#she calms down almost instantly

[cherrymangos]

.

[lunar-fey]

oh one last thing was REALLT not joking abt the panic attack thing. i was like on the verge of tears (and tbqh.........i havent actually cried but once since starting t. so maybe i WOULDA been crying by then if not for that) and i mention this bc there was a monitor in the room and i watched in real time as my ekg or whatever went from normal looking to SOLIDLY FILLED BLACK from the amount of brain activity. kind of cool to see that at least ig. okay enough out of me 👍

[humanjarvis]

a closer look

synopsis: every time you try to take your relationship to the next level, you always shy away at the last second. lucky for you, dr. zayne has a solution!

tags: inexperienced reader & zayne, soft dom zayne, reader fears penetration at first, zayne sets up a surgical camera so she can watch him finger her, vaginal fingering (duh), “anatomy” “lesson,” praise, “good girl,” improper use of hospital assets  pairing: zayne x fem reader word count: 2.3k

a/n: this came to me in a dream. enjoy

“Have I given you reason to be afraid of me?” Zayne asks you softly, attentive gaze trailing down your stiff body.

“N-no!” you blurt, thrusting your hands out in mortification. “You haven’t, I swear you haven’t. This is just…new to me.”

“Me as well,” he retreats from above you, moving back on the sofa to give you breathing room.

Just moments ago, you’d been writhing under him needily, his tongue plunging into your eager mouth as you groped each other with abandon. Spurred on by your initial pleas, he’d dared to take it further this time—further than either of you had ever been. But as his hand had traveled down your body, dipping just the slightest bit inside your panties, you’d gone rigid. Zayne, ever aware of your reactions, had stopped his movements immediately, looking seekingly into your eyes for answers. Unfortunately for him, once that cautious hazel gaze had found yours, you’d squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. 

“It’s nothing that you did, Zayne,” you sigh as you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just…scared.” 

“Of?” he asks softly, and the way his kind face is void of any judgment makes you want to extract your brain and beat it for denying you the chance to feel him. 

Another sigh escapes you as you gather your thoughts. “What if it hurts?” you wonder shyly, fiddling with your clammy hands. “I always imagined it’d hurt. And there’s never…been…anything there, outside of medical stuff. That’s the only thing I have to compare it to.”

Nodding along patiently, Zayne extends a hand to you, pulling you to him when you accept it gratefully. “I’m sorry that you’re frightened, but I understand your hesitation. I’m content to just hold you in my arms, if you’ll let me. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

“No, I-I want to. With you, soon. That’s the problem—I’ll think I’m ready, but then the second we get close, I freeze up. I just don’t know what to expect, and that scares me.” 

Humming contemplatively, Zayne laces your fingers together. “I think I can help with that.” 

The usually bustling corridors of Akso Hospital are eerily quiet at night. 

Hurrying through them as if a ghost will jump out at any second, you scour the door plaques for room 429. 

I’ll be finishing up early today. If you’re able, can you meet me at the hospital this evening? Room 429, Zayne had messaged you hours ago. And with no other plans and a lingering sense of guilt that you know he’d disapprove of, you’d agreed almost instantly.

Combating pangs of confusion—he never asked you here at night, outside of official events—you don’t realize you’ve scurried past the door until the room numbers grow too high. Backtracking briskly, you tap the wood with two soft knocks before a calm “Come in!” beckons you inside. 

Room 429 is a standard hospital room—a large examination table, a sink and cabinets, and two simple chairs. At the small table near the back of the room—much humbler than the sleek standing desk in his office, you note perplexedly—Zayne sits, pen in hand, leafing through an endless stack of paperwork. Why did he move his office here for the night? 

“Great, you’re here,” he says, setting his pen atop a thick packet. “Take a seat.” 

“Um, okay,” you mumble obediently, heading toward one of the navy guest chairs. 

“Not there,” he calls. 

Turning to face him, you catch the way his eyes shift to the examination table. “Is this some kind of impromptu appointment?” you ask, his secrecy filling you with stubbornness. 

Zayne rises from the rolling chair that’s too small for him, crossing the room in measured strides. “Not a sanctioned one.” 

Before you can ask what he means, his hands are wrapping around your waist, lifting you up to deposit you on the soft table padding. 

“Hey!” you squeak, surprised but not fighting him. “What is all this? I had my annual checkup a couple weeks ago, I’ll have you know. And I won’t be your guinea pig, either.”

Zayne tsks with amusement. As he presses a button, a large black mount lowers from the ceiling, its sturdy hooks securing a small silver device. Another button, and the device’s tiny red light flicks on. 

And suddenly, your reflection stares back at you from a monitor on the opposite wall. 

Anticipating your interrogation, Zayne speaks before you can. “This is a high-definition surgical instrument. It’s used to help us see the body during minor procedures.”

You blink at him quizzically. “So…a camera?” 

“Yes. A camera. Repurposed for…recreational matters,” he quips with a slight upturn of his lips.

“You should know your own body,” he continues gently. “Exploring yourself—whether with or without me—is your right. And after last night, I figured…perhaps being able to see my actions as they happen would assuage some of your fears.” 

“You…when did you have time to…?” you trail off, staring up at him in wonder. 

“I believe I told you I finished my work early today. This was the reason,” he reveals. Even with you perched on the examination table, Zayne’s imposing height exceeds yours. His assurance is a warm blanket as he stands beside you, resting a large palm on your bent knee. “I’d like to help you explore yourself now. Will you allow me to?”

With a heavy gulp—more from anticipation than nerves, you realize—you nod your consent meekly.

“I don’t know what that means, darling. Can you give me words?”

“Yes,” you exhale shakily. “Help me. Please.”

Smiling softly, pride flashing across his face, he leans in to kiss you sweetly. Then, reaching up to bring the camera closer, he angles it toward your lower body. On the far wall, the feed is dangerously close to revealing what lies beneath your skirt. 

“I’ll raise this,” he says, lifting the fabric with care. “And these…will need to come off,” he eyes you, gesturing to your thin cotton panties. 

For a moment, you debate removing them yourself. But if this was about overcoming fears….

“Can you do it, Dr. Zayne? I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” you whisper coyly. 

His eyes widen as he pauses. Then, collecting himself, he inches his hands forward to tug at the sides of your panties, sliding them down with precision. “Of course,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you.” 

As he sets his eyes on your naked cunt for the first time, Zayne shows admirable restraint, looking away after only a few tense seconds. Some hypocritical, eager-to-please part of you would almost be offended, if not for his tells: his quickened blinks, heavy breaths, and fidgeting fingers. 

“I’ll get started now,” he exhales, voice husky with veiled desire. “You’re free to stop me at any time.”

And as you gaze at him with trust and only a little bit of fear, Zayne begins. 

“This is your pelvic bone,” he gestures slowly. “It supports your body weight.” 

The warmth of someone else’s hand on your bare hip is a foreign feeling. Foreign, but not bad, you decide, relaxing under his touch. 

“The mons pubis,” he continues, hands ghosting over the mound beneath your belly. 

“And this,” he murmurs, spreading your folds carefully, “is your pretty little pussy.” 

The word—in here, from him, in reference to you—is so scandalous it makes you gasp. You try desperately to avoid his gaze, eyes flitting across the room in panicked arousal, but you don’t find the reprieve you’re looking for. 

Because on that far wall, looking back at you tauntingly, is the velvety skin of your most private part, glistening with your growing desire. 

Snapping you out of your staring contest, Zayne taps the flesh of your thigh twice. “Open, please. Wider.” 

Swallowing thickly, you oblige.  

“Good,” he praises, tracing your exposed entrance with an elongated index finger. “This is where I’ll touch you. Is that alright?”

Through heavy drags of air, you forget his earlier instructions, nodding quickly as your answer. When all he does is lift a brow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, you hazily remember his request. “Yes,” you whimper apologetically. “It’s alright.”

“Well, then. Suck,” he orders simply, holding his finger to your mouth. 

The command startles you at first. But as you look between the man beside you and the far wall, recalling how frustrated you’d been with your fears last night, you part your lips slightly. Just enough for him to enter. 

Timidly, you circle your tongue around him, coating his finger in your saliva. Once he deems it wet enough, he taps your thigh again, and you release him with a soft pop. 

With half-lidded eyes, Zayne hums his approval, pushing closer to you to angle the digit at your entrance. “Hold onto me if you need to,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

And then, his finger sinks inside you. 

It’s one thing to feel the tension. To clench as a light, unfamiliar pressure pushes firmly inside your heat, claiming the untraversed territory with every inch. 

But as the discomfort subsides and you open your eyes, seeing it unfold is something else entirely. 

On the large screen, Zayne’s slender finger pumps in and out of you slowly, impactfully. With every exit, your pulsing pink walls hug his retreating digit, begging him to stay. And when he grants their request, every thrust back inside has them clamping around his finger, as if barring him from leaving them lonely. 

Watching with rapt attention, Zayne splits his focus between the monitor and you, gauging your expression for signs of discomfort.

But as your body melts with newfound pleasure, you sigh softly along to the rhythm of his pumps, eyeing the way he breaches your wetness with wanton intrigue. 

The way he disappears inside you, giving his body to yours…you want to kiss him. You need to kiss him. But the moment you lift your gaze to his lips, licking your own as you lean in, Zayne moves his face just out of reach.

“No,” he murmurs his denial, stroking your walls with added vigor as he turns your face back toward the screen. “Don’t get distracted.”

Grumbling your disappointment, you allow his hypnotic movements to recapture your attention. But before long, you’re curling into his touch. “Can you…m-more?” you pant, risking a longing glance up at him. 

“More?” Zayne repeats, slowing his pace to a deep probe that makes you writhe in impatience. “Is that something you can handle?” 

“Yes,” you cry, clutching his pristine lab coat. “Can handle it, if it’s you.” 

He hums contentedly. And a split second later, another long finger joins the first. 

Eyes glued to the screen, you see the intrusion before you feel it: his thick, united digits headed straight for your core. As he prods at the small opening, advances met with quivering resistance, you almost think you’ve asked for more than you can take. But as slick dribbles out of your squelching hole to welcome him, the fluid dulls the stretching sensation, and your fluttering cunt sucks him in greedily.

A loud, lewd moan has you arching erratically, and Zayne wraps a strong arm around your lower back to support you. 

“How does it feel?” he murmurs between steady pumps. “Are you still frightened?” 

“No,” you mewl ardently. “It’s good. You’re good. But I…” you pause, racking your fuzzy brain for the right words. 

“You what, my love?” 

“I can’t…I don’t think I can…like this…” you trail off with an embarrassed whine, hoping he understands your babbling. 

“Mm,” he nods sympathetically. “It’s natural that you can’t come from this alone. What a good girl you are for telling me.” 

With his free hand, Zayne leans forward to adjust the camera, centering it over your glistening cunt. Once satisfied, he flexes his thumb to rest gently on the twitching bundle above your entrance. “You know what this is, don’t you, darling?”

“Clit,” you breathe, the word leaving you in a garbled gasp thanks to the shocks of his feather-light touch. 

“That’s right,” he praises, kissing your temple while his fingers scissor lazily inside you. “This is how you’ll finish.” 

As your voices fade, room filling with the wet sploshes of your tightening walls, the force of his thumb grows heavier on your clit. You almost squeal as the pressure increases, instinctively lifting your hips out of the camera frame—to which Zayne firmly pushes you back down. 

“Watch,” he commands sternly. “So you’ll know how to do the same when I’m away.” 

Curling his other fingers inside you, Zayne rolls his thumb in devastating circles, grinding so deeply against your nub that it greets you with spasmic, greedy twitches on the monitor. For a moment, his movements are mesmerizing, his thumb drawing patterns on your clit in time with his measured pumps. But as he slips out his index finger to pinch your aching bud, the gushing slick heralding your release is the last thing you see before your eyes screw shut from ecstasy. 

As you writhe against him with thankful sobs, Zayne’s movements slow before stopping altogether. “It’s alright,” he shushes you. “Let it take you. You look beautiful like this.” 

And in the comfort of his reassurance, those sobs turn into quiet, blissful moans. 

You’re not sure how he does it—the sink and paper towels are on the other side of the room—but when you open your eyes, Zayne’s hands are clean. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he says gently, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you mumble, nuzzling into his palm. “You were right. Seeing it, knowing what you were doing…it did help,” you finish shyly.

“I’m glad. And in that case,” he adds, tapping the camera appreciatively, “I’ll ask around about the cost of installation in my home office.”

[yasministration]

people are watching - harry potter

concussions and interruptions au summary: it seems that you begin to care less and less who gets to see the true side of your parents. and apparently, so do they. wc: 1.8k+ cw: mentions of abuse

The first person Harry noticed as he stood on the window platform was you: the love of his life.

But there was something so unlike you whenever your parents were around. You didn’t even look at him, or even his parents who you had built such a relationship with.

James placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, but Harry squinted, leaning forward as though it would help him see better. You had something on your cheek. Your gaze fleeted to where Harry stood with his family, his uncles standing to the side. Instantly, you turned away, head tilted down towards the floor as you listened to your parents' words. Remus clasped a hand on Harry’s opposite shoulder. “We should probably get on the train.” Harry nodded, picking up his trunk.

But what he witnessed almost had him dropping it in shock.

Theo Nott strolled over to you. Harry knew he was your good friend, but at the sight of him offering you his arm, Harry nearly reeled forward. You glanced up before scoffing, pushing Theo’s arm away. The boy grimaced, nodding in acceptance and deciding to board the train without you instead. You followed him, but a hand large was instantly wrapping around your wrist, tugging you back. It belonged to your terrifying father.

Harry’s eyes widened as you yanked your hand out of your father’s hold, storming onto the train. Lily gasped, a sound that had Harry’s pulse immediately accelerating. Your father was rushing after you, his same hand now wrapping around your bicep, harshly pulling you towards him.

You stumbled, but one of your hands instantly pushed him away at the chest as you tripped away from him, and you yelled “Don’t touch me!” His grip on your arm was unrelenting, but your mother walked forward and put a hand on his shoulder. People are watching. He let go of you and you charged onto the train, face going hot with rage. Lily Potter turned to look at her husband worriedly. Harry ran onto the train behind you without a second thought, followed by his uncle, Professor Lupin.

They didn’t get to say their final goodbyes.

You slammed the door to the compartment shut, fuming. Tears pricked at your eyes but you ushered them away, taking deep breaths to calm your speeding heart rate. After a long moment of silence, you finally said “I’m sorry Theo.” Theo shook his head with a dismissive laugh. You’re good.

“When Potter comes, do you want us to leave?” Pansy asked, a hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. “He’s not going to come.” Draco, Blaise and Theo all responded together with some version of “Oh, sure he won’t come.” The compartment door slammed open, and you could physically see Blaise holding back an ‘I told you so’.

“Well-” Pansy announced, slamming her hands on her thighs as she stood up, nodding her head for the boys to follow her out of the compartment. Harry apologised as your friends walked out of the compartment, but he accepted the privacy gratefully, closing the flimsy compartment door behind him. “Can we talk about what happened?” You opened your mouth, but there was only silence as you settled on a response.

“Nothing happened.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, moving hair out of your face as he mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, how am I supposed to marry you if I don’t know every sordid detail about your family?” Normally, you would have laughed. But now? You responded in the opposite way Harry wanted. Your boyfriend’s eyes widened as you suddenly broke down into sobs, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as you desperately began gasping for air, curling your body inwards into yourself.

Harry froze, watching you break apart in front of him. He brought both hands around you, tugging you into a loose hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” You shook your head against Harry’s chest, leaning into his touch. Harry squinted his eyes again, looking at the mark he had spotted on your cheek from afar. Up close, he could make it out to be a scab.

You had been bleeding.

“He-oh my god, it’s so embarrassing!”

-

“You’re having dinner with Theo Nott on Wednesday.” You looked up from your book at the sound of your father’s voice. Standing up, you wiped both hands down on your dress. “We’re having dinner with the Notts?”

He sighed. “You don’t ever listen, do you?” You mother brought his focus back with a simple call of his name. “You and Theo Nott will be having dinner on Wednesday.” The polite smile on your face dropped, a pit growing deep in your stomach. Chuckling nervously as one hand rubbed at your opposite arm, you asked “Isn’t that a little old fashioned?”

A hand flew towards your face, an echo of the smack breaking down the mock comfort of your house’s walls. It left a staining red print on your face after the slap had been delivered. Your eyes stung with tears, and you felt something wet run down your cheek. Glancing down at your father’s hand, you spotted a red liquid on the bulky ring he wore on his finger.

You were bleeding.

“You will do as you’re told without questions, and you will do it properly. When I hear back from Nott, it better be good things only.”

-

“My love?” Your head snapped up to look at Harry. You realised that you’d been staring out the window as you recalled last week’s events. “They’re trying to set Theo and I up. Clearly, we don’t see eye to eye on the topic.”

Harry knew that it was selfish of him, but he couldn’t stop the churning of jealousy in his gut. Harry had never felt threatened by Theo Nott, but knowing your parents approved of him when they’d never accept your relationship stung him. Harry’s mouth moved without him speaking; he was speechless.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Harry cupped your face, caressing your cheek. You flinched back as his thumb neared the scab on your face, the skin around it still bruised and tender. “He hit you.” Harry noted aloud. Not a question, but a statement. You nodded. He took his hand off your face. “Are you-is it worse underneath?” Underneath your makeup. “It’s fine.”

Harry frowned, his eyebrows tugging together as he struggled to find his words. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff, right? I know I don’t relate to it, but I want to help. I want to-” Harry gasped out a breath as a lump formed in his throat, tears prickling in his eyes. “I love you so much.” He said instead, in an intimate whisper. You threw your arms over your boyfriend’s shoulders, pulling him closer to you. When he wrapped his arms around your waist, you pressed kisses on his cheeks.

“I love you too, and I’m so, so grateful for you.” You and Harry stared at each other, both blurry from the tears in your eyes, but in that moment, despite the chaos, you knew everything was okay.

At least, between the two of you.

Because when the train arrived to the station, you followed your friends to the carriages, but an arm on your shoulder stopped you. “You’re going to take a carriage with me.” You froze at the sound of the familiar voice. Professor Lupin’s tone allowed no room for argument, stern but also offering you comfort. He was nothing like the man who had caught you with his godson after curfew, voice teasing and lightly threatening. No, Professor Lupin's voice held no trace of amusement as he looked at you, his face blank of any emotions other than concern.

“Professor Lupin, you don’t have to do this just because I’m Harry’s-”

“Forget Harry.” You went silent at his firm tone, gesturing for you to climb into the empty carriage.

“Forget Harry, forget that I’m your teacher. My husband was once in a similar position to you.”

“Sirius.”

“Sirius. I couldn’t do anything to help him back then, but I can help you now. I can help you and James can help you. He’s Chief Auror in the ministry. James is one of the most powerful men in law enforcement in the country.”

“No, he can’t help.”

“Yes he can, you just have to-”

“No, you don’t understand, Professor Lupin! You don’t-” You inhaled sharply, “My family bypasses the law! Why do you think everyone knows of this abusive system towards pureblood children, but no one has been held accountable for it!?”

Remus was silent.

“If my father cannot pay off James, he will pay off a judge.”

“Then let us help you escape. When you graduate, you’ll be old enough that they won’t have any legal control over you.”

“And until then, what? What if they have me marry him before that? I don’t want to marry anyone but-” You cut yourself off, bringing your hands up to wipe the rapid tears rolling down your face.

“I promise you, as long as I am in this castle, your father will not be able to control your life.”

And Remus Lupin had kept his promise. You ignored the letter from your father requesting you to come home for an important meeting — unnamed yet undeniably with the Notts — and hid away from him in the common room when he carried himself to Hogwarts the next day, demanding to see his daughter.

The commotion outside the common room was loud, and when you finally came out of your hiding spot, you were surprised to see Remus Lupin in front of the entrance, standing off against your muscular father who looked like he was about to hit him. You spotted Harry in the crowd, and the boy ran over to you, holding your hand tightly. While he knew you didn’t need him to protect you, he was prepared to do so.

“Parents are not allowed in student quarters, and that will not change for you!” Professor Lupin bellowed, and students took a couple of steps backwards, impressed yet terrified of Professor Lupin’s steady voice.

You gasped as you father stepped forwards boldly, pushing Remus backwards. He stumbled, but he quickly recovered, extracting his wand from his pocket and sending your father sliding across the floor to the opposite side of the hallway.

When Professor McGonagall appeared in the hallway with James Potter and his force partner by her side, you knew it was going to be over quickly. Remus had not only kept his promise, but more.

And when James Potter had magical binds on your father, walking out of Hogwarts properties, you let yourself breathe, and for the first time, threw yourself onto Harry and pressed a bold kiss on his lips without a care in the world of who was watching.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @hisparentsgallerryy, @liviessun, @rory-cakes, @heebiemcjeebies, @fl0weryannie, @muffinemmaa, @anne061989, @regsg18, @graciereads, @adharaoaklyn, @hawaii2320, @c0ldstvff, @bigbodycity, @starmaniii, @urmom101, @simpfortoomanymen, @ennaholic, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @eunicefrogsandfoes, @dreamamubarak, @quinquinquincy

[flwrstqr]

COMING HOME ✶ WHEN YOU CRY

𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗖────𝗂'𝖽 𝖽𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

【 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒 】 𝑙’ enhypen x fem ! rea 7OO established relationship fluff comfort a tiny bit of angst 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 skinship, petnames ˊᯅˋ ｡｡ daily clicks

다니⠀⦂ this is for my @jiwuu ♡ summer started meaning i will post way more often hopefully >< ( last year summer flashbacks..)

LEE HEESEUNG

“baby… are you seriously crying right now?” heeseung whispers, half-laughing as he pulls you into his chest, the credits rolling while tears roll down your cheeks. “it’s just a movie,” he teases gently, thumb brushing under your eye, and you sniff, pouting harder. “shut up,” you mumble, hiding your face, but he just grins, tilting your chin up. he peppers soft kisses across your face—your forehead, your damp cheek, your knuckles. “still crying?” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “’cause i’ll keep kissing you till you forget the plot.” you breathe out a shaky laugh, heart fluttering despite yourself, and he kisses you again. “there she is,” he whispers smugly, tucking you under his chin. “my pretty girl.”

PARK JAY

“c’mere, baby,” jay murmurs, voice velvet-soft as he pulls you gently into his lap, arms looping around your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear. your cheeks are warm and damp, but he doesn’t flinch—just presses a kiss to your temple and lets you curl into his chest, burying your face there while his fingers stroke your spine. he hums something soft under his breath. “don’t cry, sweetheart. you want me to get you that bag you were looking at last week? the pretty one with the bow?” he whispers against your temple. “i’ll buy you ten if it makes you smile again.” he cups your jaw so gently it almost makes you cry again. “i’ve got you, princess,” he says, thumb brushing away your tears.

SIM JAKE

“baby? wait—did i do something?” jake’s voice is frantic the second he sees your tears, eyes going wide like you just broke his entire heart. “did i say something? did i hurt you? please tell me, angel, i didn’t mean to—” you shake your head and hiccup, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “oh thank god,” he whispers, pulling you into his chest. “you wanna lie down? or ice cream? or that plushie you liked last week? i’ll buy you ten,” he rambles, “just say the word, angel. i’ll do anything. just don’t be sad.”

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon shows up at your door within minutes, breathless, cheeks flushed from the cold, holding a slightly crumpled bouquet like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “i heard you were crying,” he mumbles, voice quiet as his eyes flicker over your tear-streaked face, “so i brought you these.” you don’t even speak—just fall into his arms, and he catches you instantly, hands on your waist. he presses a kiss to your hair, heart racing beneath your cheek. “it’s okay,” he whispers, not much else—just that. over and over. “it’s okay, baby. i’m here.” because even if he can’t always find the words, his love doesn’t need explaining. and tonight, that’s enough. he is enough.

KIM SUNOO

sunoo’s lips instantly pout when he sees your teary eyes. “oh no, no, don’t cry, angel,” he whispers, cupping your face with both hands so gently it makes you cry harder. “it breaks my heart when you’re sad,” he murmurs. “you’re too precious for tears, okay?” he guides you to sit on the couch and letting you curl up. his arms wrap around you snugly while he hums something soft, cheek resting against your head. “let me take care of you,” he coos, rubbing your back.

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon kneels in front of you without saying a word at first, his brows pulled together in quiet worry as he reaches up to gently tuck your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a little just to hold your face. “hey, look at me, baby,” he says softly, thumb brushing under your eye to catch a tear before it falls. “what’s going on, hm?” his voice is so calm, it only makes your chest tighten more. “you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. just… let me be here, okay?” he pulls you into his arms, your face buried in his neck. i’ve got you. always.” “seeing you cry makes me want to fix the whole damn universe.”

NISHIMURA RIKI

"aww, baby," riki coos, brushing a thumb under your eye, catching the tear before it slips — and of course, the little shit’s smirking. "crying already? i didn't even do anything that mean." he pulls you into his lap anyway, arms wrapping snug around your waist. "should i kiss it better? maybe here��" he plants one on your jaw, "—or here—" a kiss on your nose. you grumble, hiding your face in his hoodie, but he’s relentless. “no hiding. i wanna see that pout. it’s cute.” you shove him, and he grins wide. “there’s that almost-smile. c’mon, baby, give me the real one. or i’ll really start being annoying.”

[valeisaslut]

Ellie fucking you with her gun…👅👅👅

loaded worship ₊ ⊹

𖥠 word count: 1.9k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

𖥠 content warnings: top!ellie x sub!reader, porn w no plot, gunplay (r!receiving, consensual, unloaded, treated as a kink object), oral fixation (licking/sucking gun), AFAB!reader, cursing, pet names, spit kink, mild choking, degradation + praise, overstimulation, power dynamics, brat taming, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

it starts, like it always does, with you mouthing off.

ellie’s at the edge of the bed, legs spread, perched in a chair that’s more throne than furniture. the window’s cracked open behind her. the clouds blur into the moonlight.

she’s cleaning her gun again—not for protection, not for purpose, but for the meditative rhythm of it. something ancient in her hands, like a priest with a chalice.

and you—bratty, barely clothed in a paper-thin tank and those sleep shorts she loathes and loves at the same time— are sprawled across the sheets, soft skin glowing under the bedside lamp.

“gonna spend more time with that thing than me tonight?”

your voice is honey-laced venom. flirtatious, syrupy, barbed. she hears the dare in it. she always does.

ellie doesn’t answer right away. she slides the barrel back into place. presses the magazine in, safety flicks on with a soft click. there’s a smile on her lips that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. the kind that says she’s deciding whether to be sweet. or cruel.

“you jealous, baby?”

that voice. low and warm and mocking, but still so tender it hurts.

“maybe.” you stretch, belly tight, spine arching in a way that’s downright pornographic. “it’s prettier than me.”

her head lifts. one eyebrow raises. her gaze cuts you in half.

“nothing’s prettier than you.”

you roll your eyes.

and that’s it. the eye-roll, the little sigh, the careless way you flop onto your back like you’re bored. like she doesn’t have her trigger finger twitching. like she doesn’t wake up every morning already wet just from the thought of shutting you up.

she sets the gun down.

softly.

like it's not the most dangerous thing in the room.

“come here.”

there’s a change in the air. you feel it like a shift in pressure. her voice is velvet-wrapped steel—low, calm, lethal. not angry, but simmering. inevitable.

“ellie,” you murmur, but you’re already moving.

“no,” she says again. “come. here.”

she’s spread out in that chair like she owns even the air you're breathing. tattooed arm draped over her thigh. pupils blown wide. the slow smirk of someone who’s been waiting all day for an excuse.

“you got a lot to say tonight,” she murmurs when you get close. “real mouthy for someone who couldn’t stop begging ten minutes ago.”

“wasn’t begging,” you whisper, breathless. fake confident.

she tilts her head. hums low in her throat.

“nah. you were whining.”

her hand curls around your wrist and tugs you into her lap. you’re not even sure how you end up there — her fingers are hot against your skin, her thigh spreads you open instinctively. she kisses you once, deep and slow, like she’s claiming her prize. then she leans back.

“take your clothes off.”

you blink.

her voice is soft, but the command in it cuts like glass.

“why?”

she smiles.

and picks the gun back up.

“ellie—”

“relax.” her voice is velvet now, coaxing, almost sweet. “you trust me?”

you nod. instantly.

“you like being a brat, huh?” she murmurs. “you like pushing me.”

your heart’s in your throat. ���maybe.”

“you want me to show you who you fucking belong to?”

a shaky breath. a nod.

and when you comply, you do it slow. ceremoniously. like you’re undressing for god — or something much, much worse. your fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, peeling them down your thighs with shaky grace. your breath hitches at the chill in the room, the way it grazes over your freshly bare skin. you kick them aside, standing exposed from the waist down — but ellie’s still watching. still waiting.

your hands reach for the hem of your tank. soft cotton, now clinging with sweat. you pull it up, slow enough to feel her eyes follow the motion. over your ribs, your chest, your shoulders. when it finally leaves your body, you’re stripped to nothing — and that’s when it hits.

you feel it.

the weight of her stare. like a spotlight. like heat crawling over every inch of you. ellie’s not just looking, she’s devouring. the kind of look that makes you feel like prey, like art, like her favorite sin all at once. it makes your skin burn. your pulse skip. your thighs press together on instinct, already aching.

she doesn’t speak.

she just spins the gun in her hand with the ease of long practice—as if she was born with it, the ritual of cleaning and handling the only thing that steadies her. it twirls in her palm once, twice, catching the light as it flips , and then lands barrel-down in her open hand. her thumb brushes the safety. her fingers curl around the grip.

she’s still watching you.

you’re completely bare. she’s fully clothed. legs spread, eyes dark. the contrast makes you feel tiny. and impossibly turned on.

"you look like a dream,” she murmurs, her gaze pinning you in place like a knife to the throat. there’s a smirk playing on her lips — cocky, slow-burning — but her eyes are pure fire.

she spins the gun in her hand again and lets the barrel rest on her open palm.

“spit.”

“ellie—”

“spit on it.”

she doesn’t blink. and you —shaking now, lips parted— obey.

saliva hits the black metal, slick and hot. it glides down the barrel in the most obsene, wicked way imaginable.

ellie groans, quiet. pleased.

“fuck. good girl.”

she uses her thumb to smear it in. sensual, fucking indulgent.

“turn around.”

and you do. breath hitched. you straddle her lap with your back to her chest, thighs spread wide, cunt wet and aching. every inch of you is electric.

she nudges the barrel between your legs. just a tease. the steel is cold and slippery now, coated in spit and tension.

“still think she’s prettier than you?”

“n-no.”

“you gonna behave now?”

“i’ll try.”

she laughs against your neck.

“cute. too bad i don’t want ‘try.’ i want a 'yes'.”

and then she presses the barrel inside you.

your body jolts like it’s been shocked, the cold metal punching the breath from your lungs. it’s an unnatural stretch, one you've never felt before — not wide, but so precise. so smooth. it doesn’t flex. it doesn’t give. it fills you with the weight of power, the absolute certainty that you are being claimed, not fucked. your muscles clench instinctively, helplessly. the coolness burns as it warms inside you, the safety ridge dragging ever-so-slightly against your entrance, sending jolts up your spine.

ellie’s eyes are locked on your face, watching the transformation. the way your expression flickers from shock to lust to devotion.

she pushes in deeper, not rough, just deliberate. your thighs quiver around her lap. your cunt is already dripping, coating the slick metal in heat and want.

“jesus,” you gasp, nearly choking on it.

ellie grins, her voice a dark ribbon in your ear.

“nah, baby. not him.”

she begins to move. slow, sinful thrusts. the steel slides in and out, obscene and perfect. your slick is making it glide now, every drag sending aftershocks through your belly. it’s mechanical and intimate all at once. humiliating and holy. you’re spread wide on her lap, completely open, held still by her arm wrapped tight around your waist.

“this what you wanted?” she whispers. “you like being used like this?”

you moan. “yes—”

“like my little toy? like a wet fuckin’ hole?”

“yes—yes—”

your hips are rocking now, chasing it. chasing her.

“needy thing,” she breathes. “so fucking desperate. you gonna come like this? on my gun?”

“please, ellie—please—”

she lets out a groan. fucks it into you a little deeper. her free hand wraps around your throat, pulling you upright against her chest. your head falls back and your breath breaks.

“you hear yourself?” she murmurs. “you gonna remember this next time you wanna mouth off.”

she fucks you harder, a little rough now. precise. measured. like she knows every angle of your body, built it with her calloused hands just to use it like this.

you’re shaking.

“say it,” she growls.

“i’m yours,” you sob.

“again.”

“i’m yours—i’m yours—”

and then it hits you — a high so sharp it feels like lightning cracking down your spine. your body spasms. thighs clamp, back arches, a broken sob escaping your lips as you shatter. it’s not just release — it’s surrender. full-body, soul-deep, trembling surrender. you’re crying, and you don’t even realize it. your voice breaks open in a moan that borders on a whimper, like the pleasure was too much for you to carry.

ellie doesn’t stop. she fucks you through it — slow, possessive thrusts, making you feel every inch of the steel inside you, every twitch of your cunt around it, every aftershock that ripples through your core. her mouth is hot on your neck, mouthing filth against your skin like prayers.

“that’s it, baby,” she breathes. “that’s my girl. coming on my fucking gun like you were made for it.”

your body slumps against her, boneless. still twitching. still clenching around nothing when she finally eases the barrel out of you. the drag is slow —so slow— and the loss leaves you whimpering, your cunt fluttering around emptiness, dripping with slick and spit and the remnants of your orgasm.

ellie looks down at you like she’s just unearthed a masterpiece.

“fuck,” she mutters, reverent. “look at this mess.”

your thighs are soaked. your stomach rising and falling like you’ve run for your life. your cheeks are damp, lips parted, eyes barely focused.

she slides the gun slowly along your stomach, your chest, your neck, painting your release on your skin like a signature. deliberate, crude, worshipful.

then she leans in and presses a kiss to your neck — soft, warm, tender in the aftermath.

“mine,” she murmurs.

you nod, dazed. dizzy. your body’s humming. you don’t think you could move if you tried.

and then —slow as a ritual— she lifts the gun to her mouth.

you watch, hypnotized, as her tongue parts her lips. she licks a long, filthy stripe up the length of the barrel, tasting your slick like it’s a holy thing, worshipping the altar of your body even after she’s already made you come undone. her eyes flutter shut for half a second, lashes trembling. she hums low in her throat, a sound that vibrates through your chest like a second orgasm blooming.

and then she parts her lips wider — and takes the barrel into her mouth.

your breath catches. your knees almost give out.

she doesn’t break eye contact. not once.

it slides past her tongue, slow and obscene. her lips wrap around the metal like it’s your cunt she’s sucking. she moans around it, and it’s not just a show—it’s real, messy, shameless want. her spit mixes with your slick, glistening at the corners of her mouth. the sight is nothing short of devastating. your stomach twists.

her free hand slides between your legs, presses two fingers inside you without warning.

you cry out, overstimulated, needy.

“shit.” she says around the barrel, pulling it out with a soft wet pop. “sweetest fucking thing in the world.”

she sets it aside like it’s holy. it’s much more sacred now that it’s been inside you.

then she grips your chin. firm but gentle. tilts your face back so your eyes meet hers — pupils blown, lashes damp, lips trembling.

“get on the bed. gonna fuck you for real now.”

⭒ perm taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <3): @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andiemiaswife @mayfldss @sewithinsouls @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pleasejoel @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ PURE. FILTH. IM SHOKED WITH MYSELF. THE PARTS OF A GUN TAB IS STARING AT ME. AND JUDGING. huge HUGE HUGE love and tysm to my gorg mootie who sent this amazing request before i even started collide—you live in my brain rent free forever bby!

i might play around with a few more fics + requests before launching the next big series i’ve been outlining (👀), so stay tuned babes. ily all dearly ♡

credits for divider: @kodaswrld <3 – images from pinterest - edited by me

[horchatakoo]

PLAYER 97 | JUNGKOOK ONESHOT

Synopsis: In which Jungkook fucks you in the locker room when you showed up to his game wearing his jersey after a heated argument.

Themes: established relationship, make-up sex, smut, nsfw, cock riding, creampie , big dick jungkook, dom jungkook

You’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone, a visible frown pulling at your face as the memory of last night replays in your head on an endless loop.

Ten missed calls. Seven unread messages. All from Jungkook.

You haven’t opened a single one. You didn’t even have the guts to clear the notifications.

Yana, your friend—and the owner of the apartment you’re currently slouched in—glances over from her spot on the couch, noticing the way your expression keeps twitching like you’re about to either cry or throw your phone.

“You good?” her voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah,” you say too fast, staring at your screen. “It’s just… Jungkook and I fought last night.”

Yana snorts, connecting the dots almost instantly. “Ohhh, is that why you’re here instead of being cuddled up with your boyfriend in your guys’ apartment?”

You groan and toss a pillow at her, face heating. “Stop it, Yana. It’s not funny. He got really mad at me, you know…”

“Well?” she grins. “What happened? You two barely ever fight.”

You hesitate, chewing the inside of your cheek as you reminisce about the events that happened last night.

“…It was about the party.”

“Why are you at that party?! When I told you not to go!” Jungkook’s voice was loud as he slammed the apartment door shut as soon as the two of you stepped inside.

He had dragged you out of Jimin’s frat party without a word, and now he’s pacing, all tense and pissed, barely looking at you.

“Relax, Koo… I was with Jimin,” you say, trying to play it cool as you leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the alcohol buzzing in your veins, making you feel a little light-headed.

“You were with Jimin,” he spits, emphasizing Jimin's name like the name alone is enough to make him lose it.

“You know that guy brings nothing but trouble. And a frat party? Seriously? God knows what could’ve happened to you—getting drunk, drugged, or some creep trying something on you while you’re too out of it to even notice.”

He said, looking straight at you, his tone still laced with anger as he paced around the small living room, as if trying to calm himself down, a hand running through his locks in frustration.

And maybe, yeah, you get where he’s coming from. Deep down, you know it’s not just about Jimin. It’s about him being scared of the possible dangers you could’ve encountered in a place like that—filled with alcohol and frat boys.

But your pride is too high to give a damn, and you refuse to acknowledge that your boyfriend is 100% right.

"You're fucking controlling!" you shouted at him in defense, refusing to lose the argument—even though you were already out of things to say.

Knowing there's nothing left to add, you turn around and storm into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind you, leaving Jungkook standing alone in the middle of the living room with no choice but to sleep out there.

Yana stares at you, half-pitying, half-annoyed. “Girl…”

"You know that was kinda your fault, right?" she continued, trying to not side on anyone, since you're her best friend, but misserably failed.

You shoot her a glare. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the right side. And you know damn well Jimin’s a walking red flag in skinny jeans.”

You stay quiet.

That’s honestly true. Jimin is a troublemaker—but he’s still your friend.

You know you were wrong for not listening to Jungkook, even though he had every reason to be concerned about that party. Which is why you planned to say sorry first thing in the morning…

But when you woke up, the apartment was empty.

No Jungkook.

Just a plate of breakfast waiting for you on the counter.

“I know, Yana… but I just don’t know how to make things right between us when everything feels so awkward now,” you admit in defeat, hoping your friend might come up with something better than your own half-baked plan.

“All I can say is: go home and say sorry to him,” she says, simply.

And so you did.

When you got back home, he still wasn’t there, making you sigh unconsciously.

Your eyes wandered around the empty apartment, taking in how quiet and lonely it felt without Jungkook here—no laughter, no teasing, no arms wrapping around you from behind while you cooked. Just… silence.

Maybe waiting for him and making dinner would be nice, you thought, as you started skimming through the kitchen cabinets for anything decent to put together.

That’s when your eyes landed on the small schedule stuck to the side of the fridge.

Right… Jungkook has a championship game today.

And just like that, a bright idea lit up in your mind.

The rink was loud, the energy buzzing with cheers and chants, but Jungkook’s mind was somewhere else.

He hadn’t invited you. He didn’t even expect you to show up after everything that happened last night, thinking that you're still mad at him.

But still, as the game started, his eyes couldn’t help but wander across the bleachers—scanning, searching, hoping.

Just one glance.

Just to be sure.

And right as he was about to look away, to focus back on the game, he saw you.

There.

Sitting alone, tucked among a few scattered fans from his team. And for a second, he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining you.

But then he saw what you were wearing.

His jersey.

The same one he gave you during his first game, the one he practically begged you to wear even though you told him oversized jerseys weren’t really your thing.

You wore it anyway. And now, here you are—wearing it again, in the middle of the crowd, like some silent apology stitched in fabric.

His eyes locked with yours.

You smiled at him. A small, slightly awkward smile—but it was enough to assure him that everything's gonna be okay again

And just like that, something in his chest loosened.

For the first time since last night, he let himself breathe freely—the stress and the thoughts of how he could possibly fix things between the two of you were already out of his mind. Now, he could focus on the game.

Jungkook was on fire.

Gliding across the ice with sharp, effortless precision, he moved like he owned the rink—swift passes, clean shots, total control. Every time the puck touched his stick, the crowd held their breath.

The scoreboard kept climbing, the gap between his team and the opponents growing wider with each passing minute. It wasn’t even close.

By the time the final buzzer echoed through the arena, the place erupted.

They won.

Cheers exploded from every corner of the stands—and yours was the loudest.

“Let’s go, Jungkook!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, hands cupped around your mouth, heart pounding like you were the one who just scored the winning goal.

And even in all the noise, you swore he heard you.

By the time the game ended, the energy in the arena was still buzzing—cheers, laughter, the sound of people flooding out into the night.

You had already planned to meet him in the parking lot, just like before. our legs felt weak from all the jumping and screaming his name, and now that the adrenaline was dying down, all you could think about was seeing him up close again—talking, maybe hugging, maybe—

Buzz.

Your phone lit up.

Koo: Don’t wait in the parking lot. Meet me at the locker room love.

You were a bit confused after receiving the message, wondering why he wanted to meet up there of all places. What if his teammates were still around? What if it’d be awkward?

But your thoughts were cut off when another message came in.

Koo: Don't worry no one's around.

It was as if he read your mind.

Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flushed red at the sudden—very perverted thought that crossed your mind.

You immediately scolded yourself internally for even thinking that way

As you neared the locker room, a few of Jungkook’s teammates passed by, giving you casual nods as they exited, laughter still lingering in the air.

Turns out the team was heading out to celebrate at some restaurant—everyone except Jungkook, who apparently decided to skip.

“Hey, Y/N. Jungkook’s waiting for you back there,” one of them said with a knowing grin.

You barely managed to smile before a few others chimed in—whistles, low chuckles.

“Damn, someone’s in trouble,” one joked, earning a round of snickers.

Your face flushed instantly, the heat crawling up your cheeks to the tips of your ears. You nodded quickly, mumbling a quiet, “Okay,” before speed-walking past them, not even daring to glance back.

When you finally stepped inside, the room was quiet—almost too quiet compared to the usual chaos of his teammates.

Jungkook was already there, freshly showered, hair still damp as he stood by his locker, shirt half-on while he fixed his things.

You took a few slow steps toward him, smiling gently. “Hi,” you greeted, voice soft but hopeful.

And before you could even process what was happening, he turned and smashed his lips against yours.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he muttered between kisses.

It was messy, rushed, needy—your mouths moving fast, tongues tangling in a sloppy, breathless kiss that had your knees weak and your heart racing.

You pulled back just slightly to catch your breath, lips swollen and eyes wide.

“Silly,” you whispered, a little breathless, “we just haven’t talked for a night.”

“Yeah, I know… but still,” he murmured against your lips, then trailed down to your neck.

His mouth latched onto that one spot—the spot—and it made your breath hitch, a soft moan slipping out before you could stop it.

He smirked at the sound, knowing exactly what he was doing, fingers already finding the clasp of your bra with practiced ease.

In one motion, he unclipped it and slid his jersey off your frame, leaving your skin burning.

You tried stopping him, hands pressing lightly against his chest. “Jungkook… w-we’re in public… someone could walk in…”

But he just leaned in, lips brushing against your ear, voice low and cocky.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he whispered, “no one’s gonna come.”

Jungkook’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he turned you around to face the lockers, pressing your front against the cool metal.

You barely had time to react before he pushed your skirt up with one hand—and froze for half a second.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “What a slut you are for me… no panties under this little skirt, huh?”

You could only whimper in response, body trembling under his touch.

A sharp smack landed on your ass, making you gasp—partly from the sting, mostly from the way it sent a jolt straight between your legs.

You whimpered, your palms flattening against the locker, cheek pressed to the surface as you tried to catch your breath.

“Already this wet for me?” Jungkook murmured as he deliberately dragged his fingers in your pussy, rubbing slow circle on your clit.

It made you moan uncontrollably, your voice echoing through the empty locker room, no longer able to hold back any of the sounds spilling from your lips.

Without a word, he slid two fingers deep into your dripping core, the wet sound of each thrust obscene in the quiet space, your body bent over helplessly against the locker.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, eyes locked on the way you clenched around him. “You’re swallowing my fingers—so fucking greedy for me.”

His words only made you wetter—needier—and your hips bucked into his hand without even thinking. The two fingers weren’t enough anymore, not with the way your body craved him.

He slid in a third without warning, and you gasped, the stretch making your knees weak.

“Ahhh… I need—I need your cock, please, Kookie,” you whined, voice shaky and wrecked, eyes fluttering shut.

That confession made him smirk against your neck, lips brushing your skin.

He curled his fingers deep inside you, watching the way you squirmed under his touch, desperate for more.

“Shhh,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your ear. “Gotta prep you first, baby. Can’t just stuff you full yet.”

You whimpered, your hands gripping the locker door like your life depended on it.

“You can ride me later, alright?” he added, voice low and full of heat. “Gonna let you fuck yourself stupid on it after I open you up nice and good.”

With a few more thrusts and a curl of his fingers, you felt your release building fast, your body tensing as you gasped out, “I’m gonna cum—”

But he stopped. Just like that.

You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, frustrated and breathless.

“Not yet,” he said firmly, licking his lips as he looked up at you. “You can only cum on my cock, baby.”

And with that, he moved to lie down on one of the benches, legs spread, cock hard and heavy against his abs. You stood frozen for a second, flustered, heat burning across your cheeks.

But then he looked at you—through you—and reached out.

“Come here, baby. Fuck your greedy cunt onto my cock now.”

Your breath hitched. He looked so good—messy hair, flushed skin, toned chest rising and falling with every breath. And that thick length standing proud, waiting for you.

You walked toward him on shaky legs, heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you straddled his hips, knees pressed into the bench as you reached down, guiding him to your entrance.

You both gasped as you sank down on him, inch by inch, your walls fluttering around his thick length.

“God, you missed me that bad, huh?” he chuckled darkly, watching the way your lips parted in a silent moan. “Bet you were thinking about this the second you saw me today.”

Once you were fully sank on his length, he couldn't help but notice how his cock is bulging on your lower belly as reach out to palm the outline of his length, making you moan.

“Look at that,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “you're really shaped to fit my cock huh?”

The pressure made you moan, your thighs tightening around him. You started slow, rolling your hips, adjusting to the stretch—even though fucking was practically a routine for your both, he still felt overwhelming every time.

But soon, slow turned to eager. Desperation took over as you began to bounce on him, each movement slick and loud in the quiet room. Your moans turned lewd, needy, and so loud he had to bite his lip to keep from losing control too soon.

Your chest bounced with every thrust, and he reached up, gripping one of your breasts, fingers tugging and pinching your nipple just to hear that sweet cry fall from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, thrusting up to meet you halfway. “Ride me, baby. Just like that.”

You kept riding him, your pace starting to falter, thighs trembling from the effort. Your moans turned breathy and weak, hips stuttering.

“I—I’m gonna cum,” you cried out, and before you could even finish the sentence, your body gave in, the release crashing through you in waves.

You slumped forward against him, breath ragged—but he wasn’t done.

Strong hands gripped your hips tight, keeping you in place as he began to thrust up into you from below, deep and fast, chasing his own high.

The overstimulation made your eyes roll back, small sobs slipping from your lips as you clung to him, your body twitching from the aftershocks.

“F-Fuck, baby—” he groaned, voice wrecked. “I’m gonna cum.”

Your mind snapped back. “Koo, you don’t have a condom,” you whispered, eyes wide, the haze of lust momentarily clearing.

He barely slowed, bucking his hips harder. “It’s fine, baby,” he growled. “Let me fill you up. Gonna make you full of me… give you my fucking kids.”

And just like that, your brain short-circuited again. The thought—his thought—broke whatever resistance you had left. You didn’t or couldn't protest.

With a few more deep, rough thrusts, he let out a low groan, his body tensing as he spilled everything inside you, filling you to the brim.

Both of your hips twitched in response as he gave a final thrust, making sure not a single drop of his cum spilled. You collapsed onto his chest, completely spent, your limbs heavy and trembling, breath uneven.

His cock was still buried inside you, keeping his release exactly where he wanted it—deep in you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your face buried into the crook of his neck, skin flushed and warm. Silence filled the locker room, save for your shared breathing, still coming down from the high.

“Koo…” you whispered, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

He let out a low chuckle, his hand gently stroking your hair, his other arm wrapped protectively around your waist as he held you close, while pressing a soft kiss to your temple before saying; "It's okay princess, you're already forgiven."

[foldingfittedsheets]

One of the scariest things that ever happened to me was when I was working at Red Robin. I was around eighteen and I worked as a host. I answered phones, opened doors, and seated people. The job wasn’t strenuous.

One night, the phone rang. It was fully dark outside. My shift was almost over and my mom was picking me up because I still didn’t have a car of my own. She was waiting in the parking lot when the store phone rang.

I picked up with a chirpy greeting and slammed into a horror movie when a gruff voice informed me that he could see me. He had a shotgun pointed into the building and I’d see brain matter sprayed across the walls if I didn’t do what he said. My brain froze in blind panic. I couldn’t believe this terrible thing was really happening to me.

The restaurant was all windows, visible on all sides by the parking lot except for the kitchen. He could be looking in from any direction, shotgun leveled on customers, or coworkers, or me. “Do you hear me?” he asked.

I stared in blank terror, not answering until he yelled, “Do you fucking hear me?!”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Do you have a cellphone?”

“Yes,” I was so transfixed with fear it hadn’t occurred to me to lie.

“Give me the number.”

My mind suddenly whirred into panicky circles. I couldn’t give some crazy man my phone number, I needed to do something else but I couldn’t make up a number either because my head was pounding with adrenaline. My frightened head latched onto the only other number I had memorized.

I rattled off my mothers phone number.

“You’re going to hang up the phone, walk to the back dumpster with your cell phone in your left hand, and I’m going to call you. No one has to die tonight.”

I stood shaking with the phone pressed to my ear.

“Hang up.”

I hung up the phone. I was trembling, but I knew there was no windows in the kitchen. If I got to the kitchen I’d be safe, and that’s where he told me to go so I could make it there if I just held it together.

I made it to dry storage and met one of the assistant managers exiting. I broke down in sobs and started garbling in incoherent fear. He looked utterly flabbergasted by this, as I had the reputation of being the most level headed of the host staff.

He asked me to wait at the bar. He rushed off to try to finish what he was doing so he could deal with me. I was too scared to leave the kitchen hallway; I huddled as close the end of the bar as I could get without leaving the safety of the wall.

I was sobbing when the bartender looked over and saw me. She gasped in outrage and had me into the managers office in a blink, arms around me asking what was wrong, what was wrong.

I was finally in an enclosed room with a locking door. The gibbering in my head calmed to the point that I relayed the whole thing to the bartender. Near the end, the manager returned. He had my mother in tow.

She was furious, hearing the tail end of my death threat call. Apparently, while sitting in the parking lot she’d received the call I had been too scared to get.

The man had asked if she was me, and she was instantly combative. She didn’t tell him anything, just demanded to know, “Who’s This?” He hung up.

He’d called back once just saying my name and she’d angrily asserted, “No.” He hung up.

My mom was furious and confused and marched into the building. Part of her anger was that I’d given away her phone number. She’s a violently private person. My manager had been making sure the servers knew they didn’t have a host when my mom burst in on a mission of vengeance. He quickly escorted my rampaging mother to the back room and they were both in time to hear I’d received a death threat.

My mom rounded on my manager demanding to know why they hadn’t called the police and he pleaded that this was the first he was hearing about it. The police were called.

My mom and I waited in a booth while my nerves jangled with anxiety. No one had checked the cars outside for shooters and now I was sitting here exposed, surrounded by windows. She tried not to be mad about me giving her number given my emotional state, but she wasn’t thrilled with me.

A police office showed up an hour later. I answered her questions and my manager asked if I wanted anything. Everyone at the table looked astonished when I requested a root beer float. But by god, I wanted one.

The officer assured me that most events like this did not happen on site, that the caller wasn’t here. I didn’t believe the dowdy woman sitting across from me had even bothered to do a security sweep but I drank my float and tried to forget the darkness of the night staring in from all those windows. The clear line of sight on me from every side. The image of brain splattering against the glass divider. I drank more root beer.

I got a day off to calm down. On closing shifts after that my heart would pound when the phone rang and the bartenders all agreed to be on phone duty for me. A private investigator came in one day and I recited the whole event again. He’d been hired by the company as Red Robin’s nation wide had been targeted by the same caller.

The investigator told me he was working on it. That dozens of other businesses across the country had been called. He told me that if I’d given the caller my real number I would have been subjected to sexual assault over the phone.

I was starting to feel stupid. Everyone I told was so sure that he’d never even been present. That I’d never been in danger. The only thing I could console myself with was that many other girls had given him their number, but I hadn’t. I started forcing myself to pick the phone back up on closing shifts.

A few months later I was notified that he’d been arrested. The private investigator hired by a fast food restaurant had done what the police force hadn’t and tracked him down to a small town in the Midwest. My testimony was one of dozens used to convict him and for a while I received checks for 0.23 cents as reparations for the mental distress.

[inuiiwonderland]

BABY

The boys invite you over to their house but now suffer with their moms/siblings/parents showing you their baby pictures<3 gn reader!!!

-

Ace trappola

He leaves for ONE second. One second and he can already hear your small giggles coming from his room as he hears the voice of his older brother with you.

Oh gross don’t tell me he’s flirting with you!

Ace thinks as he quickly shoots his way up the stairs. The boy brows were furrowed as he slams the door wide open. He was ready to cuss up a storm like a sailor and tell his brother to fuck off and leave but froze once he sees what you’re holding.

Oh

OH!

You were the first one to break the silence as you throw your head back as a laugh escapes your lips.

“Oh sevens you were one ugly baby!” You say. Trying very hard to keep in your giggles as you look over at the picture. His brother cackling right next to you.

“Oh totally! He looked like a dried up raisin” His brother says in between laughter.

“HEY! No I didn’t!” Ace can feel the tip of his ears heat up as he marches right towards you two.

“These pictures say otherwise” You flipped to the second page and quickly slapped your hand over your mouth.

“Oh sevens…” Ace quickly tries snatching the book from your hands but his brother stops him before he could.

“Oh my! Is that-“

“Yep! He couldn’t go ANYWHERE without it!” In the picture, you can see THE ace trappola standing with a wide toothy grin on his face as he holds onto an equally adorable bunny stuffed animal.

“Oh this one is my favorite!” He points to a photo of baby Ace dressed up as a strawberry as he cried his eyes out. You can see his brother standing next to him with a big smile on his face as Ace looks like he’s about to pop a vain. The next picture shows him all calm and smiley as he’s given his favorite bunny stuffed animal.

“Aweeee ace! You were so adorable!!” You squeal. With his brother now laughing and wheezing, Ace was able to immediately snatch the photo album from your hands as his whole face was a bright cherry red.

“Okay that’s enough and get the hell outta my room jack ass!”

-

Deuce spade

He should’ve known something was up when it suddenly got quiet. He carefully walks back to his room with a tray in hand filled with cookies. The moment he opens the door he lets out a loud shriek as he watches his mom excitedly showing you his baby pictures.

“M-mom? What are you-“

“This was him at 2 months! Isn’t he cute?”

“For sure! Aw look at those chubby cheeks!”

“Oh and this was on his 6th birthday party! Look at those dimples!” She says as you squealed in awe. The two of you continued to flip through the baby album as deuce turned redder and redder by the seconds.

“Aww you were such a cutie deucy!” His face instantly goes red as he sets down the tray on the table.

“Oh oh! And look at this!”

“Is that a bunny onesie?” You squeal out. He immediately gulps knowing the embarrassing stories behind that onesie.

“Yes! I bought it for him for the white rabbit fest! He loved it so much he would always wear it to bed or when we go buy groceries. He cried really hard when he outgrew it though”

“I-I did not! I was just sad that’s all! I did not cry!”

“Oh! Look at this one! This was taken on his first day of school! I still remember it like it was yesterday. After taking that photo, he wouldn’t let go of me! He didn’t want to go in at all and we had to have three teachers come and drag him inside as he cried his little heart out! I remember feeling so terrible but I had to go to work”

“Okay that’s enough! No more baby photos and embarrassing stories!” He says as he snatches the book away.

“No wait please I want to see more!”

-

Sebek Zigvolt

It’s been 5 minutes already and you still weren’t back from the bathroom! You told him you would be quick and now he’s slowly growing impatient from your absence. He gets up and storms out of the room as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“Human! You have been in there for almost 10 minutes! Is something wrong?!” Silence. He frowns before knocking again.

“You know we have to study for that Alchemy test this upcoming week!”

Again nothing. Just as he was about to knock again a loud laugh and giggles could be heard from downstairs. And those giggles sounded eerily familiar.

Wait

That’s your giggles!

In a speed of light does he make it downstairs and to the kitchen where the laughs and giggles were coming from.

There stood you and his father going through sebek baby photo album.

“W-what are you doing?!” He screeched.

“Oh sebek! I was just showing your friend your baby photos!” His father said cheerfully. The half fae turned bright red as he was ready to yell but was stopped the moment he heard his name being called from behind him.

“Sebek Zigvolt. What did I tell you about yelling in the house?!” There stood his mother. Brows furrowed as her arms were crossed over her chest.

“Anywho! Look! This was him when he first came into this world!”

“Awww! I guess he’s always been loud from the looks of it” You say. Chuckling at the photo in front of you.

“Oh don’t get me started. He was crying up a storm and I swear I could feel my eardrums burst” His mother sighs as she walks over to the sink. His father smiles as he looks down at the album.

“Yeah he was a crier. Oh look at this one!” He shows you a picture of 4 month old sebek staring wide eyed at the camera. Chubby cheeks and big ole eyes.

“Awww! You were adorable!”

“Oh this is my favorite one!” His mother points at one where you can see sebek wearing a knight costume. From the looks of it it must’ve been Halloween. He wore a proud smile as he held up his sword. You coo at the photo as they both continued to show you more.

“Oh look at this one! He saw a horror movie for the first time and there was a scene where the father sacrifices himself for his kids and he burst out into tears! He wouldn’t let go of his dad for weeks!”

“Enough! Let’s go back to studying!” He says as he grabs your hand and pulls you away from his parents and the photo album.

“Wait no one more !”

-

This was an old draft from like a year ago🌝 I just decided to finish it now😖

I FULLY BELIEVE DEUCE HAD DIMPLES JUST LIEK ME! IDC WHAT YALL SAY!!!!

[cherryxbooo]

Yeah, I’m the lucky one

Summary: Hiding it when you're sick from your boyfriend is one thing, but hiding it from your clingy boyfriend is a whole other challenge.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff

The paddock is alive with energy, buzzing with anticipation, the sound of engines roaring in the distance, and the hum of the crowd outside.

Lando is in his element, calm yet radiating an excitement that’s palpable.

The focus in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and it’s clear that today matters more to him than most.

The weight of the race, the pressure of the expectations, and the fire in his heart are all simmering beneath the surface.

It's a mix of raw determination and adrenaline, and it brings out the best in him.

But me? Well, I feel the complete opposite.

I woke up feeling off, my head pounding and my body aching with a fever I couldn't shake.

I knew I should stay in bed, but I couldn’t. Not today.

Not with everything he’s worked for. I couldn’t let something as trivial as being sick get in the way of him having the best race of his career.

He’s been talking about this day for weeks, getting ready for it with an intensity that I’ve only seen in the world of motorsport.

But as I made my way through the paddock, trying my best to act normal, I felt the weight of my own discomfort pulling me down.

I’ve been silently counting the minutes until I can just crawl into a quiet corner and hide.

But the last thing I want is for him to see me like this. He’d immediately worry, go into panic mode, and lose focus.

Lando, with his big heart, would put everything aside just to take care of me, and I don’t want to do that to him.

Not today. Today is about him.

As I stand next to his family, making small talk with his friends, I feel dizzy.

The lights are a little too bright, and the sounds a little too loud.

I try to steady myself, offering a weak smile whenever someone glances my way, but the effort feels exhausting.

Lando’s mum catches my eye, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of concern in her expression.

But she doesn’t say anything, just gives me a warm, reassuring smile. I’m grateful, but I can tell she knows something’s off.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel a familiar hand on my back. A small shiver runs down my spine as I turn to face Lando, and I instantly feel a warmth spread through me, despite the fever still creeping in.

“Hey baby, you okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, like he’s always aware of everything around him, especially me.

I don’t want to worry him. I can’t.

So I give him a smile that’s more practiced than I’d like to admit,

“Yeah, just a little tired. Big day, huh?”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

He studies me for a second, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, his hand gently squeezing my back.

The touch is warm, comforting. “You sure? You don’t look so great.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You focus on the race. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

Lando hesitates, his lips pressed into a thin line as if trying to gauge if I’m really okay.

But then he nods slowly, though his concern doesn’t quite vanish.

“Alright… but if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

His voice is almost a whisper, like he’s trying not to give away just how much he cares.

“I will,” I promise, trying to keep my tone light and convincing.

But as he walks away to prepare for the race, a sense of loneliness settles over me.

The noise around me feels overwhelming, and the crowd only amplifies the ache in my head.

I find a quiet corner, away from the chaos, hoping to just breathe for a moment.

I didn't realize that I had been hiding away for a while already.

But before I know it, Lando’s voice cuts through the distance.

“You’ve been hiding from me.”

I turn to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His presence alone seems to calm the storm inside me.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I protest weakly, though my voice cracks just slightly.

“Just… taking a break.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Taking a break from what? From me?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin.

I close my eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, even though I feel like I might collapse at any moment.

“From the chaos of the paddock,” I admitted softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softens, the teasing in his eyes fading. He steps in closer, his body brushing against mine as he gently cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Hey…” His voice is tender now, a deep, comforting lull.

“Are you really feeling okay love?"

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat suddenly unbearable.

“Yes, don't worry Lan. I'm fine.”

I whisper, my voice slightly breaking as I fight the urge to lean on him completely.

I stare up at him, feeling a mix of love and pain.

I don’t want to be the one who holds him back, but I can’t deny how much I crave the support and warmth he gives me without even thinking.

Lando lowers his hands, but not without giving me one last comforting touch, his fingers brushing my wrist.

“You need to rest,” he says firmly, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind his words now.

“I’m not going to let you make it through today without me taking care of you at least once.”

I laugh softly, despite the dizziness still swirling in my head.

“I’m fine, Lando. You go be amazing out there.”

He looks at me, his eyes soft but filled with determination. “I will be. But only because you’re here.”

Before I can say anything else, he leans in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll make sure to get at least P3 for you.”

And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of engineers and teammates.

But the moment he’s out of sight, I feel my energy drain completely.

Regardless of how I felt I still made my way to the rest so I could support Lando and be there for him.

Everywhere I look, there’s movement, excitement, and a sense of urgency.

Lando’s already suited up and surrounded by his team, getting ready to focus on the race that could mean everything for his career.

I’m supposed to be the one cheering him on, being his support, his calm, but instead, all I can do is try to survive the overwhelming wave of heat coursing through me.

Every few seconds, my head spins, my chest feels like it's on fire, and the nausea rolls in like a tide.

It’s getting harder to keep it together, but I’m trying. I can’t let anything distract him.

I can't make this his problem today, not when he’s been working so hard for this moment.

I take a seat next to Max and Pietra, hoping the three of us can keep the mood light and give Lando a little peace before he heads into the race.

I force myself to laugh at Max's joke about the weather, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

My throat feels like it’s coated in something dry and scratchy, and each breath feels like I’m not getting enough air.

Max doesn’t notice, but Pietra does.

She’s always been that way, observant, kind, and so very perceptive.

I’ve always admired how in tune she is with people.

She shifts in her seat beside me, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face.

“You okay, Y/n?” she asks gently, her voice laced with concern.

“You look a little pale.”

I immediately try to put on a smile, but it feels like the most exhausting thing I’ve done all day.

“I’m fine, really,” I say, hoping I can convince her.

“Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Pietra doesn’t buy it, not even for a second.

She leans in closer, her gaze steady as she inspects my face, my trembling hands.

“You sure?” she presses, her brow furrowing.

“You don’t look fine. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

The dizziness that had been simmering beneath the surface is starting to take hold, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes focused on her.

I swallow hard, trying to push the wave of nausea down, but it’s impossible to ignore now.

I nod weakly, doing my best to stay composed.

“I’m okay, Pietra. Just... a little dizzy. I think I’ll sit down for a moment.”

Max, still glued to his phone, glances up briefly, probably sensing the shift in the air.

His eyes scan me quickly before he leans closer to Pietra, muttering something under his breath, probably about how pale I look.

I’m about to wave it off, to reassure them both that it’s nothing, when Pietra’s soft hand touches my shoulder.

It’s warm and grounding, her touch gentle but insistent.

“No, you’re not okay, Y/n,” she says firmly.

“You’re not fooling me. You need to go back to the hotel and rest. Max and I will handle everything here. Don’t worry about Lando. He’ll understand. He doesn’t need to know right now, and you’re not helping him by pretending you’re fine.”

My heart clenches at her words. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to make him worry.

He’s about to race, about to compete for something so important to him.

The last thing I want is to make this about me. But Pietra’s expression leaves no room for argument.

Her hand squeezes my shoulder, and I feel a wave of guilt hit me hard.

“I... I can’t just leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“I don’t want him to—”

“Y/n,” Pietra interrupts, her voice soft but full of authority.

“Lando will be fine. He’ll be more upset if you stay here, pretending to be okay when you’re not. Let us take care of everything. He doesn’t need the distraction. He needs you to get better, not to keep pretending.”

I shake my head, still fighting it. “But he’s going to think I don’t care.”

“He knows you care. You don’t have to prove it by running yourself into the ground,” she says, her tone firm yet reassuring.

“You need to listen to your body. Max and I can make sure everything’s fine here.”

I hesitate for a moment, my vision swimming in and out of focus, and then I feel it, the dizziness getting worse.

My stomach turns violently, and I barely suppress a gasp. Before I can protest, Pietra’s up and at my side, helping me stand.

“Max,” she calls out to him, her voice tinged with urgency.

Max looks up from his phone, his attention now fully on us. He doesn’t need to ask questions.

Without a word, he stands, motions to security, and gestures for them to clear a path.

“We’re getting you back to the hotel,” Max says, his voice gentle but decisive.

“No arguments.”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell them I’m fine, but the dizziness overtakes me again.

I feel my legs wobble, my knees threatening to give way beneath me. The nausea is so strong now that I can’t hold it back any longer.

My head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and my heart races as I fight to keep everything together.

“Okay,” I whisper, too weak to resist any longer. “Okay, let’s go.”

Max’s arm wraps around my shoulder, steadying me as Pietra follows closely behind.

I glance over my shoulder at the paddock, seeing the hustle and bustle of the team preparing for the race.

And even though I want nothing more than to stay and support Lando, I know Pietra’s right, he doesn’t need to see me like this.

As we make our way out of the paddock, past the busy crew and excited fans, the world seems to blur again.

All I can think about is Lando, how much he’s worked for this, and how much I wish I could be there cheering him on.

But right now, all I can do is focus on getting back to the hotel and trying to heal.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pietra murmurs, sensing my anxiety.

“Lando will understand. We’ll make sure he stays focused.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back, squeezing her hand.

Max looks over at me, offering a reassuring smile.

“No problem, Y/n. We’ve got you.”

And as they guide me toward the exit, the sound of the engines roaring to life in the distance feels far away, almost like a distant memory.

All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that, by the time Lando crosses the finish line, I’ll be okay.

Meanwhile,

The race was intense, there was no other way to describe it.

Lando’s heart was pounding, his breath coming in quick bursts as he fought to stay focused on the track ahead.

Each corner, each straightaway felt like it mattered more than the last.

The roar of the engine under him, the vibration in his hands as he gripped the wheel,it was like the world was screaming at him to push harder, to get everything he had into every lap.

And he did.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the world outside of his car becoming a blur of colors and sounds.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else tugging at his mind, something he couldn’t quite shake.

Just before the race started, he had caught sight of Y/n sitting among their friends, looking beautiful as always, but something was... off.

Maybe it was the way she had looked at him, her tired eyes betraying a sense of exhaustion that didn’t quite match the energy of the day.

Or how quiet she seemed, like a flicker of something hidden behind her usual smile. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something wasn’t right.

But there was no time for that.

He pushed those thoughts away, focusing back on the race, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the track with everything he had.

He couldn’t afford to think about anything but the next corner, the next lap, the next move.

And when he crossed the finish line, the elation of victory should’ve been enough to make everything feel perfect.

After all, he had gotten P2.

The cheers, the confetti, the roar of the crowd, it was everything he’d been working for, everything he’d dreamed of.

But in the midst of it all, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Y/n.

His gaze searched the area, instinctively looking for her.

He was surrounded by teammates, sponsors, friends, but all he wanted in that moment was to see her smile, to know she was okay.

He scanned the area again, but she wasn’t there.

Not where he had left her. His stomach tightened, his mind racing. Something wasn’t right.

Lando quickly moved through the crowd, dodging everyone on his way, his eyes darting between faces, searching for any sign of her.

He was so focused on finding her, he almost didn’t see Max and Pietra standing off to the side.

When he finally noticed them, his heart skipped a beat. You weren't there.

Lando’s pace quickened as he approached them, his voice betraying the worry he couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, his words coming out sharper than he intended.

Pietra exchanged a glance with Max before she sighed, the look on her face telling Lando everything he needed to know.

"She wasn’t feeling well," she said softly, her eyes clouded with concern.

"We had to send her back to the hotel."

Lando’s chest tightened, a heavy weight settling over him.

His pulse quickened, the sudden rush of guilt and worry clouding his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice rising slightly, not in anger, but in genuine confusion.

Max stepped forward, his expression calm but serious.

"Mate she didn’t want to distract you. She said it was important not to take your focus away from the race."

Lando’s mind was spinning now, the elation of his victory evaporating as quickly as it had come.

Guilt was flooding him, he couldn’t believe Y/n had been struggling, that she’d hidden it from him.

She’d always been there for him, supportive, understanding, even when he was caught up in his own world.

And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let her down.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the situation was suffocating.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he could think about was how she had been sitting there, probably feeling miserable, and he hadn’t even noticed.

The race, his career, all of it felt so insignificant compared to the thought of Y/n being alone and sick.

“Why didn’t she just tell me? I would’ve understood. I could’ve—”

Pietra stepped forward, her hand gently resting on his arm, grounding him in the moment.

“Lando, she didn’t want you to worry. She knew how much today meant to you. She didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Max nodded in agreement.

“She’s always there for you. But she’s not the type to let herself be a distraction, not when you’re in the zone like that. You know how she is, she cares about you more than anything, but she didn’t want to pull you away from your focus.”

Lando let out a long breath, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.

“I should’ve noticed,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I should’ve been paying more attention."

"You’re not a mind reader, Lando," Pietra said, her voice calm but firm.

Lando realized that she was right.

He quickly greeted the rest of his family and did some other duties before changing and heading back to the hotel.

Lando arrived at the hotel room, his body still buzzing from the race, but his mind consumed by a different kind of worry.

As soon as he entered, the first thing he did was quietly close the door behind him.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the dim light from the lamps were the only sounds in the room.

His eyes immediately fell on your figure, still asleep, your peaceful face glowing softly under the sheets.

The sight of you, so vulnerable yet so beautiful, made his heart ache with both affection and guilt.

He quietly pulled a chair from the small desk and sat down beside the bed, never taking his eyes off you.

He wanted to be close to his girl, but he didn’t want to wake you.

He knew you needed rest, but the worry of the day, the worry about you, hadn’t let up.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

His fingers lingered there for a second before he let out a soft breath, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee.

He could almost hear the questions running through his mind, wondering why you hadn’t told him what you had been feeling.

He could feel the weight of your absence, the quiet ache in his chest from not knowing exactly what had been going on with you.

The minutes seemed to stretch on, each tick of the clock amplifying his thoughts.

He hated this uncertainty, this feeling that something had been left unsaid.

Then, after what felt like forever, a soft groan escaped from your lips, and Lando’s attention snapped to her immediately.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light in the room.

Your gaze slowly focused on him, confusion settling on her face as she took in her surroundings.

Lando watched her with a mix of relief and concern, his heart lightening at the sight of you waking up but still heavy with the questions that lingered in his mind.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Lando said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

My vision cleared, and I smiled sleepily at him.

Lando’s heart squeezed.

"You’re awake. I’ve been here waiting for you to wake up for, like, ages now." He chuckled softly, though his eyes were still filled with concern.

"But seriously… why didn’t you tell me?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing on me.

My hand reached for his, finding his fingers weakly, and I squeezed them, my fingers trembling a bit.

"I didn’t want to be a burden," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn’t want to ruin your day or take away from the race. It was important to you. I just… I didn’t want to distract you."

Lando smiled at me softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

"You’re never a burden, Y/n." He looked at me with such sincerity, it made my heart ache in the best way.

"You are always my priority, okay? Not the race, not the fans, not the win. You. Always."

I felt my heart flutter at his words, my eyes softening as I looked back at him.

The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill, and I could feel them welling up.

Being sick just makes people extra emotional, give it a break yeah?

"I’m sorry," I murmured, my voice breaking slightly.

Lando shook his head, his heart aching.

He leaned closer, cupping my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin.

"You don’t have to apologize," he whispered.

"You never have to hide anything from me, especially not when it comes to you."

I felt the weight of his words, the tenderness in his touch, and I wanted so badly to just melt into him.

I was so grateful for him, for the way he always made me feel safe, loved, and heard.

Lando sat beside me on the bed, leaning back just enough to grab the water and medicine he’d set out earlier.

"You need to drink this," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm.

"Get some rest, and I’ll be right here with you. Just take it easy."

I hesitated for a moment, but then reached for the glass of water he held out to me.

My fingers were still shaking slightly, but I took it from him gratefully.

There was a small, tired smile on my lips as I drank, and Lando’s eyes never left me.

He was watching me closely, making sure I was okay. It felt nice to be looked after this way.

After I finished the water, Lando sat back down next to me again, his hand finding mine once more.

"You don’t ever have to hide something like that from me, okay?" he said, his voice soft but serious.

"If something’s wrong, you have to tell me. Promise me you’ll tell me next time."

I looked up at him, my eyes full of emotion, and I nodded slowly.

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, and I felt a few of them slide down my cheeks.

Before I could say anything, Lando quickly wiped them away with his thumb, his touch light, tender.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

He slightly laughed, "You're such a crybaby when you're sick babe."

Lando leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice full of love and affection.

"I love you, baby. I love you, and that’s all that matters." His voice was quiet but strong, filled with reassurance.

I pulled him closer, resting my head against his chest, letting out a small, exaggerated sigh.

"Mmm, this is the best pillow ever," I mumbled, half-laughing, half-groaning in exhaustion.

Lando wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in tighter.

His chin rested on top of my head, and he chuckled softly.

"You come first," he said with a mock-serious tone, trying to sound all deep and dramatic.

"Always."

I snuggled in a little closer, feeling his warmth.

"Oh, I know now," I said, glancing up at him with a grin.

"You’re basically my personal butler, aren’t you? Always there when I need you."

He let out a dramatic gasp. "But of course! My whole existence is to serve you, my queen."

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a laugh.

"Thank you for being here," I said, the words half-sweet, half-teasing.

Lando smirked, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Please don't cry again... and well yeah, where else would I be? I’m not going anywhere."

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added,

"Besides, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. You know that, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, feeling him grin against the top of my head.

"Oh, I know," I said, playfully tapping his chest.

"You're my big soft marshmallow. I practically own you."

Lando chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "You absolutely do. And you’re not even sorry about it."

I smirked, rolling my eyes. "Well, I am your number one priority, aren’t I?"

His eyes sparkled with affection, and he pulled me a little closer.

"You’re my number one everything, Y/n. No competition."

I snorted, unable to help the grin that spread across my face.

"Good. Glad we’re clear on that."

As we sat there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside felt miles away.

All that mattered was us, his heartbeat, my tired sighs, and the way we fit together like we’d always been meant to.

For a moment, everything else faded, and all I could think was: Yeah, I’m the lucky one.

The end

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Plus one 2/9

Summary : When Lando Norris realizes he's the only F1 driver attending the Monaco F1 movie premiere without a girlfriend, he panics and convinces Oscar to help him find a last-minute plus one.

Author note : I get this story idea after the private projection of the F1 movie with all the drivers in Monaco (also can we imagine they weren't wearing their team kit and actually did dress up).

Genre : pure fluff

Series masterlist

Main masterlist

Lando stood outside Oscar’s Monaco apartment, hands jammed in his pockets, heart thudding in his chest like he was about to take pole position in front of a packed grid.

This was stupid.

He should’ve just gone alone. He always went alone. And now here he was, about to meet a girl he didn’t know, someone Oscar casually described as “calm and pretty” like that wouldn’t completely mess with his head. Plus, she’d already said yes so he couldn’t back out now.

Oscar opened the door before Lando had the chance to knock again. “You’re early.”

“I’m on time.”

“You’re ten minutes early.”

Lando stepped in without arguing, eyes flicking around the flat. The place smelled faintly of perfume and hairspray, classic pre-event chaos.

“Where is she?” he asked, trying to sound chill. He failed.

Oscar smirked. “Upstairs getting ready with Lily. You're nervous or just socially broken?”

“Both.”

They moved to the living room. Lando sat stiffly on the couch, bouncing his leg. Oscar plopped down beside him like this was the most entertaining part of his day.

“You’ll be fine,” Oscar said. “Y/N’s great. Smart as hell, but really down to earth.”

Lando looked over, frowning. “Smart how?”

“She’s in med bio. Final year. Like... actual science. Brains and all.”

Lando’s stomach twisted. “Wait, what?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. She’s in uni with Lily, but different field. That’s how they know each other.”

Lando blinked. “You didn’t say she was—like—a genius.”

Oscar laughed. “She’s not a genius, she just studies something that requires more brain cells than driving a car in circles.”

“Harsh.”

Before Oscar could reply, footsteps padded down the stairs. Lando sat up straighter instinctively.

And then she appeared.

Wearing a beautifull soft yellow dress, bare feet making soft sounds on the wooden floor, her hair styled in soft waves that framed her face. She paused when she saw him, a little startled but she recovered quickly, offering a kind, quiet smile.

“Hi,” she said.

Lando stood up too quickly. “Hi. I—I’m—uh, I’m Lando.”

She blinked. “I know.”

He closed his eyes for a second. Brilliant start.

She stepped forward, still smiling. “I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” he said, and instantly regretted repeating her words back like a parrot.

Oscar walked past with a bowl of crisps and a smirk. “Well, this isn’t awkward at all.”

Y/N laughed softly, easing the tension. “It’s okay. This is weird, right? But not, like, bad weird.”

Lando managed a smile. “Yeah. Just... unusual. I’m not very good at this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Meeting new people, especially pretty one." He said.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “Are you trying to impress me?”

Lando opened his mouth, then shut it, then rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean. I wasn’t trying to make it that obvious.”

Y/N smiled again. It wasn’t teasing. It was warm.

Oscar re-entered the room, checking his phone. “Lily’s almost ready. You two want a drink? Water? Champagne?”

Y/N glanced at Lando. “Water for now. I’d like to be able to walk in a straight line later.”

“Same,” Lando said quickly.

Oscar raised a brow. “Wow. Sober decisions? Who are you and what have you done with Lando?”

But Lando wasn’t listening. He was watching Y/N again: her ease, her calmness, the way she sat on the edge of the couch without fidgeting or trying too hard. She didn’t seem like someone who wanted attention, and that only made her more captivating.

He was already in trouble.

Later their car pulled up in front of Oscar place and the four of them enter it.

Lando sat in the farthest seat from her, stiff in his tailored tux, fiddling with the inside seam of his sleeve. He’d never minded dressing up, he usually enjoyed it. But tonight, the collar felt too tight, his shoes too polished, his hair too styled.

Across from him, Lily and Y/N were mid-laughter about something he hadn’t even caught.

“No, but seriously,” Y/N said, breathless from laughing, “he tried to use a pipette like a turkey baster. In cell culture.”

“Oh my god,” Lily gasped. “No gloves?”

“None. I nearly screamed.”

They burst into another round of giggles, heads tilted toward each other, eyes gleaming with shared memories.

Lando blinked, trying to follow. Was he supposed to say something? Was he allowed to join in?

He glanced at Oscar, seated beside him with his usual laid-back grin, clearly enjoying the show. Meanwhile, Lando felt like an accessory. Just some awkward extra in a tux who happened to be taking up space in the car.

“So,” he tried, voice louder than expected. “What’s… what’s a pipette?”

The laughter died. Lily turned, slightly surprised, and Y/N blinked at him, lips parted.

Oscar snorted into his fist.

Y/N smiled, kindly, not mockingly. “It’s like… a super precise dropper. For moving really small volumes of liquid.”

“Oh. Cool.” Lando nodded, as if that explained anything. “Like… science stuff.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said gently. “Science stuff.”

Oscar choked.

Lily gave him a look that read be nice, and Y/N subtly elbowed Lily's back. But Lando caught it. And suddenly, the car felt like it was shrinking.

What was he even doing here?

He adjusted his sleeve again, then glanced at Y/N. She looked beautiful. Not just dressed-up pretty, but radiant, like someone who hadn’t even tried to outshine the night and still managed to. She hadn’t even needed the red carpet. She could’ve lit up the street outside just with her presence.

“You good?” Oscar leaned over and muttered, low enough not to be heard by the girls.

“Fine.”

“You look like you’re calculating your escape route.”

“I’m not.”

“You kind of are.”

Lando groaned. “They’ve been talking non-stop.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah. It’s called being friends. Girls do that.”

Lando glared. “I mean, what am I supposed to do?”

“Be normal? Say something? You’re acting super tense.”

“She’s like super impressive, kinda intimidate me, mate.”

“Lando you’re a millionaire professional athlete, you're fine."

Lando narrowed his eyes. “Not the same.”

Oscar just laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. You’re not trying to marry her. It’s just a premiere.”

But Lando wasn’t so sure anymore. Because everything about Y/N, her laugh, her wit, the way she looked out the window like she wasn’t fazed by the flashing lights and waiting press, made him feel like she wasn’t just another random plus one.

She wasn’t someone to fill a space on a work event. She was someone he didn’t want to disappoint.

The car slowed to a stop.

Lily peeked toward the window, fixing a final pin in her hair. “Okay. Showtime.”

Y/N glanced at Lando and smiled. “You ready?”

Lando nodded. “Sure. Totally.”

He was lying. He was not ready at all.

The second the car door opened, it was as if someone had unleashed a pack of wolves: voices shouting names, cameras clicking. The usual.

Lando stepped out first, inhaling sharply through his nose. His jacket felt too tight again.

He turned back to offer Y/N his hand. She took it like this was just any other night. No hesitation. No nerves. She stepped out gracefully, her dress falling perfectly into place, her expression calm and unfazed by the frenzy.

It was… unnerving.

She didn’t grip his arm. Didn’t blink at the cameras. Didn’t ask what to do.

She just smiled politely, then started walking past him toward the entrance along with Lily.

He jogged slightly to catch up.

“Uh… are you okay?” he asked.

Y/N glanced sideways. “Yeah, why?”

“I mean—the cameras. The shouting.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like they’re yelling at me. They want pictures of you.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

She tilted her head. “Should it?”

Lando blinked. “I—yeah? A bit?”

She laughed softly. “I’m just here to see a movie. I’m not being interviewed or anything.”

He stopped walking for half a second. Wait. Was that how she saw this?

She looked around at the flashing lights. “It’s kind of fun, though. Everyone’s dressed up.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. It is.”

They made it through the line of photographers without incident, her not breaking a sweat, him blinking so much he probably looked like he had dust in his eyes. Inside the venue, the lighting dimmed and the atmosphere changed: lower music, drinks trays floating past on silver platters.

They were barely two steps inside when someone grabbed his elbow.

“Mate,” Oscar said, materializing out of nowhere. “You good?”

“No,” Lando muttered. “Absolutely not.”

Oscar looked him up and down. “You look like you’re walking into a court hearing.”

Lando pulled at his collar. “She’s… just. She’s not nervous. At all. It’s freaking me out.”

Oscar smirked. “Because she’s not clinging to your arm and asking where to stand?”

“Exactly.”

“Because she’s acting like a person and not a fan?”

“Exactly!”

Oscar handed him a glass of water from a passing tray. “Drink this before you pass out.”

Lando took it gratefully and glanced over his shoulder. Y/N had wandered off to look at one of the display posters near the entrance, completely unbothered by the people milling around her.

Oscar leaned in, lowering his voice. “You know, she’s just a nice person, man. Lily said she was excited to see the movie early, especially since she’s not usually invited to these kinds of things.”

“So… she didn’t think this was, like… a thing?”

Oscar hesitated. “I mean, I told her you needed a plus one. I may have left out the part where you were mildly spiraling about being the only single guy.”

Lando groaned. "Mate, seriously ?"

Oscar grinned. “What? I wanted her to say yes. She probably thinks this is just a favor for Lily.”

“That explains so much.”

“Like what?”

“Like why she didn’t care about being photographed next to me. Why she hasn’t asked about the paddock. Why she’s so calm.”

Oscar looked over at her. “You know what I think?”

“What.”

“I think you want her to care.”

Lando didn’t answer. He sipped his water.

A familiar voice interrupted them. “Lando?”

He turned. Charles and Alexandra had just arrived, both dressed to perfection. Alexandra’s eyes flicked to Y/N, who had returned and was now beside him again.

“Bonsoir,” Charles greeted with a smile. “And who is this lovely guest?”

Y/N smiled back. “Y/N. I’m just a friend of Lily’s.”

“Ahh,” Alexandra said. “You look amazing. Are you two—?”

“Oh no,” Y/N said quickly, shaking her head. “Not together. I just tagged along. He had a free invite because he don't have a plus one.”

Lando made a noise in his throat. Something between a laugh and a choke.

Alexandra raised a brow. “Really? Well, you’re pulling off the date look flawlessly.”

“Right?” Charles grinned. “They look like they’ve been together forever.”

Y/N just laughed it off. “It’s just the lighting. I clean up okay.”

They chatted a bit more, mostly Charles asking Lando about the weekend, Alexandra complimenting Y/N’s dress but Lando was only half-there. Y/N had said “Oh no, not together.” Like it was obvious.

But maybe it was.

Maybe that’s why she was so at ease, because she never saw this as a date.

And that idea makes Lando's heart hurts more than he expected.

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[xoxo-sarah]

If the Roles Were Reversed

My Wife part 2

Part 1

↝a/n: I have been given so much love for the first part and I can't express how grateful I am for it. It fills me with so much joy when people express how much they like my work. I have been asked to make a part two and who am I to say no?

↝pairing: season 1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: season 1 episodes 3 & 4, angst, death, arguing, gore, zombies, typical twd stuff, not proofread, Ed

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 1.25.25

Daryl Dixon masterlist

“You can't go, Daryl. Listen to me-” You threw your hands around, watching Daryl pace in front of you. The peaceful expression he once had, when he had reunited with you, was wiped clean off of his face.

He was told the news about Merle and instantly became furious. No matter how much you tried to calm him, it was no use.

His brother was out there. Daryl argued that Merle would be out there looking for him if the roles were reversed.

“Listen, there are too many.” You stepped closer, trying to make him understand, “After the racket everyone made trying to leave, I bet there’s even more now.”

“They left my brother on a roof.” You could tell he was trying his hardest not to yell at you. He was never one to take his anger out on the one person he loves more than anything in the world. He was always gentle with you, just like you deserved.

Sighing, you didn’t know how to counter that. As much as everyone who was waiting on the other side of the R.V wanted you to talk some sense into your husband, Daryl had a point. After all, he had gone out to find you, even against Merle telling him not to.

If it had been Daryl who they had left behind, you would’ve already been in the city, searching. Even if you had to go by yourself, it wouldn’t matter.

None of that changed the fact that it’s dangerous. You couldn’t let him go.

You just got him back.

“He was out of control, you know how he can get. I don’t think they had a choice.” You whispered, trying to convince yourself just as much as him.

Daryl’s nostrils flared, as he tried to calm himself. He didn’t want to lash out on you, he never did. But he was about to break. “Merle is a prick, but he’s my brother.”

With that, Daryl walked around the R.V, shoulder checking Shane, who looked disappointed that you hadn’t helped de-escalate the situation. Daryl was stubborn, there wasn’t much you could do.

Carol quickly went back to what she was doing, not wanting to seem like she was being nosey. Which didn’t do much considering everyone in the camp was waiting. After the brawl that had happened when Daryl was told about Merle, everyone was interested in how this whole situation would turn out. Everyone else tried hiding their obvious interest as Daryl came into view. You walked behind him, head hung low, defeated and slightly scared.

Daryl walked toward the box truck, ready to leave.

Rick walked over to you, “So?”

“You shook your head, “He’s not gonna change his mind. I tried.”

He nodded in understanding. Lori looked on at the interaction. She had been the one to offer Rick showing Daryl the way to Merle. She was adamant on it, but at the same time mad at him for leaving. It was almost like she was testing him, seeing if he would actually leave his family to be the heroic cop from before. She wanted him to choose her and Carl over ‘the right thing to do’.

Rick cleared his throat, “It’ll be alright,” he nodded fiddling with the gun holster before turning back around.

Glenn backed the box truck closer, Daryl impatiently standing in the back. You walked toward him when the vehicle stopped. He squinted down at you against the beating sun, watching as you climbed into the truck.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Going with you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Four’s enough.”

You didn’t care if Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were also going. You had stayed in the city for a while, you knew your way around. Plus, you would be going for a different reason than the rest. They were going for Merle, you were going for Daryl.

“Stay here.” His voice was softer now. Truthfully, he didn’t want anything to happen to you. You were safer at the camp, with people you had grown comfortable with in such a short amount of time. “They’ll need somebody who knows how to hunt for somethin’ to eat. Fish is gonna get old fast.” You cracked a smile at his slight humor at the situation. Still, you didn’t want him to leave.

Daryl stepped closer, bringing you into his arms, his head resting on yours. The stench of sweat, dirt, and god knows what else didn’t bother either of you. He didn’t care that you didn’t smell like the sweet shampoo he loved, and you didn’t care that he didn’t smell like the body wash that you had bought him the last time you had gone to the store, or the cologne you loved.

“Keep an eye on everybody,” He kissed your forehead, mumbling against the skin, as he stayed close. “Don’t let anyone mess with ya.”

“When do I ever?” A smile threatened to make an appearance. But it wasn’t the time. He was worried about his brother.

Rick walked by, casting a glance back at the two of you, nodding. Inhaling deeply, you moved away from Daryl, jumping down from the truck. He sent you one more look before pulling the roll-up doors down. You stood there, listening to the box truck’s engine start. You continued to stand there even after the truck faded into the distance.

-

Dale watched as you fiddled with the rag he had given you to wipe the sweat off your brow. You kept fidgeting; ever since Daryl left.

He was quick to offer you to help him keep watch, but you were elsewhere ever since you climbed onto the roof of the R.V. You were trying, Dale could tell. But he saw the gears turning in your head, greased with the terrible thought of what could happen to your husband. The thought of Daryl always overpowered any other thought.

His greyed eyebrows raised as you shot up from your seat.

“Think i’m gonna go help with the laundry. To keep myself busy.” Dale didn’t say anything, only moving out of your way so you could climb down.

Making your way to the quarry, you focused on the voices in the distance and the sharp rocks under your feet. You walked past Ed, who sat comfortably in the back of the car, smoking while keeping an eye on Carol. He glanced up, taking a drag of his cigarette. Ignoring him, you carefully navigate your way down the rocks toward where Carol, Jacqui, Andrea, and Amy sat.

“Can somebody explain to me how the women wound up doing all the Hattie McDaniel work?” Jacqui grumbled, watching Shane and Carl fail at catching frogs, their laughter echoing.

“The world ended. Didn’t you get the memo?” Amy wrung the water out of a shirt, flicking hair out of her face. Carol glanced back, looking at Ed. She saw you walking toward them. Sending you a small smile. “It’s just the way it is.” Her eyes fell back to her husband.

“Care for some help?” You squinted at the group through the sun beating down into your eyes. Jacqui motioned to a turned over bucket, “Please.” Giving a tightlipped smile, you sat down ,grabbing a scrub brush and a piece of clothing.

The way the women conversated put you at ease. It was familiar. People at the office that you worked at, were exactly like them.

“I do miss my Maytag.” Carol said, scrubbing clothes against the old washboard.

“I miss my Benz, my Sat Nav.” Andrea added.

“I miss my coffeemaker with that dual-drip filter and built-in grinder, honey.” Jacqui smiled.

Amy pouted, “My computer…and texting.”

“I miss my t.v. And wine. Especially after a long day.” You groaned, remembering the days after work; where you would come home, take your shoes off and get wine and a movie ready. Daryl would come home a little later and join you.

Your reminiscing was cut short by Andrea, “I miss my vibrator.”

Stopping your scrubbing, you looked up at her, a surprised chuckle leaving your lips.

“Ohhhhh.” “Oh my God!”

Carol glanced back at Ed, “Me too.”

You laughed harder, along with the others.

“What’s so funny?”

Just like that, the atmosphere was ruined. Ed walked down, instantly taking the joy out of the air.

“Just swapping war stories, Ed,” Andrea looked back at him, before looking over at Carol. “Yeah.”

Ed walked closer. From your spot beside Carol, you could feel Ed looming behind. Carol instinctively folded in on herself, head sinking into her shoulders.

“Problem, Ed?” Andrea glared at him.

“None that concerns you,” He took another puff of his cigarette, “and you ought to focus on your work. This ain’t no comedy club.”

Andrea huffed, plopping the brush in the tin bucket.

“Just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.” You looked at him, face blank. He stared down at you. You waited for him to say something else. Surprisingly he only blew the smoke out, throwing the butt away. He stepped back, lighting another. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the laundry. Andrea stood, walking toward him.

“Ed, tell you what, you don’t like how your laundry is done, you are welcome to pitch in and do it yourself. Here,” She threw the soaking wet piece of clothing in her hands at him.

He threw it back. Andrea gasped. “Ain't my job, missy.”

Amy stood, wanting to de-escalate the situation. She touched Andrea’s arm, “Andrea, don’t.”

“What is your job, Ed? Sitting on your ass, smoking cigarettes?”

You glanced at Carol, who sat quietly, still working.

“Well, it sure as hell ain’t listening to some uppity smart-mouthed bitch. Tell you what,” He motioned for Carol, who was out of her seat in a second. You grabbed her arm before she could fully stand up. You could see the fear and timidness in her eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He continued to beckon her.

You stood, keeping a soft but comforting grip on her arm.

“I don’t think she needs to go anywhere with you, Ed.” Andrea continued.

Carol glanced up from the ground for a split second, meeting your eyes. She didn’t want to cause any more trouble. She would be dragged back to camp by Ed if that meant nothing else would happen. She knew Ed, what he was capable of.

“And I say that’s none of your business.” Ed beckoned for Carol again. “Come on, now. You heard me.”

Carol moved away from your grip. Andrea turned to her, “Carol,”

“Andrea, please. It doesn’t matter.”

Ed glared at the interaction, “Hey, don’t think I won't knock you on your ass, just ‘cause you some college-educated cooze, alright?”

Andrea scoffed at the audacity of the male in front of her. You stepped forward, grabbing Carol by the shoulder. You weren’t about to let her go with him when he was clearly becoming hostile.

“Now you come on now or you gonna regret it later.”

You softly said her name, ignoring her husband’s glare, and stepped closer to her in a protective manner.

“So she can show up with fresh bruises later, Ed?” Jacqui piped up for the first time since Ed walked over. “Yeah, we’ve seen them.”

Ed chuckled, “Stay out of this,” his harsh gaze pierced through his wife. “Now come on! You know what, this is none of y’all’s business. You don’t want to keep prodding the bull here, okay? Now I am done talkin’. Come on!”

You cringed at his words, moving in front of Carol as he walked closer. He ignored you, reaching around to grab at her arm with a harsh grip. The embarrassment was clear on her face. He pulled, knocking your balance slightly off as he yanked Carol from behind you. Her shoulder crashed into yours, feet moving in a jumble over your own.

“No. No, Carol. You don’t have-”

Carol muttered something under her breath, ignoring Andrea.

Ed swung around, spitting in Carol’s face. “You don’t tell me what! I tell you what!” His grip tightened, jagged nails biting into the soft skin of her upper arm. She whimpered quietly at the force. He raised his hand, striking her against the face. Gasping, you caught her as she fell back, grabbing her reddening cheek.

Everyone clamoured; Andrea hitting and pushing him away, you cursing him as Carol started crying. She fell further into you, as you held her protectively, hauling her away from him.

Ed was pulled back and thrown to the ground, before being dragged by the back of his shirt. Shane threw him further into to the ground, before throwing a punch, and another straight after.

“No!” Carol cried, trying to get away. Shane kept throwing punches, more skin breaking every time his fist hit Ed’s face. Carol covered her mouth, body swaying.

“Shane, stop!” “Enough! Enough!” “Just stop!”

Shane stopped, pointing a finger in Ed’s swollen and bloodied face. “You put your hands on your wife, your little girl, or anybody else in this camp one more time, I will not stop next time. Do you hear me?” He grabbed Ed’s face, squishing it in the process. “Do you hear me?!”

Ed slurred, “Yes.”

Shane let go, pointing again. “I’ll beat you to death, Ed.” With one final punch, he stood, kicking the man on the ground and walking away.

“God!” Carol cried, using strength you had never seen from her before, to break from you, running over to her husband.

-

The tension in the camp was suffocating after that. There was a tiny victory after Andrea and Amy went fishing and brought back dinner, but it was short lived. Jim had been found digging graves, which disturbed a lot of you.

Night fell and everyone began eating the fish-fry.

You smiled at Sophia as she passed the pan of fish. She was well-mannered; all thanks to Carol. She was a shy girl, but became a seemingly different kid when she was around other kids. She found friends in a world that would probably take them away before you could blink. She, along with the other kids, didn’t understand what was out there, all of the bad. They held an innocence that would be demolished in front of your eyes.

“I gotta ask you, man. It’s been driving me crazy.” One of the men that you met in the city, Morales, spoke up, directing it at Dale.

“What?”

“That watch,” he pointed at the watch on Dale’s wrist.

Dale smiled, “What’s wrong with my watch?”

Morales continued, “I see you everyday, the same time, winding that thing like a village priest saying mass.”

“I’ve wondered this myself.” Jacqui smiled.

Dale threw his hands up playfully, “I’m missing the point.”

You looked between him and his watch, the fire casting a warm gleam over it, brightening the brown leather.

“Unless I've misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end. At least hit a speed bump for a good long while.” Jacqui shrugged her shoulders.

“But there’s you, everyday, winding that stupid watch.” Morales raised his eyebrows at the old man.

“Time- it’s important to keep track, isn’t it? The days, at least. Don’t you think, Andrea? Back me up here.”

They shared a knowing look, their faces glowing in the fire from where you sat. She sent him a seemingly warning glare, but his smile didn’t falter.

“I like- I like what, um, a father said to son when he gave him a watch that had been handed down through generations. He said “I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire, which will fit your individual needs no better than it did mine or my father’s before me; I give it to you not that you may remember time, not that you may forget it for a moment now and then, and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it.””

Huh,” Morales nodded at the answer, not really expecting it.

Everyone sat in silence around the fire, before Amy broke it, “You are so weird.”

Laughter echoed as you took a swig of beer. It wasn’t wine, but it wasn’t pure water so it would do.

“It’s not me. It’s Faulkner, William Faulkner.”

Amy rolled her eyes at Dale.

The older man chuckled, “Maybe my bad paraphrasing.”

Amy stood, walking away from the fire. Andrea stopped her, “Where are you going?”

“I have to pee.” The younger sister raised her brows, “Jeez, you try to be discreet around here.” She quickly walked off, toward the R.V.

Dale turned to you, “What about you? You fiddle with that on your wrist.” You looked down at the bulky thing around your wrist. “Was my dog’s collar.” Dale’s smile turned sad. While rushing out of your house, you had grabbed the collar from the leash you would walk her around the block with. Her name was embroidered; a gift from Daryl when he first surprised you with a puppy.

You tightened it into a bracelet, holding her memory close. Truthfully, you had forgotten about it being on your wrist. You didn’t notice how much you fidgeted with it. Dale did, when you were on watch with him.

You didn’t think about the dog for long.

The R.V door opened, and Amy stepped out. “We’re out of toilet paper?” She yelled. Before she could get an answer, a hand grabbed her forearm from behind the other side of the door. She stood in shock as a walker moved closer to her. She screamed, feeling the walker bite down.

Your head instantly snapped up, eyes growing wide at the sight. More walkers came from each direction, limping forward. Everyone screamed, jumping up. Parents grabbed their kids, others grabbed weapons. Gunshots echoed, making your ears ring. You were quick to instinctively reach for your gun. Unfortunately, that gun was still in Glenn’s bag with no bullets.

A hand on your shoulder had you swiveling around, pushing the walker that simply snarled at you. Pushing with all your strength, you didn’t wait for it to hit the ground before you were running.

Another walker stumbled toward you from behind, dirty nails digging into your skin. This walker was closer, a stench wafting into your nose before you could push it away. You tried, but from the angle in which the walker had grabbed you, you could only push its head away, fingers avoiding its snipping teeth.

You screamed, still hearing Shane unload his gun in the distance.

Andrea wailed, watching another walker bite a gash out of Amy’s shoulder, right where her neck meets it.

The grip tightened on you, making you hiss. Their nails were long and had the bite to prove it. One final hit had the walker staggering back, grip falling off. You turned, running toward the R.V, where Shane, Lori, Carol, Morales, and their families were. More gunfire rang out.

Making it to the vehicle, you turned back, seeing Daryl and the others coming out of the woods. He was the first out, head snapping in ebery direction. The other were soon to follow.

Daryl spotted you. He looked around, making sure no more walkers were around, before running toward you. Your bodies collided, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

He pulled back, “You hurt?”

“No, i don’t think- I don’t know.”

You were in shock, your jumbled words and wide eyes proving it. You couldn’t think. You rubbed where you were scratched.

In your time since the world ended, you had hidden in the top floor of a building. If you were ever met with danger, you always had a gun or knife handy.

Tonight, you were completely unprepared.

In the dark, you couldn't tell if the skin of your arm was broken. Clinging back to Daryl, you turned your head to where Andrea laid beside Amy. Blood pooled around them. Amy’s body went limp, sending Andrea to sobs. Closing your eyes tightly, you turned back to Daryl, pushing your face into his neck. He held you close, hiding the shake in his hands.

He had heard your scream.

That’s what had him running through the woods with only you in mind, leaving the other behind.

Part 3

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

Tags from the last chapter who wanted part 2: @notmirnda @vomiting-blood @i93jjk @multifandomfan @gaudesstuff @cymbalta-slut

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . Oscar Piastri can't help but gush about his girlfriend in every interview, effortlessly weaving you into his conversations with pride and admiration

( main naster list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

Oscar Piastri had a habit—one that everyone in the paddock noticed almost immediately. He couldn’t stop talking about his girlfriend. And not just in the offhand, casual way people might expect, like a passing mention here or there. No, when Oscar talked about you, it was like flipping a switch. His entire demeanor softened, his eyes lit up, and his words came tumbling out with an earnestness that left no room for doubt: he was absolutely, irrevocably smitten, and he made sure the world knew it.

It started innocently enough during an interview early in his rookie season. The journalist had asked about his study habits for learning new tracks, expecting a typical response about simulator hours or reviewing footage. But Oscar, with that easy grin of his, took a completely different direction. “I mean, I’ve seen how my girlfriend studies for her exams, so this should be pretty easy,” he said with a playful shrug. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he added, “She’s top of her class, by the way.” The pride in his voice was palpable, his expression glowing with admiration. The journalist couldn’t help but chuckle, already mentally jotting down notes to find out more about this mysterious academic powerhouse who clearly had Oscar wrapped around her finger.

And that was just the beginning.

During a fan stage Q&A, he managed to take things up a notch. A young fan asked how he stays calm under pressure, and Oscar didn’t even need a moment to think. He leaned into the mic, his face lighting up in that boyish, unfiltered way of his. “Oh, that’s easy. The other night, my girlfriend—she’s a top athlete, by the way—was prepping for this big event she had. Watching her manage everything so smoothly kind of puts my little race stress into perspective.”

The crowd’s reaction was immediate: a mix of cheers, laughter, and a collective ‘aww’ that made Oscar’s cheeks flush faintly. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, like he hadn’t just melted half the audience’s hearts with a single sentence. The sincerity in his tone was undeniable, and the moment was all the more charming because it was clear Oscar didn’t think he was doing anything out of the ordinary. He was just telling the truth, proud and in awe of you as always.

But even then, he wasn’t done. “Honestly,” he added with a laugh, “if I handled pressure half as well as she does, I’d be unstoppable.” It was a line delivered with such casual reverence that it didn’t just make the fans smile—it left them convinced that Oscar Piastri wasn’t just a rising star in Formula 1; he was also a contender for the title of world’s best boyfriend.

Then there was the time he was caught on McLaren’s YouTube channel, unabashedly gushing about how much he loved going shopping with you. It started as a casual behind-the-scenes segment—just Oscar and Lando killing time between commitments. But when the topic of hobbies came up, Oscar’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“No, seriously,” he began, animatedly waving his hands as Lando looked at him like he’d lost the plot. “She’s got this incredible eye for things. Like, we’ll walk into a store, and she’ll just pick something up and instantly know it’s perfect. I don’t even know how she does it.”

Lando, ever the mischief-maker, raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your contribution to this magical shopping experience?”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “I…carry the bags,” he said with a proud grin. “It’s a good system.”

Lando snorted, muttering, “Golden retriever boyfriend,” under his breath, fully expecting Oscar to deny it. But Oscar, in his usual laid-back way, just shrugged and smiled wider. “I mean, if the shoe fits.” The clip went viral almost instantly, with fans agreeing that if there were ever a category for Boyfriend of the Year, Oscar was already a shoo-in.

Then, there was the time during a press junket when a reporter asked him about his organization skills. The question was meant to highlight how drivers juggle their packed schedules, but Oscar’s response was anything but rehearsed.

He laughed, a warm, self-deprecating sound that filled the room. “Honestly, I would’ve been doomed yesterday if my girlfriend hadn’t reminded me about something I forgot. She’s the organized one in the relationship. I just…drive cars fast and hope for the best.”

The room burst into laughter, a few reporters exchanging amused glances at his candidness. But Oscar just grinned, his expression softening with the unmistakable fondness that always seemed to creep into his voice when he talked about you.

“It’s true,” he added with a shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to openly admit just how much he relied on you. And that was the magic of Oscar Piastri—his genuine, unabashed love for you turned even the simplest of conversations into something that felt warm and unforgettable.

Even in the most casual conversations with fans, you always managed to find your way into the spotlight through Oscar’s words. Like the time a fan brought him a book about racing during an autograph session. He accepted it with a warm smile, flipping through the pages for a moment before looking up. “Oh, my girlfriend loves reading,” he said, almost absentmindedly but with so much fondness it felt deliberate. “She’ll probably finish this before I do and then give me all the highlights. Saves me time.”

The fan giggled, clearly charmed, while the rest of the queue exchanged knowing smiles. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, like mentioning you was the most natural thing in the world. And for Oscar, it was.

Then there was the post-race interview after one of his toughest performances. He’d started the race in a dismal qualifying position, clawing his way through the pack to secure points in a way that left commentators breathless. By the time he reached the interview pen, his suit was damp with sweat, and exhaustion painted his features. But even then, the familiar warmth of his smile made an appearance as he approached the mic.

“You know,” he began, his voice still catching its breath but steady, “I think a big part of getting through today was remembering something my girlfriend told me.” His words were met with curious expressions from the reporters, who leaned in just a little closer. “She’s amazing at staying positive no matter what, and she’s always reminding me to focus on what I can control.”

He paused for a second, his gaze drifting toward the camera as if he was speaking directly to you. “So, yeah, this one’s for her.”

The sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt. This wasn’t just an offhand mention or a fleeting thought. You weren’t just his girlfriend in name or title—you were his anchor. The way he spoke of you wasn’t just endearing; it was grounding, a reflection of how much you truly meant to him. 

One of the sweetest displays of Oscar’s affection unfolded during a behind-the-scenes McLaren vlog. The team had been filming some candid moments during a break, and the camera panned to Oscar sitting in a corner, scrolling through his phone. His expression was soft, his lips curved into a barely-there smile. Then, as if remembering something, he nudged Lando, who was lounging next to him.

“Oh, look, my girlfriend,” Oscar said, holding up his phone. His voice was tinged with a quiet kind of excitement, like he’d discovered a hidden treasure he couldn’t wait to share. The camera zoomed in just enough to catch the sparkle in his eyes as he looked at the photo. “She sent me this earlier. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Lando let out an exaggerated groan, flopping dramatically against the couch. “Mate, you’re insufferable,” he muttered, though the amused grin on his face betrayed him. “Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it comes to her,” Oscar replied without missing a beat, his smile growing wider as he looked at the picture one more time before carefully locking his phone.

The clip went viral within hours of the vlog’s release. Fans couldn’t get over how sweet—and utterly smitten—Oscar was. Comments flooded in, praising his open adoration and dubbing him the “ultimate golden retriever boyfriend.”

But for those who knew him, this was just Oscar being himself. No matter where he was or what he was doing, you were always on his mind. And he made sure everyone around him knew just how proud he was to call you his. Whether it was your achievements, your quirks, or simply the way you lit up his life, Oscar never stopped finding ways to weave you into the conversation.

It wasn’t just about the words he said, though. It was the way he said them—with genuine admiration, unwavering pride, and a love so pure it could light up the entire paddock. His tone softened when he spoke about you, his expression grew warmer, and his smile turned just a little brighter.

If Oscar Piastri was the golden retriever boyfriend the world had come to adore, then you were undoubtedly his favorite human, his everything, the one who made all his happiest stories worth telling.

The atmosphere was electric at the Yas Marina Circuit, the tension so palpable it could’ve powered the floodlights. It was the last Grand Prix of the season, and everything was on the line for McLaren—the Constructors' Championship title hung in the balance. Among the sea of orange and black, you stood out—not just because you were there to support Oscar Piastri, but because you radiated an energy that seemed to magnetize the young driver to your side.

From the moment you both arrived on Thursday for media day, fans couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in your personalities. Oscar, always reserved and thoughtful, seemed content to let you take the lead, his quiet confidence complimented by your vibrant presence. When a fan asked how you two had met, you lit up with a mischievous smile.

“I adopted him when we were in school,” you said, glancing fondly at Oscar, who was shyly smiling at the ground. “I guess he just stuck to my side.”

Oscar, standing beside you, squeezed your hand in his as he chuckled. “Well, it’s hard not to stick to you. You kind of pull people in.”

Throughout the weekend, Oscar was a picture of quiet affection. Whether it was holding your hand, wrapping an arm around you, or resting his chin on your head during quieter moments, his touch was constant. Fans caught glimpses of him whispering things to you that made you laugh, your bubbly personality clearly rubbing off on him in the best ways.

When race day arrived, the stakes were high, and Oscar’s nerves were evident. But even after a dramatic first-lap collision with Max Verstappen that caused him to spin out and drop down the grid, you were still cheering for him like he’d just secured pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waved, McLaren had done it—they’d secured the Constructors' Championship. Despite Oscar’s rocky race, you were beaming with pride as he pulled into the pit lane. Seeing your smile waiting for him made every frustration of the day vanish from his mind.

After the podium celebrations for the team, a surprising transformation unfolded. Your extroverted energy seemed to seep into Oscar as if he’d caught your enthusiasm like a contagious laugh. Gone was the usual quiet and composed Oscar. In his place was a driver buzzing with excitement, grinning from ear to ear as he darted around the paddock.

He didn’t just take pictures with the team; he orchestrated them like a director at a photo shoot. “Lando, get over here! And grab that trophy!” he called, dragging his teammate into a chaotic group photo. When Lando least expected it, Oscar grabbed a bottle of leftover champagne and sprayed him without mercy, laughing so hard he had to lean on you for balance.

“You’re ridiculous!” you teased, wiping the champagne splatter off your face.

Oscar grinned wickedly. “Oh, am I now?” Before you could react, he turned the champagne on you, spraying it in a gleeful arc. You squealed, half-laughing, half-shouting as the fizzy liquid soaked your hair and clothes.

“Oscar!”

He set the bottle down and pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek as if that would make up for it. “You look even better drenched in champagne,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. His giggles, boyish and utterly unguarded, filled the space between you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as you ruffled his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The two of you stood there in the middle of the celebration, drenched in champagne and surrounded by the joyous chaos of the team. Oscar looked at you, his face softening. “I couldn’t have done this without you, you know. Even when it’s rough, you make it all worth it.”

You smiled up at him, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what.”

[tender-rosiey]

smack, smack — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: special thanks to the beautiful @stinkyme for inspiring me to actually write this and for fangirling over the idea with me <3

gojo satoru, like any dad, got his fair share of ‘bullying’ from his daughter, his 5 months old baby.

some dads get peed on, others get their hair pulled, and others get their nose bitten on the daily. it's a little something to make them suffer a bit like the mothers had to during the pregnancy.

your husband, however, is always getting smacked in the face whenever he has his blindfold on, and I mean harshly smacked in the face and unforgiving scratching.

the first time it happened was when he was going to school. he was ready, uniform on and everything, but he simply had to say goodbye to his two girls.

skipping to your shared bedroom, he placed two big smooches on your face. then, after much of pulling him off you, he went to smooch his little girl. a big unmatched grin was on his face as he looked down at her in her crib.

he picked her up, cooing softly at her, “what a pretty girl, just as pretty as your mama, huh?”

satoru then laid her gently against his chest and started rocking her softly, while humming. after a while, he felt her stir a little in his arms. she sleepily looks up at him, and he smiles down at her, “good morning, baby—“

now, your daughter was used to seeing her dad without the blindfold. she was used to getting met by her dad's bright blue eyes.

so when a strange unknown man was holding her up instead of her papa, she started wailing and screaming, repeatedly smacking him in the face.

whenever her little—strong—hand landed on the blindfold, she would try to pull it off with all her baby might. you scrambled out of your bed at the loud screeches and screams of both your husband and your daughter.

you saw how satoru was desperately trying to, as gently as possible, make her release her grip. you stumbled on your words, before yelling, “your blindfold! take off your blindfold off!”

“I! am! trying!” he yelps as she continues slapping the hell out of his face.

you hurry and take his blindfold off, swiftly throwing it to the side. he started rocking her, smiling despite the red marks and scratches all over his handsome face, “it’s me, daddy! you see me?”

almost magically, your daughter calmed down in an instant with the occasional hiccup from her previous crying. he smiled, “there you go; that’s my girl.”

she gently made grabby hands at him, and he quickly pulled her back into his chest. your daughter instantly snuggled into his shoulder and hid her face in his neck.

you stared at him for a moment, “well, at least we know that she bloody hates that blindfold.”

it honestly kind of adds up.

you remember the many times that your daughter was generally distressed or fussy and instantly calmed down when she saw her dad’s eyes. you also remember that one time your daughter was actually zoning out while looking at satoru’s eyes, her own safe place.

satoru chuckles with a shrug, “I have you as my savior, anyway.”

“you can’t always count on me to be the one to save you from our daughter’s monstrously strong grip.”

and he can’t.

no one is brave enough to try and to fight back a baby, let alone the strongest sorcerer’s baby.

that attack happens way more than satoru would like. for example, whenever you’re busy, he takes his little princess to the school with him. in general, everyone helps in taking care of the little angel (devil in some cases).

however, god forbid she sees satoru coming back from a mission with his blindfold on.

it took some time for your husband to learn his lesson and immediately take his blindfold off before he entered the school. until then, he was prone to his daughter’s crazy strong hand smacking his face till his entire face is painted red and not the cute kind.

satoru never believed in his students to save him, except for yuuji. the first time it happened around the students, most of them were either laughing or speechless.

yuuji did try to save his sensei from his smacking machine of a daughter, but ended up getting smacked himself.

your husband did hope that, maybe, nanami’s heart would soften, and he would finally help him.

nanami’s heart did soften, just not for satoru. instead, your daughter now has a special soft spot in nanami’s heart, as he did in hers, but that isn’t our topic for today.

the amount of times you would enter the room to find nanami chuckling or smiling at your husband getting beaten to a pulp by your baby. satoru could be sobbing, “nanami, please! save me!”

and nanami would simply smile—sadistically—and hum, “I don’t think I will.”

you’re pretty sure that nanami believes this is god’s way of punishing your husband for all the mischief he caused.

ignoring that, it grips your heart how satoru’s face would brighten up the moment he saw you. he would run up to you, giving you the baby to calm her down while he gives his face a rest.

and your little girl was smiling and giving you her version of cheek kisses.

your husband recovered quickly though, and took her back, his blindfold finally off. he doesn’t do it without pecking your lips though, “my savior.”     

then he gets lost in his own world with his little girl, and their laughs and giggles filled the room. her hands were gently holding her dad’s face as she squeals, and satoru’s heart soars as he forgets about his beating from a moment ago.

now, that doesn’t mean that his dear students don’t make fun of him for always losing against his little girl. during one of the recent teasings, he simply huffed, “you never tried the grip of a baby! tell them, yuuji!”

yuuji shudders as he remembers how long the slap mark lasted, “she is one hell of a strong baby.”

it’s one thing for panda and nobara to laugh, it’s another for megumi and maki to do so as well. your husband’s ego simply couldn’t take it anymore. he took his baby in his arms and gathered the baby bags, sparing one last glance at his ‘bullies’.

and so your husband dramatically exits the room, “I need my wife! I can’t with you people anymore!”

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

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[bueckersworld]

GOOD WITH HER HANDS

SYNOPSIS: paige is always true to her word—“yknow i’m good with my hands.”

WARNINGS: smut - mdni, fluff, umm idk if there’s anything else, but comment if you notice something! continuation of WHISPER

WORD COUNT: 2.4k. info. masterlist. taglist.

────୨ৎ────

the day was chaos. from back-to-back interviews to nonstop teasing from your teammates, you felt like you were constantly trying to dodge sly grins and side-eyes. every time you looked up, someone was whispering, nudging, or flat-out laughing. you swore even the hotel staff looked at you funny when you walked through the lobby.

but paige? paige was thriving.

she never let go of that smug smile. the kind that made you want to kiss her and smack her at the same time. and somehow, even after a whirlwind of attention, she never seemed rattled. if anything, she looked energized by it. and every time your eyes met across a room, her expression darkened just a little—like she was still holding onto that promise from last night.

and you hadn’t forgotten. not for a second.

so when the night finally settled and the team filtered off to their rooms, paige found you near the elevator, her championship hoodie slung over her shoulder, curls damp from a shower, face glowing under the dim lobby lights.

“room 1205,” she whispered as she brushed past you, just barely grazing her fingers along your hand. “don’t keep me waiting.”

your heart skipped. maybe two beats.

you tried to act calm, tried to look unfazed as you gave your teammates a quick wave and told them you were turning in. but your fingers were trembling when you tapped the elevator button, and your stomach felt like it was twisting into tight little knots of anticipation and nerves.

by the time you reached the twelfth floor, your skin was buzzing.

you hesitated outside the room for a moment, swallowing hard before you finally knocked.

the door opened almost instantly.

paige stood there in a uconn hoodie and black basketball shorts that clung to her hips. her blonde hair was down, loose and slightly messy, and she was barefoot, looking both impossibly casual and dangerously inviting.

“hey, superstar,” she said, leaning against the doorframe with that same cocky glint in her eye. “you get tired of being famous yet?”

“so tired,” you muttered, stepping inside as she moved aside. “can’t go five minutes without someone mentioning that damn video.”

“mm,” she hummed, shutting the door behind you. “they’re just jealous.”

you turned around to face her, arms crossed loosely. “jealous of what?”

paige raised a brow, walking toward you slowly. “jealous they don’t get to hear you scream their name.”

you groaned, heat rushing to your face. “paige, come on—”

“what?” she said innocently, stopping in front of you. “i meant during basketball. obviously.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto your lips. she was impossible.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and you,” she said, stepping even closer, her hands finding your waist, “are beautiful.”

you swallowed thickly, her closeness turning everything inside you to static. “paige…”

her hands slid around to your lower back, pulling you into her. “i wasn’t kidding, you know,” she whispered against your ear. “last night. what i said.”

your breath caught again.

you could feel the heat radiating off her. her lips brushed your jaw, featherlight, and her hands wandered—slowly, deliberately—over the curve of your hips.

“i’ve been thinking about it all day,” she murmured, voice low and sinful. “how i’m gonna back it up.”

you shivered.

your hands found the hem of her shirt, fingers curling in the soft cotton as your forehead pressed to hers. “is this your idea of celebrating?”

“mhmm,” she said, nose nuzzling yours. “and you’re the confetti.”

you laughed despite yourself, a breathy, nervous sound. “that’s so corny.”

“you love it.”

you did.

you loved every stupid, smug, infuriating thing about her.

and she knew it.

she leaned in and kissed you, slow and soft at first—just enough to make you lean into her. then deeper, more urgent, like she was tasting victory all over again. your fingers gripped her shirt tighter as her mouth moved against yours, all heat and promise, and your body melted into hers like instinct.

it wasn’t long before she was backing you toward the bed, her kisses growing bolder, more possessive.

“still embarrassed?” she asked between kisses, her voice dropping.

“mortified,” you breathed.

she smirked. “good. let’s make it worse.”

your laugh was swallowed by her mouth.

and in that moment, with the championship trophy sitting somewhere miles away, and the internet still laughing at your expense, none of it mattered. not when paige was here, holding you like you were her real prize.

and this time, there were no cameras.

no mics.

no teammates.

just you and her, and the silence waiting to be broken.

your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, paige hovering above you, eyes dark with desire.

you broke away from her lips just long enough to tug her hoodie over her head, barely catching your breath before she was on you again—kissing you like a woman starved, devouring you like you were her last meal.

her mouth traveled along your jaw, then to the curve of your neck. your fingers tangled in her hair as you gasped.

“so pretty…” she murmured against your skin, grazing it with her teeth before soothing the bite with her tongue. her hands slid up under your shirt, the chill of her fingers making you shiver.

“paige…” you breathed out, your voice trembling. she pulled your shirt up and over your head, the sudden exposure to cool air sending goosebumps across your skin. her gaze roamed hungrily over you, drinking in every inch.

“god,” she whispered, eyes locked on yours. “look at you… absolutely beautiful.”

her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she reached behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. she peeled the straps down your arms and let it fall somewhere behind her.

“paige, c’mon… please,” you whispered, desperate and aching, still clutching at her hair as you pulled her closer.

“patience, baby. i got you,” she whispered back, her voice low and reassuring. her fingers toyed with the waistband of your pants, tugging and letting it snap softly against your skin.

you groaned in frustration, your body flushed and ready. she only laughed, low and teasing.

“alright, alright…” she murmured, finally sliding your pants down your legs, your underwear following.

she took a moment, just watching you, her smirk growing wider.

“this wet already?” she teased, her hands gliding over your thighs. “been thinkin’ about this too, huh?”

you couldn’t even speak—your breath caught in your throat as she gently pushed your legs up and apart, sinking to her knees between them.

her thumb pressed to your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

you whimpered. “paige, please…”

and then—no warning—her mouth was on you. her tongue slid through your folds, relentless and greedy, like she’d been waiting forever for this moment.

your back arched off the bed, a loud moan escaping as she found every right spot without hesitation. one hand yanked at her hair while the other clenched the sheets beneath you.

it only got more intense when she slid two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly, smirking against your skin when you cried out.

“oh fuck—” you gasped, your thighs threatening to close around her head, but her free hand pinned you down.

she switched between slow, tantalizing flicks of her tongue and rough, desperate sucks to your clit. you were drowning in pleasure, moaning like you couldn’t breathe without it.

“paige—oh my god…” you whimpered, your hips bucking up to meet her mouth. you were delirious, her name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“c’mon, baby,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, her voice thick with lust. “gimme all of it.”

she pumped her fingers faster, curling them just right. your hips moved with her rhythm, chasing the edge until it slammed into you—sudden and overwhelming.

your back arched, your eyes squeezed shut as you cried out, her fingers dragging you through it, coaxing out every last wave of release.

“fuck…” paige breathed, finally easing her fingers out. she watched as your slick dripped down, then lifted her hand to her mouth, sucking her fingers clean—never breaking eye contact.

your cheeks burned with heat, breath still shaky.

she wasn’t kidding when she said she was good with her hands.

the night was a blur, filled with soft kisses and whispers from paige to you.

⸻

sunlight was barely peeking through the thin curtains when you stirred.

you weren’t sure what woke you—the warmth of the room, the faint hum of the air vent, or maybe just the steady heartbeat beneath your cheek. either way, you were cocooned in something impossibly soft and still, the world outside muffled and far away.

paige’s arm was slung over your waist, heavy and possessive, her hand resting against your bare skin like it belonged there. your legs were tangled together under the sheets, your body completely wrapped in hers, as if even in sleep, she couldn’t bear to let you go.

her breathing was slow and even, her chest rising and falling in rhythm. she was out cold, lips slightly parted, hair messy and fanned out across the pillow. you smiled to yourself, gently tracing your fingers across her ribs, careful not to wake her.

last night was still buzzing through your body—ghosts of touches, the echo of her voice, the way she looked at you like you were everything. and now, in the soft glow of morning, it felt even more real.

like it wasn’t just heat and want.

it was this.

quiet, tangled, close.

safe.

you shifted slightly to get a better look at her, and she stirred, brows twitching before her eyes fluttered open just a sliver. she squinted against the light, then blinked at you, bleary and slow.

“mm,” she hummed, voice rough with sleep. “you’re still here.”

you snorted. “that a surprise?”

“a good one.” she tightened her arm around you, burying her face in your neck. “i thought maybe you’d sneak out and escape the teasing.”

“i considered it,” you teased, stroking your hand through her hair. “but you’re warm. and i like your bed.”

“my bed is a hotel mattress with questionable sheets.”

“yeah,” you whispered, “but you’re in it.”

that earned you a soft laugh, muffled by your skin.

she pulled back just enough to look at you. her eyes were sleepy, but so clear. like she was really seeing you for the first time today, and maybe every time before.

“you okay?” she asked quietly, fingertips brushing along your spine.

you nodded, biting your bottom lip to hide your grin. “better than okay.”

“good,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “you deserve to feel good.”

you exhaled, your chest rising into hers. “you always talk like that?”

“like what?”

“like i’m fragile.”

“you’re not,” she said immediately, firm. “but you’re mine. so i care.”

your heart squeezed.

god, she always knew how to say the one thing that cracked you wide open.

you leaned in, pressing a lazy kiss to her jaw, then another one just beneath her ear. “you’re soft in the mornings.”

“shh,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut again. “don’t ruin my rep.”

“too late. i’m telling the whole team.”

she groaned. “you’re evil.”

“you love it.”

“unfortunately.”

you both laid there for a while longer, limbs tangled and breaths syncing. there was no rush to move, no place you’d rather be. even the thought of breakfast or the inevitable team group chat roasting you again didn’t bother you as much as it should’ve.

paige shifted onto her back, bringing you with her so your head rested on her chest. her fingers absentmindedly traced along your arm, drawing little patterns into your skin.

“do you think anyone heard?” you asked after a moment.

“they definitely heard.”

you groaned and buried your face in her.

she laughed softly. “don’t worry, they’re just jealous.”

“you already used that line.”

“because it’s true.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading across your cheeks.

“you know they’re never gonna let us live that video down,” you muttered. “i might actually die.”

“no, you won’t,” paige said, lifting your chin so you’d look at her. “you’ll survive. i’ll protect you.”

you gave her a look. “you’re the reason the video exists.”

“and i’d do it again.”

you glared, but she leaned in and kissed the pout right off your lips, slow and sweet, until you melted into her all over again.

you pulled away just enough to whisper, “you’re dangerous.”

“i know,” she whispered back. “but you’re safe with me.”

your heart did a backflip.

it was stupid how easy she made you feel things—like your entire chest was too small for what you were holding.

“can we just… stay here?” you asked, voice small.

“all day,” she promised, running her fingers through your hair. “they can win the parade without us.”

“yeah,” you yawned, already sinking deeper into her. “we’ve won enough.”

paige smiled, watching you curl into her side, your breaths slowing.

“sleep,” she murmured, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and neither were you.

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ first smut!!! idk how i feel about it but yall let me know what yall think!!! ahhhhh

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠٫ 𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎..

🏷️: @shikaizer @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround

[linoxpudding]

Intern (Pt 3)- Lee Know

summary: you pull away to protect your heart, but minho is left feeling trapped in a storm of guilt and emotions he can’t name, a stage collab between Stray Kids and SEVENTEEN brings new chaos—especially when one of their members starts showing interest in you

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5979 words

a/n: any carats here? alsoo buckle up for some love triangle drama 👀

Intern Series: Part One Part Two Part Four

~°~

The air in the game room was still heavy when Hyunjin barged in.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward him—Chan’s brows furrowed instantly, as if he already knew. Changbin was mid-sip of beer. Seungmin was quiet, almost tense. And Minho… Minho stood there with the pool cue still in his hand, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“What did you say to her?” Hyunjin asked, voice low and sharp.

Minho blinked. “What?”

“You said something,” Hyunjin pressed. “She looked like someone kicked her heart in. What the hell did you say to her?”

Minho’s jaw clenched.

“I didn’t say anything to her.”

Chan set his drink down with a soft clink, sensing where this was going. “Hyunjin,” he said carefully, “let’s not do this here—”

“No,” Hyunjin cut in, eyes never leaving Minho. “Not until he tells me what he said.”

Seungmin shifted uncomfortably, looking away. Changbin opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Nobody wanted to be the one to say it out loud.

Minho’s lips parted like he was searching for the right words. “She overheard something that wasn’t meant for her.”

“So you’re saying it’s her fault?” Hyunjin snapped. “Tell me what she heard. Now.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Minho looked away.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” he muttered. “She wasn’t supposed to hear that.”

Hyunjin’s laugh was short and humorless. “So you did say something.”

Chan stepped in fast. “Okay. Enough. Let’s calm down, we will talk about this later.”

But Hyunjin ignored him, stepping closer. “She adores you, you know that? She goes out of her way for you. Always.”

“I didn’t ask for her feelings,” Minho said defensively.

“No, but you let them grow.” Hyunjin’s voice had dropped to a near-whisper now. “You let her believe there was something there. You let her get close just to push her away.”

Chan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “This isn’t helping anyone right now.”

“She didn’t even cry in front of me,” Hyunjin said suddenly. His voice was softer now, haunted almost. “She just said she wanted to be alone. You know how rare that is for her?”

Minho swallowed hard.

“She always shows up,” Hyunjin continued. “Always. With a smile. Even when she’s exhausted. Even when she’s hurting. She’s the sunshine in every room, and tonight she left looking like it’d been drained out of her.”

Minho didn’t respond.

Chan rested a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Come on. Let it go for tonight.”

Hyunjin glanced at Chan, then at Changbin and Seungmin—both of whom looked like they wanted to disappear.

And finally, his eyes returned to Minho.

He didn’t say another word.

He just walked out.

*******************

Your apartment was too quiet.

You’d kicked your shoes off at the door and sunk into the couch still fully dressed. The light from the hallway crept in, soft and golden, but nothing about it felt warm.

You stared at the ceiling, trying to let the silence soothe you, but your brain wouldn’t stop.

“She’s always laughing too loud…”

“…hovering around me…”

“…I just want peace…”

You curled your fingers into the blanket draped across your lap.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before. The possibility that maybe you were imagining it all. That maybe the lingering glances and the rare, softened smiles were just crumbs you’d blown into meaning more than they ever were.

Maybe you’d been reading too much into his quiet presence, mistaking silence for something intimate. 

How foolish you’d been to think someone like him—the rockstar who had the world in his palms, effortlessly charming and adored by so many—would ever fall for someone like you. A normal intern, just trying to make a name for herself, trying to set her career in motion while she scrambled for every opportunity. You weren’t special enough to be his.

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. Maybe you had made up a story in your head about the way he looked at you. Maybe the moments you thought were quiet confessionals were just him being kind. Maybe it was your heart that had been too eager, too hopeful. You should’ve known better than to read between the lines. You should’ve known better than to think there was more. 

It was stupid, really. To even consider that someone like Minho could see you the way you’d been hoping for. You sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling deep in your chest.

It was time to move on. To forget the version of him you had created in your mind. You were grateful that at least you had the next two days off.

You needed space.

From him. From the boys. From everything.

Your phone buzzed softly beside you, its screen lighting up in the dim room. You didn’t reach for it. It buzzed again and again. Without meaning to, your gaze flicked toward the phone.

The lock screen was cluttered now with text notifications from Chan and Hyunjin. You didn’t need to open them to know what they said. But you didn’t feel like replying.

Not tonight.

You turned your phone face-down on the table, the light vanishing like a curtain being drawn shut.

The silence settled in again.

*******************

You returned to work two days later, a little more composed on the outside, a little more cracked on the inside.

The building felt the same—same coffee smell lingering in the halls, same distant hum of voices echoing from practice rooms. But to you, everything felt different. Colder. Sharper.

You greeted staff with soft smiles and polite nods. When you walked into the practice room where the boys were gathered for schedule rundown, you could feel Minho’s eyes flick toward you immediately. But you didn’t meet them. You didn’t even pause.

Just a quiet, “Morning,” to the room, and then straight to your spot beside the manager.

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes from across the room. He didn’t say anything at first, just kept glancing between you and Minho, like he was trying to read something in the silence.

“Y/N!” Chan greeted first, his voice warm, eyes scanning your face a little too carefully.

You smiled politely. “Hey. Sorry I was just relaxing in the break, couldn’t text you.”

“No worries at all,” he said. “Glad you’re back.”

Felix offered you a hug almost immediately. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just needed some time.”

He didn’t push. Neither did Changbin, who shot you a reassuring look from the mirror as your mentor briefed everyone on today’s plan. Han, however, was silent — his eyes never left your face.

You stayed focused on your clipboard, scribbling notes, pretending your heart wasn’t thudding painfully in your chest when Minho laughed at something Chan said. You didn’t look at him. Not once. Not even when he cleared his throat like he wanted to say something—something directed at you.

You caught sight of him again later that day as you stepped into the main practice room.

He was sitting by the far wall, hoodie sleeves pushed up, fingers tapping absently on his thigh like he was waiting for time to pass. You expected him to ignore you completely.

But he looked up.

And for a split second, your eyes met and you saw something passed through his gaze. Guilt? Relief? You didn’t know. You didn’t care to find out.

You turned away before he could speak.

You stayed locked in your bubble. Quiet. Unbothered. Untouchable.

At least on the outside.

But you felt it, the way his eyes followed you across the room. The pause in his step when you were talking to Seungmin.

*******************

The tension built slowly, stretching over the hours like an invisible thread. You could feel Hyunjin watching you more than usual, hovering closer, lingering a beat longer than necessary whenever he passed by.

It all came to a head during a quick break in the hallway. You were jotting notes beside the vending machine when Hyunjin slipped beside you and muttered lowly, “Why are you avoiding him?”

You stiffened.

“Hyunjin…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he cut in, voice firmer now, eyes flickering with restrained frustration. “I heard what happened. I heard what he said. And now you’re walking around like you’re the one who needs to apologize?”

You glanced around nervously. The hallway was empty, but walls here always had ears.

“Please,” you said quietly, tugging him by the sleeve into the empty prop room beside the hallway. “Just listen for a second.”

He crossed his arms, lips pressed into a line.

You swallowed hard. “I crossed a boundary. I did. I assumed things that weren’t there. I was too loud, too much. I read into glances and made up something in my head. That’s on me.”

Hyunjin started to shake his head, but you raised a hand, stopping him gently.

“I just…” You looked away, ashamed. “I don’t want my mistake—my stupidity—to mess up your friendship with him. Please don’t let it. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Y/N—”

“No, really. It’s okay,” you whispered, eyes glossy now, but your voice steady. “I’ll be okay.”

He stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled slowly.

“You’re not stupid,” he said finally, softly. “You’re just someone who cared.”

You gave him a sad smile. “Still feels stupid.”

*******************

Meanwhile, Minho was going through a range of emotions.

At first, it felt like relief.

You weren’t laughing around him. You weren’t hovering in the corners of rooms he was in. You weren’t looking at him like he was the sun and the stars and the whole damn sky.

At first, it felt like peace.

But then… it didn’t.

It felt like quiet in all the wrong ways.

He started catching himself glancing up, expecting to find you already looking—only to find your gaze elsewhere. Or worse, nowhere near him at all.

He noticed how your usual energy—the way you brightened the room even when you weren’t trying—had dulled. How you laughed with the other staff, but never like before. How you moved around him like he wasn’t even there.

It didn’t feel like peace. It felt like absence.

He tried to remind himself this was what he wanted. No more hovering. No more warmth. Just peace. 

But somewhere around day three of your silence, Minho realized, that the thing he thought he wanted—the distance, the quiet, the “peace”—felt a hell of a lot like regret. It felt like missing someone who was sitting six feet away.

*******************

You were bent over a mannequin, hands steady as you carefully pinned lace detailing along the hem of Jeongin’s blazer. It was for an upcoming shoot—classic, structured, and clean with delicate pearl accents and subtle embroidery near the lapels.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the iron steamer behind you and the occasional buzz of messages from someone’s forgotten phone.

Han entered the room and sat down quietly on the low bench near you, elbows on his knees, fingers drumming lightly against his thigh.

At first, he didn’t speak.

He just watched.

Watched the way your fingers moved with careful precision as you sewed the last pearl into place. Watched the way you paused to make sure the symmetry was perfect before nodding to yourself, reaching for a steamer cloth like you were trying to keep your mind on anything but the tension that had followed you into every room lately.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You glanced at him. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been tired for four days.”

You looked down at the brush in your hand.

Han exhaled, voice lowering. “I heard what happened. At the party.”

You paused.

He continued. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. Even though he’s my best friend—that was no way to talk about you. Or treat you.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you capped the compact. You nodded once. “Thanks.”

“I’m not gonna defend him. I know he’s being stupid,” Han added. “I just wanted you to hear it from me, too. You didn’t deserve that.”

You smiled a little, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I appreciate it, Jisung.”

He gave your arm a gentle squeeze before standing up. “I won’t push. Just… if you ever need someone to vent to, I’m around.”

And with that, he was gone.

But your heart was a little less heavy.

*******************

The days passed differently. You didn’t joke with Han while fixing his collar. You didn’t poke Hyunjin’s side when he yawned. You didn’t glance at Minho when you walked past him.

You were strictly professional. Straight-backed. Eyes on task.

And everyone noticed.

Hyunjin pulled you aside once, in the hallway near the breakroom.

“You’re not… yourself,” he said gently.

“I’m just working,” you replied. “Isn’t that what I’m here to do?”

He frowned but let you go.

Inside the practice room, Minho found himself fidgeting.

He kept stealing glances — wondering why the room suddenly felt too still, why his hoodie felt too warm, why he missed the sound of your laughter and the dumb jokes you used to throw his way.

“Dude,” Han muttered, nudging him. “You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes. You good?”

Minho blinked, realizing he had been staring — watching as you pinned a tag to a jacket and adjusted the neckline with those same gentle fingers that used to tug on his sleeve just to annoy him.

He looked away.

You stopped showing up to group dinners. Stopped responding to memes in the shared chat. When Hyunjin texted about game night, you replied two hours later with a soft “Sorry, not tonight.”

You were polite. Kind, even. But cold.

There was no more lingering in doorways. No more snacks you left behind for the staff after long nights. You clocked in, did your job perfectly, and disappeared before anyone could ask if you were okay.

Guilt was eating away Minho, it was all his fault. He hated how quiet you were now. How you moved around the room like a stranger wearing the same face. How you didn’t flinch when he brushed past you anymore. How your smile—once warm and open and full of light—was now a carefully measured line that never reached your eyes.

He noticed every single time you declined an invite.

And what he hated most… was that you meant it.

You weren’t pretending to be busy. You weren’t waiting for him to chase after you. You’d really let go. And it was driving him insane. But he didn’t understand why…

This is what he wanted, right?

Silence. Space. Distance.

This was exactly what he’d been hoping for, wasn’t it?

Then why did it feel like he couldn’t breathe?

*******************

The collaborative stage between Stray Kids and Seventeen was announced with massive buzz. Special unit stages. Joint dance breaks. Concept photos. Interviews. Fans were eating it up before rehearsals even began.

You were roped in to help with styling for the final shoot and early rehearsals. It wasn’t your usual team, but your mentor had vouched for you personally—said you had the right eye, the right attention to detail.

And that’s when you met Kim Mingyu.

Tall, charming, all radiant smiles and easy laughter. He’d walked into the fitting room in an oversized hoodie and black sweats, hair pushed back with a clip, and shot you a grin that nearly made you forget your own name.

“Hey,” he said, offering his hand. “You’re Y/N, right? I’ve heard about you.”

You blinked. “From…?”

“Scoups, my team leader,” he said casually. “Says you’re terrifying when you’re in focus mode. He saw you during the initial discussion with the manager and Bang Chan.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “I’m not terrifying.”

“I dunno,” he teased, eyeing the tiny pin cushion on your wrist. “I’ve seen those weapons before.”

You smirked, setting your clipboard down. “You’re not scared of a few needles, are you?”

Mingyu leaned in slightly, grin widening. “I’m scared of a lot of things. You’re just not one of them.”

And Minho walked in right then. Minho paused at the doorway.

Your back was to him. Mingyu was leaning in close—too close. You were laughing, that soft, genuine kind of laugh Minho hadn’t heard from you in weeks.

It made something in his chest crack.

The air around him changed. He walked into the room with a little too much presence, like he was daring someone to look at him. Mingyu glanced over, eyebrows lifting in recognition.

“Oh, hey,” Mingyu greeted. “Lee Know, right?”

“Minho,” he corrected coolly.

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t acknowledge him. Your attention on Mingyu.

Minho clenched his jaw. “Y/N.”

You looked up briefly. Nodded. “Minho.”

No smile. No warmth. You treated him like a client. And it drove him insane.

*******************

It started with little things.

Minho would linger after everyone left the room, clearly waiting for you to say something—anything—but you'd just continue folding jackets or updating the fitting sheet without sparing him a glance.

“Did you steam this?” he asked one day, pointing at a dark gray blazer.

“Yes,” you replied flatly.

He waited and waited. You didn’t elaborate or smile. Didn’t compliment how it matched his earrings. Just kept working.

“…Okay,” he muttered and walked away.

The days started blending—shows, schedules, fittings—but Minho couldn’t stop noticing how different you were.

You gradually started laughing with the others like before. You high-fived Jisung when he nailed a dance move. You giggled when Felix made finger hearts at you. You leaned comfortably into Chan’s side when he asked for your opinion on the new teaser photos.

But with Minho?

Nothing.

No smile. No sass. No eye contact longer than two seconds.

He was upset and everyone saw it.

“Hyung, you good?” Seungmin asked one day while they were stretching before rehearsal.

“Fine.”

“You were staring at Y/N again.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure.”

Minho’s jaw clenched. “She’s acting weird.”

“No, she’s acting normal. You’re the one acting weird,” Seungmin said, chuckling. “You’re twitchier than Han after two Red Bulls.”

“I just… don’t like being ignored.”

“Ohhh, right. Because she used to flirt with you and now she doesn’t.”

Minho glared. “Shut up.”

“She liked you a lot, y’know? But she’s not gonna chase someone who called her annoying.”

Minho didn’t answer.

But it echoed in his head the rest of the night.

She liked you. You called her annoying.

God.

He was such a jerk.

The next few days, he tried. He really tried.

You were fixing Hyunjin’s cuff when Minho stepped into the room, in a clean white tee and perfectly ripped jeans.

“Morning,” he said, voice carefully casual.

You nodded once. “Good morning.”

That was it.

He cleared his throat. “Nice shirt,” he offered.

“It’s yours,” you deadpanned.

Hyunjin snorted. Minho flushed and sat down without another word.

Later that day, he tried again.

You were rearranging accessories when he walked over, holding a ring in his palm.

“This one or the black one?” he asked.

You glanced briefly. “Black.”

“That fast? Not even gonna try it on me?”

“No need.”

Minho frowned. “You used to be more fun, you know.”

You paused, finally looking at him. “You used to be nicer.”

Then you walked away. He blinked, stunned. Was that... a comeback? He smiled to himself. There she is.

*******************

The rehearsals were loud with energy when Seventeen arrived at JYP building again.

Mingyu approached you, “Hey Y/N, how are you doing?”

You blinked. "I’m—uh, I’m good. Thank you."

He tilted his head, voice lighter now. "You’ve been quiet. Not that I’ve known you long, but I remember you teasing Dino over his sleeve length last time. I figured you weren’t the shy type."

You gave him a small, polite smile. "Just focused on work today."

"Ahh," he said, not pushing further. But his gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary. "Still... it’s good to see you again."

You nodded, eyes flicking briefly toward the mirror wall across the room.

Minho was watching with his jaws clenched. His gaze shifted away before you could fully catch his expression.

Later that day during dance practice, Minho caught you laughing from the sidelines. Mingyu had just tripped during a spin and recovered with a dramatic pose like it was part of the choreography.

Your laugh echoed across the room—bright and genuine. Minho’s stomach flipped. You looked happy. Just not with him. He caught Hyunjin’s eye from across the mirrors. The younger boy raised a brow and mouthed: “Regret it yet?”

Minho rolled his eyes. 

Yes.

Yes, he did.

More than anything.

By the time they wrapped practice, most of the members had filtered out. You stayed behind to pack some things, double-checking wardrobe pieces for tomorrow’s shoot.

Minho lingered again.

“So… are you avoiding me?” he asked suddenly.

You didn’t look up. “No.”

“You’re just… treating me like I’m invisible.”

“I’m treating you like a colleague,” you corrected. “That’s what I should’ve done from the beginning.”

Ouch.

“I didn’t mean what I said that night,” he muttered.

You finally turned to him, expression unreadable. “You said it. Whether you meant it or not doesn’t change the fact that I heard it.”

“I—”

“Look, Minho. I liked you, okay?” you said quietly, firm. “I thought we had… something. Even if it was silly. I flirted. You let me. So I assumed you didn’t hate it. But hearing you say you found it annoying?” Your voice cracked slightly. “That sucked.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

You didn’t wait for him to find words.

“I’m not mad anymore. It’s fine, let’s keep it professional.”

Then you turned and walked away again. Minho let out a frustrated sigh, what had he done?

*******************

You had only meant to be polite. A little distant, maybe. Careful. But apparently, Mingyu saw a challenge—and he accepted it with full confidence and charm.

From the next day on, it was like he had a radar for when you entered a room.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You barely stepped into the practice hall before his voice greeted you. “Want help carrying that?” He was already reaching for the clothing rack like it weighed more than your emotional baggage (it didn’t).

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ve got it—”

“Nah, I insist,” he said with a grin that made the staff nearby swoon. “Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly if I just stood here looking pretty, right?”

You blinked. “That… would depend on your definition of pretty.”

He laughed, a low, surprised chuckle. “Oof. Are you always this dangerous?”

“Only when I haven’t had coffee,” you said dryly.

And it was that simple.

He was hooked.

He started showing up earlier to rehearsals. Always near your station. Sometimes he brought extra drinks—“Thought you might like iced vanilla lattes?”—other times, just conversation. He’d rest his elbow on the rack while you adjusted stage outfits, asking about your favorite color palettes and whether you preferred oversized fits or structured jackets.

And the worst part?

He was easy to talk to.

Too easy.

The more he spoke to you, the more you forgot about how cold Minho had made you feel. Mingyu didn’t make you feel annoying. He didn’t make you second guess every word or glance or laugh. He listened. He noticed things—like how you always kept hair ties on your wrist and hated velvet textures.

But you didn’t flirt back. You’d smile. Laugh sometimes. Keep the conversation going. But your heart hadn’t caught up. Not yet. It was still tangled in a pair of grumpy eyes and cruel words you couldn’t forget.

Across the room, Minho saw it all.

He watched you laugh—really laugh—with someone else. Someone handsome and charismatic and clearly smitten with you. He hated how familiar that expression was on your face. He hated that it wasn’t directed at him.

He knew he had no right to feel this way.

He was the one who pushed you away. Said those things. Let you walk out of that party with tears in your eyes and didn’t even run after you.

And yet…

He found himself glancing up more often when you passed by. Making comments just to hear your voice. Standing a little closer when you weren’t looking.

You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did—and just didn’t care.

But when Mingyu asked if you wanted to grab a bite after rehearsal one night, and you actually paused—just for a second—Minho felt something snap.

He turned on his heel and left the room before he could hear your answer.

You looked up from your clipboard, caught off-guard for a second from Mingyu’s question.

Mingyu was smiling again—bright, hopeful, that usual confident glint in his eyes. He didn’t even try to be subtle anymore. He liked you. Everyone knew it.

You hesitated. Just for a second. And then shook your head, politely. “I’m heading home after this. Long day.”

A beat passed. Disappointment flickered across his features—quickly replaced by an easy grin. “Next time, then.”

You offered a smile. Soft. But firm. “Maybe.”

Mingyu nodded, but you knew he caught the undertone. You weren’t ready. Not yet. Not when Minho’s voice still echoed in your mind like a bruise that refused to fade: She flirts with everyone… it’s annoying.

Even if Mingyu was kind. Even if he made you laugh. You weren’t ready to hand your heart out again. Especially not when someone else had crushed it with a few carelessly thrown words.

*******************

The rooftop of the JYP building was always a strange kind of refuge. Noisy during the day with deliveries and the occasional staff meeting, but quiet at night—just high enough above the city that it felt like a pause button on reality.

Han had found himself up there more than once. When deadlines loomed. When promotions felt like too much. When the ache of exhaustion pressed too hard on his shoulders.

But tonight… he wasn’t alone.

He spotted Minho by the railing, his back turned to the door, head bowed. The wind tousled his hair gently, and the city lights lit up the side of his face in cold, distant hues.

“Hyung?” Han stepped closer.

Minho didn’t turn, didn’t even flinch. Han slowed as he realised something was off.

He caught the faint shake of Minho’s shoulders. The way his jaw was clenched too tightly. The way he blinked—once, twice, too fast—and then pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes like he could erase the tears before they fully formed.

“Hyung…”

Minho exhaled. Sharp. Fragile.

“I’m fine.”

Han frowned. “You always say that when you’re clearly not.”

Still no response.

Han moved beside him, not too close—just enough to share the quiet. He looked out at the skyline for a moment before saying softly, “She said no.”

Minho’s fingers curled around the railing.

“I heard,” Han added. “Mingyu asked her. You didn’t even wait to listen.”

Minho shut his eyes. The words felt heavy in his throat. “She paused.”

“Yeah. For one second. And you left like it killed you.”

Minho let out a bitter laugh. One that cracked halfway through. “Because it did.”

That startled Han into silence.

Minho finally turned, his eyes red-rimmed, lower lip trembling despite his usual calm exterior. “I don’t even know why I said all that stuff about her. I didn’t mean it. Not a single word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“Because…” Minho shook his head, fingers gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles went white. “Because she makes me feel things I’m not supposed to feel. Things I don’t know how to deal with. And the closer she got, the more I panicked. So I pushed her away. I had to. I was also growing jealous, I think? Of her bonding with Hyunjin.”

Han stared at him, then blinked—once, twice—before exhaling. “Hyung… with all due respect, you’re such a pabo. Hyunjin and her are completely platonic.”

Minho let out a soft, broken sigh. “I realize that now.”

Han raised a brow. “You were in love with her, hyung. I knew it from the heart eyes you used to give her every time she walked into the room.”

Minho looked away, almost embarrassed.

Han continued with a small scoff, “I even tried playing cupid, but you were so nonchalant I thought maybe I was wrong.”

Minho gave a humorless chuckle, still blinking back tears. “I was too stubborn to admit it before… but this distance, her ignoring me—God, it’s been killing me. And it made me realize I fell for her from the start. I just didn’t know it then. Or maybe I did, and I was too much of a coward to face it.”

“And now Kim Mingyu’s trying to pull her in,” Han sighed looking up at the sky.

Minho flinched.

Han didn’t smile. He didn’t joke like usual. His voice was calm, steady. “Do you want her to be happy?”

“Yes,” Minho whispered immediately.

“Then you need to fix this, hyung. Because right now, all she remembers is the version of you that called her annoying.”

Silence again.

Minho nodded once—slowly, like the decision cost him something.

Han gave him a small pat on the back before turning to leave. “I’ll cover for you downstairs. Take your time.”

Minho stayed rooted there for a while longer, letting the cold wind sting his face, hoping it would hide the warmth of his tears.

It didn’t.

And for the first time in a long time… he let himself cry.

He was ashamed for hurting you, who’d always been kind. For making you feel like you were too much, when really, you were the best thing he took for granted.

*******************

It was finally the end of the week, and all you could think about was the long, luxurious everything-shower waiting for you at home. You stepped into the elevator, letting out a quiet sigh as the doors began to slide shut.

Just then, a hand slipped between the narrowing gap, stopping them mid-close.

Your heart dipped the second you saw who it was.

Lee Minho stepped in quietly, not even glancing your way at first. The doors slid shut behind him with a soft ding, sealing the two of you in that small, silent space. You could hear the soft hum of the elevator mechanics, the faint buzz of a fluorescent light above.

He stood beside you—straightened, composed, but the silence was nothing like the ones before. This time, it wasn’t cold. It was unsure. Hesitant.

You shifted your weight, pretending to check your phone, anything to avoid the ache that formed in your chest just from being this close again.

One floor passed. Two.

The tension was suffocating.

Three—

CLUNK.

You jolted when the elevator lurched to a sudden stop. Your hand shot out to grab the railing, and you turned to him, wide-eyed. He’d hit the emergency button.

“Minho—” you began.

“Don’t leave yet,” he said quickly, voice tight. “Just—listen. Please.”

You were stunned into silence.

“Y/N,” he started, looking at you with softness. Not cold. Not harsh. Just... tired. And honest.

“I was wrong,” he said. “About everything.”

You blinked.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t even—” he stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize what I was saying until it was too late. I was… frustrated. With myself. With how I felt. And I projected that onto you.”

You turned to face him now, fully, slowly.

He looked tired. And not just from rehearsals or schedules. Tired from guilt.

Your voice came out low, careful, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His brows furrowed. “Y/N—”

“I crossed a line,” you said, swallowing. “I was the one who confused things. I made you uncomfortable and I kept hovering and—”

“No,” he cut in quietly. “You didn’t.”

“You said I did.”

“I was scared.”

That stilled you.

“I was scared because the way you made me feel didn’t make sense,” he continued. “And instead of dealing with it, I blamed you for making me feel it in the first place.”

You looked away. “You said you wanted peace.”

“I thought that’s what I needed. But the silence after you left? It didn’t feel peaceful. It felt empty.”

You let out a shaky breath, one that felt like it had been trapped in your chest for days.

You stepped forward, your fingers brushing the panel as you desperately tried to cancel it so the elevator would start moving again. But before you could press the button, his hand reached out, catching your wrist. Gently. Not to stop you, just to ask you to stay.

“Please don’t do that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t leave. Please don’t punish me.”

You froze.

“You think I’m punishing you?” you asked, voice cracking slightly, “You wanted the distance!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said again, eyes searching yours. “I didn’t mean it to come out like I didn’t care. I was overwhelmed. And I said the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

You blinked hard. “You still said it.”

He winced. “I know.”

You pulled your hand from his, slowly.

“I’m just protecting my own peace now,” you said gently. “That’s all.”

Minho looked at you like the words hurt more than silence ever could.

Neither of you moved for a while. Then Minho spoke—quieter this time, like he didn’t want to scare off whatever fragile truce you’d allowed between you.

“Can we start over?” he asked. “Just… as friends.”

You looked at him, eyes tired, wary. He was watching you like the answer might shatter him. Your heart thudded.

You wanted to ask why now. Why after all the space. Why after the silence. Your guard stayed up. You crossed your arms lightly, leaning back against the elevator wall.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you said truthfully.

“I’m not asking for that,” he said quickly. “I just… I miss talking to you. I miss your laugh. I miss you. Even if it’s just as a friend.”

You studied him for a long moment—Minho, who once stood cold and distant, now looking hesitant and real in the dim fluorescent glow. There was no arrogance in him now. No bitterness. Just a quiet kind of sincerity you’d never seen before.

You bit the inside of your cheek, then slowly nodded once.

“Friends,” you said. Cautious. Careful.

Relief bloomed across his face so fast, so unguarded, that it nearly broke your heart again.

He reached out, hesitated—then offered a pinky. It was so Minho. A little awkward. A little sincere. A peace offering dressed in childish promise.

You stared at it, then looped your pinky with his, sealing whatever strange, bittersweet restart this was.

And just like that, he pressed the emergency button again. The elevator jolted back to life.

As the numbers ticked downward and the air shifted, so did something between you. Not quite healed. Not quite the same. But something closer to understanding.

Minho offered you a small smile.

But inside?

He was unraveling.

He’d asked to be your friend, even though every fiber in his body ached to pull you in, to push you gently against the elevator wall and kiss you like he should’ve the night you told him how you felt before. But he knew he didn’t deserve that right. Not after everything he said. Not after how he made you feel.

So he swallowed it down—the longing, the regret, the need. Because if friendship was the only way to keep you in his life, then he’d take it. Even if it meant pretending the quiet way his heart raced around you was platonic. Even if it meant watching you smile at someone else someday and telling himself it didn’t hurt. He’d take it. Because losing you completely? That was never an option.

--------------

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