#AngstWithAHappyEnding

[cloudyluun]

Silver Springs | (famous!harry x famous!reader)

Summary: Falling for Harry Styles was never part of Y/N’s plan. As the daughter of Stevie Nicks, she’s spent her whole life running from the spotlight, carving out her own identity in the indie rock scene. But when fate keeps pulling her back into his orbit, resisting becomes impossible.

A slow-burn friends-to-lovers romance filled with stolen glances, whispered lyrics, and a love too big to keep secret forever. Featuring: a dramatic rain-soaked love confession, a very public grand gesture, and enough Fleetwood Mac references to make Stevie proud.

Because some love stories are meant to be legendary.

A/N: Okay, but why was this request everything I’ve ever wanted in a fic?? The slow burn?? The secret relationship angst?? The messy, desperate, I-can’t-breathe-without-you love confession?? And let’s not even talk about that post-confession smut scene because I need a moment. To the lovely soul who requested this, thank you for feeding my drama-loving heart. This was so much fun to write, and I definitely got way too emotionally attached. (Also, I need a rockstar AU in real life ASAP.) ALSO I’m sorry, I definitely overdid the scene dividers oops.

Word Count: 8,5k

Warnings: 

Slow-burn tension that hurts (but in a good way)

Secret relationship chaos

One rain-soaked love confession

One hot, messy, emotional SMUT scene (18+)

Paparazzi stress & PR nightmares

A duet so romantic it might ruin your standards

Fleetwood Mac lyrics used as emotional warfare

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Y/N had been born with the weight of a legacy she never asked for.

From the moment she took her first breath, the world had already decided who she was. The daughter of Stevie Nicks. Rock royalty. A ghost of the past in a modern world. The media had never let her be anything else. They picked apart her features, searching for traces of her mother—the same high cheekbones, the same wild hair. They hunted for echoes of Fleetwood Mac in the songs she wrote, dissecting every lyric, every melody, desperate to find a connection. And when they couldn’t?

They made one up.

Her father’s identity had been a secret from the start, a mystery wrapped in whispered rumors and unanswered questions. Some tabloids swore he had been a rockstar, a fleeting love affair lost in the haze of the ‘70s. Others speculated he had been someone ordinary, someone her mother had chosen to protect from the chaos of her world. Y/N had stopped wondering a long time ago. Her mother had always said, "You don’t need to know where you come from to know where you’re going, baby." And maybe that was true. But sometimes, when she looked at herself in the mirror, she wished she knew which parts of her belonged to Stevie Nicks and which belonged to a stranger.

Still, despite the world’s obsession with her past, Y/N had built something of her own.

Her music was raw, poetic—a fusion of indie rock and dreamlike lyricism that belonged entirely to her. She wasn’t interested in stadiums or radio hits; she wanted songs that lingered in the bones, the kind that made people ache without knowing why.

And yet, no matter what she did, the headlines always found a way to reduce her to a footnote in her mother’s story.

"Stevie Nicks’ Daughter Haunts the Music Scene—Can She Ever Escape Her Mother’s Shadow?" "The Princess of Rock ‘n’ Roll: Y/N Nicks Inherits a Legacy of Magic and Tragedy."

She ignored them. Mostly.

But some nights, when the whiskey burned too much and the music wasn’t enough, she wondered if she’d ever just be herself.

The first time Y/N met Harry Styles, she was fifteen.

It was a warm summer night in Los Angeles, the kind where the air was thick with nostalgia, humming with the remnants of a golden era long gone.

Fleetwood Mac was playing at The Forum, and backstage was a haze of cigarette smoke, laughter, and the scent of aged leather. It was a world Y/N had always known, one that felt like home and yet never quite belonged to her.

She had been curled up on one of the velvet couches, her combat boots propped up on a glass table, flipping through an old notebook of half-written lyrics.

Her mother had walked in then, a force of nature even in her sixties, wrapped in flowing black fabric, rings glinting under the dim lights. And beside her—

Harry.

He had been twenty, freshly cut from the boyband machine but still unmistakably him. Messy curls, dimples carved deep into his cheeks, a floral button-up that hung loose over his chest. There was an ease to him, a confidence that most people his age hadn’t yet earned.

Stevie had smiled, her voice all warmth and amusement as she introduced them.

"Harry, this is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, sweetheart, this is Harry Styles."

Y/N had barely spared him a glance, disinterested in the way only a fifteen-year-old girl could be.

She had looked him up and down, unimpressed, before muttering, "Oh. You’re the boy with the hair."

There had been a beat of silence. Then—

Harry had grinned, wide and unbothered. "And you’re the girl who hates the spotlight."

That had made her pause.

She had finally looked at him properly then, taking in the twinkle of mischief in his green eyes, the way he had spoken to her like he knew her, like he could already see the edges of her soul.

She had hated that.

So she had rolled her eyes, shutting her notebook with a snap. "Yeah? What gave it away?"

Harry had only chuckled. "Just a feeling."

They hadn’t known it then, but that moment—that first careless exchange in the glow of The Forum’s dressing rooms—had been the beginning of something that would follow them for years.

They had drifted in and out of each other’s lives after that, their paths crossing at industry events, in backstage corridors, in places where music and fame blurred the lines between strangers and something more.

But they had never been close.

Not yet.

That would come later.

And when it did, neither of them would be able to stop it.

It was a city built on illusions, a place where the past and present blurred under neon lights and whiskey-soaked conversations. People changed here, or they lost themselves trying.

Y/N had spent years learning how to exist in the industry without letting it consume her. She had built walls, wrapped herself in the armor of cigarette smoke and sharp words, refusing to let the world shape her into something she wasn’t.

But some nights—nights like this—she felt the weight of it all pressing against her ribs.

She had been in the music industry long enough to know that these parties weren’t really about music. They were about power. Influence. The quiet, calculated dance of networking, where every glance and every handshake meant something.

Y/N hated it.

And yet, here she was.

The party was in the Hollywood Hills, tucked away in a mansion that reeked of old money and new fame. The kind of place where people got too drunk on tequila and promises they wouldn’t remember in the morning.

She had come because she had to—because being seen mattered, even when she wished it didn’t.

She was twenty-five now, no longer the sharp-tongued teenager who had met Harry Styles in the glow of The Forum’s dressing rooms.

She had grown into herself.

And so had he.

She saw him before he saw her.

Harry was in the center of the room, as he always was, laughter spilling from his lips as he leaned against a marble bar, his rings catching in the dim light.

He looked different now—older, surer, carved out of something stronger.

The curls were shorter, but still wild. The tattoos more visible, inked stories along his skin. He wore a suit, something sleek and expensive, but the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a silver cross against his collarbones.

Even here, surrounded by actors and musicians and people who pretended they belonged, he was the only one who looked like he truly did.

Y/N had spent years pretending she was immune to the charm of men like him.

But as she stood there, watching the way he moved, the way people gravitated toward him, she felt something stir in her chest.

Something she didn’t want to name.

She turned away, heading toward the bar, but it was already too late.

She heard his voice before she felt his presence.

“Well, if it isn’t rock royalty.”

Y/N exhaled, bracing herself, before turning to face him.

Harry was smiling, that slow, lazy grin that had made girls weak in the knees for over a decade.

“Pop star,” she greeted, raising an eyebrow.

His dimples deepened. “Didn’t think this was your scene.”

Y/N shrugged, lifting her whiskey glass. “It isn’t.”

Harry’s gaze flickered over her, assessing. “Then why are you here?”

“Same reason you are,” she said, taking a slow sip. “To remind people we still exist.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t have to remind anyone, love. They never forget a Nicks.”

There was something in the way he said it—something almost… knowing.

She tilted her head, watching him. “And they never forget a Styles.”

His smirk deepened. “Touché.”

The conversation between them felt effortless, the kind of back-and-forth that came with years of shared history, even if most of it had been from a distance.

She had always liked that about him.

That he could meet her wit for wit. That he never backed down.

That night, they danced around the past without ever acknowledging it, teasing each other between sips of whiskey and stolen glances.

He called her "rock princess" like it was a private joke.

She called him "pop star" with just enough mockery to make him laugh.

The undercurrent of something more was there—tangible, electric, waiting to be acknowledged.

But neither of them touched it.

Not yet.

Later, when the party had thinned and the air inside had grown heavy with heat and smoke, Y/N slipped outside.

She kicked off her heels, stepping onto the cool stone of the balcony, and lit a cigarette with steady fingers.

The view of the city stretched before her, a glittering sea of headlights and broken dreams.

She inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine settle in her lungs, humming a familiar melody under her breath—one of her mother’s, an old Fleetwood Mac song that had been stitched into her bones long before she was born.

She didn’t hear him approach.

Didn’t realize he was there until he spoke.

“Still hate the spotlight?”

His voice was softer now, missing the teasing edge from before.

She exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night. “I hate what it does to people.”

Harry leaned against the railing beside her, silent for a moment, as if turning over her words in his head.

Then, he huffed a quiet laugh. “Still the girl who hates everything?”

Y/N smirked, side-eyeing him. “Still the boy with the hair?”

Harry grinned, running a hand through his curls. “I like to think there’s more to me than that.”

Something unspoken passed between them then.

A shift. A breath.

A moment on the edge of something inevitable.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them said a word.

But in the silence, they both felt it.

A crack in the walls they had spent years building.

A spark that had always been there, waiting for the right time to catch fire.

Harry called her three weeks after the party.

It was late—too late for anything that wasn’t trouble.

She had been sprawled across her bed, an open notebook balanced on her stomach, trying to piece together a song that didn’t want to be written, when her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

She didn’t need to check the name.

There was only one person who would call her at this hour, as if he knew she’d still be awake.

She let the phone ring twice before answering. “You lost, pop star?”

Harry chuckled, his voice low and lazy. “Not lost, no. Just… thought of you.”

Y/N rolled onto her side, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear. “Oh? Should I be flattered?”

“Dunno.” He paused. “Wanna come to the studio tomorrow?”

That made her sit up.

She knew Harry was working on a new album. The industry had been buzzing about it for months, but he had been careful—secretive, even—about who he let in.

And now, he was inviting her.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before saying, “What time?”

She arrived at the studio the next evening, her guitar slung over her back, dressed in a well-worn Fleetwood Mac t-shirt just to mess with him.

Harry was already there, sitting on the edge of a couch with a notebook in his lap, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the cover.

He looked up when she walked in, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

Y/N dropped onto the couch beside him, stretching out like she owned the place. “Didn’t think you actually had a studio. Thought you just wrote love songs in expensive hotel rooms.”

Harry chuckled, flipping the notebook shut. “Maybe I do both.”

The night unfolded in quiet moments and half-sung melodies.

She watched as he disappeared into the recording booth, slipping the headphones over his ears, eyes fluttering shut as the music took over.

And for the first time, she let herself really listen to him.

Harry had always been a good singer. That much was obvious. But there was something about watching him like this—seeing the way he poured himself into every lyric, the way his voice carried a rawness that no amount of polish could hide—that made her breath catch.

He was singing something new, something unfinished.

And as his voice curled around the notes, thick with longing and something unspoken, he looked up—straight at her.

Y/N’s grip tightened around her whiskey glass.

The booth’s glass separated them, but the way he stared at her—intense, knowing, like he could see straight through her—made her feel like there was nothing between them at all.

She swallowed hard, looking away first.

Harry smirked.

One studio session turned into two. Two turned into three.

And then, before she knew it, she was on a plane with him, tucked into first-class seats as his tour swept across the country.

She told herself she was just tagging along for inspiration, a creative escape.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything.

But the late nights in hotel rooms told a different story.

They fell into a rhythm—drinking whiskey on balconies, trading lyrics like secrets, letting conversations slip into the kind of honesty that only existed between two people who didn’t want to admit what they were to each other.

Some nights, they wrote.

Some nights, they just existed—stretched out on hotel carpets, hands brushing when they passed the bottle back and forth, staring at ceilings like they held the answers to questions neither of them wanted to ask.

She hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected the way he looked at her when she wasn’t paying attention.

Hadn’t expected the way she wanted to memorize the shape of his laughter.

Hadn’t expected the way she craved him, in the quiet, in the spaces between words, in the way his voice curled around her name like it was something sacred.

One night, she fell asleep in his hotel room.

They had been listening to records, the vinyl crackling in the background, the bottle of whiskey between them half-empty.

She had kicked off her boots at some point, curling up on the couch, his hoodie draped over her shoulders like she belonged in it.

Harry had been mid-sentence when he noticed she wasn’t answering.

He turned, finding her tucked into the cushions, her breathing soft, her hair spilling across her face.

Something in his chest tightened.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw, telling himself to let it go.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, brushing her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering a second too long.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

And for the briefest moment, Harry let himself want it—let himself imagine what it would feel like to close the space between them, to taste the whiskey on her lips, to see if she’d kiss him back or push him away.

He hovered there, so close, so fucking close—

And then he pulled back.

Shoving a hand through his curls, he let out a quiet curse, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over her instead.

Not now, he told himself.

Not yet.

He sat back, forcing himself to look away.

But even in the dark, even in the silence, he knew.

He was already in too deep.

London was cold, the kind of damp chill that clung to bones and made her wish she was still waking up in different hotel rooms, still stealing sips of his morning coffee, still pretending she didn’t care when he hummed her songs under his breath.

The withdrawal was annoying.

But not unexpected.

She had just finished scribbling notes for a new song when her phone rang.

“You still in town?”

She smirked, setting her pen down. “Didn’t know you missed me so much, pop star.”

Harry chuckled, that deep, lazy sound that made something twist in her stomach. “Not even denying it, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Styles?”

“Dinner.”

That made her pause.

Sure, they had spent weeks living in each other’s pockets—whiskey-soaked late nights, studio sessions stretched into dawn, long looks across dimly lit dressing rooms—but this felt… different.

Intentional.

Like he was asking for something neither of them were ready to name.

Still, she played it cool. “Where?”

“I’ll text you.” A pause. “Wear something nice.”

She showed up to the restaurant in a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and her mother’s old silver rings.

Let him try and tell her what to wear.

Harry was already there, tucked into a quiet corner, a half-full glass of red wine in front of him. His curls were messier than usual, his sweater hanging loose on his frame, and the moment he saw her, his dimples deepened.

“Very fancy,” he teased, flicking the collar of her jacket as she slid into the seat across from him.

Y/N smirked. “If you wanted a date, you should’ve said so.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

The air shifted.

She ignored the way her pulse quickened, instead reaching for the menu. “So. What’s good here?”

They fell into easy conversation, talking about the tour, the highs and lows, the stupid inside jokes they’d collected along the way.

But somewhere between the laughter and the second glass of wine, the mood softened.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers.

Harry tilted his head. “Of what?”

“Being… this.” She gestured vaguely at him, at the world outside the restaurant doors, at the weight of fame that followed them both. “The cameras, the expectations, the pressure. Do you ever just wanna disappear?”

Harry studied her, running his thumb along the rim of his glass.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But then I remember why I started. And it’s not about all the noise. It’s about the music. About…” He exhaled, shaking his head with a small smile. “About moments like this.”

Y/N felt her heart lurch before she could stop it.

She cleared her throat, forcing a smirk. “Sappy.”

Harry grinned, leaning back in his chair. “You love it.”

She did.

That was the problem.

They should have known better.

A quiet dinner in London? No such thing.

The next morning, the headlines were everywhere.

Harry Styles and Rock Royalty: A New Power Couple?

The Fleetwood Mac Connection—Is Y/N Following Her Mother’s Footsteps in Love, Too?

Spotted: Harry & Y/N, Cozy London Date Night or Just Old Friends?

Y/N groaned, tossing her phone onto the kitchen counter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Harry’s name lit up her screen.

She answered without greeting. “Tell me this will blow over.”

Harry chuckled. “It’ll blow over.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am.” Another laugh. “We could deny it.”

“Obviously.”

“Or…”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Or?”

Harry’s grin was practically audible. “Could always lean into it.”

She snorted. “You wish, Styles.”

He hummed. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

Her stomach flipped.

Before she could respond, there was a knock on her door.

“Gotta go.” She hung up quickly, shaking off the warmth curling in her chest.

Then she opened the door.

And found her mother standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

Y/N barely had a chance to step aside before Stevie breezed past her, silk scarves trailing, the scent of patchouli and incense filling the space.

She made a beeline for the kitchen, plucked Y/N’s phone off the counter, and squinted at the headlines.

Y/N sighed. “Good morning to you, too.”

Stevie hummed, tapping a red-lacquered fingernail against the screen. “So… you and Harry Styles.”

Y/N groaned. “For fuck’s sake, it’s nothing.”

Stevie arched a delicate brow, taking a slow sip of her tea. “Sure, baby. Keep telling yourself that.”

Y/N scowled. “It’s not love.”

Stevie’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Love is messy in this business, honey.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, snatching her phone back. “I wouldn’t know.”

Stevie just laughed, something soft and far too smug in her gaze.

Because she knew.

Long before Y/N was willing to admit it to herself.

She spotted him immediately.

Harry.

Leaning against the marble bar, whiskey in hand, dimples out in full force as he laughed at something Lizzo said. He looked too good, annoyingly good, all effortless charm and understated power in his black suit, his sheer shirt open just enough to tease golden skin and the sharp edge of his collarbone.

Y/N swallowed hard.

It had been weeks since the headlines. Since her mother’s knowing smile. Since she had convinced herself she wasn’t thinking about him like that.

But now, with the golden glow of the chandeliers casting shadows over his cheekbones, his green eyes flicking up to meet hers across the room—she felt it.

The pull. The inevitable, undeniable pull.

She found herself at his side before she could think better of it, sliding onto the barstool beside him.

Harry glanced at her, eyes flicking over her outfit—a silk slip dress in deep navy, barely-there straps, silver chains glinting against her collarbone. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers tightening around his whiskey glass.

Interesting.

Y/N smirked, plucking an olive from the garnish tray and popping it into her mouth. “Enjoying yourself, pop star?”

Harry exhaled a laugh, tilting his glass towards her. “Was just about to ask you the same thing, rock princess.”

She arched a brow. “You clean up well.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “So do you.”

Her breath hitched, but she masked it with a slow sip of her drink.

They fell into easy conversation, but the teasing was sharper tonight, laced with something dangerous. He was closer than usual, his knee brushing against hers, his fingers grazing the inside of her wrist when he reached for his drink.

And every time she laughed, his eyes flickered to her lips.

Sometime after midnight, when the party was loudest and the drinks were strongest, Y/N felt the walls closing in.

She had spent the last hour with his hand on the small of her back, his voice low in her ear, his eyes dark and unreadable whenever she so much as looked at someone else.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

So she grabbed his wrist.

“Come with me.”

Harry blinked, surprised, but let her lead him through the crowd, up a grand staircase, and through a side door that led to the rooftop.

The city stretched out below them, glittering in the darkness. The muffled bass of the party throbbed beneath their feet, but up here, the air was crisp, cool against flushed skin.

Harry ran a hand through his curls, exhaling. “Y’finally had enough of all that?”

Y/N scoffed. “I just needed to breathe.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“You think about it too, don’t you?”

Her stomach clenched.

She turned to him, arms crossed. “Think about what?”

Harry took a step closer. “This.”

Her heart hammered. “Harry—”

“I think about you too much,” he admitted, voice quiet but firm, like he had been holding it in for years.

The air crackled between them.

Y/N’s nails bit into her palms. Her voice was steady when she said, “Then do something about it.”

Harry moved before she could take it back.

His hand found her jaw, fingers tilting her face up to his. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his breath fanning against her lips—giving her a chance to stop it, to pull away.

She didn’t.

So he kissed her.

Slow at first, teasing, like he wanted to savor the moment. His lips were soft but firm, tasting like whiskey and warmth, like something she hadn’t realized she had been starving for.

And when she kissed him back, something inside him snapped.

A groan rumbled in his throat as he deepened it, his other hand sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The cold rooftop wall pressed against her back, his body against her front, caging her in.

She melted.

Her fingers tangled in his curls, tugging just enough to make him growl into her mouth. She felt his smirk against her lips before he kissed her harder, licking into her mouth like he wanted to learn every single inch of her.

The city blurred around them.

There was only this.

Only him.

Only the moment they had spent years pretending they didn’t want.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N was breathless, lips tingling, her hands still fisted in his hair.

Harry smirked, eyes dark and hazy.

“Was wondering when you’d let me do that.”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her fingers tracing his jaw.

“Shut up and do it again.”

And so he did.

They didn’t talk about it, not really.

They just acted.

And once that line had been crossed, there was no going back.

The secrecy of it all was intoxicating.

It turned the smallest moments into something electric—her fingers grazing his when she passed him a drink, the press of his palm against her lower back as he guided her through a crowd.

They stole kisses behind dressing room doors, in dimly lit hallways, in the backseat of a blacked-out SUV. It was a game neither of them acknowledged but both played with fervor.

It was thrilling.

It was dangerous.

It was them.

Harry had sent her nothing but a single text:

Room 1107. Door’s open.

So she went.

The moment she stepped inside, he was already reaching for her.

His hands were warm as they slid around her waist, pulling her in. His lips found hers before she could even make a remark about his audacity, and suddenly she was backed up against the wall, gasping softly into his mouth as his fingers gripped the hem of her hoodie—the one she had stolen from his suitcase weeks ago.

It smelled like him.

It felt like home.

“Missed you,” he muttered against her lips, his voice rough with exhaustion but laced with something softer, something sweeter.

She smirked, her fingers curling into his T-shirt. “You saw me three hours ago.”

Harry hummed, dragging his lips down the column of her throat. “Still too long.”

She rolled her eyes, but the shiver down her spine betrayed her.

But sleep had other plans.

Y/N woke up tangled in crisp white sheets, her limbs a lazy sprawl across the mattress. The scent of Harry—cologne, whiskey, and something distinctly him—wrapped around her like a second skin.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Her eyes flew open.

Harry groaned into the pillow beside her. “Fuck’s sake.”

“Harry? You up?”

His assistant.

Shit.

Y/N scrambled upright, heart racing. She barely had time to throw on his hoodie before Harry was tugging her off the bed, dragging her toward the closet.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” she hissed.

He just grinned, pushing the door open. “Get in.”

“Harry—”

“In, love.”

She barely had time to flip him off before he shut the door behind her, sealing her in darkness.

Y/N pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, crouched between his suitcases, her bare legs chilled by the cool air inside.

She could hear everything.

The door creaking open.

Harry’s voice, rough from sleep. “Morning.”

The assistant’s knowing tone. “You sound like shit.”

A pause.

Y/N could feel the smirk in Harry’s response. “Yeah, well. Long night.”

Her glare could have burned through the door.

From the other side, she heard rustling—probably his assistant rifling through a bag.

Then—

“Oh, and by the way? If you’re gonna sneak someone in, maybe don’t leave two pairs of shoes by the door next time.”

Silence.

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Harry, to his credit, barely missed a beat.

“Right. Yeah. Noted.”

The door shut a moment later.

She barely had time to breathe before the closet door swung open, revealing Harry’s smug, dimpled grin.

“Next time,” he murmured, offering his hand to pull her up, “you’re hiding under the bed.”

Y/N smacked his chest.

And then kissed him.

It was meant to be quick—just a press of lips in playful retaliation—but Harry wasn’t one to let a moment slip away. His fingers curled around her waist, holding her there, deepening the kiss. It was languid, familiar, the kind of kiss that tasted like late nights and secrets, like comfort and hunger all at once.

She sighed against his mouth. “I should go.”

“I know.”

Neither of them moved.

It was only when the morning light began creeping through the curtains, spilling over their tangled limbs, that she forced herself to untangle from him. Harry stayed in bed, arm draped over his forehead, watching as she slipped into her jeans and pulled on his hoodie—her own top lost somewhere in the haze of the night before.

His voice was hoarse from sleep. “At least let me get you a car.”

“I’ll call one,” she assured him, raking her fingers through her messy hair.

Harry sat up then, brows knitting together. “Y/N—”

“I’ll be fine,” she interrupted, flashing him a small smile. She pressed a last kiss to his cheek, inhaled the warmth of his skin, and slipped out of the room.

And right into a camera flash.

The second she stepped onto the pavement, she knew.

The street wasn’t exactly swarming, but one paparazzo was enough. He was already snapping rapid shots, the sound of the shutter slicing through the dawn stillness like a guillotine. She didn’t run—that would make it worse. Instead, she pulled up the hood of Harry’s sweatshirt, kept her chin down, and slid into the waiting car.

Her phone buzzed before she even reached her apartment.

Maddie: Shit. Have you seen TMZ??

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t even shut the door behind her before she was pulling up the link.

The headline screamed at her in bold print:

Y/N Nicks Spotted Leaving Harry Styles’ Home—Rock Royalty & Pop Prince?

Her pulse pounded as she scrolled. Dozens of pictures. Some from last night when they arrived separately at his house. Some from this morning, catching her in the same outfit.

And then the comments.

Not surprised. The tension in that interview was insane. She’s not even that famous wtf. Fleetwood Mac and One Direction crossover??? Didn’t she date that bassist last year? She’s literally wearing his hoodie. IT’S HAPPENING. Harry can do better tbh.

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

She should have known.

By noon, it was everywhere. Entertainment news, gossip sites, even actual journalists weighing in on the implications of her and Harry. She ignored the notifications, silenced her phone, but then came the email from her publicist.

And worse—Harry’s PR team.

We need to get ahead of this. No comment is best for now. We’re drafting a statement.

It was bullshit.

By mid-afternoon, she was at his house.

Harry was pacing the living room, phone in one hand, stress written all over his face. He looked up when she walked in, exhaling heavily. “They want me to deny it.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “What?”

“They think—” He dragged a hand through his curls. “They think we can ride it out, wait for something else to distract them. If we say nothing, it dies faster.”

Something bitter lodged itself in her throat. “Say nothing? Or lie?”

He hesitated. And that was enough.

“You said we were in this together,” she said, voice sharp.

“We are,” he insisted. “But you know how this works, Y/N. It’s different for me. The fans.”

Her laugh was hollow. “Oh, the fans.”

“That’s not—” He sighed, shaking his head. “You know what I mean.”

“No, Harry. I don’t.” She crossed her arms. “Because last I checked, I’m in this industry too. I’ve had my entire existence scrutinized since birth. Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to have people picking apart my every move?”

His jaw clenched.

She pressed on. “But I’m not ashamed of you. And I sure as hell don’t want to pretend this isn’t real just because some PR team is scared of a few bad headlines.”

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he said, voice low.

“Then why are you acting like you are?”

Silence.

Her heart hammered.

Finally, she exhaled shakily, voice barely above a whisper. “I want us to stop hiding. Please.”

He didn’t say anything.

And maybe that was her answer.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded once, and turned for the door.

The quiet thud of the door closing behind her felt heavier than it should have.

It wasn’t dramatic—no slamming, no storming out. Just the quiet finality of leaving.

And yet, it echoed.

She didn’t cry in the car. Didn’t cry when she got home. Didn’t even cry when she scrolled through Twitter and saw her name still trending, the discourse evolving by the hour.

What does Harry see in her anyway? She’s just another nepotism baby. She’s so private—does she think she’s better than his other exes? She’s clearly using him for clout. She’s lucky to have him, but he deserves someone who actually appreciates him.

Her fingers hovered over the screen before she locked her phone and tossed it onto the couch.

Let them talk. Let them spin their stories. It wasn’t like the truth mattered.

She went silent.

No Instagram stories, no late-night tweets, no cryptic lyrics. The press called it a calculated move, the fans called it suspicious, but in reality?

She just didn’t have the energy.

She slept too little and drank too much coffee. She ignored calls from her publicist. Ignored texts from mutual friends who wanted to check in but were probably just fishing for an inside scoop.

And Harry?

Harry didn’t reach out.

Not once.

Which, of all the things, hurt the most.

It had been three days.

She was at her mother’s house when it happened.

Stevie had always been able to tell when something was wrong, no matter how good Y/N thought she was at masking it. She hadn’t pried, though. Not yet. Instead, she let Y/N exist in the space, offering quiet company rather than questions.

But Y/N knew she wouldn’t escape forever.

That night, the house was quiet except for the hum of the wind outside. Stevie had gone to bed hours ago, leaving Y/N alone in the dimly lit living room, the grand piano standing in the corner like it was waiting for her.

She didn’t even realize she was walking toward it until her fingers brushed against the keys.

She sat down.

And she played.

It started as muscle memory, the chords slipping out in a familiar pattern, soft and haunting. The kind of song that lingered in the bones, that carried the weight of something unfinished.

"You could be my silver spring..."

The words came out quieter than she intended, but they were there.

"Blue-green colors flashing..."

Her voice wavered.

"I would be your only dream..."

Her fingers trembled over the keys, the melody filling the empty room.

"You will never be my lover..."

The tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

God.

She hadn’t cried. Not when the pictures leaked, not when the headlines turned ugly, not even when she walked away.

But here, under the weight of this song—her mother’s song—she broke.

She barely heard the footsteps approaching behind her.

But she felt the presence.

A hand, warm and familiar, rested gently on her shoulder.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop playing.

Stevie sat down beside her on the bench, saying nothing.

She just listened.

And when Y/N’s hands finally fell away from the keys, when her head dropped forward and her shoulders shook with silent sobs, her mother reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, baby," she murmured softly.

And that was all it took for Y/N to shatter completely.

She turned into her mother’s arms, hiding her face against her shoulder as the heartbreak spilled out in ways she hadn’t allowed before.

Stevie just held her.

She didn’t say I told you so, didn’t say you knew this would happen, didn’t say I warned you, love is messy in this business.

She just let her cry.

Because what was there to say?

Y/N had been willing to fight for this. She had been willing to face the noise, the scrutiny, the world dissecting her every move—for him.

And he hadn’t even reached for her when she walked away.

She had loved him. Had let herself believe, even just for a moment, that they could exist beyond the secrets, beyond the fear.

But maybe she had been wrong.

Maybe he was never hers to begin with.

Meanwhile...

Harry hadn’t slept.

He had spent the last three days running on autopilot, going through the motions of studio sessions and meetings, pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

He had tried to tell himself that this was the right move. That letting the story die on its own was the best way to protect them both.

But nothing about this felt right.

He had checked his phone a hundred times, fingers hovering over her contact, but he never typed anything. What could he say? Sorry I didn’t fight for us? Sorry I let the fear win?

He wasn’t sure what finally pushed him over the edge. Maybe it was the lack of her name in his messages, the absence of her voice. Maybe it was the fact that he had spent years wanting her and only had days before she slipped away completely.

Or maybe it was the video.

It wasn’t even a full clip, just a fifteen-second snippet someone had posted online.

Y/N, at a piano. Playing Silver Springs.

It was grainy, the lighting dim, but he knew her silhouette anywhere.

And he knew what that song meant.

His stomach dropped.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just the weight of the media or the PR teams or the fans that mattered.

It was her.

It had always been her.

And if he didn’t move now, if he didn’t do something, he was going to lose her for good.

The rain was relentless.

It hit the pavement in steady sheets, washing the city in silver streaks and the glow of streetlights. It soaked through Harry’s clothes, plastering his shirt to his skin, curling his hair against his forehead, dripping down his jaw like the storm itself was trying to pull him under.

But he didn’t care.

His heart was hammering, his chest tight with something wild and desperate as he stood in front of her door, fist poised to knock.

This was it.

No more hiding. No more silence. No more pretending like he could live without her.

His knuckles hit the wood. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

He swallowed hard, knocking again, harder this time, rainwater slipping down his wrist.

Still nothing.

His stomach clenched. What if she wasn’t here? What if she didn’t want to be here—what if she had already left, had already moved on—

The door swung open.

And there she was.

She stood barefoot in the doorway, an oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, her hair damp, like she’d just stepped out of the shower.

She hadn’t been expecting him. That much was obvious.

Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly as she took him in—the way his shirt clung to his chest, the way water dripped from his curls, the way his breath came ragged and uneven.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“Fuck the PR,” he blurted, voice raw. “Fuck the headlines.”

She blinked.

“I love you.”

The words hit the air like a lightning strike, sharp and electric.

A breath. A pause. A crack in the silence.

The rain hadn’t let up.

It streaked down the windowpanes, tapping a steady rhythm against the glass, pooling in the crevices of the street outside. The air smelled like wet pavement and something electric, something on the verge of breaking.

He stood there in her doorway, dripping onto the hardwood floors, soaked to the bone. His shirt clung to him, darkened by the rain, molded to the sharp lines of his chest and the ridges of his stomach. Water curled at his jaw, trailing down the hollow of his throat. His breaths were heavy, ragged, like he’d run here in the downpour, like nothing in the world had mattered more than making it to this moment.

And she—

She just stared.

Chest rising and falling, lips slightly parted, fingers trembling at her sides.

Silence stretched between them, thick and weighted, every unspoken word, every unshed tear, every almost hanging in the space between their bodies.

Her fingers fisted in the damp collar of his shirt.

She yanked him inside.

The door slammed behind them, but neither of them noticed.

His back hit the wood, a sharp inhale punched from his lungs as she pressed against him. Their bodies were a tangle of heat and desperation, a collision of limbs and longing, the storm outside nothing compared to the one building between them.

Her hands slid up, skimming over his shoulders, gripping the nape of his neck, pulling.

Their mouths crashed together.

It was rough. Messy. Clumsy in the way only something utterly inevitable could be.

Her nails scraped against his scalp, and he groaned into her mouth, his fingers threading into her damp hair, tugging just enough to tip her head back. His lips slanted over hers, deepening the kiss, tasting her like he was starved for it.

She gasped when his mouth trailed lower, down the curve of her jaw, the column of her throat. He bit down, just enough to leave a mark, just enough to make her shudder against him.

Her hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but the fabric was stuck to him, refusing to give. Frustration twisted her features.

“Off,” she demanded, voice breathless, thick with need.

He barely pulled back long enough to shove the wet fabric off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor with a damp slap.

She pressed her palms against his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the erratic beat of his heart beneath her touch.

Then, she leaned in, running her tongue over the rain-slicked skin at his throat.

His whole body tensed.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped.

Losing Control

They didn’t make it far.

They stumbled through the flat, hands desperate, mouths never parting, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Her sweatshirt was the next casualty, pulled up and over her head, landing somewhere behind them. His hands were on her skin instantly, fingers tracing the delicate lines of her spine, dragging down, down—gripping the back of her thighs and hoisting her up.

She gasped against his lips, legs wrapping around his waist.

He walked them backward, moving blindly, guided only by instinct and the sound of her breathing, the little whimpers she made when he kissed the hollow of her throat, the way her hips shifted against him.

They hit the couch.

She was weightless for a moment, air rushing from her lungs as he dropped her onto the cushions, hovering above her, chest heaving.

His hands spread over her bare thighs, sliding up, up, until his fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts. He glanced up, meeting her gaze.

“I’ve wanted you since that first night,” he murmured, voice rough, wrecked.

Her breath caught.

A single heartbeat. A moment suspended in time.

Then she was tugging him down, capturing his mouth with hers.

Heat.

That was all she could feel.

The press of his body, the weight of him between her thighs, the scratch of his stubble against her skin as he kissed a path down her stomach.

Her nails raked down his back, catching at the waistband of his jeans, tugging. He groaned, the sound vibrating against her skin, his grip tightening on her hips as he pushed himself lower.

His lips ghosted over her navel, down further, until—

Her back arched, a sharp inhale punched from her lungs, a curse whispered into the air.

And then everything blurred.

A tangle of limbs, clothes stripped away piece by piece, moans swallowed in kisses, bodies moving together, frantic, unrestrained, the storm raging both outside and between them.

He pressed inside her with a shuddering breath, forehead dropping against hers, their hands gripping, clutching, desperate.

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice hoarse, raw with something deeper than lust.

She did.

And in that moment, it wasn’t just sex.

It was everything.

They collapsed against each other, breathless, bodies tangled.

Her cheek rested against his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles over her bare spine.

The rain pattered softly against the window, but all she could hear was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, quietly—

“You didn’t stop me from walking away.”

He exhaled, his lips brushing over her temple. “I wanted to.”

She glanced up at him. “Then why didn’t you?”

His throat bobbed. “Because you deserved more than that.”

Her heart ached.

She shifted, fingers trailing over his jaw, over the curve of his mouth. “And now?”

His hand tightened on her waist.

“I’m done running.”

She stared at him for a beat.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

And when she kissed him, soft and lingering, he knew—

So was she.

The world could burn. The headlines could scream. The fans could theorize. The PR teams could scramble.

None of it mattered anymore.

Because they were done hiding.

They chose the timing.

They chose the words.

They chose each other.

The cameras were set up in a cozy, softly lit studio, with plush chairs and warm lighting that made everything feel a little less staged, a little more intimate. She sat beside him, their hands resting on the space between them—not quite touching, but close.

The interviewer, an older woman with kind eyes, smiled at them both.

“So,” she began, “I think it’s safe to say the world has been dying to know. What’s the truth?”

Harry exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. He glanced at Y/N, his dimples peeking out as he grinned, then looked back at the camera.

“The truth?” he repeated, voice playful, teasing.

She nudged him, a silent Behave.

He ignored it.

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I’m in love with her. Always have been.”

The interviewer made a sound of delight. The world outside exploded.

She turned to Y/N, who was smiling so wide her cheeks ached.

“And you?” the interviewer asked gently.

Y/N looked at Harry.

He was already looking at her.

“I’m in love with him too,” she murmured. “Obviously.”

The arena was packed.

The energy in the air was electric, a chorus of cheers and music and flashing lights. The setlist was nearly done, the concert winding toward its final moments. But before the last song, Harry paused.

“Alright,” he murmured into the mic, stepping back from the center of the stage. “I’ve got something special for you all tonight.”

The crowd roared.

His eyes found her, standing just offstage, watching him with an amused smile.

And then—he extended his hand.

She hesitated.

Not because she didn’t want to. But because, for the first time, this wasn’t just between them. This was in front of thousands.

He must have seen it in her eyes, because he smiled—soft, reassuring, knowing. He wiggled his fingers, beckoning her.

“C’mon, love,” he said. “Duet?”

The audience screamed.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous,” she mouthed.

But she took his hand.

The moment she stepped onto the stage, the noise doubled, an eruption of cheers and chants and camera flashes.

But none of it mattered.

Not when he was looking at her like that.

The first chords of the song played, slow and sweet, the melody wrapping around them like something sacred.

And then—

He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Soft.

Lingering.

Devoted.

The crowd melted.

But in that moment, as the lights bathed them in gold, as their voices wove together, as their fingers stayed entwined—

It wasn’t about the world watching.

It was about them.

Because for once, it didn’t matter who was looking.

They had each other.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28 @michellekstyles

[midnighttomoscow]

Going into their last year of study at the University of Manchester, Sirius and Remus have been dancing around a blooming crush for the last few years. Everything comes to a head right before their last fall term together and both boys think they’ve made a terrible mistake.

“What do you think it means?” Sirius’s voice is quiet, just above the music. Remus turns, coming face to face with him. His hazel eyes are glassy, gaze soft as it flits over Sirius’s face.

“What do you mean?” When Remus asks, Sirius’s brows furrow, the slice through his right eyebrow almost disappearing.

“Fate up against your will,” Sirius repeats almost reverently.

Remus bites his lip, the movement drawing Sirius’s eyes towards it.

“It’s inevitable.” His voice is soft, bordering husky.

***

I’ve been writing fanfic for a very very very long time and within the last few years I’ve had the opportunity to meet some of my fave people in my life. 

This fic started as me monopolizing Darcy’s (aka rotten_souldier) question box on her instagram and snowballed into a weird and wild friendship that’s blossomed over the last year. I am so lucky that something I’ve written is graced by Darcy’s drawings and that we get to share it with the fandom! 

Mongrel Minds is part of a Modern universe Darcy and I have created. The series is called Modern Love and there will be three fics within this story arc. I don’t have set post dates so this will be a slow update labour of love kind of thing. 

I just hope you love these guys as much as we do! As always fanfic is free to read on ao3 HERE Illustration by rotten_souldier (Instagram, Tumblr) Beta read by Beanz (Instagram, a03) Cover design by myself

[otakuashels]

✨ NEW CHAPTER ALERT ✨

Chapter 42 of Death's Kiss is LIVE! 🚨 This chapter brings us to a pivotal moment as Rook declares her freedom and takes control of her destiny. The world around her shatters and the fire within her ignites like never before. 🔥

Excerpt:

"Her body shook with the intensity of the moment, but she didn’t care. Her gaze pierced the shadowy remnants of the world around her. She was free, no longer their puppet."

“I will get everything I want. Or I will die trying”

________________________________________________________

The stakes are higher, the tension is palpable, and the characters are growing in ways we didn't expect. If you thought things were complicated before… just wait. 😏

As always, there's plenty of romance, angst, and some slow-burn development that will leave you wanting more. 💕

Rating: Explicit Warning: Canon-typical violence, explicit content, slow romance.

💬 Check out the chapter now! Act Two Chapter 18

If you’re already hooked, feel free to leave your thoughts, comments, and theories in the notes! Come scream with me about the old man!

Lovely Evie belongs to @starfleetteddybear

Bad Ass Lenore belongs to @opulentshits

[7iction]

🎥 ROTTMNT Movie Remake – A Fanfic Rewrite with a Twist! 🌀

✍️ By: Ozzie7 | 📖 Now Complete!

Summary:

A reimagining of the ROTTMNT Movie, written from memory—with added fan children, new twists, and deeper emotional stakes.

Family bonds will be tested. Time will be rewritten. And the fight against the Kraang will never be the same.

If you love found family, intense drama, and a mix of angst & comfort leading to a happy ending, this fic is for you!

📌 Details: 🔹 Series: Part 3 of ROTTMNT LOVERS 🔹 Rating: Teen & Up Audiences 🔹 Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence 🔹 Fandoms: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 🔹 Relationships: Donatello & Kendra, Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit & Raphael 🔹 Characters: Leo, Raph, Donnie, Mikey, Cassandra, Kendra, Casey Jones, The Kraang, Original Mutants 🔹 Tags: Family Bonds, Family Drama, Twins, Original Characters, Love, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Time Travel 🔹 Word Count: 40,127 🔹 Chapters: 22/22 (Completed!) 🔹 Published: Mar 16, 2025 | Completed: Mar 22, 2025

📖 Read it here: ROTTMNT Movie Remake on AO3

🔄 Reblog & share with fellow TMNT fans! 🌀🐢

[bluberryblurays]

What is it about me? (FengQing) (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/371803554-what-is-it-about-me-fengqing?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=bluberryblurays What is it about Mu Qing that Feng Xin always glares at, always scoffs at? And what is it about Mu Qing that lets it govern him completely? -- After Xie Lian and his husband take their honeymoon, ghost sightings are rising without their king to keep them in check. And it is those very ghosts that force the interactions, the hurt and the memories which lead to Mu Qing and Feng Xin making progress with each other, creating something together, almost a thousand years after they met.

[bingqiufics]

Title: Night of Yearning

Author: tagteamme

Relationship: Bingqiu

Universe: Post Canon

Status: Complete

Rating: Explicit

Length: 38,534, 4 chapters

Summary:

Luo Binghe develops a gap in his memory, one that is shaped specifically like Shen Qingqiu.

“Binghe, speak to this master,” Shen Qingqiu says firmly, and Luo Binghe gives him a strange look. Shen Qingqiu can’t place it and he leans forward, intending to get closer to see better. But the hand around his wrist instantly tightens to the point where it hurts, and Shen Qingqiu lets out a squawk of pain.

“Binghe—!”

“Why do you keep calling me like that?” Luo Binghe returns, and Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widen at the way the words are devoid of any emotion. It is nothing though, compared to the force of what Luo Binghe says next. “Who are you?”

Comments: I'm not one for angst a yon, but this is so well written. I adore fics that have SQQ being the one to be the more affectionate outwardly for one reason or another. If you need a bit of angst with a hapoy ending, this is for you!- mod Curie

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Angst W/ A Happy Ending (2) Masterlist

part one

address the letters, to the holes in my butterfly wings (ao3) - lifewasradical calum/ashton T, 4k

Summary: To say he was surprised when Ashton messaged him on Facebook a few days ago would be an understatement. He didn’t even know he was still friends with Ashton on Facebook, having barely touched the app since he got out of college and didn’t care about what assorted acquaintances and extended family members were doing. But something in him told him to check the stupid messenger app and see the stupid message from Ashton sitting at the top of his list with the stupid starting line of “Hey, I hope you’re okay…”

Or, Calum and Ashton broke up three years ago and haven't spoken since.

Authority (ao3) - gloomywilbur luke/ashton E, 38k

Summary: “In all our lives, there is a fall from innocence. A time after which we are never the same.”

Once Luke graduated high school he went straight to becoming a cop. But the punk kid who loved him never forgot about those blue eyes.

“What’s wrong Lukey, you seem nervous?”

“I can lose my job for this Irwin.”

“Didn’t stop you from letting me off the hook for breaking and entering, and then letting me fuck you in your cop car.”

Bleeding heart (ao3) - exhiled_spirit luke/ashton M, 35k

Summary: Time changes. Some would say that all of his wishes came true and in some way they did. That’s why he stopped wishing upon the stars like he did when he was a naive child. Because all those wishes led him up to this moment in time. A time where Luke stopped wishing upon a star and instead felt himself become one. Each and every day he felt his mind leaving his body and float away. It’s only a matter of time now until he’s leaving the atmosphere and becomes a floating rock himself. A rock without its glow, just a cold hard rock that no one sees and cares about. 

Or Luke’s past relationship haunts his ever waking moment and everything comes crashing down during the highly anticipated Meet You There Tour.

Chrysalis (ao3) - jbhmalum michael/calum T, 49k

Summary: When Michael breaks up with him without an explanation, Calum is left confused as he tries to pick up the pieces. He just doesn’t realise they’re not meant to be put back together the same way.

Here in the darkness, back where we started (ao3) - sunsetmagnolia luke/calum T, 4k

Summary: With no one caring who stays or leaves before morning, Calum disappears earlier and earlier from his own parties to steal that time with Luke instead. And Luke is always perfectly willing to be pulled away.

kiss me, i have bloodlust for you (ao3) - dethronedaisies (sunsetkuns) luke/ashton N/R, 3k

Summary: “Immortality isn’t as glamorous or ideal as you think, Ashton.” Luke reasoned out to him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “One day you will curse me for robbing you of the comfort of death. One day you will grow weary of this world, and you will loathe me for shackling you to it forever.” -- Ashton is ready for his vampire lover to turn him into one of them, but Luke's hesitance makes him suspect that there's more to it than he lets on.

Moonstone (ao3) - thegiftboxxx luke/ashton M, 6k

Summary: Coronation is next week and this has already been going on too long.

my thoughts are yours - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) calum/ashton, michael/luke T, 4k

Summary: Soulmates can hear each other's thoughts, and Ashton's had to listen to Calum's depressing thoughts for years. One night after a particularly bad night for Calum, Ashton finally gives in and wants to meet Calum, to make his soulmate finally feel better.

of lovers and friends (ao3) - Calumthoodshands (tndart) luke/calum M, 28k

Summary: And at the end of the day, it’s always Calum he goes to, whether to rant or laugh or, in rare cases, to cry. Most of the time to laugh. The first week of uni, it almost feels like a honeymoon — well, only for friends.

Moving in with your best friend can have all kinds of consequences. Falling for them while they seem to get further and further away from you though, that's something Luke never saw coming, and it completely throws him off his rhythm.

photo of you in my mind (on the table, under lights) (ao3) - starvinginbelair (threeheadedmonster) luke/ashton E, 13k

Summary: Ashton isn't sure what compels him to do it.

Or, 5 times Ashton takes a photo of Luke and the 1 time he doesn't. (And the 1 time Luke takes a photo of him)

Pick You Up If You Fall To Pieces (ao3) - heart_is_gonna_flatline michael/luke N/R, 19k

Summary: Luke's stepfather is cruel and abusive, his life is a mess, and Michael just wants to be friends with this shy boy who sometimes hangs out with Calum.

Retrouvailles - @ashtcnirwin (elivigar) luke/ashton E, 36k

Summary: A story about countless small pebbles stacking up to form seemingly impenetrable and unclimbable walls, and the consequences of taking a loved one for granted.

Room Service (ao3) - cornflowerblue (daydadahlias) michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/omc E, 27k

Summary: Luke’s blue eyes are so soft on him. He says quietly, “I don’t care that you steal tiny soaps.”

“I don’t care that you’re a hooker,” Michael replies simply.

or the one where Michael is a room attendant at a hotel and Luke is a hooker that frequents it.

safe and sound - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton T, 8k

Summary: Luke has been doing good, making progress. Of course, everything goes downhill when Luke runs into one of his old alpha's who "trained him" at a celebrity event. Things go from bad to worse when Calum and Luke are taken by the same alpha's.

The Peace in Your Eyes (ao3) - FalseDevotion calum/ashton T, 37k

Summary: A young musician comes back home for his sister’s engagement party on New Year’s Eve, and falls straight back into the best relationship he’s ever had, but only for a weekend.

this is everything i didn’t say - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) michael/luke, calum/ashton T, 6k

Summary: Luke’s home life has never been great, with an abusive and homophobic father. Calum is the only good consistent thing in his life, with Calum being Luke’s best friend. One day, Calum suggests that Luke meets some new people to hang out with. Luke is hesitant, but then he meets a red head named Michael Clifford, and everything changes.

We Could Be Anything (ao3) - CalsAcousticSet michael/luke E, 14k

Summary: It’s become a habit now, a routine, almost normal for Luke to find himself outside of his dorm room, on the wrong side of the door, in the middle of the night on a weeknight. It was the third time this week (and it was only Wednesday) that Luke had been sexiled from his own dorm room by his roommate Calum. But he had to admit, Luke didn't mind being exiled nearly as much as he let on, because it meant that he got to spend time on the floor above. With Michael.

Or: college AU where Luke's sexile from his dorm room leads him to Michael's room instead; from the floor to the bed, from friends to lovers

Your Harming Selflessness (ao3) - lookingforhope luke/ashton T, 14k

Summary: Luke’s suddenly filled with anger. Not anger at Ashton but anger at his inability to make Ashton see his self-destructive patterns.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Hello! I am looking for a fic where Dan is an arsonist and Phil is a firefighter (that’s all i can remember lol rip) I searched in the tags and someone else also asked for a fic like that but the link you guys replied with is from a wattpad fic and i remember this one being from Ao3 i would appreciate so much if yall help me find it omg thanks!

Could it be this fic?

Third Degree (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Dan sets fires. Phil puts them out.

- Tori

[lively-potter]

— moon struck ; jjk ; one

— genre ; strangers to friends to lovers/kinda grumpy x sunshine/smut/fluff/angstwithahappyending 🥹

— warnings ; body insecurities ( mentioned ), eating disorder ( in the past but mentioned ), oc deals with a severe amount of anxiety and panic attacks, violence, smut ( later ), FLUFF, love struck jungkookie 🥹

— find me on Wattpad ; @/LivelyPotter

— word count ; 2.4k

— part two

— 2024 © @LivelyPotter

river’s pov ; six am

My brother Brandon always used to tell me to make sure the walls that I built to protect myself didn't become a prison — a prison that I couldn't escape.

Ten years later, I could shamefully say that I did not listen to his advice, and now I was paying for it in the worst way possible.

Knees tucked to my chest, I panted and eyed the area around me nervously, as if I expected the man that I had been avoiding as the plague had come upon me.

Tucked inside the teeny tiny cleaning closet across from the kitchen, with the door locked and closed – it wasn't possible, but in my mind, there was still a chance.

But maybe that was just me being paranoid.

Okay, I was paranoid. Very paranoid.

Listening closely to the parents dropping their children off, I prayed to whoever was listening to me at this moment that I wouldn't be found by anyone until it was only Sang, the children, and I in the building.

I gulped past the ball that seemed to be lodged in my throat constantly whenever he came to my mind.

He nearly always was on my mind, so I was growing quite used to the clogging of my throat and the constant upbeat of my heart thrumming inside my chest.

He was here, and he crept up on me ( not really, I'm just being dramatic ) without my notice with little Moon in his big strong arms.

Once I caught sight of him – smiling kindly and brightly as he always did, a breathless whisper of my name leaving his red-bitten lips – I squeaked and ran away like a coward, ghostly pale face stained crimson.

It had been this way for seven, grueling, nerve-racking, months.

Ever since Jeon Jungkook moved to Charleston with his two-year-old daughter to live closer to his aunt, Mi Cha, my life had turned on its axis. I was living in fear every morning when the twenty-six-year-old man would drop off his daughter at the daycare center Sang and I ran.

A whimper of disparity left my lips.

My other best friends Brett and Atlas would never let me live this down. On the other hand, Sang and Wil wouldn't give me a hard time about running away from the man when he hadn't even spoken ten words to me.

Not for lack of trying, he had tried speaking to me — every day in fact, but I was the problem. I was the one who chickened out the moment I saw his intimidating, tattoo-laden figure — looking totally out of place in the yellow and lavender mellow aura surrounding the daycare center.

I didn't want to admit to the rest of my friends and family that I was scared of him. Terrified is a better word for it.

I gnawed on my bottom lip, enough to taste the nasty metallic taste of blood coating my tongue.

I cringed and rubbed over the small gash on my lower lip.

I know. I know it's unrealistic and okay, childish to be afraid of a man that I didn't know...but I just couldn't help it! I just couldn't!

Not when he stares at me, with those pretty boba-like eyes and that sweet smile on his handsome face, which for some odd reason, I find him doing a lot before my slow brain finally clicks that he's near.

When I catch sight of him, my fight-or-fly instinct kicks in and I'm gone.

It leads me to some very embarrassing moments that I'm not proud of.

Heck, even last week at the supermarket, I found him and Moon shopping and before he could find me, I hightailed it to the freezer section, and thankfully old man Joe — the resident frozen food stocker, let me hide in the freezing ice room containing huge pieces of pork, beef, and chicken hanging from metal hooks.

I could imagine Brett and Atlas laughing at my misfortune. Those two were a lot more courageous than I was, and I was still fighting past my insecurities about how in the world those two amazing people would want to be friends with me.

A girl who had way too many issues and experienced large bouts of cowardice.

Oh for dingleberries sake!

A shiver tumbled down my spine as I once again remembered that freezer room.

It freaked me out since it reminded me of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but I held strong. Being forced to be scared of ole Joe plunging one of those metal hooks through my neck and suspending my dead body from the ceiling was better than being around Jungkook and those feelings I got whenever I was around him.

Yes, I was running away from my feelings, and I didn't care.

As long as it wasn't hurting anyone, I could carry on in life with a guiltless conscience.

I wasn't hurting anyone, right?

A tremble parted my lips as a quick knock sounded on the door.

"River, he's gone now." A resounding sigh of relief left my lips at hearing Sang's voice. "Moon's been crying for you for the past ten minutes."

I licked at my chapped lips and got up off the floor, and dusted off my light denim baggy pants, and tugged at the oversized Nike sweatshirt I wore as I opened the door and skittered out.

Sang, with her arms crossed across her pink dress-covered figure, watched me sympathetically and carefully wrapped her taller self around my pixie-like frame and led me down the hall and into the children's room.

"You know you'll eventually have to stop avoiding him, right?" She chuckled and pinched my rosy cheek between her manicured fingers.

I avoided her eyes and fiddled with the hem of my shirt, "You don't see his face every time you run, Rivvy." She sighed, "I feel bad for the poor man, Mi Cha speaks about it sometimes. You ought to give Jungkook a break."

Why did it matter to him whether I avoided him or not?

Wouldn't a lot of people be put off by the sheer dominance that man gave off?

Wasn't he used to it?

I cringed, "...I'm sorry. I just can't help it." I mumbled and tucked my pale hair behind my ears as a high-pitched scream entered my ears.

Wincing at the familiar sound, a smile quirked up my lips at the tiny baby, with her gleaming, tear-filled boba eyes and wobbly lips, and cute little curled pigtails swinging back and forth as she marched towards me.

Her little white Air Force ones thumped on the ground as the tiny little girl marched towards me clumsily.

I mustered a giggle and knelt to receive the adorable two-year-old in my arms.

This, ladies and gentlemen, was Jeon Moon.

"Riv!" She cried out a new version of my name, the only part she could pronounce, and fat tears dribbled down her face as she placed her head on my chest.

"Shhh," I hushed the little child, who had begun to get the other kids' attention and before the others swarmed me, demanding attention, I had to quiet her. "It's okay, Moon." I smoothed back her silky dark hair as she calmed down and sniffled against my sweatshirt.

Sang smirked and pushed her chameleon-colored hair off her shoulders, "I don't know why she always comes to you, River." She snickered, now holding little Sarah in her arms.

"But seeing as you both prefer to keep to yourselves and avoid other people like the plague, I kinda see it." She joked.

"Haha." I deadpan at her, blinking down at Moon. My heart swelled at the adorable child and I hugged her closer to my body.

She was just too darn cute!

I wouldn't admit it out loud, but she looked like a baby female version of her dad.

Over the next few minutes, Sang and I sat on the floor as we watched over the kids who had already raided the toy box.

Being the youngest and the most interesting yet introverted child I had ever met, Moon decided to stay seated on my lap while digging into the soft strawberry puff snacks her dad packed for her.

"Oh!" Sang spoke up suddenly, causing Moon and I to look at her, lips forming an O at being startled.

My best friend stifled a giggle, "Your brothers will be here soon — they decided to bring lunch for us since you forgot to bring your own." She sent me a knowing look, more than likely knowing that I had forgotten on purpose.

I once again avoided her eyes and turned my focus to Moon who cooed, those rosy sun-kissed cheeks chubbily pooched out as she ate.

I released a laugh of my own and wiped along her lips with a baby wipe, cleaning the crumbs from her little delicate face.

"Sounds good." I exclaimed, meeting her emerald eyes, "Brett messaged me this morning and said she and Atlas may come down soon to hang out."

Sang only nodded and looked behind my shoulder, biting her lol nervously.

I felt my stomach drop and dread fill my gut. "What is it?" I gulped, fearing the worst.

Sang chewed on her top lip thoughtfully, "I was wondering whether or not you could take over pickup later today, Brandon and Corey need me back at this apartment."

The nervous tinge in her voice caused suspicion to curl along inside my chest, but knowing I would have to face my biggest nightmare, I nodded.

"Sure," I replied, my normally soft-spoken voice shaking in trepidation. I would find a way out of having to face him. I risked a look down at Moon who began to toy with my earring.

Sang had a proud glint in her eye, "Thank you, Rivvy!"

"No problem." I forced a smile and played with Moon's little pigtails.

Sang walked off to help stop a dispute between a couple of ten-year-olds while I gazed down at Moon.

"Oh, Moon." A loud sigh left my lips, displaying the fear inside my heart. "Why does your daddy have to be so darn scary?"

***

third pov ; jeon jungkook

The twenty-six-year-old man stared glumly at the table before him in silence. Using a spoon, Jungkook stirred the warmed ginseng tea within the mug.

"Did that sweet River flee from you again, joka?" Jeon Mi Cha guessed, studying the expression on her nephew's face.

Jungkook fiddled with the silver bar through his brow and sighed heavily, his expression and bodily actions speaking for themselves.

He sipped slowly at the warm drink and licked the droplets from his pierced bottom lip.

"Of course." He exhaled, gritting his teeth. "It's been like this for months, gomo. Why should I expect anything else? I...I try to speak to her every day, and it just stings when she doesn't even give me a chance to speak to her."

Jungkook felt his heart squeeze within the confines of his rib cage and resisted the urge to rub the skin above his heart.

Mi Cha frowned, "I've known that girl since she was five years old and clinging onto her brother's pant leg." She chuckled, seeing a smile erupt on Jungkook's face as he imagined a tiny five-year-old River.

Fuck, he imagined she was as adorable as his Moon!

"She hasn't got out much, Jungkookie." Mi Cha smiled comfortingly, "From what Sang has told me, the girl was homeschooled by her brothers and never really left her home. The only people that are close enough to her are family and those friends of hers that she's known her entire life."

"I know," Jungkook rubbed across his sharp jawline and tongued his cheek thoughtfully, "Since Min Jee and I divorced...I hadn't ever really tried to get back into the dating scene — honestly, I never really felt the urge to, until I saw her." He rumbled, eyes crinkled at the corners as his cheeks flushed the slightest bit.

He'd never blush because of a girl before, but since he had met River Henshaw, blushing in her presence was all he could do.

He wished he could play it cool.

Mi Cha hid her knowing smile behind her hand and continued to listen to Jungkook ramble.

"It's unbelievable to explain this out loud...but I want to get to know her so badly...it's like...she's like..." he struggled to find the right words so his aunt came to understand him. "I just know that she's something special. I just know it. We've never had a conversation, but I know I'll fall for her the second she looks into my eyes and smiles at me."

She was perfect in his eyes.

Attracted to her from first sight, and later falling in deeper the more he learned about her from Sang, Mi Cha, and hell, even his little Moon, who worshiped the ground River Henshaw walked on just proved time and time again that he shouldn't give up.

He didn't think he could.

No matter how insecure he got...when all she did was blatantly avoid him and tremble when he got near.

It was a searing blow to his self-confidence.

When she looked at him for the first time, it was like bells rang in his ears and everything around them blurred and all he could see was her.

"You'll get your chance, joka. It will take time. She's a skittish one."

Jungkook nodded, but other thoughts overwhelmed him.

"It just makes me upset when I hear her mutter 'run, River, run!' to herself." Jungkook's face fell in sadness.

What if the reason she wanted nothing to do with him was because he was older than her? Not too much — only seven years — or was it the fact that he was a dad?

The woman his mother had tried and failed to set him up with a year ago was always put off by the fact that he had a daughter. A baby.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his brain, Jungkook looked back to Mi Cha and rose that pierced brow of his.

"Because you're here at seven am on a Monday morning and not at your shop." She snorted, "Plus you have that puppy love look in your eyes. Again."

Jungkook only grunted in return, resuming his task of avoiding her knowing eyes to count to specks on the marble counter.

author's note ;  ✨

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you loved the introduction to River's story!

Don't hesitate to let me know what you think!



[otakuashels]

In the next Chapter of Death's Kiss

Deaths Kiss

Preview:

“You know, it’s half the fun, really—the way the story unfurls in pieces, fragments that slip through your fingers like sand. Bits and pieces, whispers drifting over the soft clink of glass, warm beer, and the scent of damp wood. That’s when your own trinkets, your scattered thoughts, begin to mingle with ink-stained parchments and tongues heavy with secrets—sweet, bitter, and a touch metallic, like the aftertaste of forgotten promises.”

In the shadows of Thedas, a tale unfolds. But not the kind of tale you’ve heard a thousand times before. This story is her story, a story of hearts beating fiercely beneath the weight of betrayal, love, and a power that could tear worlds apart.

Veilguard, read to defend a land too broken to know peace, stands on the edge of a world that’s ready to burn. The hero’s path isn't always one of gleaming steel and grand quests—sometimes, it’s a slow, aching dance in the dark.

Will you follow the whispers and let your heart guide you through the tale? Or will you turn away, unwilling to face the truths that lie just beneath the surface?

Stay close. This is just the beginning.

[fym-daichi-dies]

OH MY GOD I HAVE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE BUT IM HOLDING MY GROUND FOR THIS ONE SHOUTING "OVERWORKED, OVERWORKED OVERWORKED" UNTIL SHE GIVES ME IT!!

Heres a small rant about this for no reason but i HAVENT HAD A DAY OFF SINCE AUGUSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT so i would appreciate a short summer holiday, even if it is three days, BUT my mom is all like "BUT THE SCHOOL!!!!!!!!1 HOW WILL YOU EVER GO TO OXFORD??????/ IM YOUR MOTHER!!!!!!" just really shaking her fists over this.

every single day we only talk about my future nd stuff because i had some intellect chug jugs before school as a kid or something, but its bothering me now because i finished my exams but im STILL being put under the tightest freaking schedule as if i have finals next month or something, all to prepare for exams next year.

so I DUN WANNA DO THIS ANYMORE!! its annoying because i dont have space for writing and reading fanfics, which i really like to do. she wants me to cheer and clap like everyone else over how exams are finished but what seperates me from them is that they actually have something to look forward to, while i have to undergo what seems to be a never-ending stress, because theres no way such an agreeable, polite and eerily quiet child could ever want to do that weird thing called 'relaxing' LIKE I KNOW I ACT LIKE A CONFUSED ROBOT BUT IM NOT ACTUALLY ONE GEEZ!!!!!!!

Which is what lead me to mini explode on the phone with her today when she told me that i have to go to school the day after i finish exams because SHE promised i would be there, which is just a fat load of hoopla shazabingbong because DUDE!!!!!!!11 I DONT GIVE A SHIT!!!

sigh, either way this swings, hopefully this is resolved and tagged as angstwithahappyending so that i rest assured that i wont need to wake up tommorow! also im weirdly not emotionally angry, not frantically typing this or something im just thinking of how to proceed with my silly little rebellion once she gets home, hopefully no computers or phones are thrown away, not that that usually happens

the last time i even spoke badly to her was during an argument over her miscommunication, and she ended up apologising to me, but i hated every second of it because she didnt really want to apologise, she just didnt want me to bitch about it if i rightfully decided to.

so shes prolly gonna apologise, but only after i actually go to school, or shes going to let me stay and torment me over how im ganging up on her

AND THAT REMINDS ME! whenever shes scolding my sisters or something and i defend, making a really strong point that dunks on her bullshit, she SHUTS ME UP?!?! by warning me to shut up or 'else' and scold ME about how i can never seem to keep my mouth shut, even when its so clear shes using motherlly tactics (gaslighting, shocker) to gang up on whichever victim it is today.

this is getting annoyingly long but she has a weird obsession with how im doing at school, and has this perfect scenario in her head that shes already planning for me, where i go to harvard or oxford or some bullshit and get two degrees in engineering and medics, so that she can finally feel pride in a child for once, but the problem is that its up to me to actually carry it out, and because my teachers think i can do it, it means that i HAVE to

which kills me because im already past my limit, ive shamefully quit and submitted exams without checking them, under the assumption that ill pass anyway, aka, giving up on this goofy dream and settling on what makes me feel stable.

so today ill put my foot down n studd

sparked an argument with my mother so that i can have atleast three days for my summer holiday, how cooked am i???

[bluberryblurays]

Chapter three of my latest FengQing fic is up now on AO3, up in 1.5 hrs on Wattpad!!

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Angst With A Happy Ending Masterlist

Links Last Checked: May 7th, 2024

Broken Love in the First Degree (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine ot4 T, 29k

Summary: “It’s not me, Cal.”

The bottom drops out of Calum’s world at the tone of Michael’s voice. It is so… empty that it takes Calum a moment to understand what he has said and then another to process it. Calum blinks, his mind still sluggish from sleep. He mouths Michael’s words in the vain hope he might catch on to what Michael actually means.

Calum takes too long. Michael sighs. He hits pause on his game and finally—finally—gives Calum the attention he deserves. His eyes are sad. His bottom lip is a little wobbly. Calum is afraid Michael might cry, but Michael can’t cry. Not on Calum’s birthday.

“Look at your wrist.”

(In which Calum is Michael's soulmate, but Michael isn't Calum's.)

Butterfly (ao3) - merlypops luke/ashton, michael/calum M, 29k

Summary: Luke is depressed and Ashton makes him feel loved (and maybe Luke returns the favour too). Also Malum. Yes.

can't find the sound under my tongue (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/ashton M, 13k

Summary: One year, nine months, eighteen days. Luke and Ashton have been attached at the hip for one year, nine months, and eighteen days. Six hundred, fifty six days. Almost twenty two months. One could argue that no, it’s actually been months and years longer than that; but officially, their time together is bound by a date, one solid time where they said yeah, this is it. Despite being this far into a relationship, one punctuated by extended time on the road, living so intertwined, they still don’t live together.

Or, Ashton refuses to move in with Luke. Alternately, a fic inspired by black butterflies and deja vu

Don’t Blink (ao3) - paperstorm michael/luke E, 20k

Summary: Suddenly Luke’s skin is itchy underneath and his clothes don’t feel right. He’s sweaty and uncomfortable with how good it feels having Michael pressed up against him. It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Luke doesn’t know why he never realized that until just now. This thing they do, where they’re always in each other’s space, always touching, always wrapped around each other – it’s how Luke should be with a girl. Not his best friend.

if we make it through december (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) luke/ashton T, 28k

Summary: “I didn’t tell them,” he blurts. Ashton falls silent on the other end of the line. “My family. I didn’t tell them about the breakup. And I know that I should’ve and I swear I will, but Gram asked about you today and it’s probably her last Christmas with us and you know how much she loves you. I couldn’t do it. It’d break her heart, and I can’t do that to her. Not right now. So if you-- I mean. What I’m trying to say is that you’re still invited to Christmas, if you want. You don’t have to, I can make an excuse for you, and I swear I’ll tell them after the holidays, but I thought maybe… maybe you’d want to see them one last time.”

In Your Sweet December Haze (ao3) - fourdrunksluts calum/ashton N/R, 19k

Summary: It’s been years since Ashton’s last seen his best friend's dorky little brother, Calum, but when their families decide to get together for their first shared Christmas since they were all kids, it’s more than just the holiday spirit that pulls Ashton in.

just drive (ao3) - dilfapologist luke/ashton T, 8k

Summary: he knew what he wanted to do. he wanted to break and call Ashton who would no doubt come in and save the day. and it would make all of of those selfish feelings even worse. but even more selfishly he didn't care.

he just wanted his Ashton.

or: where Luke gets stranded at a bus station and Ashton kidnaps him to figure out what's going on

let me love you - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 10k

Summary: Luke Hemmings is a rockstar with a troubled past. He's struggling with an alcohol addiction and a career that's going downhill, but Calum isn't giving up on him. Calum suggests Luke a fake boyfriend to help keep the bad press away. That's where Ashton comes in, Ashton who is an embodiment of sunshine. Luke's hesitant due to his failed past relationships, but he agrees, because he knows this is what he needs to save his career.

Let's Talk About Sex (ao3) - wastedheartmuke michael/luke, calum/ashton G, 18k

Summary: Luke is used to all sorts of flirting tactics but Michael Clifford is something else.

or

Michael Clifford: I want you to have sex with me.

Potato Salad (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine michael/ashton, luke/calum, past michael/omc T, 21k

Summary: “Can I have that?” asks the stranger.

Michael hums in his throat, confused. He looks at the stranger, but the stranger isn’t looking at him. His gaze is locked on the potato salad spilled out on the sidewalk. There is a pink flush to his cheeks, but it is different this time. It isn’t modesty. It’s embarrassment.

“If you’re just going to throw it away, can I have it instead?”

(In which Ashton is a homeless stranger who is starving, and Michael has a kitchen full of food.)

really not fine at all - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) michael/ashton, luke/calum T, 12k

Summary: Michael is a new nurse trainee at the hospital that his husband is already working at. His husband, who is already an established and well respected doctor. Everybody in the doctor field knows who he is. Michael knew this. He didn't expect things to get so complicated when he sees just how popular Ashton is.

rebound feelin' like a rerun (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/ashton T, 33k

Summary: “Alright what the fuck?” Michael shouts, dropping himself down in the open corner of the couch. “What the fuck?” he says again, leaning forward on his knees, staring at Ashton across the room.

Ashton just shrugs. “He left me.”

The lack of emotion in his voice is concerning, completely free of the bubbling laughter and attitude filled charm that normally coats his words. It’s just empty, sort of bitter but mostly void of feeling, like he’s detached himself from the situation completely.

“But why?” Luke finds himself saying.

“He doesn’t love me anymore.”

Somewhere in Neverland (ao3) - HeartnArrow luke/ashton N/R, 51k

Summary: high school lashton au where best friends, ashton and luke hook up at a party and everything changes.

the light in your eyes (ao3) - cashcakeplz michael/calum, michael/luke, luke/ashton N/R, 137k

Summary: In general, Calum just owned a lot of pretty things, and he used to get picked on a lot for it. People would call him out for wearing make-up back when he had just turned thirteen, and then proceed to laugh and beat the shit out of him. Michael was always there, though, and his scrawny little ass would pound those douche bag’s faces in whenever one of them had dared to lay a finger on his best friend. Or at least, he tried. Michael had his fair share of losses in his every-day battles against douche bagery. It never stopped him, though. Especially when all of those ‘straight’ ‘men’ turned their abuse from not only physical, but to sexual and mental as well, sexual being the most reoccurring theme. Especially not then.

Or the one where Calum is beautiful and beaten, Michael is in love with his best friend, Luke is lost, and Ashton just wants everyone to be happy.

Trouble Is I Can't Find A Way (You're Part of Me) (ao3) - sunsetmagnolia luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 24k

Summary: Ashton didn’t know what to make of the thought that Luke was here. In his city. After all the effort he’d put into making sure they were a whole country away from each other for so many years.

you could call me babe for the weekend (ao3) - tutorgirl michael/ashton, luke/ashton, calum/ashton E, 14k

Summary: when luke bails on ashton for a series of romantic christmas dates that he has planned, michael joins him instead.

or 12 days of christmas.

your string of lights is still bright to me (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum, bryana/ashton, luke/omc E, 81k

Summary: 'Michael looked at himself sometimes, when he was putting six year old Lily to bed or giving her four year old sister Georgie a bath with his shirt sleeves rolled up and the faint silvery scars on display, and although he’d never planned for his life to be this way, he thought it could be a lot worse probably, even if it wasn’t what he’d expected back when he was a teenager with dirty hair and death in his heart.'

Michael is struggling to be the father his daughters need. Until he meets Calum again.

you've got stars, they're in your eyes (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/calum T, 10k

Summary: “You know I love you, yeah? Please never forget that,” Calum finally says, turning his head so his watery eyes meet Luke’s. Luke frowns, running his thumb under one of Calum’s eyes, catching the tiniest bit of liquid on his finger.

“Of course, I love you too,” Luke promises and Calum can feel his heartbeat steadily thumping below his ear. He can feel the warmth of Luke’s skin, the faint puffs of breath coming from his open lips. Calum wants to savor the moment, never to forget again, knowing that after tomorrow he may very well never see Luke again.

Or, Calum leaves 5 Seconds of Summer.

[rottensouldier]

cant wait for you all to read what we have been working on 🥺💗

Going into their last year of study at the University of Manchester, Sirius and Remus have been dancing around a blooming crush for the last few years. Everything comes to a head right before their last fall term together and both boys think they’ve made a terrible mistake.

“What do you think it means?” Sirius’s voice is quiet, just above the music. Remus turns, coming face to face with him. His hazel eyes are glassy, gaze soft as it flits over Sirius’s face.

“What do you mean?” When Remus asks, Sirius’s brows furrow, the slice through his right eyebrow almost disappearing.

“Fate up against your will,” Sirius repeats almost reverently.

Remus bites his lip, the movement drawing Sirius’s eyes towards it.

“It’s inevitable.” His voice is soft, bordering husky.

***

I’ve been writing fanfic for a very very very long time and within the last few years I’ve had the opportunity to meet some of my fave people in my life. 

This fic started as me monopolizing Darcy’s (aka rotten_souldier) question box on her instagram and snowballed into a weird and wild friendship that’s blossomed over the last year. I am so lucky that something I’ve written is graced by Darcy’s drawings and that we get to share it with the fandom! 

Mongrel Minds is part of a Modern universe Darcy and I have created. The series is called Modern Love and there will be three fics within this story arc. I don’t have set post dates so this will be a slow update labour of love kind of thing. 

I just hope you love these guys as much as we do! As always fanfic is free to read on ao3 HERE Illustration by rotten_souldier (Instagram, Tumblr) Beta read by Beanz (Instagram, a03) Cover design by myself

[lively-potter]

— moon struck ; jjk ; two

— moon struck ; jjk

— genre ; strangers to friends to lovers/kinda grumpy x sunshine/smut/fluff/angstwithahappyending 🥹

— warnings ; body insecurities ( mentioned ), eating disorder ( in the past but mentioned ), oc deals with a severe amount of anxiety and panic attacks, violence, smut ( later ), FLUFF, love struck jungkookie 🥹

— find me on Wattpad ; @/LivelyPotter

— word count ; 1.4k

— part one

— my masterlist

— 2024 © @LivelyPotter

river's pov; five pm "Bye, Sarah! Bye, Mrs. Goode! See you tomorrow!" I waved, voice a higher pitch due to nervousness.

Moon gurgled happily within my arms as I clutched onto her for comfort, my cheek falling onto her little head as Mrs. Goode and her daughter waved goodbye with matching wide smiles.

Shivers tumbled down my spine when it was only Moon and I inside the room.

I had hoped that by this time the rest of the parents would arrive after Jungkook did. But, as always, Jungkook would be here in time. At exactly five o'clock.

Oddly enough, the rest of the kids' guardians came early to pick them up due to a football game at Ashley Waters High.

It was at this moment I realized that today, the good lord was most definitely not on my side.

With a resigned sigh, I closed the entrance door and walked back towards the playroom to gather Moon's things and pack them back into her diaper bag her dad packed and left with her the days she was here.

Setting Moon to play on the soft carpet with some soft toys, I folded her stained clothes which she had dirtied when playing with her food earlier, wrapped them up in a paper bag, and slid them into the sleek black backpack that had the moon phases on the front below the zipper.

"Gah!" The shrill that left Moon's lips had me jumping when she threw a white fluffy bunny off her lap to grasp the purple one.

I giggled to myself and crawled towards her to hand her the bunny. "Here, little Moon."

She sent a gummy smile up at me before her mind and attention were taken over by the toys in front of her.

Seeing she was now taken care of, I hummed to myself, putting her other toys and snacks inside the bag before zipping it shut.

My shoulders slumped in relief once all of Moon's items were in her bag. I always felt awkward and hesitant to go through another person's bag — permission given or not. It was still awkward for me.

I dusted off my pants and pulled my long hair back into a high ponytail, feeling tiredness creep into my joints. Babysitting energetic kids while surviving on five hours of sleep would exhaust a girl.

Stifling a yawn, I laid on my tummy in front of Moon's little feet and played with her toys for her as she laughed — clapping her teeny hands together.

"A-gan!" She demanded, cutely outstretching the purple bunny.

"Okay," I giggled, feet kicking back and forth in the air. Time passed as I pretended to make the bunnies dance.

I was so involved in making Moon happy that I failed to realize a looming dark shadow swallowing my frame — watching intensely.

That was until Moon looked over my shoulder and screamed shrilly — little tears of joy already pricking her wide doe eyes.

"You girls having fun?" I felt my heart drop out of my bottom at the sound of Jungkook's husky, orotund voice.

I felt that familiar ball lodge itself in my throat as Moon whimpered happily and scrambled up, the little ruffles of her little pink dress shifting around her tiny knees.

"Da! Da!" She shrieked happily, and waddled past my tensed, frozen limbs to cling onto Jungkook's pants.

I forced back a whimper of my own, this one of fear, and slowly turned my eyes to stare at his black Balenciaga combat boots.

Moon tugged at his dark jeans and pouted, sniffles coming from her throat, "Up! Da, Up!" She demanded in her cute voice, wanting to be picked up and cuddled.

I felt his stare pierce through me, and I shivered and shied away. It was like I was naked — and he could see entirely through me.

I didn't like that.

It was an odd, uncomfortable feeling. And I did not like odd and uncomfortable things.

Jungkook's hands came down and grasped Moon's little waist and hoisted her up to cuddle against his robust, toned chest.

I avoided looking in his direction as he mumbled sweetly to Moon — greeting her happily after being away from her the whole day.

I scurried over towards the cubbies and withdrew Moon's diaper bag — knowing he was looking at me.

Panic bubbled up inside me as he drew closer, tugging at the white tank top and white button-down shirt he wore overtop.

I quickly took a glance down at his black studded belt and felt my breath catch.

In the blink of an eye, he was standing right in front of me, Moon happily and quietly resting in his huge tattooed arms.

Keep calm, River. Please don't make a fool of yourself.

For dingleberries sake!

"Thank you for watching over her for me," he spoke softly as if he was afraid to say the wrong thing. "She always has fun here." He chuckled, eliciting a gurgled laugh to leave Moon. 

It only made my head sink lower.

He made me feel like a child again. Small, weak, and so submissive.

"No problem!" I squealed dumbly, fumbling with my arms as I wrapped them around myself and met his eyes shyly.

"I...I love spending time with her." I admitted in a low whisper, feeling a tiny ounce of proudness rushing through my veins.

His boba-like eyes gleamed happily when they met mine and his breath seemed to catch in his throat as he willed the eye contact to continue. 

The soles of his boots squeaked on the linoleum floor as he shifted his feet. 

The sound made my eyes fall to the floor and I jerkily held out the handle of Moon's bag.

I opened my mouth, but no words would leave me. My limbs seemed frozen, and I couldn't move.

His stare stuck me in place and didn't allow movement.

"Thanks," he rumbled and reached forward to grab the bag.

His huge warm tattooed hand brushed against my tiny one, making me gasp and jump back from the contact of his skin sizzling against mine.

My heart rate amped up and raced inside my chest.

Dingleberries! What was that?

I peeked up in time to see Jungkook's jaw rock back and forth as he opened his mouth, before snapping it shut. He licked at the silver hoops through his bottom lip, naturally drawing my eyes to his lips.

I blushed at the otherworldly handsome man in front of me and inched back.

He was scary, but dingleberries — he looked so perfect. Like he jumped out of my fantasies.

"...I better get going." Jungkook broke the silence and stared down at my frame which he dwarfed with his huge muscular build.

Moon had already fallen asleep during our awkward, yet intense encounter.

"Yeah," I whispered back, wrapping my arms around my stomach.

Jungkook let out a grin.

His boba doe eyes watched me and observed my figure before he stepped away and slowly left the room, not forgetting to look over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure I was there.

Where else could I go?

I was still frozen, rooted, and unable to move until he was well away from the daycare center.

***

third pov ; jeon jungkook ; six thirty pm

Jungkook couldn't help the boyish smile that was on his face as he and Moon watched yet another episode of Paw Petrol before Moon's bedtime.

All that was on his mind, at this moment, was River.

She had spoken to him!

She looked like she could have fainted before him, but he talked to her!

Jungkook felt his toes curl in excitement at the future possibilities. He knew she was intimidated by him, most people were, but he hoped in time, that she would look past his domineering aura — apart from the bedroom, that is — until he could show her that he was nothing to be afraid of.

His aunt and mother always told him that he was just a big ass teddy bear on the inside.

His hand tingles at the memory of him purposely brushing his skin against her little tiny hand — and fuck, her skin was so silky soft.

Jungkook nearly growled at the remembrance of her jasmine and laven scent wafting off her little womanly body.

Moon tugged at his shirt, dragging him from his thoughts to show him her favorite part of her show.

"I see, baby." He assured her beautifully adorable daughter, placing a kiss on her little head as she splayed out on his chest.

As he rocked Moon to sleep, Jungkook could only wonder what tomorrow would bring.

Would he finally get to talk to her again?

Or was it just a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? author's note ; ✨ I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I love jungkook, river, and moon sm 💜✨

[bts-au-recs]

delta

Author: sharpa

Relationship: Namgiseok, Jikook, & Taejin

Status: Complete

Word Count: 60,289

Summary: He was the last person Namjoon expected to hear from - thought he was dreaming when he saw the email in his work inbox. It was short and simple, typical Hoseok. Just: We saw what happened. We’re so sorry. If you need get away for awhile, you’re always welcome to come stay with us - JH. He wonders now if Hoseok was surprised when he said yes. If Hoseok only extended the invitation because he didn’t think Namjoon would actually come.

(Or: Namjoon chose a solo career and left Yoongi and Hoseok behind. Seven years later, after being outed by a Korean tabloid, he ends up on their couch in Queens, trying to face an uncertain future. And confront feelings that have persisted for nearly a decade.)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492990/chapters/41202209