That night was supposed to be a boring gala. One of a dozen a year. Suits, speeches, too many cameras. She told you not to come: “It’ll be a room full of hedge fund parasites and social climbers. You’ll be bored.”

You didn’t argue. You trusted her. Trusted that she'd text when she got home, or maybe come back to your place tipsy and sleepy, mumbling into your neck about office gossip you only half-followed.

Before leaving she texted you a picture of herself in that deep green Armani suit you liked, with gold cufflinks. You sent back a “be good.”

She wasn’t.

She arrived at the gala alone. Perfect as always. The signature half-smile that never reached her eyes. Someone handed her a drink. Then another.

She didn’t mean to drink that much. She wasn’t even sure why she did. Something had been gnawing at her lately - a dull, aching edge of vulnerability she couldn’t name. The softness you’d brought into her life made her feel... fragile. And fragility scared her more than failure.

The woman who kissed her wasn’t special. She didn’t mean anything. Just someone laughing too loudly, standing too close. Saying all the wrong things that felt right for one drunk, stupid second. And Ambessa hadn’t pulled away fast enough. It all lasted three seconds. Maybe four. But someone took a photo.

And someone else sent it to you.

You didn’t scream or cry. You just texted her: “So that’s what we are, huh?”

Then: “I think I need space.” No “don’t call me.” No breakup, there had been no labels to begin with. Just space.

You expected her to reply with an excuse. You weren’t sure if you hoped for one. But it never came. All you saw were the three dots jumping up and down on your screen.

Typing. Deleting. Typing again. She sent nothing. It made you want to smash the device into the wall.

---

For the next few days you did anything to get your mind of the situation at hand. You deep-cleaned the whole house, answered emails and dodged your friend' questions. In fact you stopped checking your phone completely in hopes of saving yourself the disappointment over the vow of silence Ambessa decided on. It was easier to pretend her silence didn’t hurt more than the photo itself.

Then - as if the situation couldn't get more infuriating - a courier buzzed your door. He handed you a bouquet of white orchids- elegant, soulless. Arranged like a funeral display for a relationship that never got the dignity of a label. He also handed you a small pristine white bag, with a blue velvet box tucked inside. No note. Just the box itself.

Nestled inside the box was a blue sapphire, teardrop-cut. Framed by icy diamonds and impossibly delicate gold. The chain alone looked like it cost more than your rent.

You recognized it immediately. You’d admired it once, months ago, in the window of a boutique. You’d lingered in front of the glass and she remembered.

You slammed the box shut and tossed the bundle of wealth on the kitchen counter like it had burned you. Because accepting the necklace, even leaving it tucked away in a drawer, would’ve meant you were considering forgiveness. That you were even entertaining the idea of sweeping it all under the rug just because she threw something shiny at the problem. You were't letting this slide over this half assed non-apology.

You stared at the aesthetic perfection��sitting before you and seethed.

Because she still didn’t get it. Still thought this was about damage control. Making up for betrayal like it had price tag.

You didn’t need diamonds. You needed her to bleed a little. To show up with her hands shaking and her voice uneven. To try - not with jewelry or the power of her last name, but with honesty.

Instead, she sent you something beautiful but safe. And it made you so angry. It wasn’t just the gesture - it was the message beneath it. The insult. That Ambessa Medarda thought she could kiss a stranger, buy an apology, and have crawling back without so much as a real conversation let alone a verbal apology.

Fine. If she wanted to play this game then so be it.

The next morning, you got dressed with intention. Clean lines without a trace of vulnerability.

You walked into Medarda Holdings with your jaw set and your head held high.

The receptionist glanced up, startled by the confidence in your stride. You placed the bouquet and the velvet box on the counter in front of her gently.

“These are for Ms. Medarda,” you said, calm and crisp.

“She’s not expecting anything,” the receptionist replied, blinking. “Do you want me to let her know you’re here?” the receptionist asked, reaching for the desk phone.

“No,” you said, sharper than necessary. Then: “I’ve already said everything I needed to... just make sure she gets them.”

You didn’t leave a note. Didn’t even glance tin the direction of her office. Just turned and walked out, heels echoing on marble, the kind of exit she might’ve made herself.

---

Ambessa was mid-email when her assistant knocked on her door. She stepped inside with a smirk, arms ful.

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” she sang, placing them carefully on the desk. “These just came to reception. I put them in some water for you.”

Ambessa blinked, staring at the flowers like they might detonate.

Her pulse stuttered.

“I - what?” she asked, a beat too late.

The assistant placed them on her desk, clearly enjoying herself. “No card, but judging by the packaging? Someone’s trying real hard to impress you.”

The words hit like a slap.

The necklace in same box she’d sent you.The same goddamn flowers she’d ordered to make the gesture “softer” after googling which flowers represent regret.

Back. Returned. In front of her assistant, no less.

For a horrifying second, Ambessa said nothing. She stared at the items like they would tell her what to do now.

The assistant laughed, misreading the silence. “Okay, wow, you’re blushing. I’ll leave you to it.”

The moment the door clicked shut behind her assistant, Ambessa stood very still.

Ambessa opened the box slowly. The necklace glinted, untouched. Still flawless. She clenched her jaw, shut the necklace box - and hurled it across the office. It struck the wall with a thud, landing in the corner of the room.

She moved through her own office like a ghost. Her hands were shaking. She walked to her desk and gripped the edge, grounding herself in the cold marble.

She stared at the flowers for a moment, then tore them from the vase one stem at a time throwing them into the trash. Slowly. Almost methodically. Like she could dismantle the failure by undoing this arrangement.

Then she picked up the phone. Her voice cracked once when she spoke, and she had to swallow it back down before she could try again. “Cancel everything for the rest of the day,” she said. “All of it. Just - reschedule or... I don’t care.”

Her assistant paused. “Are you okay, Ms. Medarda?”

Ambessa said nothing. Just hung up. She sank into the chair behind her desk, back perfectly straight - shoulders drawn taut like wire.

Tears were building behind her eyes and she hated them for it. Hated how weak it felt. Hated how unfamiliar it all was. She had never cried over a mistake. Now she was crying because the one person who had seen her beneath the armor wanted nothing to do with her.

And she didn’t know how to get you back. Because the truth was this: She’d never known how to hold anything fragile. And you were the first fragile thing she ever wanted to keep safe.

Ambessa hadn’t been sleeping. Four nights in a row she'd laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Tried the pills her doctor prescribed once, years ago. Nothing worked. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the disappointed expression you might have made when you typed out that text: “So that’s what we are, huh?”

She had known how badly she fucked up. But not how thoroughly.

You weren’t even angry anymore. You were finished.

---

Ambessa Medarda stopped showing up to meetings.

At first, people thought she was traveling. Or closing some high-level deal no one was cleared to talk about. But then the excuses started sounding thinner. Her assistant began rescheduling things with vague apologies - “Something came up,” “She’ll circle back soon,” “Thanks for your patience.”

After a week, people started whispering.

“She looked like shit at the summit.” “Did you hear she walked out of her own board meeting?” “Hungover, probably.”

But she wasn’t drinking. Not anymore, not after that night.

The crystal decanter of scotch sat full and untouched on the cart by the window. She hadn’t poured a glass in days. The ice bucket hadn’t left the freezer. The sight of liquor made her stomach twist now from the memory of that one moment when she stopped thinking and let her fear dictate her actions.

The green Armani suit was still on the floor. Crumpled in a corner of her closet, a crumpled $10,000 ghost of a life she didn’t deserve. She didn’t have the heart to send it to dry cleaning. Couldn’t look at it without flinching. It was the last thing she wore when she still had you and it was one of your favorite on her.

She wandered blindly through her penthouse. The chipped mug you always used still sat in the sink. Dry coffee stains marking the last time you touched it. She couldn’t even bring herself to wash it. Couldn’t throw it out, either. It just sat there. Waiting.

Like she was.

The bed was untouched on one side. Her side. She slept curled on the left now, where you used to sleep, where your scent still clung to the sheets no matter how many times she told herself it didn’t.

She kissed someone to prove she wasn’t in love. And in doing so, proved exactly how deep she’d already fallen.

She hadn’t spoken to you in nearly two weeks, and the returned necklace had gutted her in ways she hadn’t even understood yet.

She hadn’t meant for it to come off the way it did. But she didn’t know how else to say I’m sorry without sounding like a boardroom talking point. So she picked a gesture. A beautiful thing. A quiet offering.

---

Ambessa sat on the floor of her penthouse, back against the cold tall glass window. She hadn’t moved in hours.

Her phone lay beside her, screen dark. There were fourteen unsent messages drafted in her notes. All of them seemed too crafted. Apologies written like press statements. Declarations of regret edited to death. None of them felt real. None of them sounded like her. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe she didn’t know who she was without the script.

She stared across the room. Her head dropped back against the glass. She closed her eyes.

This - this pathetic haze of regret and silence - wasn't her. She’d built empires. She’d been humiliated and underestimated and had clawed her way to the top of an industry that had never wanted her in the first place.

But this - losing you? This had wrecked her more thoroughly than anything else ever had.

Because for once in her life, she hadn’t been fighting for control. She’d just been trying to be held. And she’d ruined it.

She picked up her phone again and opened a blank message, before pausing.

Then closed it again and slowly stood up. Her joints ached from sitting too long, unmoving.

No more texts. No more gifts. No more hiding. If she was going to lose you, she was going to do it honestly. Scared, flawed but trying.

---

It was late. You weren’t doing anything important. Curled up on the couch, doom-scrolling through your phone, a show playing quietly in the background you hadn’t really followed for three episodes now.

You weren’t expecting anyone. But then you heard three soft knocks and your heart stopped. Your body already knew before your brain caught up. Knew who it would be.

You stood slowly and opened the door. And there she was.

Ambessa.

She looked… tired.

Hair pulled back sloppily, curls loosening at the edges. A faint shadows beneath her eyes, skin slightly pale under the soft yellow hallway light.

She was wearing a sweater that was too big, sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms and jeans that looked like they hadn’t been ironed, maybe not even washed, in a while. Nothing about her matched. Her expensive wool coat hung open.

But somehow? She still looked beautiful. Not in the way she looked on magazine covers. This was something else. Something wrecked and raw.

Her shoulders weren’t squared. Her spine wasn’t straight. She looked like someone who had been standing outside your door for twenty minutes working up the nerve to knock (she had).

Her eyes met yours. And she looked like she might break.

“I don’t want to fight,” she said, her voice low and rasped. “I didn’t come here to make a scene. Or make excuses. Or to convince you. I just…”

She exhaled, shaky. “I don’t know what else to do but be honest.”

You didn’t say anything. Not right away.

As her eyes bore into yours, she looked… afraid. Afraid of what she’d made you feel. Of what she might find in your face now.

“I don’t want to fight,” she said, quietly. “And I didn’t come here to ask for anything.”

You said nothing.

She swallowed. “I came because... I’ve tried space. Silence. Gifts. Control. I’ve rewritten a dozen messages and never sent any of them because I wanted to give you space... and because none of them felt good enough.”

Her voice wavered. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to ask you to forgive me in a way that doesn’t sound like I’m trying to win.”

You opened the door wider, just slightly. She didn’t move. Her breath hitched like she was forcing the words out before she lost the courage.

Her eyes were wet. Not crying yet. Not quite.

“I miss you. All of it. Your socks on the floor. You drinking out of that chipped mug in the morning... the way you say my name.”

Her voice cracked, finally. “And if you tell me you don’t want me anymore - if you shut the door in my face - I’ll try to respect that. I swear I will. But I’m standing here because I need you to know: I want to be better. For you. I just-”

Her hand lifted slightly, like it might reach for yours, then dropped.

“I just don’t know how to do it without you.”

You were silent as you stared at her. For once, she didn’t look powerful, or composed, or terrifying.

She looked like someone who hadn’t slept. Someone who used to have the world at her feet and now couldn’t even keep herself upright. She looked like someone who had learned how to beg without saying the word.

Finally you stepped back enough to leave the doorway open.

She blinked - half expecting for the door to be slammed in her face - then walked in carefully, like the floor might fall out beneath her.

She stood in the middle of your living room awkwardly, arms at her sides, not touching anything.

You sat on the couch and waited.

She just turned toward you and finally said, soft and unguarded: “I think about you constantly.”

You didn’t interrupt.

Her eyes were wide, glassy, rimmed with exhaustion.

“I kissed that woman because I was drunk... and I was stupid. And I’ve hated myself for it every single day since.”

She swallowed when she caught your glare. You shifted, arms crossed. “Then why did you do it?... Truly?” you asked, quiet but firm.

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. Her jaw worked, searching for something to give you - some answer that would make any of this make sense.

“I don’t know,” she said, finally. “I’ve asked myself that over and over.”

She sat down, but not next to you. Across. She shifted on the couch, wringing her hands - a gesture you’d never seen from her before. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t go looking for it. I just… let it happen. Like an idiot.”

She took a long breath. “I was stupid. And I couldn’t face what I had- what you were. It was like I looked at you, and it was too good. Too… undeserved. I felt myself needing you so deeply I didn’t know where I ended and you began. And instead of holding on, I ruined it.”

Her voice cracked there, just slightly. “And I wanted to need you less. But I didn’t. I still don’t... I didn’t know how to look at something that real and not break it.”

You looked at her. Really looked. All the cracks were showing now. The frayed threads. The sadness she didn’t know how to wear properly.

You let the silence stretch a little longer.

Then, finally: “I think... I needed to see if you cared.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours, startled.

“Not if you remembered my favorite flowers. Or sent me some luxury apology like a contract negotiation... I needed to know if you actually gave a damn. About me. Not about fixing your image. Or owning me like I’m some accessory to your success.”

Ambessa’s breath caught.

“I needed to see if you’d show up for me,” you said.

You paused. Watched the words hit her. “It took you a while but you did.”

She blinked fast. Her shoulders curled in slightly, “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know I acted like being affectionate was a problem. Like you were… replaceable. But that's not true. You never were. You never will be.”

You didn’t say anything. But your hand moved - just slightly - toward her. And that was all it took.

She slid from the couch to the floor in front of you, knees meeting the rug with a soft thud. Like her body had been waiting to collapse for days.

She looked up at you - eyes shining, lips pressed together like she didn’t trust them to stay steady. Her head bowed for a second.

Then, slowly, she leaned forward. Wrapped her arms around your waist. Pressed her face into your stomach, like she was trying to hide the tears beginning to fall.

And finally -

Ambessa Medarda let herself cry. Just a few trembling tears that slipped past her control, pressed into the fabric of your shirt.

You held her not saying a word. Not because everything was okay, but because she'd finally given you something real to hold.

And that had to mean something.

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

[mia-can-yap-too]

The Ice Queen

synopsis:- After hearing about the Ice King, Rin, with a heart made of ice, the brave but foolish princess, aka you, set off on a quest to "fix him". No one asked you to. Fantasy/Fairytale!AU

warnings:- fluff, crack, sfw, not proofread none of my fics ever are, im so tired man lemme sleep

a/n:- this is NOT based on Frozen mostly because in no way is Sae a good Anna, but rather based on the childhood story 'The Snow Queen'. Also im writing this at a family gathering if that matters

dividers by @/strangergraphics

There was once a faraway kingdom that now most probably houses your local Ikea. The land was blanketed in eternal snow, and no flower bloomed, no sun shone, and the national mood was "leave me alone or perish."

High in the mountains, where the maps stopped trying, lived the legendary Ice King, Rin Itoshi.

He wasn't technically royalty, but his resting bitchface was so powerful it legally made him one.

They say he was cursed by a magical mirror, one that shattered into a thousand peices, and one of those shards lodged itself into Rin's heart, making him cold, aloof, and allergic to love . Others say he became like this after a petty fight with his big brother, but who knows.

Naturally, your response to hearing this was "Bet I can fix him."

You were a princess from a neighboring, much sunnier, land. You weren't the heir, nor the spare. More like the spare tire people keep in the back and then forget about. What you lacked in political relevance, you made up for in delusion, optimistim, and fashion.

You'd heard stories of the Ice King ever since Pop Crave deemed him relevant enough. You'd always imagined he looked like a beautiful villain in a sad romance novel. Icy. Tall. Emotionally unavailable.

And when you finally saw him?

He looked exactly like that, except with longer bottom lashes.

You kissed your 17 cats goodbye and set out from your palace with nothing but a velvet MLP cloak, your royal steed named Alfredo, and a bag of snacks. You braved snowstorms, wolves, a surprisingly violent goose, and also did the ice bucket challenge like three times until you reached the gates to Rin's palace made entirely of ice and dramatics.

You knocked.

Silence.

You knocked again. "HELLO, I'M HERE TO SAVE YOU UTAHIME!"

A voice from inside called out, "Go away or die."

"Is that a maybe?"

The voice sighed. Then Rin opened the doors with the expression of someone who was already regretting it.

"No. That's a restraining order."

Somehow, and because this is a fairytale and nothing makes sense in fairytales, you weaseled your way into staying.

You claimed it was for 'diplomatic reasons', which was actually code for 'I lied and now I live here'.

And Rin... well, he tolerated you.

Somewhat.

He refused to acknowledge you during meals and never responded to your attempts at making small talk over cold soup. Cold because everything had to be cold here, he was just that extra.

"You know, most people would be grateful for a guest."

"You're not a guest. You're an infestation."

"You flirt weird."

He silently crashed out when he found out you put toilet seat warmers on all the toilets, mostly because now he had to aim properly, but he never told you that.

He threatened to freeze your fingers if you touched anything.

Naturally, your response to that was to rearrange the whole throne room.

He wasn't very happy to see pastel curtains and name tags on all his ice gargoyles.

Living with Rin was like cohabiting with a snow leopard—dangerous, cold, and very pretty to look at when he wasn't actively plotting your demise.

He would glide down frozen hallways in long flowing robes, scowl at you for breathing too loud, and vanish into walls of mist when you tried to flirt.

You tried to make him tea once. He looked at it as if you just handed him a dead rat.

"It's chamomile!" you argued.

"It's lukewarm leaf water. You offend me."

Despite his protests, he ended up keeping you around.

He even gave you your own room!

(It was a supply closet. But it had a window. That counted!)

You filled it with sunshine-colored blankets, plushies in every color, and flower-patterned mugs just to spite his icy aesthetic.

You even made him a "#1 Ice Queen" mug to show that you didn't play about him.

He froze it solid.

You still see him using it sometimes.

One day, while exploring the palace (and ignoring every 'DO NOT ENTER' sign), you stumbled across a cracked mirror in a room in which a suspicious number of locks.

Naturally, you touched it.

Naturally, it shattered.

And, naturally, a shard embedded itself into your heart.

Suddenly, you were sarcastic. Apathetic. You wore black eyeliner for no reason and blasted "Emo Girl" by MGK.

The shard even made you say the meanest thing ever.

"Your hair is lowkey giving... lukewarm."

He actually stopped mid-step and blinked.

"...Are you okay?"

You scoff and answer in an icy tone. "I finally see how pathetic this is."

He went very still, and you swear you saw his eye twitching.

"Did you just call me pathetic?!"

Rin didn't get mad.

He got worried.

Panicked, even.

He dragged you to some magical hot spring behind the palace, dumped you into the water like a teabag, and started chanting passive-agressive affirmations.

You, of course, were flailing. "IS THIS A BATH OR A SACRIFICE?!"

"Both, if it works."

After a few minutes of floundering, the curse (and your eyeliner) melted.

You blinked up at him, dazed and wet.

"...Did you just save me?"

Rin rolled his eyes. "No, I like throwing people into boiling water for fun."

Things changed after that.

Very slightly.

Rin still rolled his eyes when you spoke, but he didn't walk away anymore.

He still threatened to freeze your food, but he actually started answering your silly questions too.

You caught him watching you sometimes. Quietly. Curiously. Like you were some rare species of creatures he didn't understand.

You even saw him smile once.

Just once.

It gave you a nosebleed.

"So... do you like me yet?" you asked out of the blue one day.

"No," he deadpanned.

"Liar! You haven't even insulted me today."

"... You look like a talking squirrel."

"There he is."

One night, you saw him looking at the moon all thoughtful and tragic.

You approached, draped in 9 scarves and glitter boots.

"Hey."

"What now." He didn't even spare you a glance.

"Wanna talk about your trauma?"

"I'd rather eat icicles."

"Okay, well, I'd still sit through that dinner just to be near you."

Silence.

Then, he turned to you. Reached up. And tucked a hair out of your face.

LETS GOOOOOOOOOO

"Y-you like me?!"

"You hallucinate." He looked the other way in hopes to hide his own blush.

"You tucked my hair behind my ear!"

"It was in the way."

"Of your feelings?"

...

"You're blushing!"

"No, I'm not."

"You're blushing!"

"NO, I AM NOT—"

Spring retured to the kingdom. The skies turned less gray. The ice palace grew flowers between it's cracks. Rin, without realizing it, started humming when he went on his daily walks of scrutiny.

Eventually, you made him a flower crown. He wore it for full five minutes before yeeting it into a snowdrift.

You made him another one. It now lives on his desk.

You still live in the ice palace. The people have accepted you as the 'Absurd Queen'.

The sun rises there now.

And when you trip on your own cape or yell "BABE!" across the halls, Rin sighs, mutters "OMFG what now..."

But he never tells you to leave.

The End

taglist:- @jeonwiixard @lizbix @alexisjusthere @saeyari @pinkymangacaps @sleepy-waffle @rayne-rayne-go-away @fromsaltandsea @kaikaidenkai @l0v3ly-st4rs @annawrites444 @byzantiumhollow

Once Upon a Prince – Masterlist

Previous – Cinderella (Isagi Yoichi)

[zraiusxo]

love the way you write hange. so sad you stopped 'a game of composure' for a while, but your other fics are great too!!! ❤️ but can i request nerdmin x fem!reader? PLEASE. i need more nerdmin oneshots. with yk frat boy eren, connie hosting the best parties, art student jean, sasha your first campus friend and gothkasa who's just- there. wherever eren is. even hange as our professor lol. reader's from a rich family, but that doesn't mean her parents are controlling in every aspect you know. they let her decide what she wants. you can decide the rest, fluff? sure, would love that. smut? yes spice it up! ignore this if u don't want to! ❤️

♡ part 2 (smut) warnings: suggestive content, alcohol consumption, curse words, substance used, lewd humor, crude jokes, suggestive dares, public intimacy, all characters are aged up. not proofread.

Armin Arlert College AU ♡

Your mother called it a phase. Your father, ever more dramatic, called it a downgrade.

To them, Stohess University wasn’t even on the map. And even if it was, it certainly wasn’t anywhere near the ivy-covered brick walls of the institutions they'd spent your life grooming you into an elegant and dignified lady for.

But you didn’t want to be in another university where everyone was already rich and miserable.

So you transferred. Out of your private, exclusive, east coast academy and into a chaotic, loud and messy public university where people wore pajamas to class and professors said “fuck” in lectures.

And oh, it was perfect! You didn't have to stress about keeping your name clean because the principal was acquainted to your parents, didn't have to worry about making connections with your peers who also belonged to wealthy and influential families.

Except, nobody talked to you at first. Well, that was a given.

You stood awkwardly right by the entrance of the campus, looking completely out of place, dressed in designer from head to toe. Other students gave you condescending looks, looking as if you had gotten lost on your way to your super posh and distinguished private academy.

Though you hadn't quite minded, your branded mary janes clicking against the tiles as you entered the hall, steps measured. Cause you knew you did look out of place. Like you didn't belong here, and maybe that's because you didn't.

Finding your way to your first class wasn't much of a challenge, the building layout was simple and you managed to arrive at lecture hall 2 minutes before the bell rang. You sat at the very back, just by the door. You didn't want to bring unwanted attention to yourself.

The few remaining students spilled in with soft chatters, and your professor followed shortly after the bell rang with a loud greeting of good morning that echoed off the walls and woke up sleeping students with a flinch. They looked— well, rather disorderly. But they taught well, even when most of the students weren't listening, sleeping or when someone would impolitely talk over them.

You sat straight. Didn’t interrupt. Only taking down notes, cause you were actually listening. Then came a chirpy voice a seat away from you, bright and breezy. "Hey, you're new." That was her first line. She said it like you were a gift she’d been waiting for. “I’m Sasha! You’re gorgeous. We’re friends now.” Sasha moved to the seat beside you casually, a little grin on her face.

"Hello, Sasha. I'm Y/N. Pleasure to meet you." You held out your hand for a handshake, offering a kind smile. But instead of shaking your hand, the brunette gave you a high-five instead, and it left you a little dumbfounded.

She giggled at that, leaning in a little. "Wanna sit with us later at lunch? We're cool I promise!"

"Us?" You asked with a slight tilt of your head.

Sasha glanced to her side, gesturing towards a guy two seats away. "Connie," He looked up lazily, eyes deprived from sleep. He was dressed in an oversized hoodie and joggers with his phone in hand, his hair buzzed and platinum. "This my fancy new friend, pretty right? She speaks in italics. Say hi!”

"Yo," Connie moved beside Sasha with an easy smile, kicking back in the seat before giving you a once-over. "You transferring from Mitras or some? Y'look fly as hell girl."

You chuckled, shrugging. “Private school, yeah.”

“Mmmmhm, yep. Explains the posture. You sit like you got a family name to protect.” He added with a laugh, winking in your direction like a compliment.

It was the start of something. Of people. Of laughter that didn’t echo off chandeliers or clink against champagne glasses.

Bell rang soon enough, and Sasha dragged you to the cafeteria, speed-walking down the hall with Connie who quite literally dapped up almost everyone who passed by. Sasha sat you down beside her and him in their "usual" table, and then came a tall raven-haired girl with dark red lips, long winged eyeliner, and an intimidating silence that somehow wasn’t off-putting.

Sasha waved a cheery hi before wrapping her arm around your shoulder. “Hey Mika! Meet our new friend, Y/N." Mikasa sat down beside you without a word. "Y/N, this is Mikasa. She doesn’t talk much unless you’re Eren, or someone interesting.”

"Eren?" You ask half-heartedly.

Mikasa said nothing at first, just gave you a long, assessing look before offering a subtle nod. Approved. "You'll meet him eventually."

The conversation dragged on, switching topics about who to avoid or when Connie's next party's gonna be cause they wanted you to come experience his parties too, claiming it'd be an unforgettable college experience. They became your people, fast. Connie supplied laughs (and edibles), Sasha helped you adjust to this new environment and Mikasa taught you how to say no to creeps without uttering a word.

You learned about the extended crew— Jean Kirschtein who in one random Tueday noticed your sketchbook in art theory and asked, “Holddd up. You actually know what chiaroscuro means?” You were friends by the time the lecture ended. He was honest and talented, always scribbling on napkins like his hands moved faster than his brain.

Eren was a name you heard often from Mikasa, followed by a groan from Jean or a laugh from Connie. Armin was barely mentioned, usually in academic contexts, like a trivia answer. You hadn’t met them, not that you really cared. Because despite being pulled into this growing web of personalities— you didn’t know everyone.

Sasha had begged you to come yesterday just as you were about to leave, her arm looped around yours as she rested her head against your shoulder sideways.

“Y/N pleeeeasuh? It'll be fun girl. I promise! Like, trust.” she’d whine, wrapping an arm around your shoulders like the persuasive devil she was. “It’s Connie’s party! No one misses his parties. Everyone will be there! Eren. Mikasa. Armin—” She continued, not stopping till you finally agreed to go.

You were overdressed. You knew it the second you stepped out of the Uber with and heard the bass from halfway down the street.

People were everywhere— on the porch, the lawn, halfway up the damn roof. Red solo cups littered the grass like confetti. A guy in a Pikachu onesie was throwing glowsticks into the bushes while someone else chugged something out of a blender. This wasn’t your scene. Nope, definitely not.

The last party you went to had a dress code and valet parking.

Now, standing in front of the door while people screamed along to a song you didn’t recognize, you regretted the tailored black dress and pointed heels. You’d grown up attending galas, banquets, and rooftop champagne soirées.

You were a private-school princess. The kind of girl who grew up sipping champagne at banquets with names like “Winter Charity Gala.”

This was more… frat party, spilled vodka and some girl trying to shake her ass on a folding chair.

You were debating whether to continue walking in or text Sasha you couldn't make it tonight and leave when a loud familiar voice yelled from inside—

“SHE’S HERE Y'ALL,” Sasha launched out of the doorway like a cannonball, dragging you inside before you could even react.

“WELCOME TO THE PIT, BABY!” She screamed over the loud music vibrating against the walls. “RULE ONE: DRINK. RULE TWO: SMOKE WEED!”

You laughed despite your senses being overwhelmed. Strobe lights flickered. Inside was chaotic as hell. And you couldn't hear your thoughts 'cause the music boomed too loud against the speakers. Someone was doing a keg stand in the kitchen. A girl crying as she collapsed down stairs. Eren Jaeger standing shirtless on a shaky table screaming “capitalism is a prison!” while people chanted with him like they were protesting. Mikasa sat on the armrest of a torn-up couch near Eren like a queen overseeing chaos, black lipstick untouched despite the humid heat.

"Heyyyy, Y/N. Where my hug at?" Jean walked up with a bottle of smirnoff in his hand and gave you a half-hug, a small smile and a pencil tucked behind his ear. "What's good? Thought ya wouldn't show." He half-shouted, loud enough for you to hear over the loud music.

"AYE GIRL, Y'ACTUALLY CAME!" Then came Connie, loud as ever, with his hand held up. You thought he was gonna offer you a handshake but he dapped you up instead, catching you off guard. He pulled away, stumbling a bit from the tipsiness and accidentally spilling Gin on your arm. "Oops, my bad gang. But y'still look like a dignified lady. So it's aight, right? Sorry girl." He laughed before getting distracted once again, screaming at someone who accidentally broke his mom's vase in español.

Sasha introduced you to some people who at first felt intimidated by your appearance, but they quickly vibed with you a couple minutes in the conversation. They let you taste drinks that burned your throat and made you a little tipsy— thank god you weren't a lightweight. Or else you would've blacked out somewhere.

You made friends with a blonde girl, Historia Reiss who you actually had lot in common with. She used to go to a private conservatoire not far from your old academy. Said her daddy transfered her here cause she needed to learn manners and be rid of the attitude. Typical rich and pretty mean girl. But it kind of did after she met Ymir who was quick to put her in her place.

And then there was Armin.

He was awkwardly tucked near the hallway, clearly trying to disappear into the drywall. A green shirt over a black hoodie. Converse. Hair a little messy like he��d run a hand through it too many times. Glasses slipping down his nose. A book in one hand— a book. At this party.

Sasha nudged your side, glanced over at him, and grinned. “That's Armin Arlert. Certified genius. Terrible at parties. He's in our friend group. We love him.”

You mused with a raised brow. "He brought a…. book?" A literal textbook. Physics. Dog-eared and post-it’d. "In this hell hole?"

“Always does. Says it makes him feel like he has an exit strategy. Can't talk to pretty girls, or else he'll self destruct. So go easy on the boy, 'kay?" She joked and you nodded with a chuckle.

You watched as Eren, who was still sweaty and shirtless slung an arm around Armin’s neck and pulled him into a headlock-laced hug. Armin half-smiled, the kind of bashful, helpless smile that tugged at something low in your stomach.

But you were used to posh. To sleek and polished. Armin looked like he hadn’t realized he was handsome. That was rare. That was dangerous.

A little while later, after drinks with Historia and her girlfriend Ymir, offered by Connie (a suspiciously sweet one made by him called "brain syrup") and after dancing with, well… Biology Professor Hange to some cursed remix— Sasha shouted from across the room over the music, already pulling a glass bottle out of her bag like she’d brought it specifically for this.

“GAME TIME LOSERS!”

It was inevitable. A Connie Party always descended into chaos games by hour three.

Jean raised a brow. “That ain't even even empty, Sash. That’s a half-full bottle of peach schnapps.”

Sasha shrugged. “And I give a fuck? Adds flavor.”

“We’re too old for this,” Mikasa said flatly, standing beside Eren, holding his discarded shirt with a deadpan expression.

Connie threw an arm around her. “Mikasa, come on girl! Damn, live a little.”

“I am. I’m here. That’s enough.” She rolled her eyes but didn't push Connie off.

Armin stood awkwardly by the door, trying to get away without anyone noticing but Sasha spotted him, grabbing his wrist like he was the final Jenga block. “Perfect. Now it’s a real party.”

“I— I was just—” he shook his head, but it was too late.

The circle formed quickly. Everyone piled into the living room— cross-legged on the carpet, perched on the arm of the couch, tipsy and flushed with alcohol and heat. You got pulled into the circle by Jean, who offered a lopsided smile and whispered, “You’re the only one here with standards. And morals. And dignity. Lowkey wanna see you do something reckless. This’ll be fun.”

You sat between Sasha and Armin. He flinched slightly when you brushed his knee, glancing at you shyly.

Sasha gestured playfully, reaching her arm out to poke his cheek. “Y/N, meet Armin. He’s allergic to eye contact and social interaction.”

Armin turned bright red. “I’m not allergic—”

He was cut off by Connie who stood in the middle and snatched the bottle from Sasha like a sacred relic. "Spin the fuckin' bottle, babyyy."

Jean groaned. “Why are we in college playing this middle school game?”

“You just mad no one’s ever spun you on purpose,” Connie shot back.

Jean flipped him off. Connie licked the bottle. For dominance.

"Hi," You offered a polite smile, holding your hand out for a handshake. And he actually did. He gave you a handshake. No dap ups or high-fives. His palm was sweaty though.

“Hi,” he murmured as he let go of your hand, pushing his glasses up. “You, uh- you look… fancy.”

You laughed heartily. “I'm realizing that.”

“It’s kind of awesome, though,” he said, voice almost drowned by the music. “You look like you wandered in from a better world.” You noticed the glint of silver when he nervously licked his lips. A tongue piercing?

Huh.

He didn't look like the type to have one.

As soon as everyone was seated, the game started. Connie spun first. It landed on Jean.

Everyone exploded into unhinged laughter. “Bro,” Jean started wih his hands up in surrender, backing away. “We’ve seen each other’s dicks. We’re past this.”

“Exactly bro,” Connie said, taking a step forward msicheviously. “Full tongue. Come on!”

They kissed. Loudly. Sasha screamed like she was watching a car crash in real-time.

Then Jean spun and the bottle pointed to a freshman who looked ready to pass out. Jean's face lost all color. “Oh hell nawwww. I ain't catching a charge tonight. Re-spin.”

The dares started somewhere around Spin #6.

Ymir dared Connie to shotgun a beer while twerking. He did it. Badly. The carpet was soaked.

Mikasa spun. It landed on Sasha. She rolled her eyes, leaned over, and kissed her. The brunette giggled as she pulled away.

“That’s not fair,” Jean complained, arms across his chest. “Do it again, but gay for me.”

“Shut up Jean.” Mikasa deadpanned, taking her seat next to Eren.

It was your turn to spin, and it landed on the brunette beside you. You dared Sasha to drink whatever was in the mystery thermos on the counter. She took a sip, paused, and said, “What the fuck? That’s straight Everclear and nail polish remover. I’m seeing sounds.”

Ymir spun the bottle precisely and it landed on Historia, much to their advantage. She dragged the giggly blonde to the bathroom, locked the door, and never came back out.

Then it was Armin’s turn. He looked physically ill. “Guys, I really don’t think—”

“Spin it!” Connie chanted. Everyone joined in.

Armin sighed like he was being sentenced to death, and spun. The bottle twirled dramatically, like it knew the stakes.

It landed on… Jean. Everyone exploded. Jean stood, arms wide. “Bring it in, babe.”

Armin nearly fell backward. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

Someone yelled, "Who's this babe you're with, Yeager?" As an inside joke when Jean first met Armin through Eren and thought he was a girl.

You laughed into your cup, watching Jean grab the blonde boy's arm for a kiss, puckering up as Armin flailed around and screamed. Poor boy looked like he wanted to pass out.

But he kissed him. Fast. Lips only. Barely there. Eventually, the bottle made another round. And another.

People kissed. Someone tried to crawl away and were tackled back by Connie and Sasha. Mikasa threatened physically harm to anyone who tried to aim for her. (Anyone who wasn't Eren, ofcourse.)

You were wiping tears from your eyes when it was finally your turn. You spun. The room went still.

The bottle spun with purpose. And landed.

On Armin.

Everyone paused. Then— pandemonium.

Sasha leapt to her feet, making eye contact with Connie from across the circle. “IT’S TIME Y'ALL.”

Armin blinked rapidly, he gulped. “Time… for what?”

Connie banged loudly on the table like a drum. “SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVENNNN, BABYYY!”

Armin nearly died on the spot. “What?! Wait what does that entail, exactly—”

Jean snickered, wiggling his brows. “It entails you getting locked in a closet and possibly defiling each other.”

“Possibly?” Sasha barked, her hand already curled around his shirt by the nape. “I demand action.”

You glanced at Armin, all flushed and wide-eyed like a deer caught in headlights.

What could possibly go wrong anyway? We didn't have to do anything in the closet without them knowing. So you stood up with a small smile, and the circle erupted in cheers.

"Come on, man! See? She's down." Connie stood up and crouched in front of Armin. "Unless… y'wanna take y'er chances with Jean again?"

Armin practically scrambled to his feet. “Closet. Definitely the closet.”

Some guy yelled, “Use protection guys!”

Eren added, “Or don’t, live a little.”

The cheers grew louder over the music as he stood up with his face in his hands, hooting and wolf-whistling. Sasha and Connie ushered the both of you down the hallway, and they shoved the both of you inside the supply closet— barely big enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder.

The door closed behind you. Seven minutes.

Just you and Armin. And the red flush in his cheeks. And the glint of that tongue piercing as he licked his lips out of habit.

Let the heaven— and hell— begin.

♡ a/n: ts was sloppy as hell. but should i make smut? comment if i should :3

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

I had a sucky geography exam today you should totally cheer me up with a subby james fic🌚🌚❤️

-🦀

A/n: I know I'm a few days late to this one but I hope it still helps nonetheless

Also this is the actual fic based (???) on the teaser I made for April Fools Day, as you can tell I like getting two things out of the way at once, I also really liked how this turned out because a lot of people really wanted it and I never felt like writing it but here you have it

Warnings: Smut, James isn't stated to be a virgin but it's kind of implied I think (it was supposed to be in the original but I never added it in this), dacryphilia, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, orgasm denial, oral (f receiving), submissive James, mommy kink, degradation, praise near the end, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

James sat there, naked on the bed in front of you. You straddled his lap, hands working his cock fast, using your spit as lube. His chest was all red, his face flushed as tears rolled down his cheeks, heels desperately kicking into the mattress.

“You’re not cumming yet.” You stated, James didn’t miss the annoyance in your voice, it made more tears come to his eyes. “I’m not letting someone fuck me if they can’t last more than a few seconds.” You’d been at this for almost a half hour, ruining countless highs for him while he just whined and begged for you to let him cum.

“Please-please, mommy… I-I can’t- I can’t take it anymore, please, just lemme cum, been so good!” He said through grunts, teeth gritting together as his hips bucked helplessly into your hand.

"Been good?" You repeated, eyes widening slightly as you scoffed. "Been so good, but you're humping my hand, have been for a while." He whined loudly, throwing his head back and doing his best to force himself in place. "You're a fucking whore is what you are." You pulled your hand off of James and he cried out for you weakly. "Get yourself off if you're so desperate and I'll think about riding you."

James watched you with wide eyes as you got off his lap and pushed yourself to the other end of the bed, watching him try to catch up with what just happened. You were no more clothed than James was, naked with your legs spread so he could see just how wet you were, how much seeing him cry and beg was truly turning you on. It gave him some motivation and he wrapped one big, calloused hand around his girth.

He knew what got him off, he'd been working with his hand for so long and it sucked to keep going when you were right there. He started slow, whimpers leaving him as he was severely overstimulated. He tried moving his hand faster but it just made things worse. You couldn't help but to laugh at his pathetic little noises.

"Little dicks hurts so bad you can't even get yourself off." You teased with a chuckle.

James's breathing was coming out in rough pants. "It-it's not small-small..." He managed to get out.

His eyes followed your hand as it trailed down your body, landing on your cunt as you spread your lips with two fingers, showing him your pretty pussy clenching around nothing. "I'll give you that, at least." You murmured, watching his hand painfully work his length.

You started rubbing yourself, two fingers circling your neglected clit at a good rhythm. James's eyes were locked on the side, his breathing coming out ragged as he watched you touch yourself while his hips bucked up into his hand before jerking away from the pain of overstimulation.

Your fingers moved faster, breathing getting heavier. "Fuck, you really do look so pretty like that." You mused, looking at his glassy eyes and tear streaked cheeks, bruised lips pursed in a pathetic little pout, soft little whimpers leaving him along with the sobs he did his best to choke back. "Just a good boy, all this pain for a little satisfaction?" You asked. "Doing everything mommy tells you to, huh?" He still couldn't take his eyes off your fingers on your glistening cunt. "Perfect little slut."

He couldn't take it anymore and crawled across the bed, grabbing your hips and holding you in place while he buried his face in your cunt, hungrily lapping at your folds while he humped the mattress. You gasped at his little burst but quickly relaxed, liking this much better. "Ah- oh fuck, James! Oh god, oh you know how to do something right." You said between moans as you threw your head back, leaning back on your hands while you let him eat you out.

He looked up at you, desperate eyes locking on yours when you looked back down at him, aching for praise, something to show he was doing it right. "Oh, fuck, you're mommy's good boy, aren't you? Keep-keep doing that- fuck!" You reach for the back of his head, fingers tangling in his lank blond hair and giving it a harsh tug which he just moaned at.

He was whining into your cunt, hips sputtering as he fucked your mattress. His brows knit together as he watched your every expression, loving the way your hips moved against his face as his tongue dipped into you, clit bumping his nose and drawing out little sounds.

"Ah-ah! James! James, you're-you're gonna make me cum!" You moaned out loudly, words echoing off the walls. Your legs twitched, knot quickly building in your gut before snapping as you came.

James lapped up everything, every little drop that squeezed out your pussy landed on his tongue sooner or later. He was getting too desperate, licking a little too low and that's when you yanked his hair back. "Fuck, you're good but not that good." You scolded, glaring down at him.

"M'sorry, m'so sorry, mommy." His brain was fried, the words came out all mumbled and slurred but he couldn't do anything about it now so he just leaned against your thigh, searching for some comfort.

Instead you got off the bed and left him alone. "Can you roll over for me?" You asked, tone a lot softer than it had been as you walked over to your closet. You went to look for clothes so you could change after you showered, glancing back you saw James flopping onto his back, dick limp and dead on his abdomen, a milky white puddle where he'd been rutting into your sheets.

[daxisyzz]

OMG I LOVED YOU DESI READER FICS, can you please write one where it's domestic avengers post infinity war or something and they all live together and reader is desi and has powers(fire,ice whatever you are okay with) and also loves to sing, so all the avengers secretly watches her sing maybe something like that thank!!

Heyyy!! Tysm you're so sweet. I made it post endgame if you don't mind. Here's your fic anon<3

Flame and melody

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x desi!reader

Summary: After the war, a Desi Avenger with fire powers quietly sings a song to cope. One by one, the team gathers to listen—unseen, grieving, healing. Bucky stays.

Warnings and tags: post-endgame, Bucky's crushing on reader, everyone is alive, reader has fire powers, post war, subtle romance between reader and Bucky, avengers compound life, kind of og tower fic.

Word count: 691

All pictures are from Pinterest

One of my favourite song

The Tower was unusually quiet.

Dinner wasn’t for another hour, and most of the team had retreated to their rooms or the gym. But something pulled them one by one toward the kitchen.

Not the smell, though that was a close second. No, it was a voice. Soft, rich, and wrapped in a language most of them didn’t recognize. A song, weaving its way down the hall like a secret.

You stood in front of the stove, headphones in, unaware that your voice had wandered. You weren’t singing loudly—just enough to hum the loneliness out of your bones.

Your fire flickered calmly at your fingertips, floating just above your palm as you stirred the thick curry in your pan. The scent of ghee and mustard seeds filled the air, mixing with the fragrance of curry leaves and tamarind. A fresh stack of chapatis rested near the stove, kept warm by a gentle ring of heat you conjured like a soft halo.

Bucky stopped first.

He didn’t mean to. He’d been walking to the kitchen for coffee when your voice stopped him cold. He moved closer, slow and quiet, peeking just past the entryway—then froze.

You. In a soft maroon kurti with a loose braid falling over your shoulder, barefoot and swaying gently to a song only you could hear. Fire moving with you, like it understood your rhythm.

He’d seen you in combat. Fierce. Unshakable. But this—this was something else entirely.

This was you when no one was watching.

Except now… someone was.

He leaned on the doorway, letting himself just look at you. You were beautiful in a way that felt familiar and far away all at once.

Then Sam showed up behind him. “You good, man-”

“Shhh,” Bucky whispered, holding up a hand.

Sam raised an eyebrow, peeked past him, and then blinked. “Damn,” he muttered. “Okay, she’s got pipes.”

You stirred with one hand, floating a steel bowl across the counter with the other, your flame gently curling around it. You plucked a piece of coriander, dropped it into the pot, and hummed as the sizzle responded like applause.

Clint and Natasha appeared next. Then Steve. One by one, pulled by your voice.

“She doesn’t even know we’re here,” Natasha murmured.

“She’s never sung before,” Steve whispered. “Not around us.”

“Can’t blame her,” Clint said. “This place is chaos.”

Inside, you kept going, lost in the act. You tasted the curry, made a face, and added a dash of red chili. You sang the next line without even thinking. Your voice was not something practiced but it was something that reminded people of home.

Then you turned.

And your entire soul nearly left your body.

Five Avengers stood in the hallway, staring at you like you’d just levitated the Tower.

You yanked your headphones out. “WHAT THE HELL?!”

Tony chose that moment to stroll in casually with a glass of juice. “Nice lungs, flame queen. Didn’t know you were hiding Shreya Ghoshal-level vocals in there.”

“You were all watching me?!” you gasped, fire flaring up automatically in a protective burst before you quickly snapped your fingers and extinguished it. “For how long?”

“Long enough to consider forming a band,” Sam said with a wink.

You groaned, covering your face. “I’m never singing again.”

“Don’t do that,” Bucky said quietly. His voice was steady but soft, and something about it cut through the embarrassment blooming in your chest.

You looked up at him.

He was standing a little apart from the others, not teasing or smiling—just watching you like he’d seen a whole new universe open up.

“You sound… like home,” he said simply.

Your breath caught.

And for a moment, it felt like the whole Tower held still.

You looked away, biting back a smile. “You sayin’ that just so I’ll give you extra curry?”

He grinned. “That’s a bonus.”

You sighed dramatically, walking back to the stove. “Fine. But if anyone brings this up again, I’ll turn the air vents into ovens.”

“Yes, chef,” Clint muttered, already grabbing a plate.

As everyone poured in, arguing about who got the first chapati, Bucky stayed near the counter, helping you serve. His fingers brushed yours once, accidentally on purpose and the fire didn’t flare this time.

It just glowed.

[revelboo]

It’s never any fun when you’re sick more often than not! But it does lend itself towards having a very rich inner world—and I probably used up all my luck in life finding your writing, because it’s literally my fuel some days, lol. :)

Sooooo… about that sandbox fic where we can ask for some dream matchups… please please please make a shared sitch with Soundwave and Tarn — one where they aren’t fussed by sharing their human with each other (even at the same time, hell yes please!), but it’s a ‘closed loop’ where they won’t share with anyone else — as that’s *their* little human mate.

They’re probably my most fav sharing-pair-sandwich, although Soundwave & Perceptor, Sunstreaker & Deadlock, and Prowl & Barricade (as re-united twins) all definitely tweak my “two, eh?” curiosity. :D

Yes, please! DP mention, so implied fem bits. 🔞 mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Interludes Pt 2

Soundwave x Reader, Tarn x Reader

• “You ever think about trying it?” Tarn growls and Soundwave glances at him. The other mech’s expression as hidden behind his visor and battle mask as his own his. Unable to let go and move on. To adapt to this new reality. To have no purpose. Turning to survey the crowded dance floor, he spots three mechs with a little human trapped between them. The fitful strobes making it hard to tell who they are, their factions. Gets little flashes, though. Hands sliding on skin, that lower covering on the human shoved up and the pulse of a spike’s biolights. Fragging right on the floor apparently. It’s disgraceful and sordid. And he can’t look away. “For the good of Cybertron,” he adds, voice bitter. Because that’s the new rallying cry. Save their race. Bond with these weak aliens and repopulate.

• Venting as his optics slide away from Tarn’s masked face to find what has his attention, Soundwave rumbles. Knows they’re both coming here because it’s what’s expected. That they do their part. But he’s almost too sure that he’s not capable of adapting. Neither of them are. Both loyal to Megatron and his cause and this peace however uneasy feels like a betrayal. Watching one mech begin to move urgently against the human trapped in the middle of their little group, he stretches out a thought feeling like a voyuer as the chaos of the human’s need and pleasure almost swamps him. The little organics noisy. “For the good of Cybertron,” he says, pushing up from the table. Because he knows they both keep coming back here out of curiosity. “They don’t seem to mind being shared,” he adds and Tarn slowly shoves up, gesturing for him to take the lead. To at least give it a try.

• Sipping at your candy, sweet drink as you accidentally bump into a group and get an eyeful of one of the mass displaced Cybertronians holding up a human as another rails them and their third turns to give you a lazy once over, smiling in invitation. Face flushed, you stride deeper into the club. Because while you’d give anything to be sandwiched between two of them, you’re not okay with forming a line to jump on someone’s slick spike right after they slip free of their last partner. Snickering as you nurse your drink, someone steps into your path and you look up at a massive, intimidating mech wearing a mask. And his equally big buddy moves closer, visor brightening. Body heating, you decide that someone upstairs must really love you to gift you these two. “Looking to party?”

• Lips twitching behind his mask as you look up at them, so innocent and probably not having a clue who they are. What they’ve done. Are they just a conquest to you? An experience? Reaching out a hand, you lay yours in his palm with no hesitation. So eager to play. “If you don’t mind entertaining me and my companion?” He asks and you smile, before your little teeth sink into your bottom lip. ‘I’m game.’ Which is why Soundwave picked you. Leading you to the bar to get a room token, his servos wrap around not only your entire hand but your wrist. So fragile.

• Letting Tarn lead the way as Soundwave mines your emotions, catching flickers of quick images, your organic mind so chaotic. Fascinating. Apparently fantasizing about taking both of them at the same time. You’re going to be such a delight. Heading into the room, he slides his palm down your arm and you turn his way. Hands fisting in your top as you start stripping for them. “Tarn first,” he growls, giving you a nudge and you reach up to loop your arms around Tarn’s neck, fingers reaching for his mask and Soundwave catches your wrist. “That stays on.”

• Tarn. Still don’t know the other one’s name, but maybe he’ll let it slip. Tarn’s big hands palm your hips, lifting you and he’s freeing his spike against your belly. “Hi, Tarn,” you whisper, those red optics watching you as the other one moves up behind you, hands supporting your butt, and you feel his spike slide against the small of your back. Hear Tarn chuckle as he reaches up to cup your cheek, a servo sliding against your bottom lip and you latch on. See his optics flare when you curl your tongue around it and suck.

• Growling as his servo pops free of your soft mouth, he’s half tempted to see what else that mouth can do. “Soundwave is going to feel neglected,” he growls in your ear and your head turns as he lowers you to your feet and you turn, kneeling without hesitation. Reaching up to grip Soundwave’s spike, that soft mouth sliding against him. And Soundwave lowers himself to sit, servos tunneling into your hair with a groan as your mouth moves on him. Amused, Tarn kneels behind you and rocks himself against you, his optics shuttering at how slick you already are. Feeling you arch, breathily whimpering his name around Soundwave’s spike when he stretches you and sheaths himself in a slow drive. Understanding the fascination with humans now, because you’re so soft, slick and tight gripping his spike.

• Shuddering as you moan, head bobbing, you swallow his spike and it’s agony to not thrust into that wet mouth of yours, to not force you to take more of him. And Tarn’s gripping your hips, moving against you in hard drives. Servos brushing your hair from your face, those pretty eyes flick up to his face. Feels your tongue slide against the underside of his spike as you swallow a bit more of him.

• Whimpering when Tarn’s hips start pumping urgently against you, you’re drooling a bit trying to swallow Soundwave’s spike as he plays with your hair. And Tarn shifts his angle, rutting against you and you’re moaning around the spike in your mouth as Tarn drives you ruthlessly to that peak. Hips snapping against you as he snarls, servos digging into you when he overloads to fill you and Soundwave shudders. His own overload almost choking you bent you pull away and he slicks your front. “Fuck,” you whisper, trembling with your climax. Because they’re going to run you for other humans.

• You whimper when he slips free of you, intending to let Soundwave have a turn filling you. But to Tarn’s surprise, the other mech points at the bed and bends to hook an arm around your unresisting form. Easing down to sit on the bed with his legs hanging over the edge, he reaches to take you when Soundwave hands you to him and you’re straddling him. Doesn’t hesitate to pull you back down onto his spike with a growl. “You want both of us now?” Soundwave growls in your ear and you tighten on his spike, eyes slightly dazed when you look over your shoulder at Soundwave. ‘Yes, please,’ you whisper to make Tarn smile. Because you’re already exceeding his expectations. ‘Go slow, okay?’

• Mask retracting to brush his mouth against the back of your shoulder, he reaches around you to slide his servos through his excess on your skin, before pressing against you to encourage Tarn to lay back with you on top of him. And Soundwave slides his slick servos against you, finding you and pressing a servo inside you. Hears your breath catch and You’re going to be so tight. “Don’t break our new friend,” Tarn rumbles, servos kneading your hips. Pumping his servo inside you, before slipping it free, he grips his spike and guides himself to you. Your warm little mouth got him slick enough, but he still takes his time pressing against you, stretching you. “Relax for him,” Tarn admonishes and finally, the head of his spike pushes inside you and you moan.

• You’re no stranger to two at once, but they’re both bigger than anything you’ve ever taken and their restraint is a blessing. You’re so close already you might come before they even start moving just from the feel of being stretched so full. Tarn lazily tracing shapes on your hips as Soundwave rocks himself against you. Finding a rhythm and working his length inside you. Gasping, you squirm between them, feeling Tarn lazily rolling his own hips. Because if they just let loose and took you hard and fast, they’d probably hurt you. They’re letting you adjust to them even though they don’t have to. “We’re keeping you,” Soundwave snarls in your ear and you warm. Wanting to keep them, too. You’d come here for an experience and you’re going to enjoy it fully.

Previous

[luvs4matt]

clearing a few things up said by rory in this post.

first i am going to talk about this. when rose kicked them, it was because she noticed the mean behavior coming from the gc she was already in so she kicked everyone else that was also in that gc along with rory.

getting kicked from a gc is not that serious, it’s an oh well moment, but not for rory.

rose blocked her soon after because rory immediately went into her dms cussing her out which below is provided ss of their conversation. she was given the chance to speak to her and she did, just not in the way she should’ve. she did not have to take it to her blog.

next, this.

i was saying facts, not just being rude, that is not the person i am. i was stating that rylee has my same au word for word, 0 differences. i was also using that as my defense for rory sending much hate to my dilf!matt au.

coming to someones defense is actually defending and clearing their name on something when needed, not coming to a girls comments to start issues which becomes harassment, straight insults, and bringing up the girls other friend who had absolutely nothing to do with the situation that wasn’t even a situation before you got involved. (ss here of all reblogs made, all comments can be found under this blurb)

next.

so you and gen just so happen to be good friends and in the same gc while rose and gen had a very public friendship, but you had no mutual friends, nor did you know..? right..

“i was kicked before making the post” so you had 0 intentions of handling it privately! you planned to make a post and start more drama. again.

the jokes about fingering matts butt were not between an adult and a minor directly, and even if it was, that honestly isn’t bad, it is jokes people, not asking a child about their sex life.

you can be harmful to minors when harassing them and leading your friends to do it too! you started at 6pm and ended at 11pm, you ended after i tried to reach out to jules but i was blocked, i tried to reach out to rylee, i reached out to rory directly, i was going to reach out to jules through maria, but then genesis finally answered my message and that is what got you to stop.

i agree, i am not a baby, but my communication was not off. i was not disrespectful before i needed to be and that was shown in past ss which i believe i have now deleted if i remember correctly.

i will not dm you because i refuse to unblock you on any platforms, even if i do reach out, all you would do is try to argue, and quite frankly, i don’t have anything nice to say to you.

next.

this is the one thing rory didn’t lie about. she was not the one to say i was writing ddlg, it was genesis. the same genesis who was requesting a week before hand, and only a day before telling me how much they love and need dilf!matt. they said that because they wanted approval and wanted rylee to like them.

i do not believe i write ddlg because i have my storylines for many things but i do not get many asks actually asking about the au so i have not been able to explain it. or maybe i am just in denial because i get disgusted at some of the things involved in ddlg, idfk 😭.

none of her friends can come at me for ddlg content when the exact words, copy and pasted from rylee’ dilf!matt fic is “once i’m done with my work we can play, jus’ lemme finish first, okay baby?” and the context of this is reader riding him. that is some shit i would never write because that is literally something predators say to little girls.

next.

i never posted anything publicly about rylee until i started being harassed and rylee can tell you that herself. rory was the first to say anything publicly, and was also the one who made it drama, it was not any kind of drama before rory inserted herself.

i really don’t care if i name dropped first, i was trying to get my point across, and people would’ve figured it out anyways.

if coming at someone is politely asking someone why they removed my au credit then they get attitude with me, then i guess i came at her many times.

you did say hurtful things to me, if the things you did wouldn’t effect me at all then why would i go through everything i did after the fact? i will not get into all of these things because i don’t want it to seem like i am looking for sympathy.

i started the au before it became semi common on tumblr, i started it a year ago after searching for 6 MONTHS of anything close to my au on all platforms, no dilf!matt found, none of the same persona, so i made the au and assumed i made it. it came to my attention very recently that i did not fully create the au, but i do still believe i was the first to write him in that way, i was the first to start writing him multiple times instead of just once and making him an actual character, and popularized him on tumblr. it did become a “commonly used au” until recently, not a year ago when i started. i had every right asking for credit of an au that i was under the impression that i started because no one corrected me the whole year. after i was made aware of me not being the first, i reached out to everyone, besides rude bitches, about me no longer needing credit unless inspo was used.

to this anon, i did not respond earlier because i simply did not feel like it, and did not want to deal with anymore of your bs about me “dragging it and always posting about it”, but i will respond here since i bet you are reading this.

all of these posts have been made in the last week which was either only talking about the situation or mentioned it.

all of the apologies were half assed and didn’t mean anything. they either apologized that it was POSTED, copied and pasted apologies, used memes, or blamed others on tumblr.

my own personal notes.

everything with maria has been cleared up on all ends, but for her sake, please do not mention her in any posts or mention her in any of these drama posts. this is just a precaution so nothing of these sorts interfere with her mental health. if you have any questions, you can come to her yourself, but if you are not nice and don’t approach it correctly then you will be blocked and i will be fighting you 🩷 (i’m joking chat… but not really)

same thing goes for rose. please do not mention her in posts made, i don’t like seeing my friends mental health being ruined over tumblr so please do the same thing for rose as maria! if you have any questions regarding both of them, they are both open to answering if approached the correct way, if for some reason you do not have access to ask them said questions, then you can message me and i can ask for you.

tags — @cvnntagiouss @bernardsbendystraws @mattsmatcha @nickssidewitch @nickspennies @mattysangelgirl @y3sterdaysproblem @chrisspussygang @tripoutsweirdos

[sombrashe]

Hello!! 💕🌸🌿 How are you doing? hopefully fine!

I was wondering if you could write HBO's Jesse x Reader where reader gets hurt really bad - maybe during patrol where a new member shoot her by accident, or the harsh winter makes her really sick, or by a random accident. i don't really mind the reason! - and he has to take her back to jackson and she thinks she's dying so she confesses to him and he's like "yeah I like you too please don't die".

I hope that my request is not a problem, you can also change anything in order to make the fic to your liking! I trust you so do whatever you please! Have a good day 💕🌸🌿

bloody confessions tlou tv show jesse

content ִ ࣪𖤐⋆ blood, gore, reader gets shot, fluff, comfort, protective!jesse

notesִ ࣪𖤐⋆ hiiii!! im doing pretty good so far :3 school is over for rn so im focusing a lot on this blog lol / i hope you enjoy reading this, i feel like i could have made it a lot longer

you let out a sharp yell as hot metal tears through your thigh. you don't get any relief as it sticks to bone deep beneath fat and skin. crumbling to the ground you cry against crimson cold. another shot and you're facedown, wetness seeps through your jacket and settles deep in your heart. raiders were always an issue especially so far away from civilization but you've never been caught alone before. using every bit of strength your destroyed body has you flip yourself onto your back. if you were gonna die you might as well see who killed you. of course your eyes decide now is the time to start getting that annoying black fuzz around your sight. maybe you'd be able to relax a little, just a little.

"Don't you dare fall asleep on me."

you didn't even know he was here. letting your head loll to the side you come face to face, well what used to be a face, with who you assume shot you. twice. good, glad the bastard got what he deserved. blinking slowly, whats left of your eyesight settles on a mop of frazzled black hair. you can't see his features and lowkey it freaks you out. your arm reaches up to cup his face only for your head to loll to the side. you can feel pressure but you don't know what's from the bullet and what's from him. looking down at your limp arm maybe a thought starts to form, something about how he has no blood on his face even though you swear you just touched him, but it quickly evaporates. letting out a strangled scream you suddenly have a lot more energy as you attempt to wiggle away. cold fire is being poured into your wounds and it's excruciating.

"Stop. Stop. Please."

it's all your poor voice can muster as you weakly flail around. he hushes you and starts moving his hands over your wounds. you think you hear a rip of cloth but your heartbeat is too loud in your ears. your whine is cut off as you're hoisted up and into arms. you have no strength left to hold up your head and you watch as snow fills your eyes. you can't even bring yourself to blink it away. you're laid back down and despite the cold you don't feel nearly as frozen. he settles you down into the makeshift cot and you watch as bundled jute gets dragged past your face. you know the routine when someone is dying.

"I love you."

he pauses, digesting your words, before going back into work mode.

"Just relax. You're going to be fine, I swear."

"No listen I love you, Jesse. I don't wanna die. It hurts so much."

he gently wipes some hair out of your face in comfort. once he has you situated to his liking he comes back to you. poking at your wounds you let out a sharp sound in protest.

"I have to make sure you're not bleeding out. The bullet snagged."

you close your eyes and within moments your head is spinning wildly. you gag and barely turn your head in time to empty your stomach on his shoes. he doesn't say a word just uses some snow to clean them off as you blink up at the blinding sun. it doesn't take much longer before the sun starts moving. you begin to wonder when the sun started moving before your foggy mind realizes its you that's moving. you can't see jesse anymore either and panic creeps in. sensing your anguish he speaks up from somewhere in front of you.

"I'm taking you home, you should be okay to close your eyes. you're all bandag-"

your eyes start to close at his okay and before you know it you're slipping into unconsciousness.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

FANDOM ELDER PLEASE HELP AAHH

I'm writing a fic and I'm just so frustrated with how it's coming out... Too many wips and I want to finish them but I keep deleting whatever I write because... I don't know. When my fanfics used to get a bit less traction they'd freeform a lot easier, but now I end up worrying about the flow and too many NPCs appearing before the actual character and about it being too self indulgent and silly stuff like that QwQ

Please just wish me luck </33

I HOPE YOU'RE DOING AMAZING!! Good luck with your endeavours as well. Stay safe and take care!!!

if it's of any help, someone I admire once told me getting frustrated with your own writing and believing it's "getting worse" is actually a sign that you're in fact getting better at writing.

when we were newbies, we were satisfied with anything we wrote because it was kind of "whatever" and "just a silly little fun thing" back then, but the longer we've been writing, the more skills we've crafted, we start to pick up on things, tiny details, that we think could be better — but the thing is that it doesn't necessarily mean it's "bad", it just means we've set higher expectations for ourselves because we're thriving.

from personal experience, when I dislike something I wrote, instead of deleting them, I'd just keep writing. even if I thought they were "bad". and then I'd just kind of let them cool off, let them sit in my drafts for a day or two, then I'd come back and read them. and most of the times, they actually turned out to be pretty good. not even half as bad as I thought they were when I was writing them. so it was just my brain tricking me into thinking that they were "bad". (and even if I ended up still not being satisfied with them, I could always keep them just so I could come back and look at how much I improved once I wrote something I was satisfied with.)

I hope the best for you and your writing journey, my friend! stay safe and take care as well ♡

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is the second part to our rec list of fics where Louis and Harry have unprotected sex. If you missed part one, you can find it here. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Change In Pressure | Explicit | 4,600 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis and Harry argue. Louis and Harry also fuck on the stage. Somehow it manages to be kind of romantic.

2) In That Bright White Noise | Explicit | 5,060 words

Blind dates are usually destined to go terribly, so Louis doesn't exactly trust his friends when they say they've set him up with Gemma's younger brother, Harry, at an evening bonfire they're attending. Luckily, Harry's much hotter and kinder than Louis thought he'd be, which is a relief. He's also really fucking good at sex, which is just a wonderful bonus.

3) Want It All The Time, Need It Everyday | Explicit | 6,306 words

Louis visits LA a week before the boys head to Australia for On The Road Again. He and Harry have some catching up to do.

4) More, More, More | Explicit | 8,733 words

BLFF Prompt 216: 1980s AU. Harry is a singer and Louis is a groupie that Harry sleeps with. He becomes Harry’s inspiration for writing Rebel Yell by Billy Idol.

5) Put Your Faith In My Stomach | Not Rated | 10,333 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry and Louis want a baby. Louis is a carrier, but that doesn't mean he's going to get pregnant.

6) Moonlit Sky Over Gentle Waters | Explicit | 11,377 words

Harry left his hometown to sail the seven seas and returns seven years later, yearning for something — or rather, someone — that he isn’t sure he can have.

7) Touch Me (Like Nobody Else Does) | Mature | 11,459 words

The alpha’s grin returned tenfold, deep dimples popping into his cheeks. Holy shit, he has dimples. “No, I don’t mind at all. I know where to find you when I need it back,” he said with a chuckle before leaning back into his seat. Louis let out a small giggle before nodding. “I’ll be sure it gets returned to you…?” He trailed off, one eyebrow raised at the other man. “Harry,” he replied, amusement still shining in his eyes. “And you are?” “Louis,” the omega responded before leaning back into his seat averting his eyes once again. “Thank you, really, for the charger. You’re a lifesaver. I’m not sure how I would’ve made it through without my Netflix.”

8) A Flicker Of Hope That I Wanna Keep (Please Don’t Leave) | Mature | 12,230 words

Harry is in love with Louis, and he had thought Louis felt the same until he accidentally left his journal in Harry’s home. He knows he shouldn’t have read it, especially when it only proved to be a reality check he didn’t want. Once Harry finds the green-eyed, curly-haired, gangly fucker that’s stolen Louis’ heart, he’d like to have a strong word with him.

9) Won't See It Coming Til It's Already Gone | Explicit | 12,631 words

“Tell me that this is a fake,” Peter says, slapping a handful of papers against Louis’ chest. He says something else, something loud and demanding, barely even pausing for a breath, but Louis doesn’t hear it. All he hears is the sound of his own breathing, the sound of his own heartbeat. Because this - this looks like a marriage certificate. For a minute, everything stills, quiets. Louis drags his eyes up, meets Harry’s gaze, fixed on him. Then the noise is back, shouting voices clamoring to be heard over each other, and Harry is still staring at him. The ring that Louis hadn’t been able to stop noticing in the loo weighs heavily on his hand. His left hand.

10) Sweet Scary Creatures | Mature | 13,012 words

They stare into each other’s eyes for a while until Louis remembers this is too intimate and looks at Harry’s hands on his thigh. It spans a big portion of his thigh and Louis has always been insecure about how thick he is, so he loves that Harry has huge, dustbin hands that hold him and makes him feel smaller, safer.

11) Show You The Stars In The Daylight | Explicit | 13,227 words

The one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawny, it’s definitely not his best friend’s little brother Harry…ten years later, he changes his mind.

12) You Know It Ain’t Fiction, Just A Natural Fact| Not Rated | 13,312 words

“Look, Lou” Harry whispers, “I can’t do it, and as much as I like having dinner with you, and hanging out, I think we should just do it without the tutoring part because I am not smart enough for school.” “That’s bullshit,” Louis answers quickly, “what do you like?” he asks, “I mean, other than football and asking me stuff about my family. There must be something else you’re good at.” “I play football and fuck, Louis. That’s it.” Louis definitely doesn’t flinch at that. He does not.

13) Your Heart Is Glowing And I'm Crashing Into You | Explicit | 13,915 words

Louis swallows slowly, blinking away images of himself lying spread on top of his duvet at home, and the rich chocolate curls falling over the boy’s face as he eagerly stretches Louis open, and God. Louis really has to stop falling in love with every beautiful boy he comes across.

14) With the Certainty Of Tides | Mature | 13,980 words

“Love you,” Louis whispered in the dark. He didn’t know what time it was or where the light had gone, he knew that he was in Harry’s arms, basking in the afterglow of all their love and he’d be a fool to not tell Harry that. As if Harry didn’t know. “Love you,” was whispered back, as if Louis didn’t know. They confessed to each other as if it was their first time saying it, raw and painful, and listened to it the very same way, but they knew those words to be the only ones true. With all the certainty of the tides, with all the light from the sun, with all the steady beats of their hearts, they were deftly in love, in secret and so loudly. They were brave and fearless and strong and hopelessly devoted in every sense of their breaths. “We made it, baby,” Harry mumbled, bringing their lips into a final kiss, sweet and soft and the color of pink. They already knew that, didn’t fight tooth and nail and argued through every petty year and bleed their hearts into the words they sang and on their skin for them to have not made it home. They were home.

15) The Seed Inside You, Baby, Do You Feel It Growin' | Explicit | 14,796 words

Louis really wants Harry to get him pregnant.

16) All This Delusion In Our Heads | Explicit | 15,088 words

After Harry and Louis break up, they cope with it in very different ways. What will happen when Harry keeps calling his ex over when things go wrong in his life, but Louis just can't take it anymore?

17) Let Me Inside | Explicit | 17,734 words

Louis is Harry’s boss, but Harry is the boss of Louis

18) Reach The Heavens Own Blue | Explicit | 21,070 words

Louis is a Boston Red Sox and Harry is a New York Yankee.

19) Cut the Sides, Don’t Touch the Back | Explicit | 21,596 words

Prompt 87: Harry’s been talking about getting a mullet for so long and Louis hates how good he pulls it off. Aka The Mullet Fic.

20) Beautiful, Dirty, Rich | Explicit | 23,534 words

Later that night, Louis arrived home and screamed into his pillow when he flopped onto his mattress. This prompted Niall to appear in the doorway with a concerned look on his face. A beer was being nursed carefully in his hand, blue eyes glassy from the booze. “Um… Are you okay?” It came out quietly like he was scared of spooking Louis. Louis dramatically flipped over to stare at his roommate, “I met the love of my life at work, but he’s a club member so it’s forbidden.” He whined loudly, jutting his bottom lip out in faux distress. “Shit Lou, you had me worried. Thought someone died or something,” The boy groaned, strolling over to plop himself onto the mattress, “So, tell me about this guy you wanna fuck.” “Ni he’s the sexiest person I’ve ever met. I want to be his trophy wife he shows off, and have all his babies, and be at his beck and call twenty-four seven,” All he received in return was an unimpressed stare, his friend rolling his eyes at the antics.

21) The Devil's In The Details | Explicit | 25,372 words

He squeals when Harry smacks his bum as he bends over to pick up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. Harry smiles smugly at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “When are you going to start calling me professor?” He asks. “When you actually are one,” Louis says with his hand on the doorknob. He cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “Isn’t that how words work? You did study English, right?” Louis’ quick to slip out the door before Harry can smack him again, his laugh echoing through the hallways as he makes his way to his next class with flushed cheeks and a bright smile.

22) Let Me Carry Your Weight | Explicit | 28,633 words 

Louis is fresh out of a bad relationship with someone who made him feel awful about how he looked. on his journey to better himself, he meets harry - the ridiculously attractive and fit personal trainer.

23) Trapped | Explicit | 32,957 words

An AU in which Harry and Louis are under lockdown because of the global pandemic and they find themselves experiencing change in between them.

24) But I Won’t Feel Blue | Not Rated | 33,808 words

“Sam Claflin,” Then the second. “Bill Skarsgard.” And finally, the third. She hesitated, holding it for a moment longer, then let it go. “Harry Styles.” With the final letter sent, there was no turning back now. Whatever happened next, Lilah was ready to face it

25) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41,041 words

Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

26) Sedative Duty | Explicit | 46,588 words

Pop-star of the moment Louis Tomlinson is on his third-world tour. He decides to hire renowned professional dominant Harry Styles to unwind while on the road. In an effort not to raise suspicion by the crew, fans, and press, Harry pretends to be his bodyguard. He ends up being far more than that.

27) A Silent Whisper (That’s Left Unsaid) | Explicit | 50,842 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

A Fake Relationship & Exes to Lovers AU ft a failed proposal ten years ago, an oblivious Harry, an overworked Louis, Zayn as the protective best friend, a meddling aunt and a lot of talks about weddings and rings.

28) Of Lost Things | Explicit | 57,890 words

Louis comes with a familiarity Harry has never felt with anyone else before. After their fateful meeting, their chemistry became undeniable, and soon after, Harry had felt like he hit the jackpot when it came to finding the person he would spend the rest of his life with. But all relationships come with their own unique problems, and Harry soon realizes that their relationship is no different. When their problems go from unordinary to nearly bizarre in nature, he takes it upon himself to find an answer to their troubles. What he stumbles upon are terrifying coincidences between his and Louis’ story, and the ill-fated mythological couple, Orpheus and Eury. But it’s all they are; just coincidences, ones that feel as frighteningly familiar as Louis. Except… what if none of this is a coincidence? What if everything Harry has always seen as fiction is true, and myth—or rather, history, is about to repeat itself?

29) In The Still Of The Night | Explicit | 68,568 words

In a society where omegas are expected to follow a predetermined path, Louis strives for more; for his voice to be heard, for recognition, for true love. In a world where your past defines your future, Harry fights against the system; for equality, for a different life, for acceptance. When their two worlds collide, will they be beaten down by conformity or will they rise up and forge a new path together?

30) Siren Calls Me Home | Explicit | 133,762 words

Harry’s father had warned him. King Edward of Erendor had whispered his suspicions that Prince Louis of Blackmont was descended from the sirens, monsters from cautionary tales Harry was told as a child. A cruel, cold-hearted, and vicious nature wreathed in a breathtaking exterior, with coy smirks and slow blinks used to bend everyone to his will. His beauty was as well known as his cunning, his greed, and his ruthless grab for power. Time only proved the rumors to be true, and Harry made sure to keep his distance from the prince, never once speaking to him, and doing his best not to even meet his eye. Unfortunately, the ghosts of whispered warnings are powerless when one is up against the very tangible experience of being in Prince Louis’ presence.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.