writinginpinkpink

[writinginpinkpink]

i need to organize my masterlist that looks so messy sorry

[writinginpinkpink]

Seventeen. [Sid Jenkins]

sid jenkins × fem!reader

"How can we go back to being friends after we just shared a bed? How can you look at me and pretend I’m someone you never met?" Or in which a lifelong friendship ends the night they sleep together.

masterlist.

You’d known Sid Jenkins your entire life. Same street. Same school. Same friend group. He was always just Sid. Your Sid. The boy who panicked before every exam. The boy who showed up at your window when his dad yelled too much.

You meet him when you’re six years old, and he’s holding a soggy plastic bucket full of worms.

The backyard is muddy, and you’re in shoes your mum told you not to ruin. But here you are—half-curious, half-bored—staring at a pale boy with crooked glasses and the biggest gap-toothed smile you’ve ever seen.

He holds the bucket out to you."Wanna see the king worm? He’s huge."

You scrunch up your face. "Ew. Worms are gross."

He frowns, looking into the bucket like maybe he’s hurt their feelings. Then he shrugs.

"That’s fine. I’ll be the worm king then."

You pause. "Can I be the worm queen?"

He lights up like it’s the best idea he’s ever heard. "Yeah! But you have to help dig more."

You kneel beside him, ruining your jeans, not caring. The two of you dig in silence, dirt under your fingernails and a strange sense of peace between you. It feels like the beginning of something, even if neither of you knows what that is yet.

By the time you're eight, Sid is your favorite person who isn't technically related to you.

You walk to school together, swap crisps, share secrets you pinky-promise to keep.

He cries when his pet hamster dies. You give him your favorite sticker. He doesn’t say thank you, but he doesn’t have to.

You start noticing that he knows how to make people laugh—even when he doesn’t feel like laughing. You start writing stories about characters like him. He reads them and says they’re brilliant. You believe him.

At nine, you tell him your parents are fighting a lot, and he doesn’t say anything dumb like "It’ll be okay." He just sits with you on the swing set after school until the sun starts to go down.

He tells you about his mum sleeping on the couch. You don’t know what to say, so you share your last fruit snack. That’s how it works between you—not a lot of big words. Just soft silence and tiny, loyal actions.

By ten, the two of you have a rhythm. You’re the first to hear about his nightmares. He’s the only one who sees the comics you draw. You steal biscuits from each other’s kitchens. You pass notes in class—stick figures, fart jokes, secret codes.

One day, he trips and skins his knee on the playground. You kneel next to him, gently brushing off the gravel.

"You okay?" you whisper.

He nods.

You offer your sleeve to wipe his tears, and he uses it without asking.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

You don’t say you’re welcome. You just stand up and hold out your hand.

He takes it.

And you walk home like that—his scraped knee, your muddy sleeve, your hands together.

Twelve sneaks up on you.

You both still trade gum wrappers and doodle in notebooks, but things are changing. Slowly. Quietly. You still watch cartoons together. But sometimes, you catch him looking at the popular girls and then quickly looking away.

Sid’s taller now. His voice cracks sometimes. He hates it, and you pretend not to notice.

You spend afternoons flopped on the floor doing homework, watching cartoons. You’ve seen each other cry. Seen each other laugh so hard you nearly threw up.

But one afternoon, your parents are yelling upstairs. Sid is sitting next to you at the kitchen table, working on math.

He doesn’t say anything.

Under the table, his hand finds yours.

Not like he’s holding it. Just... putting it there. A quiet gesture.

You pause. Then, slowly, you close your fingers around his.

He doesn’t look up.

You don’t let go.

You’re thirteen when things get... complicated.

Sid is still Sid. But now, he’s got longer legs and hair that falls into his eyes. You notice. He starts swearing more. You start wearing eyeliner. You both pretend you’re more confident than you really are.

You’re watching a movie one night, sprawled across your bed. He leans against you, half-asleep, mumbling something about popcorn.

His head falls on your shoulder.

You go completely still.

Not because it’s uncomfortable Because your heart’s doing something it didn’t used to do. He snores once. You almost laugh. He wakes up a minute later and stretches.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn’t mean to crush you."

"It’s fine," you say, voice too light.

But something in you changed, and you can’t un-feel it.

Suddenly you're fifteen and you start going to parties together. Still attached at the hip. You play the game. You pretend to be his girlfriend when other girls flirt with him. He plays along.

But one night, someone asks: "Are you two, like... a couple?"

Sid laughs. Too fast. Too loud.

"Nah. She’s basically my sister. That’d be messed up." You smile. And something inside you cracks. Not loudly. Just enough that it won’t go back.

Everything changed at seventeen. Everything changed when ge me Cassie. She shows up like a painting that moves. Glitter lids. Floaty skirts. Sugar in her voice. Sid is hooked. She’s everything you’re not. Dreamy. Delicate.

You help him text her. You help him pick out a hoodie to wear around her. You help him fall in love with someone else. And he thanks you like you haven’t been loving him quietly for years.

You stop eating lunch sometimes. You stop drawing. He doesn’t notice.

You sit with him at lunch while he talks about Cassie. You eat quietly. You don’t tell him your parents are getting divorced. He talks about her voice. Her hair. How she kissed him and then disappeared for a week. You just nod. Because being near him is the closest you’ll get.

It's raining and he knocks.

He climbs in through the window. Hoodie soaked. Heart cracked.

"She left again," he says. "Didn’t say goodbye."

You sit beside him.

He says, "I keep getting it wrong."

You say, "You’re not what’s wrong."

He looks at you. Like maybe he’s seeing something new.

He kisses you. And you kiss him back. Not because it’s right. Because it’s him. Because it’s always been him.

And when it happens, it’s soft. Clumsy. Real. Your first time. You give him everything. And he lets you.

Later, you lie tangled in your sheets. His skin still warm against yours. The silence feels heavier now. He’s staring at the ceiling, and you’re watching the side of his face.

Say something, you think. Please.

He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I should probably get going…”

You don’t move.

“She might call.”

Cassie. Again. Like you were just a break in the middle of the Cassie spiral.

He bends down, grabbing his jeans, not looking at you. “You don’t mind, right? That I came by?”

You shake your head.

You want to scream.

You want to beg.

You want to rewind the night and stop yourself from ever opening the door.

Instead, you lie there and say, “No. ’Course not.”

He leaves ten minutes later.

Doesn’t kiss you goodbye. Doesn’t even meet your eyes.

The door closes behind him, and you’re alone.

The sheets smell like him. Your lips are still swollen. Your thighs ache in the way you’ve always imagined they would, after him. But it doesn’t feel good anymore.

It feels like a dream you woke up from too fast.

You bury your face into the pillow, and this time you do cry. Quietly. Carefully. Like maybe if you’re soft enough, you won’t feel it so deep in your chest.

Because now, you know the truth:

There’s no going back.

You can’t be just friends with someone who touched you like that.

And you don’t know how to look him in the eyes again

without begging him to see you.

You don’t talk the next day.

You see him in the hallway, standing by the vending machine with Tony and Chris, laughing at something stupid, and for a second you wonder how he does it.

How he looks so normal.

So unchanged.

He doesn’t see you. Or maybe he does and chooses not to.

You’re not sure which would hurt more.

You go to class. You sit beside him in Media, like always. But this time, there’s a full inch of space between your arms, and he doesn’t look your way once.

Neither do you.

You used to pass notes. Share snacks. Whisper jokes.

Now you just pretend the other isn’t breathing beside you. Like nothing happened.

Like you didn’t know how he tasted.

Days go by. Then a week. You don’t text. He doesn’t knock.

You almost message him one night — just a stupid meme he would’ve laughed at — but your thumb hovers over the send button and all you can think is:

He wouldn’t laugh like he used to.

He wouldn’t send one back.

You’re not that person to him anymore.

So you delete it.

And go to bed with your phone face-down.

The worst part isn’t that you lost him. It’s how easy it happened. There’s no fight. No screaming. No dramatic ending.

Just silence.

Just space widening between you like water between two ships drifting apart.

You see him around sometimes. Still surrounded by the same people. Still trailing behind Tony like a loyal shadow. Still lost in Cassie, who’s back and smiling again like she never shattered him.

You hear from Jal that he’s trying to make it work now. You nod and say “that’s good” and try not to throw up.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon when you finally speak. Not by choice.

You bump into each other outside school, both cutting through the alley behind the record shop. You’re both startled — like ghosts seeing their reflection for the first time.

You stop. He stops.

It’s quiet.

Sid runs a hand through his hair. You recognize the twitch in his fingers — nerves. You used to know what that meant.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

You both stand there like idiots. Strangers.

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Shuffles his feet. “I, uh… I meant to text. I just didn’t know what to say.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He glances at you then. Really looks. “You alright?”

It’s such a normal question. So meaningless.

You should lie. You should say “I’m fine.” You should walk away.

But your voice breaks instead: “No. Not really.”

He freezes. The old Sid would know what to do.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you say quietly. “I thought it meant something. But it didn’t. Not to you.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say yes it did. Just looks at the pavement. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But you did. I don’t think we can go back,” you add.

You think he might argue. Say you’re wrong. Say you can.

But he just nods.

“I don’t think so either.”

It feels like getting punched in the chest. But at least now it’s done. No pretending. No dragging it out. You step past him, slowly.

“Bye, Sid.”

He doesn’t say anything. You look back twice. He doesn't.

You don’t hate him. You just miss being fifteen. Miss when he fell asleep on your shoulder and nothing had been broken yet. Sometimes you dream about that version of him. Then you wake up.

And it’s over again.

[writinginpinkpink]

Scotty doesn’t know. [S.M]

stu macher x fem!reader

notes: my first song fic! i literally can’t stop listening to this song and it just needed to be a story. disclaimer: i don’t support cheating (obviously), but… yeah. hope you like it ❤️ should i do more in this format?

Warnings: infidelity(!!!), emotional manipulation, cheating, heartbreak, mature themes, angst, sensitive content

masterlist.

Scotty doesn't know that Fiona and me

Do it in my van every Sunday

She tells him she's in church but she doesn't go

Still she's on her knees and Scotty doesn't know

The van smells like cigarette smoke and gasoline, and Stu says that’s “part of the charm.” He says it with that lazy grin, the one that makes your stomach twist in ways it definitely shouldn’t — not when you have a boyfriend. A nice boyfriend.

But nice doesn’t feel like this.

Stu's seat creaks as he climbs over you, hands under your shirt like it’s second nature now. You arch into him, biting back a gasp, and the windows start to fog. You’re not even trying to pretend it’s wrong anymore.

Your phone buzzes beside you.

Scotty 💛: How was it, babe?

You ignore it.

“Church girl,” Stu mocks, licking into your throat like a sermon. “Bet God’s real proud of you.”

You’re already on your knees.

Oh, Scotty doesn't know

So don't tell Scotty

Scotty doesn't know

“Do you think he suspects anything?” you ask once, breathless, shirt halfway off, back pressed against the cold side panel of the van.

Stu just laughs — low and wild — as he tugs your bra down and mouths at the top of your chest like your skin is some kind of joke only he gets.

“Scotty?” he snorts. “That idiot thinks you’re praying for his grandma.”

You don’t want to laugh, but you do. You cover your mouth with both hands and muffle the sound, but Stu sees it anyway.

“See? You like it,” he says, like he’s proud of you. “You like the game.”

You shake your head.

But you don’t stop him.

He kisses down your stomach, unbothered, unhurried. You feel your phone buzz again — probably Scotty asking if you want to meet up after church.

Stu looks up at you with that devilish smirk, mouth hot and wicked against your thigh.

“Scotty doesn’t know,” he murmurs.

And you pretend that makes it better.

Fiona says she's out shopping

But she's under me

And I'm not stopping

Stu’s voice comes out half-muffled against your neck, mockingly high-pitched:

“‘I’m just running a few errands, babe! Gonna hit the mall!’”

You’re too breathless to laugh, pinned under him in the back of the van, one leg hitched around his waist, his hands gripping your hips like they’re his to keep. He’s relentless — all teeth and heat and sweat-soaked hair falling into his eyes.

You shouldn’t be here. You should be in the food court with Scotty, pretending to care about whatever new sneakers he wants to buy.

But you lied.

You always lie.

And now your back is arching, mouth falling open in a silent cry as Stu grinds deeper, faster, like he’s trying to erase every trace of your boyfriend from your skin.

He looks down at you, lips swollen and pupils blown wide, and laughs through a groan.

“You’re not thinking about him right now, are you?”

You shake your head.

He doesn’t stop.

He never does.

I can't believe he's so trusting

While I'm right behind you thrusting

Fiona's got him on the phone

And she's trying not to moan

It's a three-way call and he knows nothing, nothing

You don’t even know how it started — the call, the madness. Maybe it was Stu’s idea. It always is.

“He’s probably bored,” Stu had whispered, lips brushing your ear as he pressed you against the wall of his bedroom, one hand already sliding under your skirt. “Text him. Say you miss his voice.”

And you did.

Now Scotty’s on speaker, his voice tinny and sweet, spilling out of the phone balanced on the edge of Stu’s nightstand. Stu’s behind you, body flush with yours, each thrust sharp and mean like he’s trying to punish you for something. Or maybe reward you. It’s hard to tell with him.

“I—I miss you too,” you breathe out, fingers clutching the sheets.

Stu bites down on your shoulder, grinning like the fucking devil, then pulls your hips back harder.

“You okay, babe?” Scotty asks from the phone. “You sound out of breath.”

“She’s fine,” Stu growls low in your ear, quiet enough not to be heard. “A little busy.”

You clamp your hand over your mouth, eyes wide, legs shaking.

Stu leans forward, breath ragged, and murmurs, “Go ahead. Talk to him.”

You fumble for words. “J-just walked up the stairs. I’m fine. Really.”

Scotty laughs. “You always get winded so fast. It’s cute.”

The thrusts don’t stop.

Your moans turn into muffled gasps.

It’s cruel.

We'll put on a show

Everyone will go

Scotty doesn't know

It starts with a party. Loud music, too much beer, bodies pressed together like no one's got anything to hide.

But you do.

You always do.

Stu finds you across the room like he’s tracking prey — eyes sharp, smile sharper. You’re wearing the dress Scotty likes, the one that makes you look "sweet." But there’s nothing sweet about the way Stu grabs your wrist and pulls you upstairs like it’s already planned.

He doesn’t bother closing the door all the way.

He wants them to hear.

“You're mine up here,” he mutters, pressing you against the bedroom wall. “Let them wonder.”

You can hear the party below — laughter, footsteps, bass shaking the floor. Somewhere down there, Scotty’s bragging to someone about how loyal you are. How he’s so lucky.

And up here, Stu’s mouth is on yours. His hips roll into you, slow and hard. You know the door is cracked. You know the girl in the hallway just saw.

You don’t stop.

Stu grins against your neck. “Let them watch. Let them all fucking know — except him.”

Every sound you make echoes just enough.

Every moan could give you away.

But no one says a thing.

The parkin' lot, why not?

It's so cool when you're on top

His front lawn in the snow

Life is so hard 'cause Scotty doesn't know

You don’t even make it out of the parking lot.

Stu’s van door slams behind you, and you’re already straddling him in the driver’s seat, breath misting in the cold air, legs braced on either side of him as if the chill doesn’t matter. Your hips grind down, and he lets out a low groan, gripping your thighs like he owns you.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, smiling like it’s the best thing about him.

He tilts his head, hair falling into his eyes. “You’re the one riding me like we’re in a Fast & Furious sequel.”

You laugh — and then gasp as he bucks up harder. The windows fog again. Outside, people pass by, oblivious.

“You think Scotty’s home yet?” Stu asks, wicked. “Maybe we should stop by.”

You don’t think he’s serious.

Until you’re on Scotty’s lawn.

The snow crunches under your boots. It’s past midnight, and his porch light glows softly, like it’s waiting for you to come inside and kiss him goodnight.

But you’re not knocking.

You’re bent over Stu’s hood, thighs bare to the icy wind, his hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip like he’s trying to leave bruises in the shape of guilt.

“Tell me this isn’t better than him,” he growls.

You don’t say a word. You just push back against him harder.

Behind you, the snowflakes keep falling.

In front of you, Scotty’s window stays dark.

He doesn’t know.

And it makes you burn.

i did her on his birthday

You should’ve said no.

You should’ve been at Scotty’s house like a good girlfriend — balloons in your hand, cake on the table, sitting in his lap while his mom snapped pictures. You should’ve kissed his cheek and told him he was everything.

Instead, you’re in Stu’s bed.

Wearing the lingerie you had planned to surprise Scotty with.

Stu’s fingers trace the hem of it lazily. “He bought this for you?”

You shake your head. “No. I bought it... for tonight.”

He grins, wide and mean. “Guess you still gave him a gift. Kinda.”

He pushes you down harder into the mattress. The headboard creaks. Your breath stutters.

“You know what I’m gonna think about every year on this day?” he says, eyes locked on yours. “Not his candles. Not his party.”

He leans in, voice low and cruel.

“I’m gonna think about how I did you — hard — while he was blowing out fucking birthday candles.”

You whimper.

And Stu just laughs.

Outside, someone might be singing Happy Birthday.

Inside, the only thing you're singing is Stu’s name

Scotty will know

Scotty doesn't know

Scotty's gotta know

I'm gonna tell Scotty

Gonna tell him myself

It was supposed to be just a secret. Something wild, messy — hidden behind closed doors where no one had to know. But Stu’s never been good at keeping things quiet. He doesn’t do guilt.

He’s pacing, breath heavy, eyes restless and sharp. You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, half-dressed, skin still flushed from where you two tangled. Your mascara’s smeared under your eyes.

Then Stu stops and looks at you, voice low but fierce.

“I’m gonna tell him.”

You freeze. “Tell who?”

“Scotty.” His laugh is bitter, angry. “If you don’t, I will.”

Your throat tightens. Tears spill over, smudging your makeup even more.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whisper.

Stu scoffs, voice hardening. “Like what? Like you really love that idiot? After fucking me?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to break up with him.”

His eyes flash, disbelief burning in them. “Then what? You’re with me — right here — and still love him? You think that makes sense?”

You can’t look at him.

“There’s no way,” Stu says, voice rising. “No way you love him after this. After us.”

You bite your lip, voice trembling. “I don’t know what I feel anymore. I’m so confused.”

He steps closer, voice softer but intense. “Then you need to figure it out. Because if you don’t tell Scotty, I will. And when he finds out — he’s gone. You’ll have to end it. He has to go.”

You shake your head, but your body shakes harder, the tears falling freely.

[writinginpinkpink]

Almost, Always. [Sid Jenkins]

It’s always been Cassie for Sid, until he realizes the girl he met in detention might just be the one.

masterlist.

It started with detention.

You were in for skipping maths. Sid was in for not handing in coursework… again. You were chewing gum and reading a magazine you found under the desk. He was trying to write an apology letter and crossing out every other word.

“Do you know how to spell ‘academic’?” he asked suddenly, voice low.

You didn’t look up. “Do I look academic?”

He blinked. “Uh… maybe? You’ve got smart eyes.”

You looked at him then, suspicious.

He flushed. “I didn’t mean, like— not *weird* smart. Just normal smart. Fuck.”

You laughed.

He smiled, a little crooked and nervous. “Thanks,” he said, even though you hadn’t done anything.

After that, he started sitting next to you in history. He passed you notes like "bored. kill me?" or "michelle's wearing that top again. tony might explode."

You replied with doodles of skulls, hearts, and tiny versions of Chris in a g-string.

At a party, you found him on the back steps smoking badly rolled weed and looking at the sky like it was talking shit.

“Everything alright?” you asked, even though the answer was clearly no.

“Cassie’s gone,” he said. “Again. Left me a note that just said, ‘eat a strawberry, Sid. you’ll feel better. xxx’.”

You sat down beside him. “Did it help?”

He looked at you. “Didn’t have strawberries.”

You reached into your bag. Pulled one out.

He stared. “You just… carry fruit around?”

“I’m mysterious like that.”

He took it, bit it, chewed in silence.

“Still feel like shit,” he said with a mouthful.

“Yeah,” you said. “Strawberries aren’t magic.”

He laughed. It cracked something open between you.

You became friends in that weird way — too much too fast, then pretending nothing happened. You went from occasional partners in class to someone he called when Tony ditched him. Someone he waited for outside school. Someone he texted at 2 a.m. with, “do u think people can be cursed?”

You replied, “only the hot ones.”

At Chris’s house party, you ended up on the floor next to Sid in a sea of empty bottles and sleeping bodies. Someone was snoring. Jal was asleep on the sofa, holding her clarinet like a baby.

“I think I like you,” Sid said into the dark, voice muffled.

You didn’t move.

“Cassie’s too bright,” he mumbled. “Like a firework. You can’t hold it. It’s already gone.”

You turned your head toward him.

“I like how you never tell me I’m stupid,” he said. “Even though I am. I like that you laugh at my shit jokes and make fun of Tony when he’s being a twat.”

You whispered, “Sid—”

But he was already asleep.

You lay awake next to him until sunrise.

You avoided him for three days after that. He noticed. Sid always noticed.

He cornered you outside the café where Tony and Michelle were arguing about sex and art or something equally annoying.

“You okay?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Just tired.”

“Was it something I said?” he asked. “At Chris’s?”

“No.”

“But you’ve gone weird.”

You looked at him. “You said you liked me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I meant it.”

“You also said Cassie was a firework.”

He frowned. “So?"

“I’m not a firework, Sid. I’m not going to disappear just to be romantic.”

“I don’t want you to,” he said, a little breathless. “I think… I think I’m tired of chasing things that hurt.”

Your heart did something stupid.

“But you still love her,” you said. “Don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

That was the problem.

Weeks passed. Tony got punched by a new guy at school. Michelle pretended not to care. Chris got suspended for drawing boobs on the whiteboard. Cassie came back for a bit, floating around like a sad fairy, holding Sid’s hand but looking at the sky.

You watched him fall apart all over again.

Until one day, you found him crying in the locker room. You sat beside him and didn’t say a word.

“I keep fucking everything up,” he whispered.

“You haven’t fucked me up yet,” you said softly.

He looked at you. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“I’m not her,” you said. “I won’t leave, Sid. Not unless you make me.”

He touched your hand, barely.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice shaking.

You nodded.

It wasn’t a firework. It was soft, slow, a little awkward. But it felt like everything.

Later, he said, “I don’t know what this is.”

You kissed his cheek. “It’s not nothing.”

He smiled. “It’s almost everything.”

[writinginpinkpink]

Where the Water Meets. [Lewis Mccartney]

mermaid!reader x lewis mccartney

She thought she was the only mermaid. She never expected her best friend to be one too — or to fall for the same boy.

masterlist.

You moved to the Gold Coast with a half-worn suitcase, saltwater in your veins, and a secret you’d never said aloud. No one here knew who you were, and that made everything feel possible. You told yourself this would be different. That you’d be different.

You weren’t hiding anymore—you were just... blending in.

The school was big, warm with sunlight, and always close to the ocean. You found yourself watching the tide from the windows during class, zoning out to the hush of waves in your memory. You made polite conversation. You smiled when expected. And then, everything shifted over a tuna sandwich and a crooked smile.

“Hi! Mind if I sit?”

You looked up into bright brown eyes and the kind of grin that made people feel at ease.

“I’m Cleo,” she said, already sliding into the seat beside you. “You’re new, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Just moved.”

That was all it took. Within minutes, Cleo was pulling you into her world with soft energy and endless chatter. She told you about her part-time job at the marine park, about her best friends Emma and Rikki, and about how she still couldn’t figure out how to open her locker without it getting stuck.

You didn’t realize how lonely you’d been until she made you laugh.

From that moment on, you were in. The girls welcomed you like you’d always belonged. Emma was calm and dependable; Rikki had fire in her veins and always had something smart to say. But it was Cleo who felt like your anchor. She found you in the hallway every morning. She saved you seats at lunch. She linked arms with you when the wind was strong, like it was nothing.

You started to love her like a sister. And that made what was coming harder.

Because then there was Lewis.

He was Cleo’s oldest friend. She introduced you to him like it was no big deal, and for a while, it wasn’t. He was funny, awkward, and asked a lot of questions that somehow didn’t feel invasive. He had wild curls and a lopsided grin that always appeared after his own jokes, even when no one laughed. And you liked him.

Too much.

It started slowly—shared jokes, group projects that turned into late-night messages, a beach day where he offered you the last slice of watermelon even though you both wanted it. He never asked why you dried off faster than everyone else. He never looked at you like you were strange. He just saw you.

And you started to fall. Which made everything worse.

Because Cleo liked him. She hadn’t said it. But you saw it in the way she looked at him when he wasn’t watching, the way her smile slipped just a little when he turned his attention to you. So you pretended.

You let your heart race and ignored it. You laughed at his jokes and told yourself they weren’t meant for you. And every time Cleo reached for your hand or whispered something only you could hear, your guilt grew heavier.

Still, you couldn’t help loving the moments in between.

One warm Friday after school, Cleo grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the docks.

“We’re heading to the beach,” she grinned. “Emma and Rikki are already there, but it’s the perfect weather for just relaxing. You in?”

You smiled, grateful for the invitation. “Yeah, sounds great.”

The beach was peaceful as the four of you arrived. The others were already stretched out on towels, talking, eating snacks. The air smelled like salt and sunscreen, and the sand was warm beneath your feet. You could feel the tide in the distance, beckoning, but you kept your distance.

Lewis caught your eye and smirked, his arms resting casually on the sand. “What, are you waiting for the ocean to invite you in?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the tease light. “No, just thinking about taking a swim later. Just don’t expect me to race you.”

He threw his head back in a laugh. “I’d never challenge you unless I knew I had a chance,” he teased, the way he always did when you were around.

Cleo, Rikki, and Emma were busy chatting and setting up more snacks, leaving you and Lewis to linger on the edge of the group.

It felt easy, effortless. You felt yourself drawn to the way his laugh seemed to fill the space around you, how he always had something to say when there was a quiet moment.

“Hey,” he said after a beat, looking at you with that crooked grin. “Ever wonder what’s out there?”

He gestured to the horizon, the endless stretch of ocean. “Like, what’s just beneath the surface?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you stared out toward the waves, something stirring inside you. You knew what was beneath the surface. But you couldn’t say that to him. You couldn’t even begin to explain.

“You never know what you’ll find,” you said, your voice soft.

“Guess you’re right,” he replied, his voice quieter.

“Sometimes it feels like there’s more to the world than we see. Like there’s this whole mystery just waiting to be uncovered.” He looked back at you, and you swore you saw something deeper in his eyes, but then the moment passed, and he gave you that signature grin again.

“Maybe we should go find out. Swim out there and see what’s hiding.

Your heart skipped. “Maybe some other time.”

The evening was winding down, and Cleo, Lewis, and the others began packing up their things. They were ready to head back.

"I think I’ll stay here for a bit longer," you said, giving a small, easy smile as you waved them off. Cleo gave you a knowing look but didn’t press you to join them.

"Okay," Cleo replied, her voice gentle. "But don’t stay too long, alright?"

You nodded, and they all headed back to the car, leaving you alone by the water. You felt that familiar pull, the quiet hum of the ocean calling to you like an old friend.

As soon as they were out of sight, you made your way down to the beach, your heart already beating faster as you neared the water. The moon was rising now, casting a silvery glow over the ocean.

The waves gently lapped against the shore as you slipped off your sandals, feeling the cool sand between your toes. Without another thought, you waded in, letting the water creep up your calves, the cold bite of the night making you shiver just slightly.

You had no intention of swimming too far—just enough to feel the familiar freedom of the sea, the only place you ever felt truly at home. The waves swirled around you as you swam further into the calm, deeper waters. The ocean seemed to come alive beneath you, the occasional flicker of coral dancing with the rhythm of the current.

The underwater world stretched out before you, a beauty you never tired of. The corals, rich in color, swayed with the movement of the water, and fish darted past in flashes of gold, silver, and iridescent hues. You took a deep breath, letting the salty air fill your lungs, and sank lower into the water.

And then you saw it.

A tail. A flash of movement just out of the corner of your eye.

You turned quickly, your heart racing, but by the time you had fully shifted your gaze, the tail had disappeared. It was orange—bright, like the corals themselves—and for a moment, you froze. Your mind raced. You had always believed you were the only one, the only mermaid. But this… this was undeniable.

Your pulse quickened as you scanned the water, the waves rippling over the spot where you’d seen the tail, but there was no sign of the other mermaid. Just the dark, endless expanse of the sea.

You stayed still for a moment, your thoughts swirling. How could there be another like you? After all this time, all these years, you’d always assumed you were alone. But now, there was no denying it.

Eventually, you pulled yourself from the water and made your way back to the beach. You were in a daze, everything feeling slightly out of focus as you retraced your steps. Your mind kept replaying the brief flash of the tail, the memory of it glowing in your mind like a light in the dark. You didn’t know who it was or why they were out there, but you knew one thing: you weren’t the only mermaid anymore.

Back at home, you collapsed into your bed, the quiet darkness of the room pressing in around you. You turned onto your side, facing the wall, the stillness suffocating. But no matter how still you lay, you couldn’t sleep.

The thought of the other mermaid, the tail, consumed you. You had been lying to everyone for so long, pretending you were just like everyone else. And the worst part? You had always felt so alone. So isolated, in a world where no one could understand.

And now, there was someone else out there. Maybe even more.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and without thinking, they spilled over. You tried to hold them back, but it was impossible. The relief, the joy—it was too much. All these years, you had kept your secret. And now, for the first time in so long, you felt like there was hope.

You lay there, in the dark, your body trembling with emotion.

And from that moment, you made a silent vow: you were going to find them. Whoever they were. No matter how long it took. You didn’t know how yet, but you would find them. And when you did, you would finally have the answers you had been searching for.

[writinginpinkpink]

The Chino Girl [The O.C]

Atwood!reader x Seth Cohen

When siblings Ryan and YN Atwood are pulled from the wreckage of their old life, they find themselves in the heart of Newport Beach—a world of money, masks, and quiet destruction. They don’t belong here. But maybe that’s exactly what Newport needs. Welcome to the O.C. Nothing will ever be the same.

previous | next. | [masterlist]

The car is nicer than you expected. Sleek, clean, probably worth more than anything you’ve ever sat in. Ryan breaks the silence first.

“This is a nice car. I didn’t know your kind of lawyer made money.”

Sandy laughs lightly. “We don’t. My wife does.”

You look out the window, not saying anything. His wife. Of course. A woman with money, power, and probably her whole life in perfect order. You picture a neat house, fresh coffee every morning, expensive perfume, clean sheets that smell like lavender. It makes your stomach twist a little. Not out of jealousy exactly—just… longing. You’d never say it out loud, but you want that. A life where you feel safe. Where you're not constantly waiting for the next explosion.

The car slows as you pass a guardhouse. Sandy chats with the security guy like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and then the gate opens to a neighborhood so perfect it looks fake. The grass is cut like carpet. Trees line the streets like they’ve been arranged by hand. You feel yourself getting smaller with every turn of the wheels.

And then the house appears.

Big. Beautiful. Lit up like a movie set. It glows warmly against the darkening sky, like it's inviting you in. But something about it also says: This isn’t for you.

Sandy parks in the long driveway, then unbuckles slowly.

“Why don’t you guys wait here for a minute?” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

He fumbles with the keys like he’s not sure what to do with them. Ryan just mutters, “It’s no fun if the key’s in the car,” under his breath.

Sandy gives a soft chuckle and shuts the door behind him. Now it’s just you and Ryan, sitting in the quiet, the air getting heavier by the second.

You glance toward the house. You can’t hear what’s being said inside, but the lights are bright and the shadows move past the windows. You wonder what she’s like—Sandy’s wife. The woman who makes enough to own this place. Will she look at you like you’re a stray dog? Like you’re already a problem?

Ryan sighs and opens the door. “I need a smoke.”

You follow him out, wrapping your arms around yourself even though the night isn’t cold. He lights the cigarette like he’s done it a thousand times. He probably has.

That’s when you see her.

A girl stands near the edge of the driveway, just far enough to be out of reach but close enough to see clearly. She’s got long legs, smooth hair, that kind of easy beauty you only ever see in magazines or high school popularity contests. She cocks her head when she notices you.

“Who are you?” she asks.

Ryan answers first. “Whoever you want me to be.”

You roll your eyes so hard it actually hurts. “Ew, no. He’s my brother.”

Her expression changes—amused, maybe a little relieved. She steps closer.

“Can I bum a cigarette?”

Ryan walks over and offers one without a word, then hands her his own to light it. Their fingers almost touch. You stand back, watching, feeling like you’ve somehow ended up in someone else’s movie.

“So, what are you doing here?” she asks, taking a slow drag.

Ryan shrugs. “Stole a car. Crashed it. My brother had drugs and a gun. He’s in jail.”

You don’t even think before you jump in. “Our mom freaked out. Drunk, as usual. Took off and left us. Sandy took us in.”

The girl raises her brows, clearly caught off guard. “You’re their cousin from Boston, right?”

You look at Ryan, and he smirks just slightly. “Right.”

It’s easier than explaining. Easier than the truth.

Sandy’s voice cuts in from behind you. “Hey, Marissa.”

The girl straightens up. “Hi, Mr. Cohen. Just meeting your nephews.”

There’s a small pause. You catch the way Sandy blinks, just once, and then nods.

“Oh—my favorite nephews. Ryan and…” He pats both of you gently on the back. “All the way from Seattle.”

“Seattle?” Marissa asks, giving a little side glance.

Ryan nods. “Dad’s in Seattle. Mom’s in Boston.”

“Divorce sucks,” you say, half-smiling like it’s a joke. It isn’t.

Marissa doesn’t press. A truck pulls up, honking twice. She glances back at you both.

“You should come tomorrow night,” she says. “There’s a fashion show thing. Fundraiser. If you’re not doing anything.”

She walks off, hops in the truck, and kisses the guy in the driver’s seat. He looks confused.

“Who’s that kid?” he asks as they pull away.

You watch them go.

You wonder what her life is like—what it feels like to belong somewhere so completely that you don’t even have to think about it. You’re still standing there when Sandy gestures toward the house.

“Let’s go inside. And—uh—no smoking in the house.”

Ryan drops his cigarette. You quietly step over and crush it under your foot, just in case he doesn’t.

Then you follow them into a house that doesn’t feel like yours.

Not yet.

You step into the pool house, expecting it to be some tiny, dusty storage room—maybe a shed with a cot or a musty old couch. But it’s nothing like that.

The space is big and open, the kind of place you’d see in a catalog. The light wood floors stretch out beneath your sneakers, smooth and clean. The walls are almost entirely glass—floor-to-ceiling windows that give you a view of the pool outside and the neatly manicured backyard beyond. Even at night, the place has a warm glow, like it’s just waiting to be lived in.

Sandy gestures around proudly. “So this is where you’re going to be staying.” He gives a smile, and you can tell he’s trying to make this feel like more than just a favor. “And this,” he adds, turning slightly, “is the Queen of the manor herself—my wife, Kirsten.”

You look at her.

She’s beautiful in that expensive, effortless way. She’s not exactly warm, but she’s trying. You can see it in her smile—the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hello, Ryan. Hello, Y/N,” she says, your names rolling off her tongue like she had to rehearse them. “Welcome to our home. If you need anything, Rosie here can help you.”

Next to her stands the housekeeper, quiet and professional, giving you a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Thank you. Thanks very much,” Ryan says, polite but distant.

“Thanks,” you echo, your voice smaller than you meant it to be. You hate how shy you sound, but it’s hard not to feel out of place standing here. Everything about this house—this family—feels like a different planet.

Sandy claps his hands lightly. “Well, we’ll see you in the morning. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Then they’re gone, footsteps fading as the glass door slides shut behind them.

Silence settles over the pool house.

You look at Ryan. He’s already walking over to the nearest couch, sitting down slowly, like he’s not sure if it’s real. You stand for a minute, just letting yourself take it all in. The softness of the rug under your shoes. The quiet hum of distant crickets outside. The faint scent of fresh linen and chlorine.

It’s more than you expected. It’s more than you’ve ever had.

But still, deep in your chest, something feels tight. Like you’re just waiting for it all to disappear.

Like maybe tomorrow, it’ll all be gone.

That night, everything feels too quiet.

The pool house has a stillness to it, the kind you’re not used to. No TV blaring from the next room, no neighbors yelling, no sirens outside the window. Just silence, and the distant hum of pool lights glowing blue against the dark.

The bed is massive—soft and perfectly made, tucked in like a hotel bed you almost don’t want to mess up. It feels weird sharing it, even with Ryan. But it’s not like you haven’t crashed next to each other before, on floors, on old couches, in places you’d rather not remember. Only now, the sheets smell like lavender instead of cigarette smoke and mildew.

You lie on your side, facing the window. The moonlight spills in, washing the room in silver. Ryan’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling like he’s trying to see through it.

“I can’t believe this place is just their guest house,” you whisper eventually. “It’s bigger than any apartment we’ve ever lived in.”

Ryan lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah. It’s crazy.”

You pull the blanket up under your chin, letting the softness surround you. It’s hard to relax. It feels too good to be real. Like the second you fall asleep, you’ll wake up somewhere else, somewhere worse. You’re almost scared to close your eyes.

“Do you think they’re gonna send us back?” you ask, your voice barely there.

Ryan doesn’t answer right away. Then he says, “I don’t know.”

That hurts a little, even though you knew he’d say it. You wanted him to lie to you. Just this once.

After a minute, you say, “I wish we lived here. Like, for real. With people like them. With clean sheets and pool houses and moms who don’t leave.”

Ryan turns his head slightly, enough that you can feel his eyes on you. “You’d get bored.”

“No,” you say quietly. “I wouldn’t.”

Another silence. It’s not heavy, not awkward—just... there. Like the two of you are wrapped up in it.

Ryan turns on his side, facing you now. “You okay?”

You nod. Then, “You?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

That feels honest.

You stare at each other in the low light, and it hits you again that it’s just the two of you now. Maybe it’s always been. You reach out and nudge his arm. “At least you didn’t try to flirt with the girl next door.”

He groans softly, already knowing who you mean. “I wasn’t flirting.”

You raise an eyebrow in the dark, even though he can’t see it. “‘Whoever you want me to be’?” you mimic, voice dripping with mock drama. “Real smooth, Romeo.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. “You’re annoying.”

You grin a little, the first real smile of the night. “You love it.”

Eventually, the silence lulls you into sleep—not because you feel completely at peace, but because you’re too tired to keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. If it does, you'll deal with it. Just like always.

But tonight, you let yourself rest.

You and Ryan step out of the pool house into blinding morning sunlight, squinting as your eyes adjust. It's even more surreal in daylight. There’s a sparkling blue pool just a few feet away, perfectly still. Beyond that, the backyard opens into a rolling green hillside, the city glittering in the distance. And further off—like something out of a dream—you can see the ocean. It’s absurdly beautiful, the kind of view people put on postcards.

Ryan leads the way into the main house, and you follow close behind. Inside, it smells like coffee and something toasted. The house is silent, except for a burst of digital gunfire coming from the living room.

A teenage boy is sitting cross-legged on the floor, completely absorbed in a video game. He looks around Ryan’s age, maybe a little younger, but his build is different—lankier, less intense. He’s got black, curly hair and an alert, animated face, like he's constantly reacting to things you can’t see. His movements are a bit twitchy, like his brain runs faster than his body can catch up. Kind of nerdy. But in a charming way, not an annoying one.

He looks up. “Hey.”

Ryan nods back. “Hey.”

You give a small wave. “Hey.”

The boy sets down the controller briefly. “Do you want to play?”

Ryan glances at you, waiting to see what you think. You shrug, and he takes a seat on the floor next to the kid. You sit down beside Ryan, leaning back on your hands, curious.

A little while later, all three of you are still on the floor, having migrated into comfortable chaos. There are cereal bowls nearby, half-eaten toast, and a couple of juice boxes. Ryan’s gotten surprisingly into the game. You’re watching with vague amusement, sipping orange juice while the two boys fight for digital dominance.

The kid—Seth, you’ve gathered—is in full commentary mode.

“Oh, looks like someone’s trying to be a hero, but you got a little cocky! X-O, X-O, it’s an unbeatable combination!” He’s saying everything fast, barely breathing between words. “Oh—oh! What happened to your head, dude? Where did it go?! I’m sorry, did someone die?”

You glance at Ryan, who’s smirking slightly but focused.

Seth continues, oblivious. “Hey, do you want to play Grand Theft Auto next? It’s pretty cool—you can like, steal cars—” He pauses, suddenly realizing. “Not that that’s cool. Or uncool. I don’t know. Um…”

Before it gets more awkward, Sandy walks in holding a paper grocery bag in each arm.

“Well,” Sandy says, smiling, “I see you three have met.” He looks at his son. “Seth, what are you doing inside on this beautiful day? Why don’t you show them around?”

Seth doesn’t even look away from the screen. “Okay, ‘cause it’s so great around here. There’s so much to do, Dad.”

He says it deadpan, no eye-roll, no sarcasm in his tone—which somehow makes it even more sarcastic.

Then he pauses the game and looks over at Ryan.

“I don’t know. Unless—what do you want to do?”

Ryan looks at you, silently asking. The way he always does. Like you get the final vote.

You glance around the bright, polished house, the perfect yard outside, and then back to Seth.

“What do you guys do around here?”

The three of you are out on the water now, the sun warm on your faces, the wind tugging gently at your clothes. The little sailboat bobs and glides, the rainbow-colored sail puffed proudly above. Summer Breeze is painted in fading script on the side. It creaks slightly as it shifts over the waves, but it feels steady. Peaceful. Seth handles the ropes like he’s done this a million times, pulling and tightening with casual confidence. Ryan, on the other hand, looks a little tense, like he’s not convinced this thing won’t tip over any second.

Eventually, the boat drifts to a stop, floating quietly in the middle of the wide, blue water. No other boats in sight. Just ocean, sun, and sky. You sit back against the side, your legs stretched out, a salty breeze brushing against your face.

Seth sighs and looks out at the horizon. “I have, um, this plan,” he says, squinting at the light. “Well, I don’t—I don’t know what you’d think, but, um... next July the trade winds shift west. I want to sail to Tahiti.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. Ryan tilts his head, clearly surprised.

“I can do it in forty-four days,” Seth continues, “maybe even forty-two, if the weather holds.”

“Wow,” Ryan says, and he sounds like he means it. “That… that sounds really cool, man.”

Seth smiles, a little sheepishly. “Yeah. Just hit the high seas. Catch fish right off the side of the boat. Grill them right there. No phones. No people. Just total quiet. Solitude.”

You look at him. “You won’t get lonely?”

He glances at you, then quickly back out toward the water. “Well… I’ll have Summer with me.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow and gestures at the boat you’re sitting in. “You’re going to take this to Tahiti?”

Seth laughs, leaning back slightly. “Um, no. It’s the girl the boat’s named after.”

You blink. “Summer’s a person?”

“Yeah,” he says, almost dreamy for a second. “She has no idea. I’ve never talked to her before.”

You and Ryan exchange a glance, then shake your heads at the same time. It’s kind of ridiculous. But also kind of sweet.

There’s a long, easy pause. The waves rock the boat gently. Seagulls cry in the distance.

It’s quiet. Peaceful. You’re starting to get why Seth dreams of leaving everything behind.

On the beach, the boat is pulled up on the sand, its rainbow sail now rolled up tightly. The sound of the waves crashing gently against the shore is the only noise besides the soft shuffle of sand underfoot. Seth finishes securing the sail with practiced hands, moving with the ease of someone who’s spent a lot of time on the water. You stand nearby, watching, the wind carrying the salty scent of the ocean around you.

After a moment, Sandy walks down the beach toward you both, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his shorts.

“Hey, fellas,” he says, a grin on his face. “I thought we'd head over to the fashion show at about 7.”

Seth doesn't even look up from his task, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Yeah, have fun.”

Sandy gives him a look. “Come on. It’s a whole new school year, Seth.”

“Yeah, well,” Seth sighs, “it’s also the same kids, Dad. Why do they even need a fashion show? Everyday's a fashion show for these people.”

Sandy chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, Ryan and YN have to go. Marissa invited them.”

You try to keep it casual, but the thought of being around Marissa, of being in her world, makes your stomach flutter a little.

Seth, on the other hand, looks more incredulous. “Marissa invited you? I’ve lived next door to Marissa for, like, forever. Her dad almost got married to my mom, even. And, like, she’s never even invited me to a birthday party.”

Sandy looks at him, slightly confused. “That is not true. They did not almost get married.”

Seth just waves his hand dismissively, clearly uninterested in further discussion. “Eh.”

You pause for a moment, then speak up. “Hey, maybe Summer would be there.”

Seth’s eyes flicker toward you, and there’s a hint of something in his expression—maybe it’s interest, maybe it’s amusement. “That’s interesting. She is Marissa’s best friend.”

There’s a slight pause as Seth considers this, and then he glances at Sandy.

“7?” he asks.

“7,” Sandy confirms.

“7,” Seth repeats, sounding a bit defeated but also resigned to it.

In the pool house, the soft glow of the evening sun filters through the windows as Ryan stands in front of the mirror, fidgeting with his tie. He tries to loop it several times, but each attempt ends in frustration. Finally, he just gives up, pulling on his suit jacket and turning away from the mirror.

You stand by the door, your dress feeling almost too perfect. It's the first time you've worn something this expensive, and you can't help but feel self-conscious. You made an effort with your hair, too—adding a few curls to give it some volume. The reflection in the mirror shows someone you barely recognize, someone more polished than usual. A knot of unease twists in your stomach, but you try to ignore it.

There's a knock at the door, and before you can react, Sandy enters with a warm smile. His eyes land on you first, and he pauses for a moment, taking you in.

“Wow. Look at that,” he says, his voice genuine. “You look beautiful.”

You feel a little surprised by the compliment but smile, your cheeks warming.

Sandy turns his attention to Ryan, still standing in front of the mirror, clearly frustrated with his tie.

“Where’s your tie?” Sandy asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ryan shrugs. “I’m not going to wear one. Open collar— it’s a good look.”

Sandy chuckles, shaking his head. “I didn’t know how to tie a tie until I was 25,” he says with a grin. “Come on, give me your tie.”

Ryan hands it over reluctantly, and Sandy starts tying it with practiced movements. “Button your top button. Collar up,” he instructs.

You watch, feeling more at ease as Sandy’s casual nature seems to make everything feel less serious. It's comforting, in a way.

Sandy finishes, adjusting the tie until it’s just right. “The skinny side’s gotta be shorter than the fat side,” he explains. “How much shorter? Well, that’s the mystery.”

Ryan looks at himself in the mirror, assessing the final product. Sandy stands behind him, proud of his work.

“Alright, look at you,” he says. “Beats a jumpsuit.”

Ryan smirks, a small appreciative expression. “Yeah, thanks.”

You notice the way Ryan looks at himself in the mirror, a mix of surprise and quiet satisfaction. Then you step forward, smiling slightly.

“I like the tie,” you say softly, a little nervous but genuine.

Ryan turns toward you, meeting your gaze. “Thanks,” he replies, his voice quieter than usual.

Sandy, sensing the moment, steps back with a smile. “Alright, you two. Let’s get going. The fashion show waits for no one.”

You both nod, the tension from earlier starting to melt away. Sandy heads out first, but you linger for a moment, still adjusting to the unfamiliar weight of the dress. Ryan glances at you again, this time with a look of subtle appreciation. It makes you feel a little better.

As you move toward the door, Sandy hesitates before turning back to Ryan.

“Hey,” Sandy says casually, almost as if just remembering something. “How was Seth, by the way? You two get along okay?”

Ryan glances at you for a moment, then shrugs. “He’s cool. Kinda... quirky, but I like him.”

You smile faintly, thinking of Seth’s excitable mannerisms. “Yeah, I like him too.”

Ryan eyes you for a moment, sensing something in your voice. You make a face, unsure why he’s staring.

Sandy looks relieved. “Good. He’s an interesting kid, once you get to know him. Not so bad once you see past all the sarcasm.”

You nod in agreement.

“Alright,” Sandy says with a smile. “Let’s head out. Fashion show, here we come.”

At the fashion show, well-dressed people mingle outside, their laughter and clinking glasses rising in soft bursts above the ambient music. You arrive with Ryan, Seth, Sandy, and Kirsten, trying not to feel out of place surrounded by people who probably wake up looking this polished.

A waiter glides up with a tray, smiling like this is totally normal.

“Mushroom leek crescent? Crab and brie phyllo?”

You and Ryan stare at the delicate appetizers like they’re alien specimens. Neither of you moves.

Seth leans in close to you, his cologne subtle but warm. He smells like something clean and woodsy, and you’re momentarily distracted.

“Welcome to the dark side,” he murmurs with a smirk, eyes flicking between the tray and your face.

You smile back, grateful for the levity. “Do I eat it in one bite or—like—fork and knife it?”

Seth feigns seriousness. “Definitely knife and fork. And a linen napkin. Anything less and you’ll be exiled to the parking lot.”

You giggle, just as a tall woman with an aggressively chic bob stops in front of you. She looks you up and down with interest.

“Oh, you must be the cousin from Boston,” she says knowingly. “I love your coat. So... raw. Very East Coast.”

“Uh… thanks?” you say, not quite sure if that was a compliment.

She nods, oblivious. “I don’t know how you survive up there. The wind? The snow? It’s practically hostile. I had a layover once in Logan, and I thought my face would fall off.”

You try to smile politely, but Seth cuts in smoothly.

“She thrives in the elements,” he says. “Built different.”

Another woman swoops in, mid-forties, in a floor-length black silk gown. She clasps your hand unnecessarily.

“Boston, right? I just adore that whole tortured academic vibe. Tell me—are you secretly brilliant? Like… philosophy major with a tragic past?”

You blink. “Um… no. I almost failed geometry.”

Seth snorts beside you, and you nudge him lightly.

She just smiles wider. “Even better. That’s so real.”

Meanwhile, Ryan is enduring a similar onslaught a few feet away. A woman touches his arm lightly, cooing, “Do you like Seattle? Isn’t all that rain just depressing?”

Another follows soon after, tilting her head as she asks, “Did I hear you were from Canada?”

“Yes, you did,” Ryan says dryly.

“Mmm,” the woman hums like she’s just tasted something interesting.

Back at your side, a man in a deep burgundy blazer leans toward you like you’re holding the secret to the universe.

“So. What’s the Boston scene like? Are you in publishing? Art? Something gritty and noble?”

You glance at Seth, who’s already biting back a grin.

“She’s a rodeo clown,” he says solemnly.

Your jaw drops. “Seth!”

The man looks stunned. “Oh… how avant-garde.”

You turn to Seth and whisper, “You’re going to pay for that.”

He leans in again, smiling devilishly. “Worth it.”

You both burst into quiet laughter, drawing a few curious glances your way, but you don’t care.

As Summer strutted down the runway, heads turned. The room seemed to lean toward her, pulled by her gravity—her glossy hair catching the light, her confident smirk like she knew every person here wanted to be her or be with her. You couldn’t help but watch, either, but something twisted faintly in your chest. It wasn’t that you disliked her. You barely knew her. It wasn’t even the way she looked or moved. It was how the room responded to her. How Seth responded.

You glanced sideways at him.

Seth was practically hypnotized, chin propped in one hand, staring like he was watching some ancient goddess descend from a cloud of perfume and designer heels. You hadn’t seen him this still since he’d zoned out in homeroom talking about X-Men.

You didn’t get it. You didn’t even want to get it. But that unfamiliar burn started to simmer under your ribs—an ache that didn’t really have a name yet. You told yourself it was the weirdness of being here, surrounded by people like Summer who knew how to belong in this world. You definitely didn’t. Maybe it was just envy, plain and simple.

Or maybe it was the way Seth hadn’t looked at you like that. Not ever.

You shifted in your seat, pretending to fix your dress. Seth didn’t notice. His attention was still glued to the runway.

“So…” you whispered, trying to sound casual. “You’ve had a crush on her forever, huh?”

Seth startled, then looked at you like he’d just remembered you were sitting there. “Summer? Uh—yeah. Pretty much since birth.”

You gave a little nod and looked back at the stage, your smile tight. “Cool.”

You weren’t sure why the word scraped on your tongue like sandpaper.

Ryan leaned forward and whispered, “You good?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… adjusting to all this.”

He gave you a knowing look. “You and me both.”

But he hadn’t seen the way Seth lit up when Summer smiled. And you weren’t sure why that mattered so much.

As the crowd trickled out after the fashion show, you lingered close to Ryan and Seth, the heels you weren’t used to digging into the pavement. You were still reeling a little from the strangeness of the evening—the finger foods you didn’t recognize, the women asking if you were from Boston or Canada, the way everyone seemed to scan you like they were trying to guess your net worth. You’d stuck close to Seth most of the night, his awkward charm grounding you while Ryan seemed to unintentionally collect female attention like static.

You were only a few steps behind Ryan on the stairs when Summer bounced up to him like a commercial for lip gloss and expensive shampoo.

“Hey,” she purred, grabbing his arm. “Where you going? My friend Holly—well, her parents—are letting us use their beach house. As a gift. You know, for all the hard work we did for charity.”

You stopped just behind them, watching her hand on his arm, her hair flipping with calculated casualness. Your stomach twisted, a feeling you couldn’t quite place settling in your chest. You didn’t dislike Summer, exactly. You didn’t even know her. But the ease with which she moved through this world—these parties, these boys, these flirtations—was like a language you hadn’t been taught.

“If you need a ride… or anything,” she said, voice dropping a bit, “I’m Summer.”

She flashed a dazzling smile before skipping back to her group, climbing into the open-top jeep that looked like it had driven straight out of a teen movie. Her friends were already laughing, someone tossing their head back like this was the most fun they’d ever had.

You looked over at Ryan, but his expression was unreadable. He turned and headed toward Seth, who was deep in conversation with a man in a very expensive-looking blazer. You followed.

“Hey, ready to go?” Seth asked when Ryan approached, including you with a quick glance and an almost shy smile.

“We should go to that party,” Ryan said. “At that girl Holly’s place.”

Seth blinked. “Uh, yeah, no, it’s all right.”

Ryan added, “Summer invited me.” Then, after a beat, “I mean, us. She asked for you, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms. “Oh, really? She asked for both of you?” Your tone was light, teasing, but the knot in your chest pulled a little tighter.

Seth’s face scrunched like he was trying to work through math he didn’t trust. “Really? She did?”

The jeep roared with laughter and excitement across the lot. Summer stood up, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Come on!”

Seth looked between you and Ryan. “That makes absolutely no sense,” he muttered, “but yes, we should go.”

He turned to the man he’d been talking to. “Thanks, Gus.”

You all started toward the jeep. Seth let you climb in first, but the back was already crowded with two girls who looked at you like they were trying to figure out which designer your dress was from. You wedged yourself into the small seat next to them, knees squished and arms tucked in. Ryan and Seth managed slightly better seats, though you noticed Ryan's gaze drift toward a nearby truck.

You followed it—and saw Marissa sliding into the passenger seat next to the guy from earlier. The one who’d been rude to Seth. Your fingers curled slightly at your side.

Seth leaned toward you, close enough that you could hear him over the jeep’s engine. “If it sucks,” he said, a half-smile on his face, “we can always bail.”

You nodded, glancing sideways at him. “Yeah,” you replied. “If it sucks.”

[writinginpinkpink]

Obsessed with making covers for the fics I've written

[writinginpinkpink]

I've just created a wattpad account for anyone that prefers reading there! @writinginpinkpink :)

[writinginpinkpink]

The Chino Girl [The O.C]

Atwood!reader x Seth Cohen

When siblings Ryan and YN Atwood are pulled from the wreckage of their old life, they find themselves in the heart of Newport Beach—a world of money, masks, and quiet destruction. They don’t belong here. But maybe that’s exactly what Newport needs. Welcome to the O.C. Nothing will ever be the same.

previous | next. | [masterlist]

The window was open, and you were lying on your bed, flipping through the same magazine as always, admiring the beautiful models. The sun warmed your legs, a faint breeze drifted in, and the house was quiet. It was a good day—one of the rare ones. No assignments to worry about, no fights between your mom and stepfather, and no stupid antics from Ryan—at least, none that you knew of.

Maybe you jinxed it. Maybe the gods thought it was cute that you were feeling this way. Or maybe destiny was just playing with you. Or, who knows, maybe science had already proven that you were simply unlucky. In the end, it didn’t matter. Because now, you could hear it. Your mom, yelling in the distance. The sound of footsteps, getting closer.

And just as you suspected, your door burst open. Your mom stood there, her eyes red with anger.

“Get up. Now,” she said through gritted teeth.

You obeyed instantly, not even having time to put on your slippers before she grabbed your arm and marched you toward the car. Your mind raced, trying to remember what you had done wrong. But whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad... could it?

“I can’t believe this!” She smacked the steering wheel. “I’m so tired of popping out stupid kids!”

“Mom?” you whispered, your voice shaky, your eyes welling up. Maybe whatever you did really was that bad.

She glanced at you, and for a second, her expression softened.

“It’s not you, love,” she said, but the anger returned just as quickly. “It’s that idiot brother of yours...”

“Trey?”

“Ryan.” She corrected, pressing down on the accelerator.

Now it made sense. You understood why she was so furious. Your heart pounded as you started biting your nails, staring out the window, watching the houses blur past.

The car suddenly jerked to a stop, and there he was—your brother, his blond head hanging low in shame. Beside him stood a man in a suit, a lawyer, you assumed.

You stayed in the car, staring down at your bare, now-dirty feet. Your mind drifted to what things would be like when you got home. The tension sat heavy in your chest. But to your surprise, your mom was the only one who got back in. The car door slammed shut behind her, and without a word, she started driving.

“What about Ryan?” you asked hesitantly.

“What about him?” Her voice was so sharp, so loud, that it almost made you flinch.

“Is he not coming home?”

“No. I’m teaching him a lesson.”

She glanced at you then, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“I hope I never have to do something like that to you,” she said, patting your thigh.

But something was off. Even more than usual.

She didn’t drive home. Instead, she took a sharp turn and pulled into a gas station parking lot.

“Wait here,” she said, getting out.

You watched her walk to the payphone and dial a number. She paced while she talked, fast, tense. Then she returned to the car and just sat there, hands on the wheel, breathing hard.

“…Are we going home?” you finally asked.

She didn’t respond. Just started the engine again.

And you did go home—but everything was wrong. Boxes were already stacked in the hallway. Some furniture was missing. It looked like the house was being emptied behind your back.

You followed her in, frozen in place, confused. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t answer. Just grabbed a box labeled Bathroom – Fragile and walked right past you.

“Mom?” you called out.

She turned, surprised. Like she’d forgotten you were still there.

“You’re still up?” she asked. “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit?”

“What is happening?” you demanded. “Why are there boxes everywhere? Where’s A.J? What about Ryan and Trey? What—”

“Honey,” she said, fake-gentle again, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re moving. Me and A.J. Not you.”

Your chest went cold.

“You and A.J?” Your voice cracked. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Watch your language,” she snapped. “Yes. Me and A.J. We’re leaving. We’ve had it. I’ve done everything I could for you kids, and all I get back is stress and failure. I’m done. I need to start over.”

You blinked hard, your heart crashing into your ribs. “You’re abandoning me? Right now? After what just happened with Ryan? You’re really leaving me?”

“I’ve given you more chances than you deserved,” she hissed, the mask gone again. “And I’m sick of being punished for choosing myself for once.”

Your voice rose with panic. “I’m the punishment? Do you even hear yourself? You’re leaving your daughter with nothing, no warning, no goodbye—just gone. What kind of mother does that?”

She stepped forward, eyes burning. “Don’t start with me. You think you’re innocent? You’ve been a little parasite since the day you were born.”

“I’m a kid!” you shouted. “Your kid! You don’t just get to decide one day that I’m not your problem anymore!”

“Don’t you dare guilt me,” she said. “I sacrificed everything for you. And I’m tired of sacrificing.”

“You didn’t sacrifice,” you spit back. “You avoided. You lashed out. You chose A.J over and over again. You never wanted us—you tolerated us. And now you’re bailing the second it gets hard.”

She slapped you.

A sick crack echoed through the house.

Your hand flew to your cheek, the sting blooming hot and fast. You stared at her, wide-eyed, heart in your throat.

She didn’t apologize. She didn’t even flinch.

“Then you should be glad,” she said coldly. “Because I’m not your mother anymore.”

She turned and walked out, slamming the door so hard it shook the walls.

You stood there, the silence falling like a weight.

And then you heard it: the car starting. Tires on gravel. Driving away.

Gone.

Just like that.

“Mom?” you whispered, voice small.

“Mom!”

You ran to the door, banging your fists against it.

“Mom, I’m sorry!” you cried. “Please! I’m so, so sorry!”

Your voice cracked. The tears were falling too fast now. You sank to the floor, choking on the sobs.

“Please, Mom… Please come back. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry, Mommy…”

But the only answer was the wind through the open window. And the sound of your own heart breaking.

-

You didn’t hear it pull in.

Didn’t hear the engine shut off.

Didn’t hear the soft murmur of voices outside.

But you heard the front door creak open.

You froze, curled on the floor by the window. Dried tears on your face. Your cheek still throbbed from where she hit you. The world hadn’t felt real for hours.

Then you heard footsteps.

Slow. Hesitant.

Then a voice—soft, familiar.

“Hello?”

You lifted your head.

Your brother stood in the doorway, eyes wide. He looked older somehow. Or maybe just tired. His gaze swept the stripped-down room, the half-packed boxes, the absence.

“What happened?”

“Mom is gone. A.J is gone. The TV is gone.”

He sat down beside you, glanced at his hands. Unsure of what to do. He was never the best with girls crying.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” You smiled, but a tear fell anyway.

“I didn’t think she would’ve...” He didn’t finish the sentence. Just put a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“No. You?”

He stood up fast, like something clicked inside him. Walked across the room and grabbed his phone. Pulled a little card from his pocket, squinting at the number before dialing.

You could’ve asked questions. Where he was going, who he was calling. But instead, he just looked at you and said, “Wait outside.”

And that’s what you did.

You listened. You followed. You didn’t have the energy to argue. You just wanted to sleep and not deal with anything for a few hours.

Ryan came out a few minutes later with his skateboard tucked under one arm, his backpack slung over the other. He sat next to you on the curb in silence.

Then a car pulled up.

He stood without a word and got in the front seat.

You followed.

The man behind the wheel looked to be in his late forties. Familiar somehow, though you couldn’t place him. Kind eyes. Tired face.

“YN, that’s Sandy,” Ryan said, gesturing vaguely toward him. “My lawyer, or whatever.”

You buckled your seatbelt, eyes still heavy, throat raw.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

Sandy looked at you through the rearview mirror and smiled.

“To my house,” he said. “Welcome to the O.C., kiddos.”

[writinginpinkpink]

a wish come true.

dad'sbestfriend!jim hopper x fem!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 21 and Hopper is in his 30s-40s), cheating, masturbation, low smut, just yearning for a big bearded man.

author's note: in my journey of trying to write smut, still don't like what i got so i just showed a snippet.

masterlist. | requests opened! | one shot!

You wanted him. You yearned for him. For the past three years, the chief of the police department had been your last thought before sleep and the first when you woke up. For three long years, he was the one you thought about when your hands slipped between your thighs.

But he would never want you. Maybe that was what made you want him even more. The forbidden nature of it—the fact that he was your dad's best friend. The secrecy, the dirtiness—it only fueled the fire.

But enough was enough. You couldn’t spend another summer pining after a man who probably still saw you as a little girl.

That’s why you decided to date Tommy Thompson. He was quiet, shy, and gentle. He probably loved you, and you might’ve loved him back—if your heart wasn’t already consumed by someone else.

Tommy was sweet, with his crooked glasses and nervous smile. He said he didn’t want to take your purity away. But right now, you couldn’t care less about that as you pushed him toward the outdoor bathroom, letting your towel fall to reveal a white bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination.

He froze like a deer caught in headlights, his mouth agape and his wide eyes fixed on you.

"W-what are you doing?" he stammered, standing up straighter and fumbling to adjust his glasses.

"What do you think I’m doing?" you teased, a sheepish smile curling your lips as your finger trailed down his chest, tracing his abdomen and stopping at the hem of his shorts.

"Wait," Tommy said, grabbing your hands, his breath already shaky. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, baby," you murmured, biting his earlobe, your hands moving downward with intent.

But then, he stopped you again, his grip firmer this time.

"I can’t," he said, gently pushing you away.

"What do you mean?" you asked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror behind him. Doubt crept in. "Is it me?"

"No, no, no!" he blurted, shaking his head frantically. "It’s not you, I swear. I’m just...nervous. I can’t," he admitted, looking down. "Literally."

You followed his gaze. "Oh."

Wrapping your towel back around yourself, you turned away, a mix of frustration and pity swirling inside you. Maybe this was the reality of dating boys, you thought, stepping out of the bathroom and leaving Tommy behind.

As you walked past Hopper, deep in conversation with your dad, your mind wandered to him—how he would’ve reacted. You imagined him pushing you against the sink, his hands rough, his voice dark and teasing. "Dirty girl," he’d growl in your ear. "Dirty, dirty girl...moaning my name while your dad’s just outside the door."

The fantasy sent a shiver down your spine, snapping you back to reality just as Tommy emerged from the bathroom, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"I think I’m gonna go," he said quietly, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, standing up to walk him out. You didn’t blame him for wanting to leave.

"Don’t be too hard on yourself," you added softly, your tone gentle as you kissed him lightly on the lips. "It’s totally normal."

And with that, he left, leaving you alone with thoughts you knew you shouldn’t be having—but couldn’t seem to shake.

-

Those stupid blue jeans, so tight around his thick thighs. You couldn't help but notice how they clung to him, every curve visible.

I wish they'd squeeze my neck, you thought, taking a slow sip of your grape juice. Funny how, even at 21, your dad still refused to let you drink wine at dinner.

To him, you're still his precious little girl. And you might look the part—perfectly curled hair, a touch of light lip gloss, eyes wide and innocent as ever. With your appearance, Daddy would never suspect how his darling princess would cry herself to sleep, longing for just one moment with his best friend.

Just once. He'd be your first. How romantic, under the moonlight, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips as his hands moved across your body—

"Isn't that right, Y/N?" your mother suddenly chimed in, laughing as she tossed her head back. Hopper grinned behind his glass, taking a slow sip of his wine.

"Oh, yes..." you murmured, offering a small smile, unsure of what you had just agreed to.

"Now, if you’ll excuse me," Hopper said, placing his napkin atop his empty plate after lightly dabbing it against his lips—his gorgeous lips. "It’s getting late, and a storm seems to be rolling in. Best I hit the road before it gets worse."

"Oh, please, no!" your mother protested, rising to her feet and motioning for him to sit back down. "We couldn’t possibly let you leave with a storm on the way—not when we have a perfectly good room to spare!"

"The woman’s got a point, man," your father added, standing as well and placing his hands on your mother’s waist. "Come on, it’s not like you’ve never stayed over before," he said with a warm smile.

You swallowed hard, clasping your thighs together as the thought crept in: How will I sleep tonight knowing he’s just a room away? You could already feel the heat spreading, imagining him so close. Would he hear you? Those little gasps as you touched yourself under the covers, whispering his name over and over again. Maybe he would. Maybe he’d even like it.

"I don’t know..." he muttered, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes darted around the room. Then, his gaze landed on you. "Maybe you’re right," he said with a soft smile. "Maybe I should stay over."

Your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, you were sure he’d changed his mind because of you. The thought sent a thrill through your chest, almost enough to propel you upstairs to dial Beth's number, ready to spend the night analyzing every possible meaning behind his decision.

But you didn’t. Instead, you rose from the table with a calmness you didn’t feel. "Good choice," you said with a quick smile, before turning toward your mother. "Mom, I think I’ll get ready for bed," you added, stifling a fake yawn. "I’m so, so tired."

Your parents practically tripped over themselves to send their little princess off to rest, showering you with affection as you headed toward the stairs. But Hopper didn’t move. His eyes stayed on you, different from the doting gaze of your parents. It was sharper, probing, as if he saw through your sweet, innocent act.

And you wondered: Would he like what he’d find underneath? The dirty, deprived version of you?

When you entered your room, it felt like stepping back in time. Not much had changed since you were a kid—the same plushies neatly arranged on the shelves, the same faded wallpaper, the same dresser with its slightly chipped paint.

Your eyes landed on a framed picture resting atop the dresser: you and Tommy at the county fair. He was grinning from ear to ear, a cotton candy stick in his hand, while you offered a polite smile, a lollipop clasped between your fingers.

You remembered that day vividly. You’d sucked on that lollipop with all the exaggerated intention you could muster, one of many futile attempts to push Tommy into breaking his shy shell. It hadn’t worked—of course it hadn’t.

But the thought made you wonder: Would it have worked with Hopper?

Would he have roughly told you to stop? Or maybe grabbed you, dragging you into some dirty, hidden spot to take you right then and there? Perhaps he’d wait until you were in his car, his large hands slowly unknotting the delicate strap at the back of your dress, unraveling you bit by bit.

You exhaled shakily, your hands moving almost instinctively, mimicking the imagined actions of Hopper. Your fingertips ghosted over your collarbone, tracing downward.

Maybe he’d have made you suck his thumb instead, you thought, biting your lip as your hands brushed over your chest, teasing yourself. Maybe he’d play with your nipples, his touch rough and claiming.

You stumbled backward, your knees hitting the edge of the bed before you fell onto the mattress, legs instinctively parting toward the door.

The door wasn’t locked. Anyone could walk in. He could walk in.

You closed your eyes, the fantasy consuming you. He’d slap your ass and your pussy, growling, "How dare you touch what’s mine?"

You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost missed the soft knock at the door. But the sound of a forced cough snapped you out of it. Panicked, you scrambled to cover yourself, your hands darting to shield your exposed body.

“No need to stop what you’re doing, sweetie,” Hopper said with a sly smile, casually running a hand through his hair. “Just came to tell you your mother’s asking if you want dessert... but it looks like you’re already preoccupied with something else.” His grin widened, clearly enjoying your sudden, flustered reaction.

“It’s not what you think!” you blurted out, your cheeks burning.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, quietly closing the door behind him. The lock clicked into place, sending a shiver down your spine. He tilted his head, his eyes roaming your body as he slowly moved closer. “Because I’m thinking someone’s little princess isn’t quite as innocent as she seems.”

“I was just... changing,” you stammered, frozen in place as he stepped nearer. His presence loomed over you, his knee pressing into the mattress beside you as he leaned down, close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “I wasn’t doing... you know... that.”

He laughed softly, his voice low and teasing. “I don’t know what you mean. Why don’t you tell me?”

Your breath hitched as he licked his lips, his gaze never leaving yours. His hands slid behind your back, firm but deliberate, pulling you closer as he gently eased you down onto the bed.

Hopper hovered above you, his weight pressing into the mattress as he leaned closer. His hand trailed along your side, deliberate and slow, making your breath hitch. You didn’t dare move, unsure if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

“You’re shaking, sweetie,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“I-I’m not,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, but you knew he could feel the tremble in your body beneath his touch.

“Oh, I think you are.” His grin widened, his thumb brushing along your jawline as he tilted your face up to meet his. “And I think I know why.”

Your heart raced, pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. His lips hovered near yours, just close enough for you to feel their warmth.

“You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” he whispered, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? All those little thoughts you’ve been hiding, all those things you want me to do to you.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t deny it. The truth was written all over your face.

“I bet you think about it all the time,” he continued, his tone taunting as his hand slid lower, grazing your hip. “When you’re lying in bed, pretending to be so sweet and innocent. But we both know better, don’t we?”

His words made your head spin, a mix of shame and excitement coursing through you.

“Hopper, I...” you started, but your voice faltered.

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. “You don’t have to say a word, sweetie. I already know everything.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Now, why don’t you show me just how innocent you really are?”

As Hopper leaned in closer, his eyes flickered to the bedside table. A picture of you and Tommy stared back at him—his arm around your shoulders, his awkward grin almost painfully sweet. Hopper’s expression darkened as he reached out, grabbing the frame and turning it facedown without a second thought.

“That kid?” he scoffed, shaking his head as he returned his gaze to you. “You think he’s a man?” His lips curled into a smirk, his voice low and dripping with disdain.

“Hopper, he’s—” you tried to defend, but he cut you off with a sharp laugh, silencing you.

“I don’t want to hear about him,” he said firmly, leaning in so close that his nose brushed yours. “Because after tonight, you’re going to understand what it means to have a real man.”

Your breath caught as his words sank in, their weight sending heat coursing through your body. Hopper’s hands, strong and rough, slid to your hips, gripping you firmly as he towered over you.

“That boy couldn’t even begin to handle you,” he continued, his tone taunting, but there was an edge of something darker—something possessive. “But me?” His thumb brushed the bare skin just above your waistband, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that followed. “I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

[writinginpinkpink]

haven't forgotten about this account or my homelander series, it's just that my brain is empty!! literally no ideas going on, got about 20 wips and I'm going crazy

[writinginpinkpink]

I would love a series about black noir , there isn't much about him, sadly ❤️‍🩹

Love his character 💕

Sorry about my english i'm from germany 😂

hey! I would love to write for Black Noir. I'm not sure about a series though… unless you have some plot in mind? But I'll definitely work on a one-shot for him.

[writinginpinkpink]

I feel like I should get better at writing dialogues, but I have so much trouble making them feel natural. Any tips??

[writinginpinkpink]

omg omg i really need to write about eddie munson it's a necessity at this point

[writinginpinkpink]

omg I literally posted this on accident I was editing it lol sorry for any errors

The Price of Life. [0.3]

homelander x fem!reader

summary: Homelander saved you and gave you life, but with one rule: be utterly loyal to him. Despite this, you went beyond mere obedience and provided him with what he needed most: love.

warnings: homelander, violence, swearing, smut (eventually), a bit of stockholm syndrome?

taglist: @tfamidoingwithmylife

masterlist | requests opened! | previous

When morning came, you woke up to find Homelander already up, his hair impeccably styled as he rehearsed his lines in front of the mirror. He glanced at you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Good morning, YN. Today is a big day for us,” he said, his voice unnervingly peaceful. “Get dressed. We have a press conference in an hour.”

You nodded, getting up and putting on the uniform he had given you. The new suit felt unfamiliar against your skin, a constant reminder of your new commitment, but you liked how it looked on you.

“Save your concern for someone who needs it,” you retorted, brushing past her. “I’ve made my choice.”

The press conference was held in the main hall of Vought Tower. As you and Homelander stood together, facing the flashing cameras and the eager reporters, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Homelander began, his voice strong and authoritative. “I have an important announcement to make. YN and I are now in a relationship. Together, we’ll make sure to combat the lies the media spreads and show you the truth for a brighter future for America.”

You forced a smile, nodding along with his words. The room erupted in applause, and the questions started flying. You answered them as best as you could, sticking to the narrative Homelander had laid out. The applause and the attention felt intoxicating, filling you with a sense of significance you had never experienced before.

After the press conference, you found yourself alone with Homelander in a small conference room. He turned to you, his expression unreadable.

“You did well out there,” he said, his tone almost approving. “But remember, they love me, not you. If anything happens, I can turn them against you in a heartbeat.”

You nodded, feeling a strange thrill at his threat. It wasn’t a problem for you; it was just part of who he was, and you liked it. “I understand.”

“Good,” he replied. “Now, I have something else for you. A mission. It’s a test of your loyalty.”

Your heart raced at his words. “What kind of mission?”

He handed you a folder with detailed information. “There’s a supe disrupting the city. I want you to take care of it. Show me that you’re devoted to me.”

You opened the folder and scanned the contents, your eyes narrowing as you took in the details. The name and face of the target were familiar, and you realized why Homelander had chosen her, you couldn't deny him: this was your chance to prove yourself to Homelander, to solidify your place by his side.

“I’ll take care of it,” you said confidently.

As you left the room to prepare for the mission, you ran into Annie.

“YN, please. Think about what you’re doing,” she pleaded. “This isn’t you. Homelander is dangerous. You don’t have to do this.”

Your anger flared at her words. “Oh, I see what’s going on. You’re jealous, Annie. You can’t stand that someone else might be in the spotlight for once.”

“Jealous? That’s not it at all,” Annie insisted, her eyes wide with shock. “I’m worried about you. Homelander isn’t who you think he is.”

“This again?” you snapped, feeling the resentment bubble up. “We’ve already talked about this. You’ve always been jealous of me. Ever since I joined The Seven, you’ve treated me like I’m just your sidekick. Well, guess what? I’m done being in your shadow. Homelander sees my potential, and he’s given me a chance to prove myself.”

“YN, you’re making a mistake,” Annie said, her voice softer now, pleading. “This isn’t about jealousy. It’s about keeping you safe.”

-

The mission Homelander gave you was straightforward: eliminate a minor supe. As you approached the familiar location, a strange feeling hit your stomach. It was just an old warehouse; there was no reason for you to feel this way. Everything would have been so much easier if you didn’t have so many memories. However, none of it mattered. You knew Homelander, and you knew this was his way to test you, to see how far you would go for him. And you would go damn far.

You entered the warehouse, your senses heightened, and quickly located your target. Your heart skipped a beat. The supe was a young woman with the ability to ignite fire. She turned to face you, her eyes widening in recognition. Affection filled her eyes, but you didn’t allow yours to show the same feeling.

“YN? What are you doing here? Miss the team?” she asked, smiling. Her hair was different, and her face a little older, but the smile was the same. Her expression faltered as she noticed the darkness in your gaze—a look she couldn’t quite recognize. It was you, but something was different, something unsettling.

“I’m here to take care of a problem,” you replied coldly, stepping closer. You knew that to get the job done, you would have to leave it all behind—all the love for your past had to be destroyed so there would be enough space for your savior.

She backed away, her confusion evident. “What are you talking about? Is this about that shirt—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you interrupted.

Before she could react, you lunged at her, using your improved strength to pin her to the ground. She struggled, but you were stronger, you were better. You could almost hear Homelander's voice in your head, telling you how good you were being for him. You felt a twisted sense of fulfillment as you overpowered her, your hands closing around her throat.

As she gasped for air, her flames flickering out, you leaned in closer, your voice a cold whisper. “I wish I could say I'm sorry that things ended like this.” You saw Ember's tear running down her cheek, but somehow it meant nothing to you. She meant nothing to you now.

With a final, cruel twist, you snapped her neck, feeling a wave of energy and pleasure. You stood up, looking down at her lifeless body, and felt no remorse. You weren't even ashamed about it.

You wiped away a tear you didn't realize was falling. Maybe that was your last bit of humanity. But you knew that everything would be worth it.

-

Returning to Vought Tower, you made your way to Homelander’s office, feeling a mix of pain and pride. Eager to see him as soon as possible, you quickened your pace, anxious for his praise. When you entered, he looked you up and down with a smirk.

“Looks like you’ve been in quite a fight,” he said, his tone a blend of amusement and condescension. “Guess the supe wasn’t much of a challenge after all.”

“I handled it,” you replied, a rush of pride in your voice. “For you.”

Homelander’s expression remained assertive as he stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek with a calculated touch. “I know. You did such a good job, YN.” Your heart raced, the sound of it loud in your ears. You felt as if you would do it a thousand times again just to hear him say it once more.

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, his approval filling you with a sense of accomplishment. “Thank you.”

He guided you to his desk, where he began tending to your wounds. His touch was far from gentle, but you made sure not to flinch, determined to show that you could endure his roughness. As he worked, his eyes remained fixed on you, a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness in his gaze.

“You know, you made the right choice,” he said, his voice low and assured. “Now nothing is standing between us.”

You felt a deep sense of commitment at his words, and you looked into his eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze. “I’d do anything for my family,” you declared, your voice steady.

Homelander’s eyes shifted, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. Without warning, he gripped your chin firmly, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce urgency. At first, you struggled to keep up with the intensity, but soon you found yourself matching his desperation, surrendering to his need.

He used you as he pleased, and you embraced it, feeling a mix of exhilaration and belonging. The lines between pain and pleasure blurred as you gave yourself over completely.

[writinginpinkpink]

The Price of Life. [0.3]

homelander x fem!reader

summary: Homelander saved you and gave you life, but with one rule: be utterly loyal to him. Despite this, you went beyond mere obedience and provided him with what he needed most: love.

warnings: homelander, violence, swearing, smut (eventually), a bit of stockholm syndrome?

taglist: @tfamidoingwithmylife

masterlist | requests opened! | previous

When morning came, you woke up to find Homelander already up, his hair impeccably styled as he rehearsed his lines in front of the mirror. He glanced at you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Good morning, YN. Today is a big day for us,” he said, his voice unnervingly peaceful. “Get dressed. We have a press conference in an hour.”

You nodded, getting up and putting on the uniform he had given you. The new suit felt unfamiliar against your skin, a constant reminder of your new commitment, but you liked how it looked on you.

“Save your concern for someone who needs it,” you retorted, brushing past her. “I’ve made my choice.”

The press conference was held in the main hall of Vought Tower. As you and Homelander stood together, facing the flashing cameras and the eager reporters, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Homelander began, his voice strong and authoritative. “I have an important announcement to make. YN and I are now in a relationship. Together, we’ll make sure to combat the lies the media spreads and show you the truth for a brighter future for America.”

You forced a smile, nodding along with his words. The room erupted in applause, and the questions started flying. You answered them as best as you could, sticking to the narrative Homelander had laid out. The applause and the attention felt intoxicating, filling you with a sense of significance you had never experienced before.

After the press conference, you found yourself alone with Homelander in a small conference room. He turned to you, his expression unreadable.

“You did well out there,” he said, his tone almost approving. “But remember, they love me, not you. If anything happens, I can turn them against you in a heartbeat.”

You nodded, feeling a strange thrill at his threat. It wasn’t a problem for you; it was just part of who he was, and you liked it. “I understand.”

“Good,” he replied. “Now, I have something else for you. A mission. It’s a test of your loyalty.”

Your heart raced at his words. “What kind of mission?”

He handed you a folder with detailed information. “There’s a supe disrupting the city. I want you to take care of it. Show me that you’re devoted to me.”

You opened the folder and scanned the contents, your eyes narrowing as you took in the details. The name and face of the target were familiar, and you realized why Homelander had chosen her, you couldn't deny him: this was your chance to prove yourself to Homelander, to solidify your place by his side.

“I’ll take care of it,” you said confidently.

As you left the room to prepare for the mission, you ran into Annie.

“YN, please. Think about what you’re doing,” she pleaded. “This isn’t you. Homelander is dangerous. You don’t have to do this.”

Your anger flared at her words. “Oh, I see what’s going on. You’re jealous, Annie. You can’t stand that someone else might be in the spotlight for once.”

“Jealous? That’s not it at all,” Annie insisted, her eyes wide with shock. “I’m worried about you. Homelander isn’t who you think he is.”

“This again?” you snapped, feeling the resentment bubble up. “We’ve already talked about this. You’ve always been jealous of me. Ever since I joined The Seven, you’ve treated me like I’m just your sidekick. Well, guess what? I’m done being in your shadow. Homelander sees my potential, and he’s given me a chance to prove myself.”

“YN, you’re making a mistake,” Annie said, her voice softer now, pleading. “This isn’t about jealousy. It’s about keeping you safe.”

-

The mission Homelander gave you was straightforward: eliminate a minor supe. As you approached the familiar location, a strange feeling hit your stomach. It was just an old warehouse; there was no reason for you to feel this way. Everything would have been so much easier if you didn’t have so many memories. However, none of it mattered. You knew Homelander, and you knew this was his way to test you, to see how far you would go for him. And you would go damn far.

You entered the warehouse, your senses heightened, and quickly located your target. Your heart skipped a beat. The supe was a young woman with the ability to ignite fire. She turned to face you, her eyes widening in recognition. Affection filled her eyes, but you didn’t allow yours to show the same feeling.

“YN? What are you doing here? Miss the team?” she asked, smiling. Her hair was different, and her face a little older, but the smile was the same. Her expression faltered as she noticed the darkness in your gaze—a look she couldn’t quite recognize. It was you, but something was different, something unsettling.

“I’m here to take care of a problem,” you replied coldly, stepping closer. You knew that to get the job done, you would have to leave it all behind—all the love for your past had to be destroyed so there would be enough space for your savior.

She backed away, her confusion evident. “What are you talking about? Is this about that shirt—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you interrupted.

Before she could react, you lunged at her, using your improved strength to pin her to the ground. She struggled, but you were stronger, you were better. You could almost hear Homelander's voice in your head, telling you how good you were being for him. You felt a twisted sense of fulfillment as you overpowered her, your hands closing around her throat.

As she gasped for air, her flames flickering out, you leaned in closer, your voice a cold whisper. “I wish I could say I'm sorry that things ended like this.” You saw Ember's tear running down her cheek, but somehow it meant nothing to you. She meant nothing to you now.

With a final, cruel twist, you snapped her neck, feeling a wave of energy and pleasure. You stood up, looking down at her lifeless body, and felt no remorse. You weren't even ashamed about it.

You wiped away a tear you didn't realize was falling. Maybe that was your last bit of humanity. But you knew that everything would be worth it.

-

Returning to Vought Tower, you made your way to Homelander’s office, feeling a mix of pain and pride. Eager to see him as soon as possible, you quickened your pace, anxious for his praise. When you entered, he looked you up and down with a smirk.

“Looks like you’ve been in quite a fight,” he said, his tone a blend of amusement and condescension. “Guess the supe wasn’t much of a challenge after all.”

“I handled it,” you replied, a rush of pride in your voice. “For you.”

Homelander’s expression remained assertive as he stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek with a calculated touch. “I know. You did such a good job, YN.” Your heart raced, the sound of it loud in your ears. You felt as if you would do it a thousand times again just to hear him say it once more.

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, his approval filling you with a sense of accomplishment. “Thank you.”

He guided you to his desk, where he began tending to your wounds. His touch was far from gentle, but you made sure not to flinch, determined to show that you could endure his roughness. As he worked, his eyes remained fixed on you, a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness in his gaze.

“You know, you made the right choice,” he said, his voice low and assured. “Now nothing is standing between us.”

You felt a deep sense of commitment at his words, and you looked into his eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze. “I’d do anything for my family,” you declared, your voice steady.

Homelander’s eyes shifted, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. Without warning, he gripped your chin firmly, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce urgency. At first, you struggled to keep up with the intensity, but soon you found yourself matching his desperation, surrendering to his need.

He used you as he pleased, and you embraced it, feeling a mix of exhilaration and belonging. The lines between pain and pleasure blurred as you gave yourself over completely.

[writinginpinkpink]

third chapter of the price of life (homelander series) is gonna be out in probably a few hours im feeling like a machine lol