LONELY FANGIRL

   What I will write for:

      𝕋𝕧  𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕨𝕤:

- Riverdale - Chilling Adventures of Sabrina  - American Horror Story - The Walking Dead - Supernatural  - The boys - Criminal Minds - Sherlock - School Spirit - Stranger Things       * None of the kids - Umbrella Academy -Gen V -Motorheads - The last of us -Fallout

          𝕄𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕤:

- Marvel (Literally any of them) - Twilight Saga - Star Wars - Outsiders - Harry Potter - Star Wars - Descendants - Breakfast Club - Horror Movies

   * Please note that it’s okay to request something not on these lists because hell I might of forgot to write down that show or movie!

  𝕋ℍ𝕀ℕ𝔾𝕊 𝕀'𝕍𝔼 𝔸𝕃ℝ𝔼𝔸𝔻𝕐  𝕎ℝ𝕀𝕋𝕋𝔼ℕ :

Motorhead:

Nothing Personal | Zac Torres Burnout | Ray Young

The Boys :

Color Me Pink | Billy, Hughie, Homelander

Color Me Blue | MM, Kimiko, Frenchie, Soldier boy

My favorite sea animal is all of them | The Deep

No Place like you | Frenchie

A never foreseen story |Frenchie

Buy you it all |Homelander

Gen V

OMG! they were roomates|Jordan Li

Summer Love | Jordan Li

Jealousy Jealousy | Jordan Li

Stranger Things:

Bitchin' | Steve Harrington

Horror Movies:

Slashers with a tall S/O - Various

Dead by Daylights:

Take it as you will | Trickster

    Chilling Adventures of Sabrina :

 Poems | Ambrose Spellman

Mortal | Ambrose Spellman

This is what they mean | Ambrose Spellman

Who to choose? | Ambrose Spellman and Nicholas Scratch 

Nobody Hurts you | Nicholas Scratch

But, I love him |Jughead

Deal | Jughead Jones

       Riverdale

- Snake | Archie Andrews - Witchy | Sweetpea  Part 1, Part 2 - Jacket | Sweetpea 

       Marvel

- Mess | Peter Parker

       Harry Potter

- Mommy Issues | Sirius Black

      American Horror Story

i have a angst eddie fic i wanna write

I WRITE FOR MEN AND WOMEN

Fix me | Curtis Young

summary: enemies to lovers!!! Why can’t they seem to just play nice?

You’d been at a friends Garage for less than a month when you realized Curtis Young was your personal plague. Not in the he’s annoying because he breathes near you way (though that was true), but in the why does he have to be good at everything I’m trying to be good at way. If you stayed late to finish rebuilding an engine, Curtis would show up the next morning and point out the one bolt you’d forgotten to torque.

If you aced a test in auto shop class, he’d somehow get one more point. And today? Today he had the nerve to lean against the workbench like he was in a poster for ‘Guy Who Knows He’s Winning.’ “You’re tightening that wrong,” he drawled, nodding at the chain you were fitting onto the bike frame.

“I’m tightening it perfectly,” you shot back, deliberately not looking at the smirk you knew was forming. “Some of us don’t strip threads for fun.”

“That was one time,” Curtis said, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling closer. “And the threads were already bad.” You didn’t flinch when he crouched down next to you, but your pulse betrayed you. His cologne was faint but distracting, like motor oil and something sharper. He watched your hands like he was waiting for a mistake.

“Planning to take all day, or you gonna try to beat my time?” he asked, pulling a wrench from the pegboard like a challenge. That was the thing with Curtis, you couldn’t just let him win. Not because it mattered (okay, it mattered), but because the thought of him walking around with that smug look made you itch. “You’re on,” you said, snapping your safety goggles into place.

The “race” was informal, just two workbenches, two stripped-down bikes, and the rest of the shop pretending they weren’t watching. You both started at the same time, tools clinking, parts sliding into place. Curtis worked fast, too fast, like he trusted his hands more than his head. You, on the other hand, had precision on your side. Every bolt, every cable tight, aligned, perfect. “You’re overthinking,” he teased, glancing at you.

“You’re underthinking,” you shot back without looking up. By the time you snapped the last piece into place, your hands were slick with grease and your adrenaline was high. You checked your stopwatch. “Twenty-two minutes,” you announced, chest heaving.

Curtis grinned and set his wrench down with a flourish. “Twenty… one.”

“Not possible.”

“Check it.” You did, and cursed under your breath when you saw the time. He didn’t gloat. oh no, he leaned on the bench like he’d just broken a world record. “You’re fast,” you admitted begrudgingly.

“You’re good,” he replied, surprising you. His smirk softened, just for a second, and you hated the way it made your stomach flip. Class that afternoon was no better. The teacher paired you and Curtis for a carburetor rebuild, and you almost groaned out loud.

“Don’t worry,” Curtis said as you sat down at the work table, “I’ll try not to show you up too much.”

“Keep talking, Young,” you muttered, reaching for the parts. “I’ll let the carb speak for itself.”

The thing was, working with him wasn’t… awful. You fell into a rhythm, passing tools without looking, tightening screws in sync. When he leaned over to check your side of the assembly, his arm brushed yours and your brain went fuzzy for half a second. “Y’know,” he said quietly, “if you weren’t so busy trying to beat me, we’d make a good team.”

You glanced at him, caught off guard. “If you weren’t so busy being insufferable, maybe I’d agree.” His grin returned, but this time it was warmer. “Guess I’ll have to work on that, huh?”

By the end of the day, the scoreboard in the garage still had him ahead by one win. But as you packed up your bag, he caught your wrist lightly. “Hey,” he said, eyes a shade softer than usual. “Race again tomorrow?”

Summary: Grumpy x Sunshine trope but make Wednesday act like her dad.

To the outside world, Wednesday Addams was the picture of composure– dark, sharp, and utterly intolerant of human nonsense. Except when it came to you and that, according to everyone at Nevermore, was both baffling and… frankly, terrifying.

The incident began innocently enough. You were in the quad, chatting with Enid and Xavier about weekend plans when Wednesday appeared out of nowhere, silent as the grave, as usual but instead of her normal curt “hello” or mildly insulting observation, she strode right up to you, took your hand, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“My moonlight,” she said in that low, deliberate tone that made people’s spines straighten. “I counted the minutes until I could see you again. Ninety-seven, to be exact. Each one a dagger to my heart.” Enid’s smoothie straw froze mid-sip. Xavier blinked like he’d just had a minor stroke.

You flushed. “It’s literally been an hour and a half since class.”

“Ninety -seven minutes of exquisite suffering,” Wednesday corrected. “Your absence was an abyss.” Enid mouthed “What the hell?” at Xavier, who mouthed back “I don’t know, don’t look at her, she’ll kill us.”

You tried to hide your smile. “Did you… just walk all the way here to tell me that?”

“No,” Wednesday said, slipping her arm around your waist with a proprietary air. “I also came to ensure no one else has attempted to woo you in my absence. I would hate to have to duel over you again.”

“Again?!” Xavier choked.

Wednesday ignored him, eyes fixed on you like you were the only person alive. “Have you eaten? Slept? Have you been emotionally fulfilled in my absence, or shall I begin making reparations immediately?”

“I’m fine,” you said, laughing softly.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she murmured, brushing a piece of hair from your face like you were some fragile Victorian heroine instead of a fully capable person holding a cup of iced tea.

Enid couldn’t take it anymore. “Wednesday. Are you… okay?”

Wednesday turned her head with glacial precision, fixing Enid with the kind of stare normally reserved for things she wanted to dissect. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just–” Enid gestured helplessly toward you two. “You’re… you know… this.”

Wednesday raised a brow. “You mean I’m expressing my deep, unending affection for the only person whose existence I find tolerable? Yes. Scandalous.”

Xavier muttered under his breath, “That’s not just tolerable, that’s… that’s Shakespearean.”

Wednesday tilted her head at him. “Would you like me to recite Shakespeare to her? I’ve memorized Sonnet 116 for such an occasion.”

“NO!” Enid yelped, before you could say yes. You were blushing now, half from embarrassment, half from the thrill of being the only one who got this side of her. “Wednesday, maybe we should–” you started.

She took both your hands in hers and stepped closer, ignoring the gawking crowd of your friends. “Cara Mia,” she said, slipping into perfect Italian, “you are the marrow in my bones, the ink in my veins. Without you, I am merely a shadow.”Xavier’s jaw actually dropped. Enid looked ready to faint.

Wednesday leaned in, voice dropping to something private and dangerous. “Walk with me before they steal another moment of you.” You let her lead you away, casting your friends an apologetic glance over your shoulder.

Enid immediately smacked Xavier’s arm. “We just saw Wednesday Addams act like Gomez Addams.”

summary: more grumpy x sunshine trope but this time with “Hates everyone but you trope” No Spoilers

If anyone at Nevermore had to describe Wednesday Addams in one word, it would be: intolerable. She insulted people without hesitation, threatened violence like it was a second language, and had a glare so sharp it could cut through steel.

Everyone at the scho knows that there was an exception. And that exception was you.It started small. Teachers noticed she didn’t interrupt you during class debates. Then, she began voluntarily partnering with you for projects, which was odd, because Wednesday never worked with anyone unless it was to stage a murder scene for extra credit.

It escalated. When Ajax once bumped into you in the hallway, sending your books scattering, Wednesday was suddenly there, looming over him like the Angel of Death herself.

“If you ever barrel into her again,” she said in a voice colder than December air, “I’ll use your serpentine head for a paperweight.”

Ajax blinked. “It was an accident–”

“Do you think accidents will save you from my wrath?” she deadpanned. You had to tug her away before Ajax cried.

She was worse with strangers. One afternoon in town, a barista handed you the wrong drink by mistake. something with way too much espresso for your taste. You were about to politely accept it when Wednesday leaned forward across the counter, voice dripping with venom. “She ordered a caramel latte. Not whatever battery acid this is. Fix it.”

The barista stammered something about being busy. Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not above staging a haunting in your home.”

The poor guy remade the drink in thirty seconds flat. You sipped it, cheeks warm. “You didn’t have to–”

“I did,” she cut in. “No one disappoints you and escapes unscathed.”

It was always jarring to see her change in front of you. To everyone else; curt, icy, cutting. To you…well, still curt and icy, but with edges softened just enough to be almost tender. Like when you came to her dorm during a storm, hair damp and hoodie half-zipped.

“You’re drenched,” she said, standing immediately. “Sit. I’ll get you something dry.”

You blinked. “You own something dry?” She shot you a look, one of her infamous looks , but instead of biting back, she returned a moment later with a blanket and one of her sweaters. You slid it on, it smelled faintly of old books and the faint metallic tang of her favorite typewriter ink.

People noticed. Of course they noticed. Enid cornered you in the quad one day. “She likes you. Like, seriously likes you. Do you even know how rare that is?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “She’s not that bad.”

Enid nearly choked. “She threatened to burn my closet down last week because one of my scarves ‘looked too cheerful.’ And then you walk in wearing neon yellow and she tells you it’s ‘marginally tolerable.’ That’s basically a love poem from her.”

The truth was, you didn’t mind her sharp edges. You knew the softness she had was only for you, and that made it feel… special. Powerful, even. Like during fencing class, when a classmate made a snide comment about your form. Wednesday floored him in three moves, blade at his throat, eyes dark with something feral.

“Apologize to her,” she said. He mumbled something, clearly terrified.

“Louder.” She pressed deeper into him. You had to step in before she made him cry.

Later, you teased her. “You don’t have to fight all my battles, you know.”

“I’m aware,” she replied smoothly, “but why would I waste an opportunity to terrify the general population?”

You laughed, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

She stared at you for a moment, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “And yet you’re still here.”

Summary: No one knows how the two of yall are dating. You guys are really opposites. Fem! reader

It was a mystery to everyone at Nevermore. To everyone outside Nevermore. To faculty, friends, and even enemies. How the hell are you and Wednesday Addams a thing? You, with your painfully bright sweaters, sparkly accessories, and the way you smiled at people in the hallways like they were all your best friends. And her, with her perpetually blank expression, deadpan stare, and a wardrobe so dark it could cause solar eclipses.

“You’re dating her?” Enid asked for the third time that week, eyes wide as saucers, glitter highlighter catching the sun like disco lights.

“Yes,” Wednesday said flatly, not bothering to look up from her typewriter.

“She’s just so…” Enid flailed her hands, trying to shape the idea with gestures. “Happy. Like, terminally happy.” Wednesday’s fingers paused for half a second.

“Sunshine is known to be lethal in large doses.”

Enid blinked. “So… you’re… dying?” Wednesday’s lips twitched. That was the closest thing to a smile anyone had seen from her since… well, ever.

You, meanwhile, were in the quad, giving little flower gifts to Bianca after she jokingly said you’d never be able to "brighten her" and then you did. Bianca rolled her eyes, but let you continue. From a distance, Wednesday watched. The tips of her fingers curled around the edge of her book. She didn’t look jealous. No, Wednesday didn’t get jealous.

She got possessive. Later, when you came skipping over to her with two iced teas, one for you and one for her (black, unsweetened, and horrifyingly bitter- just how she liked it), she just blinked at you and said, “You’ve touched six people today.”

You grinned. “You counted?”

“I’m compiling a list.”

“For… what?”

“In case they mysteriously disappear.” You laughed and leaned your head on her shoulder. She stiffened, as she always did at first, then melted a fraction, like frost reluctantly yielding to sunlight.

People watched the two of you walk together and whispered behind hands and locker doors. “She literally wears pink, like actual baby pink. I saw her give a teacher a sticker for being nice.”

“Wednesday threatened a guy for making her cry last week.”

“I heard she sewed her a plushie afterward though??”

“I heard Wednesday bit it.” No one understood it. Not when you twirled around her in the hallway with glitter on your cheeks, and she just blinked in black-and-white judgment. Not when you passed her notes in class with hearts and smiley faces, and she’d respond with, “You are absurd. Never change.”

Not when she showed up to your art show and stared at your pastel-covered canvas with such intensity someone asked if she was plotting its murder and definitely not when you beamed and kissed her cheek in front of everyone and she just… let you.

One day, Xavier leaned over to whisper to Enid, watching the two of you sitting together under a tree. you with your head in Wednesday’s lap, babbling about your favorite cloud shapes, while she methodically braided a small noose out of grass. “How did that happen?”

Enid shrugged. “I think she tried to kill her at first. But like, emotionally?”

“...That sounds accurate.”

Alone, you once asked her the same question. "Why me?" You were sitting cross-legged in her dorm, surrounded by books and blades and taxidermy, a place no one would normally associate with cuddles.

She looked up from her writing, slow and deliberate. “Because you don’t flinch when I talk about blood.”

You giggled. “Is that all?”

“No,” she said, stoping her typing on her typewriter. She stayed still, “Because you are terrifying in your own way.”

You tilted your head, genuinely puzzled. “Me?”

“You love people so much,” she murmured. “You see the good in everyone. You let them in. That kind of hope is reckless. Dangerous.”

You blinked, unsure if that was a compliment or—“I’m keeping you safe from them,” she added, voice lower now. “Even if I have to keep you in my shadow to do it.” Your smile softened.

“Okay,” you whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. “But I’m still putting little flower stickers on your violin case.”

She sighed like she’d been personally insulted by God. “Make sure they’re black and white at least, Cara Mia.”

But the next day, You can still see the brightly colored and mix on monochrome flowers. She’d never peeled them off.

Summary: You're having car trouble and an unsuspecting surprise shows up.

Part 1 | Part 3

Tag list: @ihyperfixateoncharacters @untoldshortsofthefandoms @stormgrl19

You just wanted a coffee. That was it. Not a rom-com moment in the middle of the grocery store parking lot. The line inside The Drop was slow, so you’d ducked out after grabbing your usual; extra cream, two sugars, and enough caffeine to restart a heart and hauled your little hatchback back into the late afternoon sun. Honestly, the scene you have been spending your time in did NOT match the car you have.

You jiggled your keys as you slid into the driver’s seat, sipping from the paper cup as you shoved the key in.

Click.

Nothing.

You frowned. Tried again.

Still nothing.

"Great," you muttered, setting your drink in the cupholder. One hand slapped the steering wheel like that would do anything useful. Then came the voice. "That her final words?" Your head whipped up.

There he was. Ray. Leaning against the edge of his truck like he’d just strolled out of a high school movie. His arms were crossed over his chest, grey shirt slightly grease stained at the hem, and a smirk curling up one side of his mouth like he’d caught you in the middle of something private.

"I–" you swallowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Shopping," he said, lifting a bag slightly in his left hand. "What are you doing? Having a breakdown?" You huffed and shoved your door open. "My car won’t start. It’s not that dramatic."

"You sure? Looked dramatic from where I was standing." You didn’t want to smile. You really didn’t. But it happened anyway.

"Can you look at it, or are you just here to heckle me?" Ray stepped forward without hesitation, already tossing his bag in the bed of his truck.

"I’ll take a look." He nodded at the hood. "Pop it." You turned, slightly flustered by how fast he moved, and did as he asked. The hood creaked open with a stubborn groan, and Ray leaned in without hesitation, hands already reaching for parts you couldn’t even name. You stood awkwardly by the passenger side, sipping your coffee like it might make you invisible.

“Looks like your battery cable’s loose,” he called over his shoulder. “Either that or you pissed off your starter.”

“Is that a real thing or something you made up to sound smart?”

He straightened just long enough to shoot you a grin. “Wouldn’t need to make stuff up to impress you.” Your heart skipped. He went back under the hood like that line didn’t just level you.

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, watching as his arms flexed with the movements. Grease smudged the side of his neck, the faint mark of an old scar peeking just under his jawline. He really looked like he belonged in the movies—dangerous, hot, and a little bit dirty. The kind of guy your mom warned you about but your imagination had a permanent lease on. He gave something a twist and a smack, then stepped back. “Try it.”

You got in, turned the key and she roared to life like nothing had happened. Ray tapped the hood twice and let it fall shut. “Told you. She just needed a little attention.”

You got out again, not sure what to say. “Thanks. Seriously.”

He shrugged. “You need a new battery soon. I can check it for you if you swing by the shop.”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t want to sound too eager. “You just looking for excuses to see me again?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Would it work if I was?”

You blinked. He gave you a grin, like he knew exactly what that did to your brain, then leaned one hand on the hood, just close enough to make the air between you hum. “You got plans tonight?” he asked, suddenly casual. “I know a place that does decent burgers.”

You hesitated but your mouth didn’t. “I could eat.”

NSFW , 18+ ONLY , NO minors interaction

Major Sub! Harris ngl, aged up characters

Summary: All he needs is to be ‘babied’ sometimes. He can’t always be mean and you’re just the person to make him feel safe.

The passenger door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the window,. the air thick with the scent of gasoline, sweat, and cigarette smoke as Harris gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. He wouldn’t even look at you. Jaw clenched, breathing hard, grey eyes glassy but too fucking proud to let it spill. The flickering glow of the streetlamp outside the car caught on the sheen of sweat on his skin, the angry, trembling set of his shoulders. “Harris,” you said gently.

“Don’t,” he rasped. It wasn’t anger in his voice. It was something else. Something splintered. You reached over, hand sliding up the back of his neck into his hair, pulling just enough to make him turn toward you. That’s when you saw it , the shake in his bottom lip, the way his pupils were blown wide, glassy, and so fucking lost. “Tell me what you need, baby.” His chest heaved, and he didn’t answer right away. Just grabbed you like his life fucking depended on it, yanking you over the console and into his lap. His mouth crashed against yours, teeth clashing, hands desperate and rough, grabbing at your thighs, your waist, like he needed to touch you everywhere at once.

“Need you,” he gasped, voice breaking as he fisted your shirt in both hands. “Need to feel somethin’, fuck, please. I can’t fuckin’ do it anymore.” Your heart cracked, and your cunt throbbed at the same time, because fuck, you loved him like this. All raw, real, breaking apart in your hands. “I got you,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, your hand gripping his hair tightly. “I got you, baby.”

He groaned , a wrecked, needy sound, as you reached down, palming him through his jeans. He was already hard, twitching under your touch like his body was ahead of his mind. “So fuckin’ needy,” you murmured, unbuttoning his jeans, your voice filthy and tender all at once. “You hold all that shit in, huh? All that mouth when you’re hurtin’ inside.”

“Shut up,” Harris groaned, but his hips jerked up into your hand, his face crumpling like he was barely holding it together. You stroked him slow, hot and heavy in your palm, and he whimpered when you rubbed your thumb over his leaking tip.

“You gonna let me take care of you now?” you teased, leaning in to nip his jaw. “Let me fuck that pain outta you?” He nodded, desperate, pulling you harder against him. “Yes. Fuck, yes, please, I need it, I need you.” Your soaked panties dragged against the head of his cock as you straddled him fully, not even bothering to take your clothes off. You pushed your panties aside, lined him up, and sank down in one slick slide.

The sound Harris made was a fucking sob. His head fell back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut, hips jerking up involuntarily. “Fuuuck, baby,” he gasped. “Tight, you feel so fuckin’ good. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please—” You rode him hard, rough, the creak of the leather seat and the slap of skin filling the tight, steamy car as his hands clawed at your hips, his breath ragged, tears slipping down his cheeks now.

“Yeah, that’s it, Harris,” you groaned, gripping his face, making him look at you. “Let it out. Gimme everything, baby boy. You’re safe. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” he gasped. “I’m yours, fuck , please, let me—”

“You wanna cum?” you teased, grinding down hard, his cock twitching inside you. “You wanna fill me up, baby?”

“Please,” he choked. “I can’t... I fuckin’ can’t hold it—”

“Then don’t.” The second you gave him permission, his body tensed, and he came with a guttural moan, tears running down his face, burying it against your neck as his cock throbbed inside you. His hips jerked helplessly, overstimulated but needing to stay buried in you like it was the only thing holding him together.

Chapter 4 - to the ray story

A paul lahote fic

A/N- Im thinking of making this a story on Wattpad after I finish on here! what do yall think about that? It will be more detailed, while less “Y/N” but following the plot of the story of the tv show more .

Summary:You shouldn’t be here, be this close to him but you just can’t help it.

Part 1 | Part 2

Tag List:@ihyperfixateoncharacters @untoldshortsofthefandoms @stormgrl19

You swore to yourself it was just the two nights. A fluke. A heat-of-the-moment thing. A harmless brush with a world you didn’t belong to but Ironwood didn’t let go of people that easy. Especially not when Shyann was involved. It started with a text while you were elbow-deep in flea dip, scrubbing down a wriggling mutt someone left behind in the clinic’s alley.

[SHYANN]

Garage hang tonight. You-Know-Who’s crew will be there. Don’t be a coward. I’m outside at 7.

You rolled your eyes. Left it on read. Didn’t answer when she called. And still… at 6:52, you found yourself standing in front of your closet, biting your lip as you stared down an array of clothes that didn’t feel like they would make you even fit in. Didn’t hate it though.

You went simple. A cute pale pink dress and flowed around you perfectly. You looked like a ethereal Fairy . Makeup soft and simple, mascara and some lip gloss.