rose24207

[rose24207]

I think I just fell in love with you all over again

Summary: While on a casual city date, you and Gotak unknowingly take part in a wholesome social experiment by comforting a shy little girl

Go hyun-tak x reader

A/N: inspired by my tt fyp. Also; does anyone want to be in my taglist for kdramas?

Navigation

It was a warm Saturday afternoon in the city—one of those rare perfect days where everything just feels right. The sun filtered through the high rises, dappling golden light onto the pavement as you and Gotak walked hand in hand, fingers loosely interlaced, drinks in your other hands, chatting and laughing as if nothing else in the world existed.

You had no real plans—just one of those aimless dates where the goal wasn’t to do something, but to be together. He had worn that dark hoodie you liked, the one that made his eyes look even softer than usual, and you had dressed down in jeans and a cute top, wanting to match the laid-back energy of the day.

"Do you wanna check out that vintage bookstore you told me about?" he asked, nudging your side with a little smirk. "The one with the creaky floors and the judgmental cat?"

You giggled. “Only if we get ice cream after. I’m emotionally preparing myself to be judged by a cat. I’ll need sugar.”

“Deal,” he said with a chuckle, and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

But just as you turned the corner onto a quieter street, the kind where little cafés spilled out with outdoor seating and elderly couples walked hand in hand, you both heard a tiny voice call out.

“Um... excuse me?”

You both stopped and looked around until your eyes landed on her—a little girl, no more than five or six, standing with her tiny hands balled into nervous fists at her sides. Her big brown eyes flicked between the two of you. She had on a unicorn hoodie, one sneaker untied, and a shy, nervous look like she was about to cry but didn’t want to.

“Hi, sweetie,” you said softly, kneeling a little so you didn’t tower over her. “Are you okay?”

She looked down at her shoes and mumbled, “My mommy went to the toilet and told me to wait outside. But I’m scared to wait alone. Can you wait with me?”

Your heart melted instantly.

Gotak glanced at you, and without needing to say anything, you both nodded. “Of course,” he said gently, crouching down so he was closer to her height. “We can wait with you. Don’t worry, okay?”

The little girl nodded slowly, her body visibly relaxing. You both led her to sit on a nearby bench, positioned just outside a small café with a restroom sign pointing to the back.

You sat on either side of her, giving her space, not pressing with questions. Gotak smiled down at her kindly. “What’s your name?” he asked.

She hesitated, tugging the strings of her hoodie nervously. “Lila.”

“Hi, Lila,” you said warmly. “I’m Y/n, and this is Gotak.”

She looked at Gotak, her big eyes inspecting him carefully.

“You look really pretty and handsome,” she said suddenly, like she couldn’t help it anymore.

You burst out laughing—not in a mocking way, but in that surprised, heart-squeezed kind of way. Gotak’s ears visibly turned pink, and you caught him blinking in surprise.

“W-what?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Lila nodded very seriously, like she was saying something scientific. “You look like a prince. But also like you could fight a dragon.”

You covered your mouth, trying to stifle a giggle, but it was no use. Gotak gave you a wide-eyed look, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile.

“Well, thank you,” he said, chuckling nervously. “That’s... really nice of you to say.”

Lila’s shyness returned immediately after that, and she twisted in place, clearly unsure what to say next. Gotak leaned in just a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Lila perked up and nodded, eyes wide.

“I’ve never fought a dragon before,” he whispered. “But I’ve read books about them.”

She gasped dramatically, and you chuckled again, watching the interaction unfold like something out of a movie.

“You like dragons too?” she whispered.

“Love them.”

Lila looked between the two of you, visibly more comfortable now. “Do you think dragons would be nice if we gave them snacks?”

“I think even dragons can’t resist cookies,” you said solemnly.

She giggled, kicking her little feet. “Me too.”

Minutes passed like that—talking about dragons, her favorite unicorn toy (which she called ‘Sprinkles the Destroyer’), and her theory that her mother could teleport. At one point, she leaned against Gotak’s side slightly, and he froze like a statue before relaxing and carefully adjusting so she could rest there more comfortably. You’d never seen him look more unsure and touched at the same time.

It made your chest ache in the best way.

You leaned toward him, murmuring, “You’re really good with kids, you know.”

He blinked at you. “Am I? I’m just winging it.”

“You’re adorable,” you whispered, brushing your hand briefly over his arm.

His blush deepened.

Eventually, two people approached from the direction of the café. A man with a camera and a woman holding a mic. You looked up, confused, until the woman smiled brightly.

“Hi! Sorry to interrupt—you two have just been part of a social experiment. This is for our YouTube channel Kindness Quest.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

The man held up the camera. “We wanted to see how people would respond if a child asked for help. Lila’s actually our niece, and her mom is just over there,” he said, pointing toward a woman waving from the side.

Gotak straightened in surprise, and you blinked in shock.

“Oh my god,” you laughed as you leaned you head against Gotaks shoulder. “We had no idea.”

“Yeah, you guys were so sweet with her,” the woman added. “A lot of people walked by or ignored her, but you stopped immediately. And the way you interacted with her—adorable.”

Lila waved. “They talked about dragons with me!”

The man chuckled. “We’ll be posting this next week, but if you’re uncomfortable with being shown, we can blur your faces or cut the footage.”

You and Gotak exchanged a look, then shrugged.

“We’re okay with it,” you said.

The woman beamed. “Thank you both! And thank you for being such kind humans. Seriously.”

After a few more thank-yous and another shy compliment from Lila to Gotak—“You’re still the prettiest prince I’ve seen”—you and Gotak resumed your walk through the city, this time a little more dazed and grinning like fools.

Gotak stuffed his hands in his pockets, his ears still pink. “I can’t believe she said I look like a prince.”

“She’s right,” you teased. “My mysterious, dragon-fighting, unicorn-loving prince.”

He rolled his eyes but was smiling softly. “It was... kinda nice. Talking to her.”

“You were so sweet with her,” you said honestly, nudging him. “Like... ridiculously sweet. I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Just for that?”

“That, and the way you said, ‘I’ve never fought a dragon before’ like it was the most serious confession of your life.”

He nudged your shoulder, and you both laughed, turning into the vintage bookstore at last. The wooden sign creaked, and the scent of old pages hit you instantly. The cat, true to its reputation, gave Gotak a judgmental once-over and promptly walked away.

You grinned. “Told you.”

He sighed. “I should’ve brought Lila. She could’ve handled that feline tyrant.”

The rest of the date was full of soft moments—browsing books you didn’t need, sharing a cone of mint-chocolate chip, and recounting the whole interaction with Lila multiple times, each time ending in laughter or a new dragon theory.

As the sun dipped lower into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and lavender, you leaned your head on Gotak’s shoulder while sitting on a bench near the riverwalk.

“She really liked you,” you murmured.

He looked down at you, a gentle smile on his face. “I liked her too. And... I liked seeing that side of me. With you there.”

You turned to look at him, heart so full it ached a little. “You’re gonna be such a good dad someday.”

His eyes widened slightly at that, but then they softened. He didn’t say anything, just reached for your hand again, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature.

And in that golden hour glow, the two of you sat together, hearts light, smiles soft, and the sweet voice of a little girl echoing in your minds—“You look like a prince.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa

[rose24207]

I think he loves you more than me now

Summary: When Suho asks his sweet, introverted girlfriend who works in women’s clothing for her employee discount to help his friend Sieun, the unexpected kindness she shows earns her not just gratitude—but Sieun’s rare and heartfelt approval as someone truly good for Suho.

Ahn Suho x reader

Part one

A/N: y’all someone jinxed me. I was almost fired today for no reason help. I think it’s the authors curse. It’s finally out to get me help

Navigation

You’re still working on the first floor of the department store—women’s clothing, where nothing stays hung for more than ten minutes, and every compliment about the mess sounds more like a personal attack.

“Wow,” one lady muttered today, crinkling her nose at a blouse someone else had thrown on the floor. “You’d think someone worked here.”

You just smiled politely, the same way you always do. You’ve learned it’s not worth correcting them. Instead, you hang the blouse back up, smooth its sleeves, and continue folding shirts in the same gentle rhythm.

You’ve changed a little since Suho came into your life—well, not changed, more like grown into yourself. You’re still quiet, still introverted, still way too shy to make small talk unless it’s with someone over the age of sixty or a mannequin. But you’ve also learned to hold your head a little higher. You still hide behind your bangs sometimes, but now your lips twitch into a smile every time you remember Suho holding your hand behind the store and whispering:

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

You’d nearly combusted.

This afternoon, Suho comes into the store looking stressed, his dark brows pinched and his school bag barely hanging onto one shoulder.

He weaves through the perfume counters, then the purses, skips the escalator, and takes the stairs two at a time.

You spot him before he even notices you, and you straighten the display quickly so it looks like you weren’t just admiring his walk.

He finally finds you near the cardigans.

“Babe,” he breathes, all flustered. “Do you… do you have your discount card on you?”

You blink, confused. “Uh, yeah? It’s in my pouch—why?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking awkward for the first time since he met you. “It’s for Sieun. His shirt got ripped yesterday.”

Your eyes widen. “Ripped?”

“Bullies,” Suho mutters. “Some jerks at school. He didn’t want to tell me, but I saw the tear. Got it out of him. Then I told him we’re coming here, ‘cause you work here and you have that magic card of wonders.”

You chuckle softly. “It’s not magic, it’s a 30% employee discount.”

“Same thing,” he says with a smirk. Then, quieter: “You don’t mind, right?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. For you? For your friend? Anytime.”

He grins and kisses your forehead before dashing back upstairs. You watch him go, warmth curling in your chest.

A few minutes later, you spot them. Suho’s voice, animated and teasing, echoes down from the second floor. He’s pointing at something in the men’s section while another boy—shorter, quieter—stands with crossed arms, clearly unimpressed.

That must be Sieun.

You’ve never met him before, but Suho’s mentioned him lots of times.

"He doesn’t talk much."

"He’s insanely smart."

"He sees through everyone, like he’s reading your mind."

Also: "He never likes my girlfriends. But he will like you. I know it."

Sieun looks like someone who keeps his guard up by default. His expression is unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line. His uniform shirt is neatly ironed despite the tear Suho mentioned. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who asks for help.

But when they come down the escalator—with a couple of neatly folded shirts and a plain navy hoodie draped over his arm—you offer them your softest smile.

“Found everything?” you ask gently.

Suho nods and waves Sieun forward. “Go on.”

Sieun hesitates, then steps up and places the items on the counter. “Thank you,” he says, voice quiet but sincere. “I… appreciate this.”

You shake your head lightly. “No need to thank me. Suho told me what happened. I’m really sorry that happened to you.”

Sieun’s eyes flicker up to yours. You expect him to shut down, but instead, something in his expression softens. Maybe it’s the way you’re not making a big deal out of it.

Maybe it’s how your voice is calm, not pitiful. He watches you ring everything up, nimble fingers tapping on the register, checking tags and scanning like second nature.

“You’re fast,” he says suddenly.

You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”

“At this,” he says, nodding to the register. “You’re good at your job.”

It’s not flattery. It’s an observation. You smile a little, flustered. “Thank you.”

You hand him the final price—with your discount applied, of course—and bag the clothes neatly while Suho chats beside you about school, complaining about math. You catch Sieun watching you carefully, thoughtfully. Not in a creepy way, but more like… analyzing.

Later, after they leave, Suho texts you from the bus.

Suho 🤺: he likes u
Suho 🤺: he literally said “she’s not fake”
Suho 🤺: THATS A BIG DEAL
Suho 🤺: i think ur in the circle of trust now

You laugh so hard you nearly drop a stack of scarves.

A few days later, Sieun comes back. Alone. No Suho.

You spot him wandering the second floor and wave at him from across the balcony. He seems a little unsure of himself but eventually makes his way down.

“Suho had work,” he says as you approach. “But I needed another shirt. I didn’t want to go to another store.” I didn’t trust another worker with my cloths.

You smile at him, motioning for him to show you. “Want help finding it?”

He nods slowly. “If it’s not a bother.”

You lead him upstairs and help him check the racks. He’s surprisingly polite, following behind you like a quiet shadow.

You’re not sure what it is—maybe it’s his silence, or the way he watches things like he’s constantly solving a puzzle—but you find yourself talking a little more than usual.

“This one’s the same cut as the one you liked, but in black,” you say, holding a hanger up to the light. “I can check in the system to see if they still have the beige one, though.”

He nods, studying the shirt. “Black is fine. I trust your taste.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean that to be weird,” he adds quickly. “Just that Suho’s style is… chaotic. Yours is calm. Balanced.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, he’s a little all over the place.”

Sieun looks at you, and for the first time, you see the hint of a smile tug at his lips. “But it works for him. He’s happier now.”

You glance at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “He’s calmer. He jokes more. He used to get into fights all the time, not just with other kids, but with himself. Like he didn’t know where to put all the emotion. But ever since you… it’s like he found an anchor.”

Your throat tightens slightly. You weren’t expecting that.

“I didn’t do anything special,” you murmur.

“You did,” Sieun says, voice steady. “You’re kind. And consistent. He needed that.”

There’s a silence between you two—but it’s not awkward. It’s peaceful.

When you finish ringing up his items, he takes the bag with a short bow. “Thank you again.”

You smile softly. “Anytime, Sieun-ssi.”

As he turns to leave, he pauses. Then, without looking back, he adds, “For the record, I never liked any of his past girlfriends. But you…” He hesitates, then nods. “You’re different.”

Your cheeks burn with warmth as he disappears into the crowd.

That evening, Suho bursts into your messages again.

Suho 🤺: SIEUN TOLD ME WHAT HE SAID
Suho 🤺: do you know how BIG that is
Suho 🤺: he called you “consistent” 😭😭😭
Suho 🤺: I think he loves you more than me now

Wifey 🛍️: I just gave him a discount and helped him find shirts 💀
Wifey 🛍️: It’s not that deep

But deep down… it feels kind of amazing.

A week later, Sieun comes back again—this time with Suho. Suho‘s goofing off, nearly pushing Sieun into a rack near the escalator, but Suho stops to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“My girl,” he says proudly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You ready to discount us into fashion icons again?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile says everything.

Sieun shakes his head but smiles softly. “Honestly, I only come here now for the service.”

And you know, without question, you’re not just Suho’s girlfriend anymore. You’re part of the circle. Fully, finally, warmly in.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa

[rose24207]

Excuse me, dear?

Summary: A kind and hardworking girl working in a women’s clothing department helps a sweet grandmother find a blouse in the right size, and when the grandmother’s handsome grandson comes to pick it up, he’s instantly captivated by her warmth and charm, sparking an unexpected connection.

Ahn Suho x reader

Part two

A/N: Fun fact: This is me in real life, but without the romance and Suho.

Navigation

You don’t know what’s more exhausting—the fact that your shift started at 10 a.m. and you’ve already restocked the clearance rack five times, or the way customers loudly complain about how “messy” the store is… while throwing cardigans on the floor like it’s a sport.

A woman in her 50s sighs dramatically as she steps over a crumpled blouse.
“It’s like a war zone in here,” she says, voice deliberately loud enough for you to hear. “No pride in presentation anymore.”

You paste on your best retail smile and nod.
“Yes, ma’am. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

She ignores you, of course.

With a sigh of your own, you kneel down to start folding again. You’re a full-time student, juggling classes and this part-time job, and though your feet hurt and your smile is starting to twitch at the corners, you refuse to let this place break you. You have bills to pay and a dream to chase.

You’re halfway through sorting a pile of misplaced cardigans when a gentle voice draws your attention.

“Excuse me, dear?”

You look up and meet the warmest eyes you’ve seen all day. An elderly woman with perfect silver hair and a soft lavender sweater is holding up a blouse—pastel blue, floral, elegant.

It’s one of the newer arrivals, definitely more suited for her generation than the TikTok-hyped mini dresses you keep finding stuffed into the wrong sections.

“Would you happen to have this in a medium?” she asks sweetly.

Your smile turns genuine. “Let me check for you.”

You pull the scanner phone from your lanyard and beep the tag. The small screen loads slowly, spinning like it knows your patience is thin. Finally, the inventory appears.

“Good news,” you say. “We have two mediums left—one in the stockroom and one on this floor. I’ll go hunt them down for you.”

The woman beams, crinkles by her eyes deepening.
“You’re a doll, thank you. I tried looking, but these racks make me feel like I’m in a maze.”

You laugh lightly. “You’re not wrong.”

You dash off to the far side of the floor first, and sure enough, you find the blouse tucked behind a dress on the wrong hanger. With practiced hands, you bring it back to her, holding it up triumphantly.

“Here you go! Medium and wrinkle-free.”

She claps her hands together. “Perfect. My grandson will be thrilled.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Is it for him?”

She laughs, and it makes you giggle too. “No, dear. I’m too old to go upstairs and back down, and I still want to look nice when I see my friends. He’s going to pick it up for me a little later.”

“That’s sweet of him.”

She hesitates. “Would you mind terribly if I left this behind the counter? I know it’s not usually allowed, but I didn’t want to drag it through the entire store.”

You glance around. Technically, it is against policy, but she’s been kind and polite—rare commodities on this floor. You smile and lean in slightly.

“I’ll stash it for you behind the register. Just tell your grandson to ask for the floral blouse his grandmother left.”

She winks. “You’re an angel. I’ll tell him exactly that.”

She pats your hand gently before heading to the escalator. You watch her go, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

Maybe today won’t be so bad.

About twenty minutes later, you’re helping a stressed-out customer look for a specific black blouse that’s apparently been discontinued.

“Are you sure you don’t have it?” the woman asks for the fifth time.

You keep your voice light. “It looks like we’re out in this store, but—” you tap your screen, “—our sister store down the street has it in your size.”

She lights up. “Really? That’s not far!”

You nod. “You can either go there or call ahead and ask them to put it on hold for you.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you. I thought I was going to have to settle for something else.”

You smile. “No settling on my watch.”

She laughs—a genuine, grateful sound—and waves as she heads for the exit.

You breathe out, proud of yourself for helping her without crumbling under retail pressure. You turn back to your task before… only to find a guy standing there waiting.

He’s leaning against the register counter with his arms crossed, wearing a simple black hoodie and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy but undeniably intentional. His gaze flicks up to meet yours the moment you notice him.

“Oh!” you say, stepping closer. “Sorry for the wait, I was helping someone with an item.”

He smiles slightly, eyes warm but curious. “No worries.”

There’s something… familiar about him. Not that you’ve met him before—but his face could belong on a poster. You ignore the flutter in your stomach and ask,

“Are you here for the floral blouse?”

He nods. “Yeah. My grandma said she left it with someone nice downstairs.”

You grin. “Then you must be the grandson.”

You duck behind the counter and pull out the carefully folded blouse, still on its hanger, the tag neatly pinned.

“She was lovely. Had the best manners I’ve seen all day.”

He laughs—a low, soft sound—and takes the blouse from your hands, brushing your fingers slightly. “That sounds like her.”

He pauses, glancing at the blouse, then back at you. “You folded this?”

You nod. “Guilty.”

He looks impressed. “You did a better job than most of the packaging I’ve ordered online.”

You snort. “You should see me on a good day.”

There’s a moment where neither of you speaks. He’s just… looking at you. Not in a creepy way—just surprised. Or struck, maybe. Like he expected someone else. Someone older, maybe grumpier. Not a pretty girl with tired eyes and a shy smile.

“I’m Suho, by the way,” he says, breaking the silence.

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Oh. Nice to meet you.”

He offers his hand, and you shake it lightly. “I’m… just y/n.”

“Just-y/n works.”

Your face warms. You glance away, suddenly very aware of your scuffed black flats and the wrinkle in your shirt from bending over racks all morning.

“Your grandma has great taste, by the way,” you add quickly, trying to change the subject.

“She does,” he agrees, still watching you. “But I think she also has matchmaking instincts.”

You laugh, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“She told me, ‘The girl downstairs is so sweet. She has kind eyes.’” He shrugs, trying to look casual, but his ears are pink.

You’re half flattered, half flustered. “Well, I try to keep my eyes from rolling at rude customers, so that’s nice to hear.”

That earns you a real laugh from him, deep and warm. “You’re funny.”

You shrug. “Survival tactic.”

He lifts the bag with the blouse inside. “Well… thanks for the rescue. She’ll be happy.”

“Anytime,” you say, tucking hair behind your ear.

Suho hesitates, like he wants to say more, but then gestures to the escalator. “I should head up before she buys more things just to make me carry them.”

You smile. “Have fun on the third floor. The kids section is wild.”

He points at you, backing away. “You do have kind eyes. She was right.”

You laugh, watching him disappear around the corner with your heart fluttering embarrassingly in your chest.

Two Days Later, you’re working another shift when you hear familiar laughter near the register. You glance up, and your breath catches.

Suho.

He’s holding a coffee in one hand and a small paper bag in the other, looking right at you like he expected you to be here.

“Hey,” he says, sliding up to the counter.

“Hi,” you say, surprised but smiling. “Back for more floral blouses?”

“Tempting, but no.” He places the coffee on the counter. “For you.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Me?”

“You looked like you could use one last time. And… I figured it was a good excuse to come back.”

You take the drink slowly, warmth creeping up your neck. “Thanks.”

He slides the paper bag over next. “Also, I grabbed one of those crazy chocolate croissants from the third floor café. Don’t tell the kids.”

You laugh. “I won’t if you won’t.”

There’s a beat of silence. You feel him watching you again.

“Look,” he says, suddenly shy. “I don’t usually do this. But… I wanted to know if you’d maybe want to grab lunch sometime? When you’re not saving grandmas and scolding messy customers.”

You blink. Then smile.

“Are you asking me out because I folded a blouse really well?”

“I mean,” he grins, “it was a pretty impressive fold.”

You tilt your head. “And if I say yes?”

“Then I’d say your kind eyes are just the start.”

Your cheeks burn, but you nod slowly. “Okay. Lunch sounds nice.”

Suho beams. Like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket.

“You have no idea how relieved I am right now,” he says.

You laugh. “Just promise not to complain about my department being messy.”

“I’d never,” he says solemnly. “I saw what the customers do firsthand. It’s basically a jungle down here.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel seen.

Not just by a customer, not just by a cute guy—but by someone who watched you do your job with grace, who waited while you helped others, and who still thought you were pretty great.

Kind eyes and all.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

Hello, please can you do Bloodhounds Kdrama?🙏❤

Choose

Summary: bold Woo-jin and sweet Geon-woo compete for your heart with relentless teasing, only to be left flustered when you flip the game on them.

Woo-jin x reader, Geon-woo x reader

A/N: BOAF? BOTH!

Navigation

It starts with Woo-jin smirking.

That should’ve been your first warning.
Smirking meant he was planning something.

He always got this smug, satisfied look right before he did something reckless. Like offering to spar with a guy twice his size. Or throwing himself in front of a punch meant for Geon-woo. Or—

“Y/N,” he says, voice far too casual. “Can I ask you something?”

You turn from where you’re watching Geon-woo do pushups, a towel slung over your shoulder. The gym smells like sweat and victory. Woo-jin leans against the wall, arms crossed, all muscles and mischief.

“Depends,” you say. “Is it something dumb?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

You narrow your eyes.

“…Fine. Ask.”

He leans in. “Do you think Geon-woo blushes when you touch him?”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ve seen it. That’s why he flinches every time you pat his shoulder.”

“I do not—!” Geon-woo protests from the floor, pausing mid push-up, his face already turning pink.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, covering your face. “You’re both insane.”

It’s been like this for weeks.

You’re not even sure when it started—maybe the day you joined the gym with them, hoping to get stronger, just like they promised they’d help you. Maybe it started when Woo-jin winked at you after a sparring match. Maybe it started when Geon-woo stayed behind to walk you home that one rainy night, barely speaking, ears red the whole time.

But now?

Now it’s just constant.

It’s not that you don’t like it.

It’s just that—they’re both so much.

Woo-jin is all confident smirks, teasing, leaning into your space, saying things like:

“If you keep staring at my abs, I’m gonna start charging you.”

And then Geon-woo, sweet sunshine Geon-woo, just dies every time Woo-jin says something inappropriate. He’ll mutter, “Don’t say stuff like that,” and then glance at you like he’s worried you’ll be offended, or worse—disappointed in him.

Which only makes your heart flutter worse.

Because you’re not.

One afternoon, you’re eating tteokbokki together after training. You’re in the middle of a story about your day when Woo-jin interrupts.

“Hey, Y/N. Be honest,” he says, dipping a fishcake into the broth. “Who’s hotter—me or Geon-woo?”

You nearly choke.

Geon-woo looks like someone just threw boiling water in his lap.

“I’m not answering that,” you say, laughing nervously.

Woo-jin raises an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. You can whisper it in my ear if you’re shy.”

“She doesn’t have to answer that,” Geon-woo mutters, eyes fixed on his bowl. “It’s a weird question.”

“It’s a fun question,” Woo-jin says, elbowing him. “Unless you’re scared.”

Geon-woo shoots him a look. “Of what?”

“Of losing.”

“I’m not trying to win—”

“I am.”

“Guys—!” you say, nearly spilling your drink. “I like both of you, okay?!”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Both boys freeze.

You feel your heart slam into your ribs like a battering ram.

“Shibal,” you whisper. “Forget I said that. I didn’t mean—”

“You like both of us?” Woo-jin interrupts, wide-eyed.

You look away. “I mean—not like that like—just—you know what, I’ll leave now—”

“Y/N.” Geon-woo’s voice is soft. Careful. “Do you mean it?”

You stare at your lap.

“…Yeah. I do.”

The silence is deafening. You’re expecting awkwardness. Maybe disappointment. Maybe one of them walking out.

Instead—

“Well,” Woo-jin says, standing up, “I guess the only fair thing to do is fight for her.”

“Woo-jin—” Geon-woo sighs.

“You think I’m joking?” Woo-jin stretches dramatically, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s go, man. Right here. Loser backs off.”

“You’re not fighting him,” you say quickly, standing up too.

“Then let her decide,” Woo-jin grins, pointing at you. “C’mon, Y/N. Choose.”

Geon-woo looks at you too now, but not with pressure. With quiet hope. With those stupid soft eyes that make your brain shut off.

You look between them. Two of the sweetest, strongest, most annoyingly hot men you’ve ever known.

You cross your arms.

“I’m not choosing.”

“What?” they say in unison.

You smirk. “You guys got to tease me for weeks. Now it’s my turn.”

Woo-jin’s jaw drops. Geon-woo just goes completely red.

“I’ll let you know when I make up my mind,” you say sweetly, already heading out the door. “Until then, keep training. I don’t fall for weak men.”

Behind you, Woo-jin lets out a bark of laughter.
“Damn. I think I’m in love.”

Geon-woo watches you walk away like you hung the moon.

And you?

You smile to yourself.

Let the games begin.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

hellooo!! i saw that you would be open to weak hero requests!! if you still are, could i request maybe just a friends to lovers thing with sieun please! maybe the reader could be like suhos younger sister, only by a year, and she hangs out with them a lot, and they both end up going to suhu because they dont know what to do abt their feelings and he helps them get together. please and thank you 🙏🙏🙏

I want to physically throw both of you out the window

Summary: Suho’s best friend and his little sister are painfully in love with each other—so he does what any exhausted older brother would do: traps them on a rooftop until they kiss and end his suffering.

Yeon sieun x reader

A/N: MY SHAYLA

Navigation

You weren’t trying to fall for Sieun.

He was your brother’s best friend. Quiet, sharp-eyed, emotionally distant unless you counted the rare smirk that made your heart stutter. And ever since that day he stepped into your life — a little bruised, a lot broody — he became a permanent part of it. Even before you liked him, really liked him, he was always there.

Now?

Now it was torture.

Because you were one year younger than Suho, and somehow still always lumped into their hangouts. Movie nights, study sessions, late-night convenience store runs. And every single time, Sieun would sit beside you, shoulder brushing yours, saying nothing. Just stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking.

And every single time, your heart would beat like it wanted to escape your chest.

You tried to act normal.
You tried so hard.

But Suho?
Suho noticed everything.

“Hey,” he said one evening, standing in your doorway like a judgmental cat. “You good?”

You blinked up from your desk, heart skipping.

“Yeah? Why?”

Suho shrugged, stepping in. “You’ve been weird around Sieun.”

You dropped your pen. “What? No, I haven’t.”

“Okay,” he said, sitting on your bed like it was his. “Then why did you blush when he asked you to pass the popcorn?”

You turned red.

“That didn’t happen.”

“It did.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Please don’t say anything.”

Suho raised an eyebrow. “Why not? He likes you too.”

You froze.

“…What?”

“Y/N.” He gave you a look. “He stares at you like you hung the moon. It’s so obvious I want to physically throw both of you out the window.”

You stared at your brother, jaw open. “Sieun likes me?”

“Do you think he comes over just for me?”

“…You’re kidding.”

“He literally asked me last week if you were dating anyone.”

Your whole world tilted.

Meanwhile, at that very same moment—

Sieun stood stiffly in Suho’s kitchen, staring at the floor while Suho’s mom offered him tea. He mumbled a thank-you and barely touched it.

Because he was waiting.

Waiting for Suho to get back from talking to you.
Because earlier that day, he had finally said it:

“I think I like your sister.”

He didn’t mean to. It just slipped out during math homework. Suho had stared at him like he’d said he wanted to fight a teacher.

“You think?” Suho had asked.

“I… I don’t know.” Sieun had rubbed the back of his neck. “She makes me nervous.”

“She makes me nervous,” Suho muttered. “You’re not allowed to break her heart.”

“I wouldn’t.” Sieun had said it so fast it startled both of them.

Suho sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk to her.”

Now he was back.

And Sieun stood up way too quickly.

“Well?” he asked.

Suho looked him over. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I feel like I’m about to faint.”

Suho rolled his eyes and gave him a pat on the back. “Relax. She likes you too.”

Sieun blinked.

“What?”

You’re both idiots. That was the summary running through Suho’s brain.

Because it was so obvious. The way you both looked at each other like it hurt. The way Sieun’s voice changed when he said your name. The way you smiled when he quietly handed you your favorite drink without being asked.

So Suho did what any good older brother would do.

He trapped you both on the roof.

“Hey,” Suho said later that weekend, peeking into your room. “Wanna help me carry some stuff up to the rooftop?”

“Sure,” you said, too trusting.

Sieun was already upstairs when you got there. There was a blanket, snacks, even those annoying little fairy lights Suho had claimed he hated.

You looked at the setup. Then looked at Sieun. Then slowly turned back toward the door—

It was locked.

That bastard locked you up here.

“…Did he just—?”

Sieun sighed. “He said he needed to get something and disappeared.”

You both stared at the door for a long second.

Then sat down on the blanket, a little too far apart.

Silence.

The sun was setting in soft peach colors. It should’ve been romantic. It was romantic. Which only made the tension worse.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted. “About being weird lately.”

Sieun turned to you, startled. “You weren’t.”

“I kind of was,” you said, laughing nervously. “I just… I didn’t want to ruin anything.”

He hesitated. “Me too.”

You looked up at him. The sky made his skin look gold. His eyes were darker, more serious than usual.

“…So,” you said softly, “we both talked to Suho.”

“Yeah.”

“And he said we…”

“He said you like me.”

You bit your lip. “Do you?”

His breath hitched. “Yeah. A lot.”

Your heart flipped over.

“I like you too.”

A long silence.

Then—Sieun scooted closer.

It was so awkward and slow it made you giggle. He blinked, startled by the sound, then smiled for real. A rare, small thing. But so genuine it made your chest ache.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You never have.”

He reached out carefully, brushing your pinky with his. “Can I…?”

You nodded, already leaning in.

When your lips touched, it was barely there. Gentle. Hesitant. The kind of kiss that asks a question instead of making a statement.

But it was enough. Enough to send your whole body warm.

Downstairs, Suho opened the door five minutes later—then promptly shut it again when he saw you both cuddling.

He sighed.

“Finally,” he muttered.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

You think pain makes you strong

Summary: You finally break on Suho for constantly getting into fights and shutting you out, and you walk away, fed up with his self-destructive ways.

ahn suho x reader

angst, arguing, hurt no comfort

Navigation

“You’re bleeding again.”

You hadn’t meant to say it like that—like you gave a damn right now. But there he was, leaning against the brick wall like some tragic hero, knuckles scraped, lip split, hoodie damp with sweat and blood that wasn’t all his.

Again.

“I’m fine,” Suho muttered, not even looking at you.

Your jaw clenched. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Oh, fuck off, Suho.” Your voice snapped like a whip. “You’re not fine. You’re never fine. You just think if you say it enough, everyone else will shut up and let you spiral in peace.”

He turned to you slowly, jaw tightening, the usual calm in his eyes flickering. “What’s your problem tonight?”

“My problem?” You laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. “My problem is that you’re acting like an impulsive idiot, and you think I’m just gonna stand here and watch.”

“I’m not acting on impulse. He deserved it.”

“There it is,” you hissed. “That holier-than-thou logic you carry like a badge. ‘He deserved it.’ So what? That gives you the right to beat the sh*t out of him? To nearly get yourself killed?”

“I handled it.”

“You survived it,” you corrected. “Barely. And for what? Some twisted version of justice you decided was yours to dish out?”

Suho stepped toward you, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You weren’t there. You don’t get to judge how I handle things.”

“No, you’re right. I wasn’t there,” you snapped. “Because you didn’t tell me. You never tell me until it’s too late. I hear about it from other people—again. You leave me out like I’m just some clueless extra in your hero story.”

“It wasn’t about you—”

“It never is, Suho!” you shouted. “It’s never about me. Or anyone else who gives a damn about you. You storm off, pick fights, bleed all over the pavement like it’s a Tuesday, and then expect us to smile and say, ‘Thanks for protecting us, Suho. Thanks for carrying the whole damn world on your back like a martyr.’”

“I didn’t ask for a thank you.”

“No,” you spat. “You don’t ask for anything. Not help. Not support. Not perspective. You don’t trust anyone, and I’m sick of pretending like that’s noble instead of just selfish.”

He scoffed, folding his arms. “I’m selfish?”

“Yes!” you barked. “You think being quiet and strong and brooding means you’re doing this selfless thing. But you know what it really is? Arrogant. You don’t think anyone can do it like you. That no one else can handle the weight. So instead of letting people in, you burn yourself out, crash into every wall you see, and then act shocked when we’re mad.”

Suho looked away, but you weren’t finished. Not even close.

“You walk around like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be angry, the only one who’s allowed to hurt. But I’m pissed too, Suho. I’ve been pissed for weeks.”

His voice was quiet but sharp. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you don’t listen!” You stepped into his space, finger jabbing into his chest. “You pick and choose what matters. If it doesn’t fit your idea of ‘the right thing to do,’ you dismiss it. You dismiss me. Every time I try to get through to you, you shut down. You look past me. Like I’m talking to a damn wall.”

“I never dismissed you,” he bit back.

“Bullshit. You always do. You listen to Sieun, to Beom-seok—even when they fcked up royally. But me? I say one thing you don’t like, and suddenly I’m overreacting or ‘don’t understand.’”

“You don’t always understand!”

“And maybe that’s because you never let me in!” you roared. “You only show me the pieces you want me to see. You keep the rest locked up like your pain is some kind of secret weapon.”

Silence. Just the sound of cars and your heaving breath.

Suho’s hands were clenched. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I don’t give a shit if it’s easy,” you snapped. “I want you to be honest. Vulnerable. Human. But you’re too busy playing the unbreakable knight to realize you’re bleeding out in front of everyone who cares.”

His jaw was tight, eyes cold now. “So what? You want me to just lie down and take it when people hurt the people I care about?”

“No. I want you to stop using violence as a crutch for everything you don’t want to feel.”

“I feel everything,” he growled.

“Then act like it. Stop hiding behind fists and fights. Grow the hell up, Suho. You’re not seventeen forever.”

He took a step back, like your words hit harder than any punch he’d taken tonight.

You stared him down, pulse racing. “I’m done tiptoeing around your trauma. I’m done pretending like I’m okay watching you destroy yourself over and over because you think pain makes you strong.”

You turned, heading for the streetlight at the edge of the alley.

And just before you walked away, you threw one last truth over your shoulder.

“I loved you enough to want to stay. But you? You love your war more than peace.”

A/N: had an argument and now I’m pissed. So there you go.

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

800 people

That’s how many of you guys follow me and I can’t thank you enough. 800 of you! I’m honestly so grateful for every single one of you who’s supported me, shared my content, and stuck around. Your love and encouragement mean the world. Here’s to growing together—thank you for being part of this journey! 🥂❤️🥳

Special thank you to everyone in my Taglist for supporting me with each post!! You guys are the best!! Check out their page and let’s support each other 😘

Lots, lots of love

~R 🥰

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

Does anyone want some kdrama fics?

• weak hero class

• twinkling watermelon

• my name

• taxi driver

• bloodhounds

• racket boys

• squid game

Just send some requests in and I try to make them as quick as possible because I have my finals the next few weeks (starting with German tomorrow)!!

Lots of love

~R

[rose24207]

I said move

Summary: Seung-tae, becomes obsessed with a quiet, unfazed girl who refuses to cower before him or his friends, leaving him intrigued and frustrated by her indifference.

Park seung-tae x reader

K-Drama: Taxi driver

✰ Navigation ✰

The school was always a battleground.

Park Seung-tae, along with his two loyal friends, Oh Hak-so and Oh Ha-jun, were the rulers of this grim domain.

It didn’t matter where they went. The halls, the playground, the staircases—everything was their territory. Their whispers carried weight, and their presence made even the toughest students freeze in place.

They were feared, not just for the chaos they caused, but because everyone knew what they were capable of. Seung-tae didn’t have to say a word—his cold stare, his stance, his entire aura was enough to make grown men cower.

His two friends were his muscle, but Seung-tae? He was the king, the one who called the shots, the one who didn’t need to get his hands dirty.

Everyone listened. Everyone obeyed.

Except for you.

You were... different. You didn’t give him the usual frightened glance or the obedient nod. You didn’t cower, didn’t step out of the way when his crew walked past. Most importantly, you didn’t know your place in the hierarchy of terror.

And that intrigued him.

It was lunchtime when the encounter first happened.

Seung-tae was leaning against the lockers, his arms crossed over his chest, watching as his two friends bullied some random freshman into giving up his lunch money.

The usual routine.

The poor kid had his face slammed into the locker, the taste of blood evident as Hak-so jeered, “What’s wrong, you don’t have enough for us, huh?”

Ha-jun laughed, holding the boy’s shoulders in a grip that could crush bone, ready to take the money he didn’t even have.

Seung-tae, as always, just watched—silent, calculating. But then, you walked into the hallway.

You weren’t someone they had ever paid attention to. You weren’t loud, and you didn’t try to make a scene. But you walked right into their path, and for the first time, Seung-tae was intrigued.

As you tried to pass through the hallway, Hak-so, completely unaware of Seung-tae’s shift in attention, barked at you, “Move. You’re in the way.”

But you didn’t move. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even acknowledge him. You just stared, deadpan, straight at the boy who had dared to command you.

Hak-so’s eyes narrowed. “Aish, I said move,” he repeated, his voice colder now, more threatening.

Seung-tae was quiet for a moment, taking in the situation. His gaze flicked to you, and something inside him twisted.

Who the hell were you?

Without warning, Seung-tae interrupted his friend’s demand, his voice smooth and calm, almost too calm. “Hak-so, let her be,” he said, his tone shifting to something more controlled.

The entire hallway went silent.

Everyone knew the hierarchy, knew the rules. When Seung-tae spoke, they listened. When Seung-tae said stop, they stopped.

But you? You weren’t afraid. You weren’t impressed. You didn’t even blink.

You barely even looked at him.

Seung-tae’s fingers twitched at his side. He wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or intrigued by your lack of reaction.

Hak-so, feeling the tension in the air, tried to push it, his voice rising, “What the hell, Seung-tae? She’s in our way!”

But Seung-tae didn’t flinch. His gaze was locked on you now, his words sharp but not loud. “I said, let her be.”

Hak-so was taken aback for a moment. No one ever defied Seung-tae’s words—not like this, at least. But when he saw the look in his leader’s eyes, he took a step back, grumbling under his breath.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Seung-tae wasn’t used to being ignored, let alone defied.

You, unfazed by the entire scene, didn’t even give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment. You just brushed past Hak-so, like nothing had happened, and continued your walk down the hall as if the three of them didn’t exist.

Seung-tae stood there, blinking in disbelief, the hum of the hall slowly creeping back into focus.

Hak-so and Ha-jun exchanged looks.

“What the hell, Seung-tae?” Ha-jun asked, shaking his head. “What are you playing at?”

Seung-tae ignored them, his mind elsewhere. He couldn’t get your indifference out of his head. You hadn’t been scared of him. You hadn’t been scared of anything.

That untouchable air about you—how you just walked right through them like they weren’t a threat—stuck with him. He didn’t know why it irritated him so much. But it did.

And that’s when he realized something—he was curious . He wanted to know you. He needed to know what made you tick. Why didn’t you fear him like everyone else?

☆

The next encounter happened a few days later.

Seung-tae was walking through the schoolyard when he spotted you near the entrance, standing just a little too close to his two friends.

Hak-so was already glaring at you, his patience clearly running thin.

“What’s your problem, huh?” Hak-so growled, crossing his arms in front of you as you stood still, not even acknowledging his proximity.

“Who the hell do you think you are, standing here like it’s your damn castle?” Hak-so spat, his voice rough.

Seung-tae had been walking behind them, his steps silent, his attention on you. And again, it happened—his friends, completely oblivious to the shift in his mood, were making a scene.

But this time, Seung-tae didn’t keep his mouth shut.

He stepped forward, his voice low but commanding. “Hak-so, move. You’re not scaring her,” he said, tone sharp.

Hak-so blinked, taken aback, but he didn’t back off. “What? But, Seung-tae,” he started.

But that was when Seung-tae took another step forward, his eyes cold. “Leave it.”

Hak-so froze. The atmosphere around them shifted again. Everyone knew what that meant. Seung-tae wasn’t backing down.

And Hak-so wasn’t stupid enough to argue with him. He stepped aside, muttering under his breath, clearly annoyed.

And once again, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink. You didn’t acknowledge him.

Seung-tae, his hands in his pockets, stared at you for a moment. “You’re always like this, huh?” he asked, his voice quieter than before, though still with that unmistakable edge.

You didn’t answer, and that silence gnawed at him.

But then, as if you didn’t even know you were doing it, you took one more step, your shoulder brushing past him, your gaze still deadpanned, completely indifferent to the terrifying presence in front of you.

Seung-tae stood still as you walked away.

He didn’t know why, but he felt a sharp pull in his chest. You had no idea how much you’d just intrigued him.

He barely even heard Hak-so mutter, “What the hell is wrong with her?”

From then on, Seung-tae couldn’t get you out of his head. His obsession grew, and he started to realize just how much of his attention you consumed. And it was driving him mad.

Thank you for reading!

A/N: I’m obsessed with Choi hyunwook.

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

Send Minho

Summary: The Glade boys keep getting rejected by you—leader of the ultra-organized girls’ camp—until they send Minho, who surprisingly wins you over, leaving everyone stunned and teasing him relentlessly as he becomes their unofficial envoy.

Minho x leader!reader

Navigation

There were rules in the Glade—unwritten ones, sure, but no less important than not going into the Maze after dark or respecting the Keepers. And one of the most ironclad rules, known to every boy after only a week of being here, was this:

Don’t mess with the girls’ camp.

They were organized, terrifyingly competent, and built like a well-oiled machine. Their gardens bloomed. Their cookfires never smoked. They kept order like some kind of military unit—and leading them was her.

You.

You weren’t cruel, but you weren’t friendly either. You had rules. You enforced them. You did not deal with whining, excuses, or disorganized shuckfaces who thought charm could get them out of a favor.

Which is why, when the boys ran low on clean bandages, Alby gathered a small delegation and declared, “We’re going to ask the girls.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Newt groaned, rubbing his temple. “Bloody hell, not this again.”

“They’re the only ones who sew,” Alby insisted. “And we need bandages.”

“They’re not gonna give you anything,” Gally muttered from his perch on a crate. “Last time you went, she told you to eat grass.”

Alby scowled. “That was a joke.”

“She didn’t smile when she said it, man.”

“I say we send Winston,” Zart chimed in.

“Why me?” Winston blinked. “I still got a black eye from the last time.”

Newt, always the peacekeeper, raised his hands. “Look, let’s not be dramatic. Just go, ask nicely. No dumb jokes. No flirting. Just respect.”

They all looked at Alby.

He stood taller. “I’ll try again. Properly.”

Attempt #1: Alby.

Rejected in 34 seconds.

He came back with his pride in pieces.

“What happened?” Frypan asked, eyes wide.

“She looked me dead in the eyes,” Alby muttered, “and said: ‘Being in charge doesn’t mean you get what you want. It means you do what’s right. Learn that.’ Then she handed me a stick and told me to whittle my own damn bandages.”

Gally burst out laughing. “She gave you homework.”

Alby scowled. “She’s scary.”

Attempt #2: Gally.

Rejected in 18 seconds.

He returned in a rage.

“Didn’t even let me speak!” he shouted. “I walked up, and she turned around, crossed her arms, and said, ‘No.’ No. Just that. Didn’t ask what I wanted. Didn’t care.”

“She read your soul,” Newt muttered.

“She judged my aura!”

Attempt #3: Newt.

Rejected politely, but firmly, in 53 seconds.

“She smiled at me,” he admitted, sitting down beside Alby. “But not like… friendly. More like I was a kid holding a toy sword.”

Frypan leaned in. “So she called you cute and weak?”

“She asked if I was lost.”

Alby snorted. “We’re gonna die without bandages.”

Minho, quiet until now, finally looked up from where he was sharpening a knife. “You guys are hopeless.”

They all turned to him.

“No way,” Winston said. “You wouldn’t.”

Minho smirked. “You’ve all gone in like beggars. You need tact.”

Newt leaned forward. “You think she’ll listen to you?”

“I think,” Minho said, standing, “you’ve been sending the wrong people.”

Attempt #4: Minho.

From a safe distance, the boys watched as he crossed the Glade. You were kneeling in the garden, sleeves rolled up, tending to something in the soil.

Minho crouched beside you, said something they couldn’t hear.

You looked up. Expression unreadable. The boys held their breath.

And then—

You nodded.

Minho smiled.

You stood, dusted off your hands, and walked into the supply tent. A minute later, you came back and handed him a neat stack of rolled white fabric—bandages. Real ones. Clean ones. Better than anything they had.

Minho waved once, cool and easy, and walked back like he hadn’t just done the impossible.

The boys lost it.

“No way!”

“She said yes?!”

“Did she touch your hand?”

“What did you say to her?!”

Minho grinned as he dropped the bandages onto the crate. “I asked nicely.”

Alby stared at him like he’d grown wings. “No. You did something. Witchcraft.”

Minho shrugged, casually stretching. “Maybe she likes me.”

They all froze.

Newt blinked. “Wait. What?”

Gally leaned in. “Hold up. You think she likes you?”

Minho’s smug smile didn’t falter. “Did she give you bandages?”

And just like that, a new Glade protocol was born.

From that day forward, there was one rule for requesting help from the girls:

Send Minho.

Burned rations? Minho asked for vegetables.

Broken tools? Minho fetched replacements.

They even made him a clipboard once as a joke. He used it seriously for two days. You didn't laugh—you helped him inventory.

The boys watched in stunned amazement every time.

“She gave him salt,” Frypan whispered once, horrified. “I’ve been cooking without flavor for months.”

“I think she gave him sugar last week,” Winston murmured. “She’s never even said my name.”

They held secret meetings about it, like confused scientists studying a phenomenon.

“She acts totally different when he’s around,” Newt said one night by the fire. “Like, not mean. Still scary, yeah, but like… warm scary.”

“She smirks at him,” Gally added.

“She laughs at his jokes,” Alby muttered. “She told me I was wasting oxygen.”

Minho just sipped water from a clean canteen—you’d probably given him that too—and said, “What can I say? I’m charming.”

The final confirmation came two weeks later.

The boys needed fabric again—this time for blankets. But Minho was injured, twisted ankle from a Maze run. He was benched.

“We have to ask without him,” Winston said grimly.

They drew straws.

Newt lost.

He walked over slowly, holding the request list like a bomb. You were seated at the table in your camp, writing in a notebook. Elara — your second in command — sat beside you, watching with an amused smirk.

You didn’t even look up when Newt approached.

“Minho’s hurt,” he began. “So I came to—”

“No.”

He blinked. “I haven’t even asked—”

“No.”

“…Right.”

He walked back like a defeated soldier.

The boys stared.

“I told you,” Gally said, pointing. “She doesn’t even listen to us.”

“She’s got a forcefield,” Alby muttered. “Only Minho gets through.”

They all turned to him.

Minho, icing his ankle, just raised his brows. “So what I’m hearing is… you need me again.”

It became routine.

You never smiled at Gally. Never gave Alby more than two-word replies. Newt earned a nod now and then. But with Minho?

You’d roll your eyes at his jokes, sure—but you didn’t walk away.

You didn’t reject him.

Sometimes, the boys caught you lingering after he left. Watching him walk back. Once, Newt swore he saw you tuck your hair behind your ear after he winked.

It became a joke. A running gag.

“Send Minho.”

“Minho’s our ambassador now.”

“Our princess only bends the knee for him.”

Minho took it all with a smirk. But sometimes—just sometimes—he looked toward your camp with something quieter in his eyes. Something none of the boys dared tease.

Because beneath the smug grins and teasing bets… there was a feeling. One they couldn’t name, but all of them recognized:

You liked him.

And maybe—just maybe—he liked you too.

One night, around the fire, they couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“So,” Frypan said, grinning, “when’s the wedding?”

Minho didn’t even flinch. “She hasn’t proposed yet.”

Alby snorted. “If she did, you’d say yes in two seconds.”

“Two? Please. Half a second.”

“You know she never even talks to the rest of us, right?” Winston asked.

“She once told me my voice gave her a headache,” Gally grumbled.

Minho leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting toward your camp, where you were organizing storage with Elara under a torchlight.

“She’s not cold,” he said. “She’s focused. That’s not a crime.”

Newt hummed. “Focused, yeah. But you bring out something else in her.”

“Softness,” Frypan added.

“Warmth,” Winston agreed.

“Ladle-related mercy,” Gally muttered.

They all looked at Minho.

He shrugged. “Guess I’m special.”

Newt nudged him. “Or maybe you just make her feel safe.”

That quieted them. A little too real.

Minho didn’t respond right away. He just kept looking at you.

“She makes me feel safe too,” he said finally, voice soft.

And for once, none of them teased him.

Because they all understood.

She made the Glade make sense.

And somehow—only for Minho—she bent the rules.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

hi can you write one where mafia lando and reader are in arranged marriage, but lando has a mistress and reader gets jealous.It could be like angst with smut if you dont mind....btw absolutely love your writing!!!

I‘m not gentle

Summary: In a cold, arranged marriage with Lando Norris, you try to bury your feelings—until jealousy over his mistress ignites a fiery confrontation

mafia!Lando x wife!reader

Navigation

You weren’t in love with Lando Norris when you married him.

And he definitely wasn’t in love with you.

Your families had history. Power. Blood money. One alliance sealed over whispered threats and a ring that glittered more like a chain than a promise.

The wedding was extravagant—luxury masquerading as romance—but your smiles had been for the cameras, not each other.

Still, you’d tried.

You’d worn the diamonds he gave you. Stood beside him at events. Defended him when people whispered things behind your back about his little mistress.

And God, how they whispered.

Her name was always said like perfume—sweet and sickly. Rosa. She was soft where you were sharp, giggly where you were poised. She didn’t come from bloodlines, but from seduction and strategy.

And Lando adored her.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like when you walked into his office at 11PM and found her sitting on his lap.

She looked at you with no shame. He didn’t even flinch.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Lando said lazily, voice deep and calm, his hand still on her thigh.

You gave him a bitter smile. “Oh? Because it looks exactly like you’re fucking your mistress in your office, husband.”

Rosa stood, smug in her silk slip dress. “We were just talking.”

You ignored her, eyes locked on him. “You’re disgusting.”

He stood too, straightening his shirt as if he hadn’t just been caught mid-affair. “You’re jealous.”

You hated that he was right.

“I’m your wife, Lando,” you hissed. “Not just a pawn in some dynastic alliance. You could at least pretend to respect me.”

He moved toward you slowly, like a panther. Dangerous. Beautiful. Cold.

“I gave you a mansion, a title, protection. What more do you want?”

You shoved him back. “I wanted a husband who didn’t keep his whore two floors down.”

The slap that followed shocked even you. Not from him—from yourself. The sound echoed through the marble walls as he blinked, stunned.

Silence.

And then—he laughed.

Not mockingly. Not cruel. Just… amused.

“You’ve got a fire in you tonight,” he murmured.

You turned to leave, but he grabbed your wrist.

“You’re not walking away from this,” he growled.

“Watch me.”

He yanked you back, your back slamming into his chest. “You think Rosa means anything to me?”

“Doesn’t she?”

“She’s a distraction,” he whispered against your ear. “You’re the one I married. The one I chose—even if I didn’t have a choice.”

You turned in his grip, eyes burning. “You don’t get to play the victim.”

“I’m not,” he said, pushing you gently against the wall, caging you in. “I’m just a man who’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want his wife.”

Your breath caught.

“Then show me,” you whispered.

Something snapped in him.

He kissed you like he hated you. Like he wanted to ruin you. Mouth hot and furious, tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hands clawed at your dress.

You moaned into his mouth, nails scraping down his back as he hoisted you up, dress hitched to your hips. His belt hit the floor with a metallic thud, and your back hit the desk seconds later.

“I’m not gentle,” he warned, voice ragged.

“Good,” you spat. “Don’t be.”

When it was over, you stayed tangled in silence, the glow of city lights casting shadows across the office.

He brushed your hair back, eyes unreadable.

“Rosa’s gone,” he said quietly. “I told her to leave before you came.”

You blinked. “You did?”

“I wanted you to see her. I wanted to know if you still gave a damn.”

You slapped his chest weakly. “You’re a bastard.”

He smirked. “Your bastard.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t move away.

Because the truth was, you were jealous.

And deep down… you didn’t want a business partner.

You wanted your husband.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

hey! Can you make one which reader used to date Lando, but the broke up because Lando cheated on her, but the thing is that reader is Oscar's Piastri sister, and now in Aus the things are weird between them

Leave her alone

Summary: At the Australian Grand Prix, you’re forced to face Lando Norris—the ex who cheated on you and broke your heart—while trying to keep the peace as Oscar Piastri’s sister around the paddock

ex!Lando x Piastri!reader

Navigation

The Australian Grand Prix always felt like home. The air smelled like eucalyptus and hot tarmac, the sea breeze cutting through the dry heat, and the roar of the engines just beyond the paddock felt comforting in a way that nothing else did. Except this year, everything was different.

Because he was here.

You adjusted your McLaren pass and walked through the motorhome like you hadn’t spent a year trying to avoid this moment. The moment where you’d have to share the same air as Lando Norris again.

He was leaning against the espresso machine in the hospitality lounge, laughing with one of the engineers, and when his eyes met yours, the smile died mid-sentence.

Oscar wasn’t far behind you, practically bouncing after a great qualifying. He looked between the two of you and exhaled quietly through his nose.

“You okay?” he asked under his breath, leaning in so no one else could hear.

You offered a tight smile. “Peachy.”

Oscar gave Lando a sharp look, the kind that said I’m watching you. There was a time when your brother and Lando were like two peas in a pod—bonded by years of karting, junior formulas, and team banter. But after what happened last year, Oscar picked a side. And it wasn’t Lando’s.

“How’s the car feeling?” you asked Oscar, forcing a casual tone.

“Pretty good. Still getting some understeer in sector two, but we’ll sort it,” he said, then paused. “You sure you’re good to stick around today?”

You swallowed. “I can handle it.”

Oscar hesitated, then gave you a nod before heading off toward the engineering room.

The second he disappeared, you turned to walk away. But Lando stepped into your path, blocking your exit.

“Can we talk?” he asked softly.

You stared at him for a beat. “What’s there left to say?”

“I didn’t—” He lowered his voice. “It didn’t mean anything.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, that makes it better.”

He flinched. “It was a mistake.”

“You’re right,” you said coldly. “I was the mistake.”

Lando opened his mouth to protest, but you stepped around him before he could.

Later that evening, the drivers gathered for a press event by the harbor. Cameras flashed, fans screamed, and you kept your distance, standing off to the side near the McLaren PR team. Lando tried not to glance your way, but failed. Every time.

Oscar saw it too. He cornered Lando after the interviews, voice low and dangerous. “I told you to leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t trying to upset her,” Lando muttered.

“You already did that. Last year. When you went behind her back with some random girl in Monaco."

“I regret that—”

“Doesn’t matter if you do. She doesn’t owe you anything, and you don’t get to come here— our home—and stir things up.”

Lando’s jaw clenched, and he nodded once. “Got it.”

That night, you stepped outside the hotel for air, and found Lando sitting alone on the bench outside. The street was quiet, the city lights twinkling across the bay. He looked up when he saw you, startled.

“I can go,” he said quickly, standing up.

“Don’t,” you said tiredly. “I’m too tired to keep avoiding you.”

You both sat in silence for a minute before he finally said, “You look good.”

You laughed dryly. “I look tired.”

“You always looked good when you were tired. After long flights, or late races. I miss those days.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Why did you do it, Lando?”

He blinked. “I don’t know. I was stupid. I freaked out. Things were going so fast between us, and I thought… I don’t know. That I didn’t deserve it.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “So you sabotaged it?”

“I didn’t think I was enough for you. You were Oscar’s sister, the team loved you, he trusted me. And I blew all of it.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Then: “You know what hurt the most? Not that you cheated. Not even the lying. It’s that you didn’t fight for me after. You let me walk away.”

Lando’s voice was hoarse. “I thought I lost the right to.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in months. His eyes were sad, tired, and heavy with guilt. “Yeah. Maybe you did.”

You stood up, brushing your hands on your jacket. “But I’m still proud of you. I watched every race. Hated myself for it, but I did.”

Lando’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

You didn’t respond. You just walked back inside, leaving him with his regrets and the sound of the ocean.

It’s race day. You stood in the garage, headset on, as Oscar lined up on the grid. Lando’s car wasn’t far behind. The tension was palpable.

After the race—a chaotic, tire-chewing drama with both McLarens in the top five—you met Oscar in the paddock, arms wide. He swept you into a sweaty hug.

“Top four, baby!” he yelled.

You grinned and ruffled his curls. “Killing it out there.”

Lando appeared nearby, eyes flicking between you and Oscar. This time, he didn’t come over.

Oscar leaned down. “You don’t have to forgive him, you know.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But maybe someday… I’ll stop hating him.”

Oscar smiled slightly. “That’s a start.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

Hi, I was wondering if you could write something for this ask please. You’re the social media manager and with Red Bull recently promoting yuki you’re trying to make Yuki comfortable and get h to film content. So yuki is attached to your hip basically and then other members of the grid have taken a liking to you. One day will filming content on the grid max was passing and saw how close you and yuki were and got jealous. At the same time Carlos came up and was trying to ask you out. You can write something about how jealous max confronts you.

Thank you 😊

"Problem?" "Not yet"

Summary: As Red Bull’s social media manager, you’ve become Yuki’s safe space—and now everyone on the grid wants your attention, including one very possessive Max Verstappen.

Max Verstappen x pr!reader

Navigation

You weren’t expecting to become Yuki’s emotional support human, but ever since Red Bull promoted him, that’s exactly what happened.

“I don’t want to film this alone,” Yuki said for the third time that day, arms crossed like a stubborn child as the videographer set up behind the hospitality tent.

You smiled, tugging your headset down around your neck. “You won’t be. I’ll stand just off-camera, alright?”

“Too far,” he grumbled.

You laughed, bumping your shoulder against his. “Then I’ll stand barely off-camera. Deal?”

Yuki looked up at you with those impossibly wide eyes. “Fine. But if I mess up, it’s your fault.”

You didn’t mind. In fact, over the last few races, Yuki had become like a little brother—always hovering near your desk, asking what kind of TikToks were trending, or stealing your snacks during media days. You chalked it up to the stress of the promotion. New team. New pressure. New expectations.

And maybe… the comfort of someone who never saw him as just a driver.

What you didn’t expect was how many of the other drivers suddenly noticed you.

You blamed the behind-the-scenes video that went viral last week—where Yuki refused to let go of your arm during an interview setup, and fans lost it over the way you patiently helped him adjust his mic.

Now your DMs were a minefield, and every other person in the paddock wanted to “film content” with you.

Including Carlos Sainz.

It was a sunny afternoon in Melbourne, just before qualifying. You were walking with Yuki through the paddock, prepping for a “Rate That Grid Fit” video. Yuki, as usual, was glued to your side, tossing sarcastic commentary your way while you adjusted your camera settings.

Then Carlos appeared.

“Hola, Y/N,” he said, flashing that annoyingly charming smile.

You blinked. “Hey, Carlos. Nice fit today—”

“Gracias,” he said smoothly, then turned to Yuki. “Mind if I steal her for a second?”

Yuki narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

You snorted. “Yuki—”

“I don’t trust the William drivers,” he mumbled.

Carlos rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to sabotage her.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Yuki muttered, arms crossed.

Carlos ignored him and looked at you again, this time more serious. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to get dinner later tonight. After quali.”

You froze.

Yuki blinked up at you. “Dinner?”

You stared at Carlos. “Are you serious?”

He smiled again. “Completely.”

Before you could answer, a third voice cut in—low, flat, and laced with irritation.

“You’re pretty popular today, huh?”

You turned, heart jumping slightly.

Max Verstappen stood a few feet away, arms crossed, unreadable expression on his face.

Oh boy.

You hadn’t interacted much outside of race weekends and Red Bull content. Max was always professional, quiet, intense. But lately… something had shifted.

You’d caught him watching you a few times when you were with Yuki. Lingering glances. Sharp stares. Silent brooding from across the garage when you laughed too hard at one of Daniel’s jokes.

You raised an eyebrow. “We’re filming content, Max. Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he said coolly, though his eyes flicked to where Carlos still stood—too close for Max’s liking.

Carlos lifted a brow. “Problem?”

“Not yet,” Max said flatly.

You exhaled, annoyed. “Okay. Testosterone break over. Carlos, I’ll get back to you. Max—Yuki and I have a shoot to finish.”

But Max didn’t move.

He just stared you down with those piercing blue eyes until the others slowly drifted off—Carlos with a wink and Yuki muttering something about “drama queens.”

Now it was just you and Max behind the media pen, the noise of the paddock muffled by the tent walls.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded.

His jaw flexed. “You tell me. You’re the one letting half the grid line up to flirt with you.”

“Letting?” you echoed, stepping closer. “I’m working, Max.”

“With Yuki hanging off your shoulder like a puppy?”

“He’s adjusting to a new team. I’m helping him feel comfortable. That’s my job.”

Max scoffed. “You do that with Carlos too? Over dinner?”

You stared at him, stunned. “You’re actually jealous.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t have to.

You saw it all over his face.

The clenched fists. The tightened jaw. The way his eyes dropped to your mouth when you spoke—hungry and frustrated, like he wanted to bite the words off your tongue.

“You don’t get to act like this,” you said quietly. “Not when you’ve never once made your feelings clear.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” he growled.

Your pulse spiked. “Well, you do. Because I’m not a mind-reader, Max. And if you’re going to stand there acting like I’ve wronged you somehow, you better say what you really mean.”

He stepped forward, crowding you until your back hit the tent post.

“I don’t like seeing other drivers touching you,” he said lowly.

“Then do something about it.”

There was a long pause.

Then—

He kissed you.

Hard.

One hand cupped your jaw, the other gripping your waist as he kissed you like he’d been holding back for months. You gasped against his mouth, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he groaned into the kiss like he was finally breathing again.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark.

“I should’ve done that the first time I saw you,” he muttered.

You were breathless. “You’re lucky I don’t slap you for being an ass.”

“I’d deserve it,” he said with a smirk. “But then I’d kiss you again.”

You laughed, head spinning.

Max Verstappen. Jealous. Possessive. Hungry.

And apparently, very done with watching from a distance.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

hii are ur requests open? i’m so sorry if they’re not lol u can obviously just ignore this…

can u write a mafia lando fic where he’s kind of neglecting reader cause he needs to help a old female friend or something like that (he doesn’t cheat of course) and at the beginning reader is hurt but she decides to get a male friend just to “make things even” so that’s when he realizes what he’s been doing and make things better? (plss don’t make her forgive him that easily lol love ur work) x

Trust is fragile

Summary: Lando neglects you to help an old female friend, but when you get close to another man to “even the score,” he realizes what he’s been risking.

mafia!Lando x reader

Navigation

You hadn’t seen him in three days.

Not properly, at least. Not without a phone in his hand, not without a vague “I’ll be back soon, baby” muttered into your hair before disappearing into the night.

You understood the life. You chose it.

Lando Norris, kingpin of Monaco’s southern coast, never pretended to be anything less than dangerous. He wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was your protector, your shadow, your curse, and your comfort.

But lately… he wasn’t there.

All because of her.

Sophia.

An old friend, he’d said. Someone who ��needed help”—no details, no timeline. Just constant check-ins, urgent visits, private dinners that went later than they should.

And all you got were crumbs.

A text at midnight. A kiss on the forehead in the morning. A distracted glance when you tried to ask where he’d been.

So you stopped asking.

You curled your arms around your knees one night in the penthouse, staring at your untouched dinner. Lando was supposed to be home two hours ago.

You didn’t cry.

You just felt everything—like a thousand sharp needles beneath your skin. The ache of being second to someone who was supposed to be your home.

And that’s when you texted Franco.

Franco had always been around. A friend of a friend. He worked in finance, not crime. He smiled like he wasn’t hiding anything. He made you laugh when you met again at a gallery opening a few weeks ago.

He was safe.

Harmless.

And most importantly? He looked at you.

So when he invited you out for a casual drink, you said yes.

You wore that silk dress Lando always liked—the one that made him go quiet when you walked into the room. If he didn’t notice it on you, maybe he’d notice it on someone else.

You weren’t trying to replace him. You were trying to remind him.

And it worked.

Because the moment Lando walked into the lounge, flanked by two of his men and wearing a storm across his face, you felt him before you even turned.

You met his eyes.

Then slowly, deliberately, you laughed at something Franco said.

That was the moment the world shifted.

Lando didn’t say a word as he approached the table. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, the muscle in his jaw ticking like a metronome.

Franco blinked. “Lando, right? We met once—”

“I remember,” Lando said coldly. “You flirted with my girl then too.”

Your stomach twisted—but you stayed still. You didn’t rush to defend him. Not tonight.

Franco glanced at you. “I didn’t realize—”

Lando cut him off. “You do now. Leave.”

Franco hesitated.

You sipped your drink.

“Leave, now,” Lando growled.

Franco left.

The air around you turned electric.

“I see you’re free tonight,” you said calmly, not looking at him.

Lando didn’t sit. Just stared down at you with fire in his eyes.

“Is that what this is?” he asked. “Some game?”

You finally looked up, smiling tightly. “No, Lando. This is what happens when you ignore me for weeks."

“I haven’t—”

“Don’t lie,” you said sharply. “You’ve been with her every day. Cancelling plans. Missing dinners. Pretending like I’m not even in the room when you walk past me. And I said nothing. I waited. I trusted you.”

“I didn’t cheat,” he said quickly, jaw locked. “If that’s what you’re trying to make me jealous about—”

“Oh, so now you are jealous?”

Silence.

Lando stepped closer, voice low. “She’s in danger. That’s all I can say. She helped me once. I owe her.”

“And what about me?” you whispered. “Don’t you owe me anything?”

His shoulders stiffened. “Of course I do.”

“Then act like it.”

You didn’t go home with him that night.

You let him drive back to the penthouse alone, while you called an Uber and took your time returning. It was the first time you’d ever walked away from him—and it was the first time he looked scared you would.

The next morning, he was waiting.

Roses. Your favorite breakfast. Security detail reassigned to follow you for a change.

And then… him. At the kitchen counter. Hands wrapped around a mug like he’d barely slept.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” he said as soon as you walked in.

You leaned against the doorway. “No, you haven’t.”

He nodded. “I didn’t think it would matter. I thought you’d understand.”

“I did,” you said. “But I’m not a ghost, Lando. I bleed. I feel. And watching you give someone else all your attention while I sit home waiting… it hurt.”

His eyes softened. “You looked beautiful last night. I couldn’t breathe when I saw you.”

“Too bad you didn’t tell me that the last three nights I waited for you in our bed.”

That hit him.

He set the mug down slowly.

“Don’t punish me with someone else,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head. “Is that what it felt like?”

He nodded.

“Good,” you said. “Because now you know how it felt when you pushed me aside like I didn’t matter.”

Lando crossed the space between you in three strides.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Truly.”

You didn’t say anything.

You let him place his hands on your hips, tug you gently forward. You felt his breath on your cheek, his voice a low rasp.

“Give me a chance to fix it.”

You looked up at him, eyes guarded.

“This isn’t flowers and apologies, Lando,” you said. “This is trust. And it’s fragile. You let it crack once—I won’t let it break.”

He nodded.

“I want you to be mine,” he said. “Fully. Not just someone I come home to, but someone I choose every day. I forgot how to show you that. I won’t forget again.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then slowly, you reached for his hand and pressed it to your chest.

“Show me,” you whispered.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

hey girlie, I have a brain itch and I love your writing so it's where I've come to get an idea scratched.

how about a fantasy!au with oscar or lando where they were a villain (if you've ever read assistant to the villain, I'm thinking like that kind of villain) and they end up married to a princess and years later when they have kids, they tell a story of a princess and a villain and they kind of reminisce on their lives together.

The best part

Summary: Years after marrying a princess, retired villain Lando tells their daughter a bedtime story about “a fearsome villain and the beautiful princess who ruined everything.”

villain!Lando x princess!reader

Navigation

Once upon a time, in a kingdom draped in twilight, a little girl with a head full of curls sat cross-legged on her bed, clutching her stuffed dragon.

“Daddy,” she whispered dramatically, “can I have a story? But not a boring one. Not the one about the nice prince who plants flowers.”

Lando Norris—retired villain, infamous sorcerer, devoted husband, and, apparently, expert bedtime storyteller—arched a brow.

“You don’t want Prince Everhart and his magical tulips?”

“No,” she groaned. “He’s boring.”

“Alright then,” Lando said, settling on the edge of her bed. “How about a story about a villain?”

She gasped. “Yes! But not too scary. Mama says I shouldn’t have nightmares anymore.”

He smirked. “Don’t worry, little dragon. This one has a happy ending.”

And so he began.

“Once upon a time, there was a villain.”

He was feared across all the kingdoms—powerful, clever, charming when he wanted to be, but mostly known for stealing things that weren’t his. Crowns. Secrets. Magic. Hearts.”

“He lived in a castle built into the cliffs, surrounded by stormclouds and shadows. Everyone said he had no heart. And he was fine with that—until one day…”

“…a princess wandered into his lair,” their daughter whispered, eyes wide.

Lando grinned. “Exactly. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She’d escaped her guards, climbed the cliffs herself, and marched right into the villain’s domain just to yell at him.”

“What for?”

“For kidnapping her court mage. She said he was a coward and a tyrant.”

“Was he?“

“Very much,” Lando said with a wink.

His daughter giggled.

“But the princess wasn’t afraid of him. She was clever, stubborn, and wore a crown like it was a sword. The villain should’ve sent her away. Should’ve locked her up. But instead… he let her stay.”

“Why?”

“Because he was curious. Because no one had ever called him a ‘spoiled, self-important goblin’ to his face before.”

“You were the villain,” she said, pointing a tiny finger.

“I never said that,” Lando replied, mock-offended. “Maybe I was the princess.”

“You were definitely the villain.“

He gave a lazy shrug. “Guilty.”

“So the princess stayed. And over time, the villain changed. He laughed more. Slept better. He taught her how to duel with daggers and she taught him to dance. He let her paint sunrises on his grey stone walls. She sang in his hallways. And when she left… he realized he didn’t like the silence anymore.”

“She left?”

Lando nodded softly. “She had to. Her father was ill. Her kingdom needed her. But she left something behind.”

The little girl leaned forward. “What?”

“Her heart.”

“And what did the villain do?”

“He gave it back,” Lando said gently. “In person. Wearing his nicest cloak and a rose he stole from someone’s garden.”

“Did she take him back?”

“She kissed him in front of the entire court.”

The girl squealed. “That’s the best part!”

Lando smiled—but there was something soft in his eyes now, distant and warm. He was no longer looking at the walls of a nursery carved into a palace.

He was seeing a torch-lit corridor in a crumbling tower. A girl in a torn ballgown throwing a dagger at his head.

He was hearing the laughter echoing through his old fortress when she tripped him into a fountain.

He was feeling the moment she said, breathless, “You’re not a villain. Not to me.”

He blinked.

The little girl touched his hand. “What happened next?”

Lando cleared his throat.

“They married, of course. The villain became a king—not the kind who wore golden robes or ruled with laws. But the kind who stood quietly behind the throne, making sure no one ever touched her crown without permission.”

“And eventually…”

“There was a little girl,” she said proudly.

“Exactly.”

He leaned down, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “The princess and the villain raised a daughter who was braver than both of them.”

“Is it really true?” she asked sleepily. “Was Mama really a princess?”

“The fiercest,” he murmured.

“And were you really a villain?”

Lando paused, eyes glittering.

“I was,” he said softly. “Until she ruined everything.”

“Good,” the girl whispered, already half-asleep. “She saved you.”

Later that night, you found him on the balcony—his arms folded on the railing, gaze lost in the stars. The wind tousled his hair.

“You told her the story,” you said.

He nodded. “She hates the prince with the flowers.”

You laughed. “So did I.”

You stood beside him in silence, letting the breeze carry memories between you. The tower. The blood-soaked cloak he’d thrown at your feet the day he gave up his empire. The way you said I do with a dagger strapped to your thigh.

You reached for his hand. “Do you miss it?”

Lando glanced at you. “The castle? The chaos? The absolute fear in every noble’s eyes?”

You raised a brow.

He grinned. “Not even a little.”

You smiled. “Not even the lightning crackling every time you walked into a room?”

“I get the same feeling now when she calls me Daddy.”

You kissed his cheek. “You’re a softie now.”

“Only for my girls.”

He turned to you, eyes darker now, hand at your waist. “But if anyone ever threatens what we built—what you gave me—I can be the villain again.”

You leaned into him, heart full. “We don’t need villains anymore, Lando.”

He kissed your knuckles. “Maybe. But I’ll always be the man who would’ve burned the world just to see you smile.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

Hi! Sorry to bother my english Its not so good

Can you do one where Max and reader know each other since ever and They are best friends and reader was always in love with him but he start dating kelly but in the end reader and Max start dating? Super angst kinda lacy by Olivia Rodrigo but with happy ending jaja thank you!

Lacy

Summary: You’ve loved Max your whole life, watching in silent heartbreak as he falls for the impossibly perfect Lacy

Max Verstappen x reader

Genre: angst to fluff, happy ending

TW: jealousy, heartbreak, confession, loathing

A/N: thanks for the request! Not so sure about this one. Guess I got a little rusty! I chose not to write about Kelly because I respect the drivers and their significant others. So here’s and OC! Ironically I called her Lacy. #justiceformygirllacy

Navigation

Max met her in Monaco.

Of course it had to be Monaco.

The city of golden skin, white yachts, and smiles painted on like art. You’d spent your childhood summers here with Max—racing scooters down stone alleys, sunburnt shoulders, dipping fries into milkshakes at portside cafés. It was your place.

Until she appeared.

Lacy.

You hated how perfect her name was. Like satin ribbon or powdered sugar. The kind of name you couldn’t compete with, no matter how sharp your eyeliner or how clever your jokes.

She walked into Max’s life like she’d been born to fill the empty space beside him.

And you? You watched it all unfold.

Smile tight. Heart bruised. Mind screaming.

You told yourself it was fine. That you’d been Max’s best friend since the womb, and some girl with “vintage film camera” energy couldn’t erase that.

But then Max started looking at her the way you dreamed he’d look at you.

And it shattered you.

Lacy had skin like puff pastry—soft and warm and unfairly perfect. Her laugh made people lean in. She was gentle. Gracious. Intelligent. She never fought for attention, and still, the whole world leaned toward her.

You watched her from across the paddock—her delicate arms draped over Max’s shoulders, her cherry-gloss lips kissing his cheek after each race.

Max would smile at her like she hung the moon.

And you’d stand nearby, pretending to scroll on your phone while trying not to fall apart.

It wasn’t just that Max had fallen for someone else.

It was that he’d fallen for her.

Because Lacy wasn’t cruel. Or manipulative. Or fake.

She was perfect.

And you hated her for it.

You used to think Max saw you.

Really saw you.

The late nights, the messy laughter, the loyalty like a second skin—you thought it meant something. You were his ride-or-die. The one person who knew what he looked like when he was 16 and scared. The one who held his hand before his first pole. The one who kissed his bruised knuckles after fights with his father.

But he chose her.

He loved her.

And every time you looked at Lacy—at her floating hair and voice like soft piano—you felt sick.

Because she had the one thing you’d built your entire life around wanting.

The worst part?

She liked you.

She complimented your outfits. She laughed at your jokes. She called you “so effortlessly cool.”

Her kindness was a loaded gun.

Every sweet word hit like a bullet against your skin.

You wanted to scream. To rip her lace dresses and smear her lipstick. To make her stop being so nice so you could hate her properly.

But she was perfect.

And you were losing.

One night in Zandvoort, you couldn’t sleep.

The team was celebrating Max’s win downstairs—music and laughter echoing through the hotel. You stood barefoot on the balcony, blinking back tears, trying to convince yourself it didn’t matter.

Behind you, the door slid open.

“I thought I’d find you up here.”

Max.

He stepped beside you, barefoot too, hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms. “You okay?”

You couldn’t look at him.

“Sure,” you lied.

He leaned on the railing. “You’ve been off lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

“From what?” he asked, gently. “Avoiding me?”

You froze.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you said.

“You haven’t sat with me on a flight in three weeks. You barely text back. You skipped dinner last night.”

You exhaled. “I’m just… dealing with some stuff.”

“Talk to me.”

You turned to him, sharp.

“Why? So you can play therapist before you go cuddle up with Miss Fairy Princess again?”

Max blinked.

You regretted it immediately. But the words were already out.

“Wow,” he said quietly.

You bit your lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.”

The silence burned.

He ran a hand through his hair. “This is about Lacy?”

You couldn’t lie anymore.

“I hate her,” you whispered. “And I hate myself for hating her.”

Max stared at you.

“She’s so… good. And I look at her and I know she didn’t steal you, but I feel like I lost you anyway.”

Your voice cracked.

“And it’s pathetic. Because I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Max. And I never told you. And now I watch you give all your soft parts to someone else. And she deserves it, because she’s better than me. But it’s killing me.”

Max’s jaw clenched.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“No one did,” you breathed. “I made sure of it.”

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Every time she compliments me, it feels like she’s twisting the knife. I see her everywhere—hear her in every song, smell her stupid perfume in my dreams.”

You laughed bitterly.

“She’s perfect, and I hate her. And I hate that I hate her. And I hate how much of me still loves you.”

Max was still. Like stone.

Then—

He stepped forward.

“I broke up with her.”

You froze.

“What?”

He met your eyes. “Last week.”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t love her the way she deserved,” he said. “Not when my heart was somewhere else.”

You swallowed. “Where?”

He reached out—hands trembling—and touched your cheek.

“You.”

Tears spilled down your face.

“I thought I missed my chance.”

Max shook his head. “You never had to say it. I already knew. I just didn’t know how to choose you without ruining what we had.”

“But you did ruin it,” you whispered. “You picked her.”

“I was scared,” he said. “You’re everything to me. If I lost you…”

“You did lose me.”

Max looked broken. “Can I earn you back?”

You wanted to stay angry.

Wanted to tell him it wasn’t that simple.

But when he looked at you like that—like you were the only air he could breathe—it was impossible.

You leaned in.

Pressed your forehead to his.

“You already had me,” you said.

And then you kissed him.

Soft. Slow. Shaky.

Years of longing poured into a single breath.

And for once, the ache dulled.

The envy melted.

The ghost of Lacy faded.

Because finally, finally—

He was yours.

Three Months Later

You saw Lacy again.

Briefly. At the paddock in Spa.

She smiled at you. Waved. Wore another beautiful lace dress.

But this time, when Max kissed you in front of everyone

You didn’t flinch.

You smiled back at her.

Because you didn’t have to worship her anymore.

Not when he was looking at you like you were the only thing that ever mattered.

And just like that—

You were free

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[rose24207]

Hi I don't know if ur taking requests rn but I have an idea for a teacher au with Lando x reader where they're both teaching at the same secondary/high schl and they're together and try to keep it secret but like all the students know cuz they're so blatantly obviously in love with each other and they're like the most shipped couple by all their students. U can choose what subject lando teaches to match reader being a bio teacher but personally I get PE teacher vibes from Lando and I fee like that works rlly well. Hope u have a grt day sorry about the long request love ur work sm especially the Berlin Wall one recently it was so so good hoping to see something historical like that again if u feel like it 🫶

Miss and Mister Norris?

Summary: You teach biology. He teaches PE. You’re secretly dating. The students? Not fooled for a second.

PE!Teacher!Lando x Biology!Teacher!Reader

Genre: fluff, humorous

TW: None!

A/N: that’s such a cool idea! Thank you for the request! Also glad to see that my stories have such an impact on you guys 🥹 love ya!

Navigation

To be fair, you tried to keep it secret.

When you and Lando started dating—accidentally, clumsily, falling into it after weeks of lingering glances in the staffroom and hallway flirting that made the other teachers groan—you made a pact.

No touching at school.

No glances that lasted longer than five seconds.

Absolutely no kissing on school grounds.

And for the love of all things professional: no calling each other “babe.”

It lasted… about three days.

Because you forgot that teenagers have one major hobby: spying on adults and making up elaborate love stories.

So it started small.

One of your Year 9 students raised her hand during class and went, “Miss… is it true you and Mr. Norris had coffee together in the staffroom this morning and he gave you the last custard cream?”

You blinked. “What? That’s not a—this is a biology lesson. Focus, Amira.”

The class erupted in giggles.

It only got worse from there.

Lando, bless him, was not built for secrecy.

He was the kind of PE teacher who roller-skated through the halls to get to class on time. Who high-fived every student whether they liked it or not. Who wore sunglasses indoors and called Year 11 boys “mate” while casually ruining their pride in dodgeball.

He was sunshine in human form.

You were… you. Slightly more serious, slightly more cautious, and head of the biology department.

The only thing you two had in common?

The fact that every student knew you were head over heels for each other.

“I swear to God,” Lando whispered one Thursday morning as you passed each other in the hall, “a Year 10 just fake-fainted in front of me and asked if I’d carry her to you like a princess so you’d finally kiss me.”

You burst out laughing. “Did you?”

“I almost did.”

“Lando!”

“What?” he smirked. “We’ve already lost control of the narrative. At this point I’m just giving the people what they want.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered.

Your students had theories.

“She’s secretly married to him.”

“They had their first kiss in the science cupboard.”

“I bet he carries her homework to the staffroom.”

“Miss is totally wearing his hoodie under her blazer, watch.”

Every time you walked past a group of students, they’d not-so-subtly hum romantic music.

One day, Lando walked into the biology wing and a group of Year 10 girls literally applauded.

“Why?” he asked, laughing.

“Because you’ve set the bar for love,” one said dramatically, clutching her heart.

You facepalmed.

The real chaos happened during Parent-Teacher Night.

You’d both been assigned different classrooms, but somehow, the news had spread. Parents were curious. Students had told them.

You and Lando, the school’s ultimate ship.

So when a parent sat across from you and asked, with a perfectly straight face, “Do you and Mr. Norris have any, uh… joint lesson plans?”—you blinked. She winked. You choked on your tea.

Lando later told you a dad asked if he was planning to propose on Sports Day.

“I mean,” Lando shrugged, “if I had a ring, that would’ve been iconic.”

You stared. “Lando.”

“What?”

“Don’t even joke about proposing at Sports Day.”

“You say that, but—”

“Lando.”

The students started a petition to get you both to chaperone prom.

It wasn’t subtle.

The heading read:

“Let the Power Couple Supervise Love”

It had 273 signatures.

Lando framed it.

“I want this at our wedding,” he grinned.

You threw a textbook at him. Gently.

Still, despite the teasing, the matchmaking, and the relentless obsession from your students, no one really saw the quiet moments.

The hand on your lower back when he walked past.

The soft murmurs exchanged behind the gym.

The way he waited outside your classroom with a smoothie when you were too stressed to eat lunch.

The way you straightened his tie when no one was watching.

And at the end of every long, exhausting, love-soaked day…

You’d curl up on the couch at home, tangled in his hoodie, grading papers while he threw Skittles into your mug and made up songs about mitochondria just to make you laugh.

One afternoon, just before the Easter holidays, you were walking past the art block when you overheard it.

Two Year 12 girls were painting a mural, gossiping about teacher crushes.

One said, “Honestly, if Mr. Norris doesn’t marry Miss Y/L/N, I’m never believing in love again.”

The other nodded. “He looks at her like she invented oxygen.”

You paused.

Smiled.

And for the first time, didn’t correct them.

One Week Later

You and Lando were walking hand-in-hand through a garden centre over the break, hot drinks in one hand, plans for summer in the other, when Lando stopped suddenly.

He turned to you.

“I know we said we’d wait,” he said.

You frowned. “Wait for what?”

He reached into his jacket.

He kneeled down.

Pulled out a ring.

Your heart stopped.

“Lando—”

“It’s not for Sports Day,” he grinned. “I promise.”

You laughed. Then cried.

And when you whispered yes, the girl from the cashier counter whispered to her colleague, “Oh my God, that’s Mr. and Miss Norris! They finally did it!”

You walked into class Monday morning.

Sat on your desk.

Smiled at your students.

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s talk genetics. Specifically… why your favorite PE teacher might become your favorite biology teacher’s husband.”

The room exploded.

Someone screamed.

Someone dropped their pen.

Someone shouted, “WE KNEW IT!”

And in the classroom next door?

Lando fist-bumped the air.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane