Story cover for Between The Lines by omg_ffs
Between The Lines
omg_ffs
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    Time 36m
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  • WpPart
    Parts 10
  • WpHistory
    Time 36m
omg_ffs
Ongoing, First published Apr 20, 2025
Mature
betweenrealityandfictiondarkromancefictionfictionalcharactersfictionloverfourthwallbreakhauntedbywordshereadsyoubackheseesyouinlovewithafictionalmanliteraryseductionlovelovestorypsychologicalreaderxcharacterromanceslowburnromancewhenfictionfeelsreal
He wasn't real. Until he saw you. And now... he'll never let you go.

They say he's just a character in a book - ink on paper, trapped in fiction.
But when you open the pages, he looks back at you.
He speaks your name without ever knowing it.
He knows your secrets. Your silence. Your hunger.

As you read, something stirs. The connection deepens.
He becomes more than words - he becomes aware.
Of your breath. Your touch. Your ache for him.
And every page you turn pulls him closer to your world... and you closer to his.

But the more you read, the less safe you are.
Because he's no longer content to live between the lines.

This isn't just a story.
It's obsession.
It's longing.
It's a love that defies reality - and he'll do anything to reach you.

Even if it means breaking through the page.
All Rights Reserved
betweenrealityandfictiondarkromancefictionfictionalcharactersfictionloverfourthwallbreakhauntedbywordshereadsyoubackheseesyouinlovewithafictionalmanliteraryseductionlovelovestorypsychologicalreaderxcharacterromanceslowburnromancewhenfictionfeelsreal
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10 parts

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 π‘©π’†π’‚π’–π’•π’Šπ’‡π’–π’ π‘³π’Šπ’† cover
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Strawberry

57 parts Complete Mature

A scent. A scar. A slow-burning fucking romance dressed as nostalgia. It started with a fruit. Not love, not sex - a goddamn strawberry. The kind that looks like it's been kissed by every shade of red your childhood never had. He didn't share it. Didn't speak of it. Just tasted it once, and carried the ache ever since. Years later, she walked in - smelling exactly like that forgotten sweetness. Not perfume. Not fantasy. Just... truth. Sharp, quiet, terrifying truth. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers remember me when you least want to. He lied to her face. About himself. About the million ways he'd already started unraveling. But she knew. Women like her always know. She stared at him like sin dressed in judgment - and touched his wrist like she already owned his pulse. And he? He was fucked. Because she wasn't just beautiful. She was red. That memory. That craving. And no matter how much he pretended to be in control - she was already in his bloodstream. This isn't a love story. It's a slow possession. By scent. By memory. By her. And it ends exactly how it starts - with him on his knees, and her smelling like fucking strawberries.

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