#suburbancerberus

warnings: mentions of intoxication, one curse word. everythings pretty pg im proud of myself

word count: 632

Your apartment is spinning a little, not fast, not scary, just… off. The way it gets after too many drinks handed to you by friends who promised “this one’s light” and absolutely lied.

You kick your shoes off somewhere near the door, not caring where they land. Your lip gloss feels smudged, your hair’s sticking to your neck, and there’s glitter on your collarbone that just can't seem to come off.

You should drink water. You should wash your face. You should go to sleep.

Instead, you pull out your phone.

Your drunk brain only knows one thing: Ian.

Your thumb opens his contact like muscle memory.

There’s no thinking. You just text.

hi.

are you up?

Delivered.

You sink onto your couch, breath shaky for no other reason than the alcohol loosening everything you’ve been holding in for months.

Your screen glows again.

Ian:

yeah. what’s up?

You stare at it too long. Long enough your eyes blur.

Then your fingers move.

i’m drunk and i miss you

The second you hit send, your stomach twists. Not regret, just that dizzy honesty you normally bury under jokes and deflection.

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Appear again.

Ian:

where are you

You laugh softly to yourself, a tiny, pathetic sound. Your mascara burns your eyes a little.

home. i just got back

You lean your head back against the couch cushion, the room tilting softly. Everything feels heavy. Your limbs. Your chest. Your thoughts.

He responds fast.

Ian: what did you drink tonight

You smile lazily.

everything lmao

There’s a long pause.

Then,

Ian: awesome.

You giggle, biting your lip. He’s annoyed. But responding.

Your thumb shakes as you type the next one.

do u hate me. 

im sorry thats such a stupid question

Your phone buzzes instantly.

Ian: stop being sorry. why would you think that

Your eyes sting.

bc u stopped texting me

There’s silence. It stretches long enough for your skin to prickle.

Then,

Ian: I didn’t stop. You just stopped answering.

You frown,

thats not true

Another pause. You imagine his jaw tightening, the way he sighs deep when he’s frustrated but trying not to show it.

Ian: it is. but we’re not doing that rn.

You swallow. The room feels small. Your heart feels loud.

do you still like idk care about me

No jokes.

Just raw and drunk and stupid.

The typing bubble appears. Stops. Appears again.

Disappears.

Your eyes fill with warm pressure and you whisper into your empty apartment: “Say something…”

Your phone buzzes.

Ian: don’t ask me that.

You bite your lip hard. Your vision wavers.

seriously. do you?

This time… nothing. No dots. No message.

Just silence.

You feel your throat close up. And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s everything you’ve swallowed for months, but the next text comes out before you can stop it:

bc i still like you like really really really like you

A hiccup leaves your chest, real, loud, humiliating as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

Then, slowly… painfully… the words you’ve never said sober tumbled out:

i wasnt ready to be loved u didnt deserve that im sorry

Breathing uneven. Heart crawling up your throat.

Your phone lights up.

Ian: I’m coming over.

You blink hard.

please no im so gross rn

Ian: y/n. come on. 

You stare at the screen, pulse hammering in your ears.

i didnt say u could come

But the three dots appear anyway.

Ian: you didn’t have to. you asked if I cared. that’s my answer.

Your breath stutters, so loud in your quiet apartment it almost echoes.

A minute later:

Ian: go change. i’m five mins away.

Your phone slips from your hand onto the couch.

And you whisper into the dim, hazy room:

“…fuck.”

authors note: i feel bad because i feel like ian isnt as much of a dick as i write him to be but omfg it was just too good of an idea not to write him as like the most insuffurable person ever.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

The argument had started over something small, stupid, even. You were trying to talk to him about your week, the way you’d been feeling overlooked, dismissed, like you were constantly fighting for a place in his busy world.

He’d been distracted again, barely looking up from his phone. And when you pushed a little harder, when your voice cracked mid-sentence and you said, “Do you even care about what I have to say, Ian?” that’s when it snapped.

He shot up from the couch, voice sharp, eyes harder than they needed to be. “God, you always fucking do this. Turn everything into some unnecessary emotional shit.”

It spiraled fast. You accused. He deflected. You cried. He cursed. Then he grabbed his jacket, muttering something about going some place and slammed the door on his way out.

Now, hours later, the sky was dusky pink, the city humming below, and you were perched on the edge of your fire escape, a blanket draped around your shoulders and a half-finished blunt between your fingers. The chill didn’t bother you, it was the silence that stung. The kind that settles deep in your chest.

You were on your second drag when you heard the front door click open behind you.

Footsteps. Slow, unsure.

You didn’t turn around. Not even when the window slid open behind you and Ian stepped out, hoodie on, jaw tight, shopping bag in hand.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. The only sound was the city, the low rush of cars and the hum of distant voices.

“You’re smoking again,” he muttered, leaning against the fire escape railing, a few feet away from you.

You flicked ash over the side, not looking at him. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” He shifted, fingers tightening around the bag. “I needed to chill. Didn’t mean to leave like that.”

You finally turned your head, eyes narrowed. “But you did.”

He stared back, jaw ticking. “Shit, you made it pretty easy to walk out.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you snapped, voice sharp. “You act like I’m insane for wanting to be heard.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking away. “You always think the worst of me.”

“No, Ian,” you bit, sitting up straighter. “I just finally stopped pretending you’re doing your best when you’re not.”

That hit. You saw it in the way his gaze dropped, in the way he shifted like the weight of your words had finally landed. The quiet buzzed between you, thicker now.

He looked at you again, then down at the bag in his hand.

“I got you something,” he said suddenly, softer this time.

You arched a brow. “What, a sorry you think I’m a shitty boyfriend present?”

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re awfully predictable.”

There was a flicker of something dangerous in his grin. “You done?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He stepped closer, holding the bag out now like it was a peace treaty wrapped in pretty gold lettering. “But maybe this’ll shut you up for two seconds.”

You glanced at it, then back at him. “Ian”

“Just open it.”

There was hesitation in your fingers as you reached into the bag and pulled out a familiar beige dust bag, Chloé. Your breath caught. There was no way.

When you pulled it back, the soft leather, the signature padlock, the chunky hardware, it was the bag. The Paddington. The one you’d shown him weeks ago, half-jokingly saying, “God, I’d die for this bag,” while he’d scrolled through something else on his phone, barely glancing up.

Your fingers froze on the strap.

“You remembered,” you said quietly, not quite trusting your voice.

Ian let out a dry laugh, “Yeah. I listen more than you think.”

You didn’t say anything at first, just stared at the bag, heart caught somewhere between melted and confused.

He reached for your hand gently, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “Look, I know I fuck up sometimes. I’m kinda ass at saying what I feel. But I swear I hear you. I see you. I just don’t always know how to… show it. So this is me making an effort.”

You looked at him, really looked, and there was that softness in his eye, the one he always kept hidden behind sarcasm and short replies. It made your chest ache.

“Ian… I didn’t want a gift,” you whispered. “I wanted you to get it. To understand me.”

“I know,” he said. Then smirked slightly. “But the gift doesn’t hurt, right?”

You let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. 

It wasn’t perfect. Maybe not even fair.

But in that moment, it was enough.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his arm as you gently held the bag in your hands.

“Next time, just listen the first time,” you murmured holding your pinky out.

“Next time,” he linked his pinky with yours solidifying his promise, his hand slipping around your waist, a little too tight, a little too possessive. “But you gotta admit… I’ve got taste.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away.

 Because he did have taste. 

In bags. 

In you.

everyone tell me theyre proud of me for writing!!!

personal apology from me to ian for making him such an asshole.

xoxo,

ian smith x influencer! reader

authors note: korie posting back to back!? i know this is cray cray divas. i literally worked on this in the car otw to and from the dentist so like fuck it why not post it. im milking that restaurant scene so bad divas im so sorry lmfao but please if you have any ideas lmk!!! liking and reblogging helps a ton!

warnings: cursing, very descriptive kiss ig?

word count: 1,676

The tension is unbearable, thick like the air before a storm. Ian sits there, perfectly composed, like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows exactly what’s going to happen next and is just waiting for you to catch up.

It pisses you off.

You grab your drink, taking a slow sip just to give yourself something to do. “You’re really not gonna say anything else?”

Ian shrugs. “Not if you already know the answers.”

Your fingers tighten around the glass. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Ian smirks like he takes that as a compliment.

You exhale sharply, pushing away from the table. “You know what? Fuck it.” You slide out of the booth, grabbing your bag as you stand. “I don’t even know why I came.” Ian watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t stop you.

That only pisses you off more.

You turn on your heel and storm toward the exit, ignoring the way your chest feels tight, the way your skin burns under his gaze. You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have let him drag you across the country just to sit there and act like he didn’t give a fuck.

The cold air hits you the second you step outside, sharp against your skin. You don’t stop walking. Not until you hear footsteps behind you.

Ian.

You roll your eyes, picking up your pace. “Please leave me alone.”

He doesn’t. “Where the fuck are you even going?”

authors interjection: that line was killing me as i was writing omfg 😭 ok proceed lmfaoo

You keep walking. “I don't know, but i really dont wanna be here ”

A beat of silence, then....“You’re being dramatic.”

That makes you stop. You spin around, heart pounding. “I’m being dramatic?”

“Yeah. You are.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Because me being mad that you flew me out here just to sit in silence is so unreasonable.”

Ian exhales through his nose, stepping closer. “You’re mad because I didn’t chase you the second you walked away.”

Your pulse kicks up, but you keep your expression hard. “I shouldn’t have had to walk away in the first place.”

He tilts his head slightly. “You done?”

You glare at him, your breath unsteady. “Bitch? No!”

also laughed really hard while writing this.

Ian just watches you, waiting.

You exhale sharply, shifting your weight. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you don’t care after everything.”

His jaw tightens just slightly. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Ian,” you snap. “Maybe start with why the fuck I’m here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you, like he’s debating how much to give you.

Then, finally—

“I missed you.”

The words hit harder than you expect. Your stomach twists, your arms wrapping around yourself like you can physically keep them out. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Ian exhales, stepping closer. “I didn’t know how else to get you here.”

You blink. “What?”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking off to the side for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “I posted that picture on purpose.”

Your breath catches.

Ian tilts his head. “You wouldn’t have come if I just asked.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of it. “So you. what? Tried to piss me off?”

His lips twitch, like he’s amused but knows better than to show it. “Worked, didn't it?”

i honestly wouldve crashed out wtf do you mean!?

Your jaw tightens as you glare at him, arms still crossed over your chest like that’ll somehow keep you steady. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Ian doesn’t flinch. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s enjoying this. “Never said I wasn’t.”

You exhale sharply, turning away before you fall under his gaze. “I can’t believe I got on a plane for this.”

Ian moves then, stepping into your space before you can walk off again. “Then don’t waste the trip.”

Your head snaps back toward him. “Excuse me?”

He’s close now. Not enough to touch, but enough that you feel the heat of him, enough that your body betrays you. “Come back with me.”

You blink. “What?”

Ian tilts his head toward the street, toward where his car is waiting. “Come to mine.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You think I want to be alone with you right now?”

His gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second before he meets your eyes again. “Yeah.”

Your stomach flips, but you force yourself to roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Ian smirks like that’s the best thing he’s heard all night. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You hate that he’s right. Hate that even with how mad you are, you don’t actually want to leave.

Ian watches you for a moment, then sighs, his smirk fading just slightly. “Come on,” he says, voice quieter. “We don’t have to do this out here.”

The fight in you is still burning, but the cold is starting to creep in, and the way he’s looking at you—like he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t care—makes you waver.

Finally, you exhale, dropping your arms. “Fine.”

Ian’s brows lift slightly, like he didn’t actually expect you to agree. Then, with the ghost of a smirk, he steps back, gesturing toward the car.

The car ride is suffocatingly silent.

Ian drives with one hand on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road like he doesn’t notice the way you’re angled toward the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Like he doesn’t feel the tension pressing down on both of you, thick and unrelenting.

But of course, he notices.

“You’re really doing this?” His voice is low, calm in that infuriating way that makes you want to snap.

You don’t answer.

Ian exhales, shifting slightly in his seat. “You’re mad.”

Still, you stay silent.

He hums, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Alright.”

That’s it. No coaxing, no trying to pull a reaction out of you. Just alright.

You dig your nails into your palms, your irritation bubbling over. If he wants to act unbothered, fine. You can do the same.

The rest of the drive stretches out in silence, only the low hum of the car filling the space between you. When he finally pulls up to his building, he puts the car in park but doesn’t make a move to get out.

Instead, he turns his head slightly, looking at you through the dim interior. “You done?”

You grip the door handle but don’t move. “Done with what?”

Ian smirks, slow and knowing. “Ignoring me.”

You clench your jaw, pushing the door open without responding. If he thinks he can pull you back in with that smug I know you better than you think act, he’s dead wrong.

Ian doesn’t chase you. He follows, slow and steady, like he has all the time in the world.

The air is thick with tension by the time you step into Ian’s apartment—a sleek, minimal space with dim lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. You barely take it in, your anger still simmering under your skin.

Ian shuts the door behind you, tossing his keys onto the counter like he hasn’t just dragged you across the country for this. You don’t say a word.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really gonna give me the silent treatment?”

You ignore him, walking deeper into the apartment, your arms crossed so tight it almost hurts.

Ian watches you from where he stands, his head tilting slightly. “You know that’s not gonna work on me.”

Still, you don’t respond.

A beat of silence. Then—

“I told you why you’re here.” His voice is calmer now, quieter.

You finally look at him, eyes sharp. Then, slowly, you shake your head.

“No, you didn’t.”

Ian exhales through his nose, stepping toward you. You don’t back away, but you don’t break your silence either. His lips press together, jaw tightening as he closes the space between you.

He stops just in front of you, his voice low. “You’re really this mad at me?”

You lift your chin slightly, holding his gaze.

Ian’s eyes flicker over your face, like he’s searching for a crack in the wall you’ve built between you. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but knows better than to push right now.

The silence stretches. The weight of everything between you presses down, thick and heavy.

Then, without another word, Ian moves.

His hands find your waist, his grip firm but not forceful, and before you can think—before you can decide if you even want to resist—his lips crash against yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, a collision of frustration and everything unspoken. Your fingers tighten in his tee before you even realize you’ve grabbed him, pulling him closer like you’re trying to prove something.

Ian groans into your mouth, deep and low, his hands gripping you tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold you in place. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull away.

You should.

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him harder, letting the weight of your anger, your confusion, your want spill into it.

Ian backs you up against the counter without breaking the kiss, his body pressed against yours, his fingers digging into your hips like he can’t get enough. One hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your head up as he deepens the kiss, as if he needs you to feel exactly how much he meant it when he said he missed you.

And god, you do.

Your silence is long gone now, lost between the way his mouth moves against yours and the way his hands refuse to let you go.

But just when the heat starts to take over, when you can feel yourself starting to give in,

Ian pulls back, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours.

“I’m not gonna rush you,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I swear.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, gentle despite the way his pulse is racing. “But just be here with me.”

someone cooked here

someone = me

cooked = burgers

ian smith x influencer! reader

authors note: ello!! i had some extra free time so i decided to write some more!! i have the flu so im sorry if theres any typos or any inconsistencies. i dont think there is but i apologize if so. also! please lmk if you have some ideas or requests! likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

warnings: N/A

word count: 1,513

iaaannnn posted on their story!

You’re mindlessly scrolling when Ian’s story pops up.

You stare at it longer than you should. It shouldn’t bother you. You and Ian aren’t together at all—but something about the picture makes your jaw tighten.

Before you can stop yourself, you text him.

You: Didn’t know you had company tonight.

A few minutes pass before he responds.

Ian: Didn’t know I had to check in.

You roll your eyes.

You: You don’t.

Ian: Then what’s the problem?

You: No problem. Just curious.

A pause. Then—

You: She looks comfortable.

You know you don’t actually want an answer, but you wait anyway, heart beating a little too fast. Three dots appear, then disappear. Then—nothing.

You sigh, tossing your phone onto the bed. Typical.

You go into you in Egypt's text conversation, typing about this outrageous situation. as you hit send, A notification pops up.

Not a text—an email. Your stomach twists as you open it.

Subject: LAX → JFK

First-class. Departing tomorrow morning. One-way.

Your fingers tighten around your phone as you switch back to messages.

You: Seriously?

No response. Just silence.

The flight is smooth, but your nerves aren’t. You spend most of it staring out the window, overthinking every possible way this conversation could go. You barely reall know Ian You’ve spent time together, sure, but this? Flying across the country to see him? It’s a leap, and you’re not sure where you’re going to land.

When you land, your phone buzzes.

Ian: Car’s outside. Don’t take all day.

Short. Direct. Like this is just another casual meeting and not a situation he practically forced you into. You hesitate for a second before grabbing your bag and heading out.

The car is sleek, understated. You slide into the backseat, expecting at least some kind of reaction from him. Instead, Ian barely looks up from his phone. He’s slouched in the corner,, fingers tapping idly against the screen. If he’s surprised you actually showed, he doesn’t show it.

"You look tired," he says, finally glancing over.

You let out a short laugh. "You look very unbothered.”

He smirks slightly, locking his phone. “I am.”

You study him, trying to read past the easy nonchalance, but he’s hard to pin down. The car pulls away from the curb, the silence stretching just long enough to feel heavier than it should.

"So," you start, shifting to face him. "You really flew me out just to address me haphazardly?"

Ian exhales, like this is already exhausting him. "Nah. We’re getting food first."

You raise a brow. "You think feeding me is gonna make this go down easier?"

He shrugs. "Couldn’t hurt."

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. He’s too calm, too collected. Meanwhile, you’re still trying to figure out what, exactly, you’re even doing here.

The tension lingers, thick with all the things neither of you are saying. You don’t know him well enough to read between the lines, but something about the way he watches you—casual, but intent—tells you that this conversation isn’t going to be as simple as he’s making it seem.

The drive is quiet. Not awkward, but heavy. Ian’s hands stay on his phone, eyes fixed on the screen, he’s got nothing to say, and you—well, you’re not going to be the first to crack. Not after everything.

Not after that post.

Not after Dominic.

You catch yourself exhaling a little too sharply and shift in your seat, staring out the window. It’s easier to focus on the neon blur of the city than the tension sitting between you. Ian doesn’t fill the silence, doesn’t even look at you, and you don’t know if that’s just who he is or if he’s doing it on purpose.

The car slows in front of a small restaurant, the kind you wouldn’t find unless you were looking for it. Low-lit, tucked away— Without a word, he thanks the driver and steps out.

You follow, catching up as he pushes the door open.

“This is cute,” you say, more to get something out of him than anything else.

Ian shrugs, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Yeah. It’s chill.”

Inside, it’s warm, dimly lit, the kind of place where you can disappear if you want to. Ian leads you to a booth near the back, sliding in without looking at you. You sit across from him, watching as he scans the menu like he hasn’t already been here a hundred times.

You lean back, crossing your arms. “So, what? We sit here, eat, and then you tell me why you pulled me across the country?”

Ian doesn’t look up. “Something like that.”

You scoff, grabbing the menu just to have something to do. “You could’ve just called.”

Now he looks at you, expression unreadable. “Would you have answered?”

Your lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. He’s got you there.

!author's interjection! while i was writing this all i could think about is that one dhar mann scene thats like "ok, you got me there, but that is not a crime." ok sorry.. proceed

Before you can figure out a response, the server appears. Ian orders like it’s second nature, while you barely skim the menu, choosing something at random. When the server leaves, Ian leans back, fingers tapping idly against the table.

“You saw your ex.” His tone is flat, like it’s not even a question.

You match his energy. “Yeah. And?”

His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts. “And you sat there with him. Talked to him.”

You arch a brow. “Would’ve been rude to just walk out.”

Ian hums, clearly not buying it. “Right.”

The way he says it gets under your skin. Like he already made up his mind about what went down, and your explanation doesn’t change anything.

You exhale, fingers tightening around your glass. “You wanna tell me what this is really about?”

Ian’s gaze flickers over your face before he sits back, casual as ever. “I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you seemed really comfortable talking to him.”

You scoff. “That’s funny, coming from you.”

His brows lift slightly, like he’s inviting you to go on.

So you do. “That girl.” You tilt your head. “You seemed pretty comfortable yourself.”

Ian’s jaw tenses, but the rest of him stays relaxed. “She was just there.”

“So was Dominic.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

A pause. Just long enough to mean something. Then Ian picks up his drink, takes a slow sip, and shrugs. “Guess that depends.”

You don’t know what pisses you off more—the fact that he doesn’t care, or the fact that he does but refuses to admit it.

The silence stretches between you, thick and charged. Ian is unbothered, picking at his food like this is just another meal, another night, like he didn’t just fly you across the country after posting some random girl. Like the weight of this entire situation isn’t pressing down on both of you.

You cross your arms, leaning back against the booth. “So since youre mr fucking know it all tonight. what now?”

Ian doesn’t even look up. “eat.”

You huff. “And then?”

Now he looks at you, eyes slow as they drag over your face. “we talk.”

Your jaw tightens. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

Ian smirks—barely, but enough to make your stomach tighten. “Nah. You’re just trying to win.”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse picks up anyway. “Win what?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Whatever argument you think we’re having.”

bitch please

Your fingers tighten around your fork. “Oh, so you flying me out here wasn’t about proving a point?”

Ian just watches you, like he’s waiting for you to figure it out on your own. You don’t break eye contact. You won’t.

Finally, he exhales, leaning forward, forearms resting on the table. His voice dips just enough to make your breath catch. “You mad?”

You lift your chin. “Are you?”

His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a second. “You saw your ex.”

“And you posted some girl.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “So?”

Your fingers drum against the table. “So, why the fuck am I here, Ian?”

His smirk is slow, calculated. “You tell me.”

You inhale sharply, willing yourself to stay still under the weight of his stare. He’s waiting for something—for you to admit why you came, why you boarded that flight without hesitation.

You won’t give him that.

Instead, you tilt your head, matching his energy. “You bought the ticket.”

His eyes darken just a little. “Didn’t think you’d take it.”

Your pulse betrays you, but you keep your expression cool. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

Ian’s tongue flicks over his bottom lip, slow, like he’s amused. Then he leans back, adjusting his position in his seat. “Maybe.”

Neither of you move. The food is forgotten, the restaurant noise fading into the background.

You shift in your seat, suddenly warm. Ian notices. Of course, he notices.

His gaze dips down, then back up. “You look like you're about to run”

You don’t know if he means from this or from him, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction either way.

Your chin lifts. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Ian’s smirk deepens. “Nah,” he murmurs. “I like you right here.”

And god help you, but you do too.

xoxo

ian smith x influencer! reader social media au

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by egyptelyse, tckrchdlr and 1.5K others

youruser in a new york minute

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egyptelyse i love you so much pretty

- youruser i love you more bby

randouser need that

friendfrmschool miss you in cali cutie

- youruser be back soonnn

anotherinfluencer gorgeous girl

liked by youruser!

***

liked by youruser, iaaaaaaaannnnnnn, tckrchdlr and 1.3M others

egyptelyse in my happy place

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youruser mwahh

randouser 😍😍😍

tckrchdlr no place better than with you

- randouser power couple!

- bigfathater you need to break up with her ASAP

sabrinabrier gorgeous gorgeous girl!

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loewe we love you egypt!

- egyptelyse 💗

***

ian smith x influencer! reader

authors note: just an itsy bitsy little update because ive been neglecting you guys. after seeing ian ideas just shot into my brain so trust shit gets better i swurrr.

warnings: mention of previous sexual interaction (i can not write smut so everything will be eluded), cursing.

word count: 1,457

The first thing you register is warmth.

It’s unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. The heavy weight of an arm draped lazily over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a chest against your back. Your eyes blink open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The air smells like cedar wood and something faintly like Ian’s cologne, and that’s when it hits you.

Ian.

Your body tenses as flashes of last night flicker through your mind something about this time with ian felt different, more vulnerable. The memory sends heat creeping up your neck, but you shove it down, swallowing hard.

Carefully, you shift, trying to slide out from under his arm without waking him, but the second you move, his grip tightens.

“Don’t,” Ian murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You freeze. “What?”

His arm flexes slightly around you, keeping you in place. “Leave.”

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I wasn’t”

“Yeah, you were,” he mutters, his voice still groggy, still unfairly soft.

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to relax, inhaling slowly. “I dont think last night was the best moral decision.”

Ian hums, not agreeing, not disagreeing. Just acknowledging the words without letting them sink in. His fingers move slightly against your waist, barely there.

You try again. “Like, seriously .”

Ian shifts then, pushing up onto one elbow so he can see your face. His hair is messy, his eyes still hazy from sleep, but his expression is unreadable. “Why?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Why?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head slightly, like he’s actually waiting for an answer. “This wasn't our first time. So what about last night was so wrong?”

You let out a sharp breath, forcing yourself to sit up. His arm slips away, but his gaze stays on you, heavy and expectant.

“Because we were mad at each other,” you say, rubbing a hand over your face. “Because I don't know where I stand with you.”

Ian stays quiet for a beat, then sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re overthinking it.”

You glare at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I just aimlessly follow you through this emotional fucking whiplash you're taking me through?”

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing together. “I didn’t bring you here to fight.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Right. You just thought lying to me was the best way to get my attention?”

Ian doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. Instead, his jaw tightens, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter. “Don't be like that. You know I did it because I missed you.”

Your breath catches.

Ian glances away for a second, like this isn’t easy for him, like he’s figuring it out as he says it. “I missed you being around. I missed your stupid references, and the way you never shut up about your (random niche interest). I missed just… knowing you were in reach.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he meets your gaze again. “And yeah, I didn’t know how to fix it. But I knew I wasn’t gonna just let you leave”

Your chest tightens. “You could’ve just told me that.”

Ian lets out a short breath, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t have believed me.”

You hate that he’s right.

The silence stretches between you, heavier now, but not quite as suffocating. Ian watches you for a moment, then reaches for something on the nightstand. He tosses it onto the bed beside you, your phone.

You glance at him.

“I booked your flight back,” he says simply. “If you still wanna leave.”

Something in your chest twists. You stare at the phone, then at him. “I don't know if i want to.”

Ian tilts his head slightly, watching you. Then, with the ghost of a smirk, he says, “Then stop fighting it.”

You exhale, your heart pounding in a way that makes you nervous.

time skip divas

The restaurant is dimly lit, buzzing with quiet conversations and the occasional clink of silverware against fine china. It’s nicer than the spots you’re used to, white tablecloths, chandeliers dripping with glass, a waiter who pulls out your chair before you even have a chance to touch it. Ian doesn’t seem fazed. He’s relaxed, leaning back against the booth, one arm draped over the back of the seat next to him, like this is just another night for him.

You, on the other hand, are hyper aware of everything. The weight of the day pressing against your shoulders, the way Ian’s presence still lingers on your skin from the night previous, the fact that every time you let your guard down, he finds a way to slip back in.

But you let him take you to lunch.

And now you’re here, sitting across from him, trying not to let the warmth of the room lull you into the same false sense of security.

Ian watches you, his lips twitching slightly. “Relax. You look like I'm holding you fucking hostage or something.” You roll your eyes, picking up your glass of water. “Don't aggravate me. I'm actually enjoying this.”

He smirks. “Shit. My bad.”

The conversation shifts, and despite your best efforts, you feel yourself softening, your walls cracking piece by piece. It’s easy with him when you’re not thinking too hard, when he teases you about the way you overanalyze restaurant menus because of how picky you are, or when he offhandedly mentions something you told him weeks ago, proving he actually listens.

By the time your food arrives, you’ve forgotten why you were ever so on edge in the first place.

You step away. Just for a moment. A quick trip to the restroom, a breath of fresh air to ground yourself before you geek out too much over this boy.

And that’s when it happens.

The voice is familiar before you even see him. Smooth, cocky, just a little too amused.

“We just keep running into each other, huh?”

You turn, and there he is. Looking as put-together as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Must be the universe trying to tell us something.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh really?”

He chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “C’mon, don't be like that. You look good.” His gaze drags over you, slow, deliberate. “New York suits you.”

Your throat feels tight. You force yourself to stand a little straighter. “I’m here for work.”

“Right,” he nods, stepping closer. “Always about work with you, huh?” His voice dips, smooth in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Maybe you should take a break sometime. Enjoy yourself.”

You raise an eyebrow but before you can respond 

 Suddenly, there’s warmth against your back, familiar hands sliding around your waist.

Ian.

His presence is immediate, overwhelming in the way only he can be. He doesn’t say anything at first, just presses himself against you like he belongs there, like this is natural. His chin drops to your shoulder, his lips grazing your ear when he finally speaks.

“You good?”

The shift in Dominic’s expression is subtle, but you catch it. A flicker of something in his eyes, irritation, anger, something else. But he recovers quickly, smirking like this is all part of some bullshit game.

“Not at all,” he says smoothly. “Just catching up.”

Ian hums, his grip tightening slightly on your waist. He finally lifts his head, his eyes meeting Dominic’s over your shoulder. “That so?”

Dominic shrugs, but you can see the way his jaw ticks. “Didn’t realize you’d be here with someone else y/n.”

Ian’s smirk is sharp. “Yeah, well.” He leans down slightly, his lips ghosting over your temple before he finally meets Dominic’s gaze again. “Shit happens.”

The tension is thick, electric. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing.

Dominic studies Ian for a second before exhaling through his nose, a small chuckle slipping past his lips. “Right. Well.” His eyes flick to you once more, lingering for half a second too long before he steps back. “Enjoy your night… y/n”

And then he’s gone.

Ian doesn’t move right away. His hands stay firm against you, his breath warm against your skin. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, steady.

“You okay?”

You nod, but your body betrays you. The tension still lingers in your shoulders, your breath still uneven. Ian feels it.

And instead of stepping away, he turns you toward him, his hands sliding up to your arms, grounding you. “Hey.” His eyes search yours. “You’re fine. No need to be anxious”

You inhale slowly. Exhale even slower.

But even as you nod again, you know something just shifted.

And you don’t know what that fucking means yet.

ian is wayyy sexier in person argh

xoxo

ian smith x influencer! reader smau

authors note: hi guys i feel really bad about the delay so i decided to throw something together. i'm stuck on school timing so i apologize if it sounds too scholarly lmaoo.

warnings: cursing, idk what u would call it but possessive ian ig

word count: 760

You hadn’t planned on running into Dominic. It just happened.

You were at a coffee shop near campus, scrolling mindlessly on your phone when you heard his voice—low, amused, and all too familiar.

"Damn. Didn’t think you’d still be hanging around here."

You looked up, and there he was—Dominic Evans, your asshole ex, standing in front of you like no time had passed. He looked the same, just as effortlessly arrogant, with that permanent smirk like he knew some joke you weren’t in on.

"It’s right around the corner from campus. what are you talking about?," you said flatly, eyeing him as he slid into the seat across from you, uninvited.

"Right, right," he mused, drumming his fingers against the table. "You look good, princess."

You ignored the way the nickname made something twist in your stomach. You weren’t his anymore.

The conversation was...easy, in a way you hated. That was always the problem with Dominic. No matter how much of a really bad boyfriend he had been, talking to him never felt awkward. You fell back into old rhythms too easily—laughing at his dry humor, rolling your eyes at his cocky remarks, letting him get under your skin just enough.

At some point, he brought up the flowers.

"Did you like them?" His voice was casual, but his gaze was sharp, watching you closely.

"Don’t send me shit like that, Dom."

"Relax," he chuckled, leaning back. "Just thought you’d appreciate something familiar."

you hated Dominic for doing this, letting himself back in, pushing just enough to remind you that he could if you let him.

Later, without thinking much about it, you posted a quick Insta story—a blurry photo of your half-empty coffee cup, the caption vague but just knowing enough. Weird day lol. after posting you had texted Egypt letting her in on what just happened.

It wasn’t long before your phone buzzed.

Ian.

Ian: Did you see his bitch ass today?

You hesitated.

You: Why are you so mad?

Ian: You deadass? You know why.

You did know why. Ian had been there when you got those flowers, had read the note, had laughed it off like it didn’t matter. But now? Now it did matter. Because it was one thing to talk about Dominic in passing, to joke about him over a joint, to roll your eyes at the flowers he sent. But it was another thing entirely to sit across from him, to entertain a conversation, to let him exist in your space again—no matter how long the interaction.

You stared at Ian’s messages, fingers hovering over the keyboard. something kind of felt right about him being upset.

Ian: So you weren’t gonna tell me?

You: Tell you what?

Ian: That you were with him.

Your stomach dropped.

You: Ian, I wasn’t “with” him. I ran into him. We talked for like five minutes. That’s it.

Ian: Crazy, ‘cause I just overheard Egypt and Tucker talking about how you and Dominic were sitting together for a fat ass minute—not just some quick convo.

You shut your eyes, cursing under your breath. Egypt and Tucker weren’t messy, but if Ian had overheard them, that meant they’d been talking about it long enough for it to seem like something worth mentioning.

You: I swear, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t even plan to see him.

Ian: But you sat with him.

You: I mean, yeah, I wasn’t gonna just walk away—

Ian: Why not?

You hesitated.

Ian: He sends you flowers, follows both your main AND your spam” and you’re still giving him the time of day?

You: Ian, I told him to stop.

Ian: And yet there you were. Sitting. Talking. Probably laughing, knowing you.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling under your skin.

You: You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.

Ian: Nah, you just don’t get it. You think it’s nothing, but that’s ‘cause it’s not you who looks stupid here.

That stung.

You: So now I’m making you look stupid?

Ian: If my girl is out getting flowers and sitting all hunky dory with her ex, what the fuck else am I supposed to think?

Your breath hitched. My girl.

You weren’t together—not officially, not yet. The fact that he was even this mad right now. It all meant something.

You: I didn’t think it would bother you like this.

Ian: You're actually tripping

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around your phone. this genuinely could not be happening

the phrase hunky dory makes me giggle

xoxo

ian smith x !influencer reader smau

authors note: this chapter is a big difference from my last few and will be very word heavy. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: cursing, mention of drugs, and mentions of a previous sexual interaction.

word count: 635

liked by egyptelyse, tckrchdlr, and 204,964 others

iaaaaaaaaaannnnnn la.

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user1 just one chance

user2 i need ur magic johnson

user3 u needa drop soon

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**

“Thank you, L.A.,” the artist says as he walks off stage, and the loud jeers of the crowd still echo in my head. “I’m gonna go backstage to see Tucker once everyone clears out. You coming?” My friend’s voice pulls me out of the daze from the crowd. “Uh, yeah. Sure, why not?” I say, a little absent-minded. After the crowd of giggling teenage girls and sweaty boys disperses, Egypt and I make our way down from the balcony to the area behind the stage. A few fans stop us for pictures, their excitement palpable. After chatting and taking a few more pictures, we finally reach the room where Tucker is. As we step inside, I notice another figure in the corner rolling a joint. His hair is a deep chestnut brown, some strands clinging to his forehead, glistening with sweat. He’s wearing a familiar white tee, light-wash baggy jeans, and Maison Margiela Replica sneakers. I turn my gaze away as I hear a familiar voice call my name. “Y/N! Traffic out here is insane. I don’t know how you do it,” Tucker says with a chuckle. “Yeah, I know. It’s so unnecessary,” I scoff. We exchange some small talk about school and work when I hear Egypt call me over. “Y/N! Come meet Ian,” she says, grinning. As I walk over, I make eye contact with the brunette. His eyes are warm and familiar. “Y/N, this is Ian. Ian, this is Y/N,” Egypt says, still smiling. “Hey, nice to meet you,” I say, a bit nervous as he stands up, suddenly towering over me. I glance up again as he speaks in a deep, enticing voice. “Nice to meet you too.” We stand there for a moment, the air thick with tension, our eyes quietly studying each other’s faces. It feels like there’s something unspoken between us. Egypt finally breaks the silence. “Ugh, I’m so glad you two met! Now, please, let’s go to dinner. I’m starving.” I pull my gaze away from Ian and turn to Egypt. “Ian, you should come too, so Y/N doesn’t feel like she’s third-wheeling,” she adds with a wink. “Yeah, bet,” Ian replies, and we start to head out of the room. Just before we exit, Ian grabs my hand. “You left this at Tucker’s party on the bathroom counter,” he says, handing me a gold ring with a pearl on it. The moment I see the ring, memories of that night rush back—the way his lips felt brushing my neck, the sound of his deep voice praising me softly. My face heats up as I look back at him. “Oh shit. Thanks, I really appreciate it,” I say, trying to hide my embarrassment with a faint smile. “No problem,” he replies, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Since that party, I can’t even lie—you’ve been on my mind a lot.” “Stop lying,” I respond, feeling my face burn. “I’m serious,” he says, his gaze scanning me from head to toe. His expression is intense, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of my appearance. “You look good as fuck.” I let out a little laugh, my smile shy and playful. “You’re cute,” I say, a childlike grin on my face. Before I can say anything else, Egypt pops her head back into the room. “You two need to hurry the fuck up! A bitch is starving to death.” Ian and I both laugh as I roll my eyes at Egypt, and the three of us finally head out.

**

Ian's lyric book

"she done caught me on a bad day, ho so perfect it ruin my headspace"