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[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 5)

This one is kind of Jinu orientated! Welcome to the debut chapter of Soda Pop! Please enjoy :3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

‘Okay, what's the big deal? Also, you were eavesdropping on me?’ Y/N pointed an accusing finger at Rae, who annoyingly did not look a single bit guilty.

‘I wanted to make sure you were safe.’ 

‘I was safe. How do you think I’ve been surviving this entire time before you guys came along?’ Y/N threw up her hands in indignation. ‘In fact, the most danger I’ve been in was when you guys tried to take my soul. Remember that?’

The boys collectively winced, knowing she was right.

‘She has a demon voice. She caused damage to the Honmoon, your friend is dangerous.’ Rae walked forward, taking her arm and pulling her toward the kitchen island

‘Rumi didn’t do it on purpose, she was scared and confused. She would never hurt me.’ Y/N sat down to Rae’s ushering. ‘What, what is-?’

‘It’s some sokkoritang. (Ox Bone Soup) You haven’t eaten.’ Jinu scooped up a bowl of rice from Y/N’s barely used rice cooker. She couldn't even remember if she bought it or it came with the penthouse.

‘I made it, so eat up.’

Y/N picked up her spoon, as Jinu placed a bowl of rice in front of her.

‘Thank you…’ She stared down at the bowl, stunned at the unexpected kindness.

‘We need you to be functional so we can steal Huntr/x’s fans.’ Jinu explained hurriedly, his cheeks coloured with a pretty peach colour. Luckily for him, this went unnoticed by Y/N, who was digging into her meal.

The soup was perfectly seasoned, flavourful and balanced.

How long had it been since Y/N actually had homecooked food? At least in this world, it had been months since she was able to have any, being on a world tour with the Huntr/x girls. It was a simple luxury she had since abandoned for convenience.

‘This is… It was amazing. Thank you Jinu.’ Y/N finished, standing to put her bowl in the sink. The rest of the Saja boys were rehearsing their song in the living area.

‘It was nothing.’ Jinu breathed out, as if a weight had been lifted from him. ‘Before things got really bad… I would help my mother cook.’ Jinu took Y/N’s bowl, placing it in the sink as he turned on the tap.

‘But that was four hundred years ago.’ He finished, tone hardening.

‘The food was amazing, you’d make a wonderful house wife Jinu.’ Y/N joked, leaning against the countertop next to Jinu as he washed the bowl. She could feel the unease, radiating off Jinu’s being.

‘Yeah?’ He smirked, shaking off the excess water from his hands. ‘You gonna find me a suitable husband?’ 

‘Hmm, I don’t know anyone willing to marry a maiden with such, attitude. I’m afraid we’re the only people who can put up with it.’ Y/N gestured to herself and the Saja Boys.

‘Is that so?’ Jinu hummed, gazing at Y/N forlornly as she nodded approvingly at the boys who were nailing their choreography.

‘Jinu, I get that you’re worried I might run off or that I’ll stop writing for you. But you can’t send-’

‘They all wanted to.’

‘Jinu…’ Y/N exhaled, turning to face the man, who at least this time, looked slightly guilty. ‘I have your number. You don’t have to send someone to look after me.’

‘Okay…’ He refused to meet her eye, staring at a blank spot on the wall to his left.

‘Although, I don’t mind the tiger. It’s so cute.’ Y/N gave him a forbearing smile. 

‘Yeah?’ Jinu grinned, face lighting up. ‘Did you see it’s-’

‘Tiny hat? Did you make it for the tiger?’ 

‘Yeah, but my bird keeps taking it.’ Jinu summoned the tiger with a flick of his hand, said creature appearing out of her floor.

‘Oh my goodness, hello there sweetheart!’ Y/N cried out, kneeling in front of the curious tiger.

‘Who is she calling sweetheart?’ A voice replied from the living space, sounding irate.

‘Oh, it’s the tiger.’ Another voice answered, footsteps shuffling toward the kitchen.

‘Oh, you precious little thing.’ Y/N splayed her hand, palm side up. The tiger gave a pleasant growl, rumbling as it butted its head against Y/N’s hand.

‘It’s cute but not that cute.’ Beom pouted, crossing his arms.

‘What do you mean?’ Y/N pouted in return. This baby is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, arent’cha?’ Y/N gave the blue tiger scratches underneath its chin.

‘Alright, you’ve got to sleep. Our debut is tomorrow and you need to be there.’ Jinu, waved his hand, causing the tiger to begin to sink back into the ground. The creature let out a downcast rumble in protest.

‘Aw..’ Y/N protested, waving goodbye to the equally disappointed creature. ‘Wait, why do I have to be there?’ 

‘So I have someone to focus on. You don’t want me to get stage fright, do you?’ Rae smirked, leaning toward Y/N’s face.

‘Hey, hey, what did I say about fake flirting.’ Y/N laughed, pushing away Rae’s face with a guiding hand.

‘Who said it was fake.’ Rae grumbled quietly under his breath, retreating toward a spinning chair.

‘Anyways, I will go to sleep. But only because I wanna go grocery shopping tomorrow. There’s this new snack I’ve been wanting to try.’

‘Oh, you mean this one?’ Rae held up a bag of the very snack that Y/N had been craving.

‘What, how?’ She spluttered, reaching towards the packet.

‘I saw you look at it twice when you were buying Kimbap with the demon hunter.’ Rae dangled the packet above her head, keeping it just out of reach.

‘Hey! I thought you bought it for me!’ Y/N jumped, swiping at the bag.

‘I did, but you gotta promise you’ll come to our performance tomorrow.’ Rae smirked, waving around the snack bag teasingly.

‘Ugh, Jinu, make him give it to me.’ Y/N pouted, pointing at Rae angrily.

‘You gotta promise.’ Jinu laughed, a tender heat spreading through his chest as he watched Y/N swipe at Rae. The way his friends got along with their new writer didn’t go unnoticed by him. To be honest, it was actually endearing to some degree. Like he and his friends had gotten a new pet.

‘Fine.. FINE I’ll be there so lemme-’ Y/N leapt, finally snatching the bag out of Rae’s hand, falling back into Mystery’s arms, almost collapsing on the floor.

‘Oops, sorry Mystery.’ Y/N stood, with the purplehaired man’s help.

‘Just Min, is fine.’ The soft spoken man replied, seemingly checking for any injury as he spun her around slowly. 

‘Alrighty, Y/N you go to bed. The rest of us will continue our rehearsal. We’ll be quiet, we promise.’ Abel placed his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, guiding her to her room as the rest of the boys stood up, beginning their stretching routine.

‘Goodnight everyone!’ Y/N called out, looking behind her.

‘Night Y/N!’ ‘Sleep well!’ ‘Sweet dreams Y/N!’ ‘Night.’ The boys chorused, while Abel walked her to her room.

‘Are you guys ready?’ Y/N opened her bedroom door, walking into her room.

‘Yeah, pretty much. We just need to make everything a little sharper. Otherwise, we’re pretty much perfect.

‘Thats great! Y/N smiled, pulling out pajamas from her closet.

‘Here, gimmie that.’ Abel tugged Y/N’s snack bag. ‘What are you gonna do, eat it in your sleep?’

‘Hey, I so could!’ Y/N laughed, releasing her hold on the food. ‘Now turn around or get out. I need to change.’

‘I have a question.’ Abel turned to face the bedroom door, closing his eyes for good measure.

‘Yeah?’

‘Has what happened to me, happened with any of the other boys?’ 

‘You mean that weird light that made your patterns shine?’ Y/N pulled her pants up, letting the elastic snap around her waist. ‘Yeah, actually when you guys went to go get me breakfast this morning, Beom and I had a chat.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I made this pattern shine, I touched his shoulder when we were talking about the deal he made with Gwi-ma.’ Y/N recounted, sliding herself into bed.

‘Huh, y’know he doesn’t really talk about it much?’ Abel twitched, wanting to face Y/N. 

‘You can turn around now. But, no I didn’t. I guess, at that moment I just felt so…’ Y/N trailed off, trying to recount her emotions and convey them into words.

‘I wanted to help. I didn’t want Beom to let Gwi-ma take credit for his talent.’ 

‘So it can just be anywhere.’ Abel hummed, leaning on Y/N’s doorframe. ‘I see.’

‘I mean, I still don’t know how to control it. I touched Rae’s hand today but nothing happened.’ Y/N shook her head, pulling the comforter to her chest.

‘Mm, sounds like there needs to be intent behind those touches.We can talk more about it tomorrow. For now, just sleep.’ Abel nodded, stepping back and beginning to close the bedroom door. ‘Sleep tight.’

‘Night Abel.’ Y/N closed her eyes as the demon switched off the lights, easing the bedroom door shut.

–

‘You’re sure she was part demon?’ Jinu inquired, as Abel walked back into the living space.

‘Positive.’ Rae nodded, the group sitting in a circle formation not unlike a formal meeting. ‘If her patterns weren't enough, she had a demon voice.’

‘That shockwave was caused by her?’ Mystery leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘Yes.’

‘She weakened the Honmoon.’

‘Is Y/N safe hanging around them?’ Beom picked at a loose thread on his sweater. 

‘We’ll keep an eye on her. I’ll send Derpy and Sussie to check on her.’ Jinu finalised, nodding his head.

‘You just had to show her you were following her, didn’t you Rae?’ Abel snickered, nudging the taller man with a playful elbow.

‘She was shivering. What was I meant to do? Let her freeze?’ He rolled his eyes, face slightly flushing a pretty pink.

‘Alright, let’s get back to work. Don’t forget, we’re here to steal Huntr/x’s fans.’ Jinu clapped his hands, breaking up the playful banter. He seemed troubled, his eyes were unfocused. Jinu was stuck between a rock and a hard place and seemingly with no other alternative.

As Y/N slipped into the realm of the unconscious, the Saja Boys continued their practice well into the early morning. They had finished around five am, deciding that they were ready to perform. All the boys made a brisk trip back to their neighboring apartment building to change.

Jinu however, stayed behind.

His reasoning?

‘I need to make breakfast for her so she doesn’t have an excuse not to come see the performance.’ Jinu shrugged, putting on an apron and rummaging through the fridge.

‘We’ll bring back your performance clothes so you can change after.’ Mystery nodded, patting his friend on the back. 

Jinu nodded, pulling out two eggs from the fridge, placing them into a bowl. 

Yeah, that was the reason he was making her breakfast. Why else would he do something like that? 

‘I need her so she can write more songs. So I can get Gwi-ma those souls, so I can forget.’ Jinu muttered, cracking the eggs into the bowl with one hand. He had already taken out a pan and set it on the stove, now pouring some oil into it.

‘That’s all. That's all it is.’ He shook his head, ‘She means nothing. I don’t care.’ Jinu mumbled, sliding the egg mixture into the pan, watching the edges bubble in the hot oil. A protesting groan, from the metal spatula, being dented from Jinu’s grip.

‘Mm, what smells good?’ A drowsy voice filled the incessant whispering in Jinu’s head, effectively drowning out the unwelcomed voices in his head in an instant.

‘Just some eggs. Sit down, I’m almost done.’ Jinu relinquished his hardened grip on the spatula, using it to separate the eggs from the bottom of the pan. ‘Grab a plate and some bread.’ 

Y/N rubbed her eyes, stumbling half blindly to the cupboard containing all her dinnerware. She pulled out a plate before returning to the table, letting the plate clink against the marble top. 

‘I didn’t buy any bread this month.’ Y/N whined, smushing her face into the tabletop.

‘Yeah, I bought some for you yesterday.’ Jinu turned around, pausing to take in Y/N’s groggy appearance. Her hair was unbrushed, eyes still crusted with rheum on the edges. She was still in her pajamas.

And yet…

Jinu’s chest ached, a mellow pang rushing through his chest, radiating through every fiber of his being.

This.

This homeliness. This domestication. It was something he had since long forgotten, left behind when he abandoned his family to live a cushy life in the palace. Even then he had never felt this much…

Joy. 

‘Heh, nice apron Jinu.’ Y/N giggled, using a fork to cut her eggs in half. ‘Pink suits you.’

Jinu glanced down, realising he still had Y/N’s apron on. 

‘All colours suit me.’ He sniffed haughtily, before pointing at Y/N, ‘And you can’t talk! Look at your pajamas!’

‘HEY I bought these because they're cute.’ She protested, taking a bite of her breakfast.

‘Childish.’

‘Nuh uh!’

The pair dissolved into a fit of giggles, as the elevator doors dinged open, revealing the rest of the boys.

‘Wow, my PJ’s and you apron does not compare to Abel’s crappy Hawaiian print shirt.’ Y/N howled with laughter, leaning back in her chair. Luckily for her, Jinu had caught her again, casually with his arm.

‘It was this, or palm trees…’ Abel sighed, looking down at his shirt. ‘Rae said that I couldn’t wear a plaid one.’

‘Plaid is an abomination. We want them to like us, not judge us for our fashion choices.’ Rae crossed his arms, his yellow chiffon top ruffling.

‘Huh, what will you be wearing Jinu?’ Y/N lifted her head to look at the man still holding on to her waist.

‘Hm, not sure, whatever Rae decided to give me.’

‘Yeah, I have your clothes right here. Unless you wanna debut in a pink frilly apron that's fine by me too.’

‘I’d rather not thank you.’ Jinu picked up the clothes from Rae’s hands and wandered off to Y/N’s bathroom.

‘You better not go through my drawers.’ Y/N called out.

‘I’m looking through 'em right now, I’m rummaging!’ Jinu called back, closing the door behind him

‘So, you guys ready? Excited?’ Y/N stood up, walking towards her bedroom. ‘Lemme get changed, I'll be right back.’

The boys nodded, watching Y/N disappear behind her door.

‘Did you see her pajamas?’ Beom sighed, a tiny smile on his face.

‘Is it weird that I think she’s cute?’ Min hummed, staring at Y/N’s closed bedroom door.

‘I’d think you were weird if you didn’t find her cute.’ Rae remarked, his chin resting on his fist.

They each felt an inexplicable pull towards the girl. As if she was anchoring them to the earth. These were feelings they hadn’t felt in centuries, locked away in a box, buried beneath their shame and fears. They had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel happy. Abel and Beom had forgotten what it was like to be able to have their own thoughts, unpolluted by the soiled words of Gwi-ma.

‘Alright, whose idea was it to put me in pink.’ Jinu raised an eyebrow, as the boys all collectively pointed at Beom.

The youngest let out an unholy screech as Jinu chased him around, chuckling darkly. Y/N opened her door, met with the whining of Beom and teasing of Jinu.

‘Say you’re sorry!’ Jinu laughed, giving a particularly painful noogie to the blue harried boy. They were both on the floor, Jinu had wrapped his legs around Beom's waist, holding him snug.

‘I’M SORRY.’ Beom whined, writhing in Jinu’s grip.

‘Will you ever do it again?’ Jinu held fast, driving his knuckles into Beom’s skull.

‘NOOOOOOO.’ Beom complained. ‘HELP ME Y/N!’ 

Y/N giggled, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

‘You guys are like brothers huh?’ Y/N sat down on her gaming chair, pulling her shoes on.

‘Yeah pretty much.’ Min nodded next to her. ‘Jinu brought us all together, years ago when he found beom.’

‘We don’t have to get into that now.’ Jinu brushed himself off, standing and straightening his clothing.

‘Aw, but I wanna hear the story.’ Y/N slumped down in her chair in protest.

‘Yeah but we have a debut to get to. Here, if our debut goes well, I’ll tell you who's the oldest.’

‘Is it not you?’ Y/N blinked, miffed. ‘You’re four hundred. Beom-ie is two hundred.-’ 

‘Give or take.’ Beom interrupted

‘Yeah, Beom is our youngest.’ Jinu gazed at the blue haired boy with pride, ruffling his hair. ‘He’s our pride and joy.’

‘Hey! I’m gonna have to wear a hat to cover this mess up now.’ Beom sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. Rae handed Beom a yellow beret, seemingly materialised out of thin air.

The group continued their conversation as they packed into the elevator. Y/N continued to guess at everyone’s age but none of the men would confirm her guesses. They found it funny that Y/N was unable to guess their age order correctly.

They reached the plaza as Y/N gave up, stalking behind the boys as they chattered to each other, occasionally teasing the pouting girl.

‘Y/N?’ A deep feminine voice called out. 

‘Huh?’ Y/N turned around, spotting a trio of girls walking out of a bathhouse. ‘Mira, Rumi and Zoey?’ 

‘Hey! You didn’t answer your phone.’ Rumi ran over to Y/N, giving her a hug. ‘I called but you didn't pick up, so I left a message asking if you wanted to come to the bathhouse with us!’ Rumi dragged Y/N toward Mira and Zoey. 

Y/N patted her pockets, searching for her phone.

Damn. She had left it at home.

Each of the girls were wearing somewhat of a disguise.  Zoey was wearing a yellow fuzzy bucket hat, obscuring her face, Rumi was wearing her pink hoodie, the hood covering her signature purple hair. Mira was wearing a black baseball cap, her face adorned by golden circular framed glasses. 

‘Yeah, are you free today?’ Mira gave an amused smile, leaning down to look at Y/N’s face closely. ‘Looks like you slept well last night. That’s good.’

‘Yeah! Wanna hang out with us? We’re taking today off!’ Zoey looped her arm around Y/N’s walking towards the plaza.

Y/N blinked, looking behind her, realising that the men had since disappeared.

'Yeah, we hear a new boy band is having a debut stage today and we wanna go judge them. What was their name. It was something stupid, to do with animals.' Mira chuckled, linking her arm around Rumi's.

'The Saja Boys. Honestly, sounds kinda corny.' Rumi laughed, the four walking toward a familiar beat filling the air.

'Huh, must be here. Look, there's pink mist.' Zoey pointed, leading Y/N and the erst of the girls to stand in the forming crowd.

The familiar beat of Soa Pop began to fill the air, as the pink mist revealed the Saja Boys.

'Don't want you, need you Yeah, I need you to fill me up.' Jinu began singing, spotting Y/N immediately, winking at her.

'Ew.' Rumi gagged, 'These guys are so cliché that it hurts.'

'Did he just wink at you?' Mira smirked, glancing between the boys performing and Y/N.

'Uh... maybe?'

'Oh, he was definently winking at her. They're all looking at her.' Zoey squealed, shaking Y/N excitedly.

'Wow, their song is annoyingly catchy though. It matches their vibe really well.' Mira brought her fingers to her chin, tapping her index finger thoughtfully.

'Huh, the writing style reminds me of you Y/N.' Rumi raised an eyebrow, as the boys continued to sing, blowing heart's out of thin air.

'Uh...'

'Wait, look!' Zoey gasped, pointing at the group. 'They have patterns! Look, you can see them.'

'Demons.' Rumi glowered, seeing under their human visage.

'What do we do?' Mira grumbled, looking at the huntr/x girls.

'They're demons, we just do what we always do. We kill them.' Rumi stalked forward, hands itching to grasp her sword. 'Besides, that one winked at our Y/N and I don't share.'

'Wait Rumi, it's too public.' Mira tugged Rumi back quickly, looking at the decent sized crowed.

'But look, they're coming after the fans. That must be why they're posing as this cringey boyband.' Rumi gestured widely to the boys, who were on a rising platform, decorated as a soda can. The Saja Boys had reached the climax of their song.

'I know, but we have to wait. Otherwise we'll have a swarm of fans questioning us. I don't think even Bobby would be able to cover that up for us.' Zoey mused with narrowed eyes, pulling Y/N behind her shielding Y/N with her body.

As the girls contemplated what to do, The Saja Boys finished their performance, sending one last flying kiss in Y/N's direction.

Rumi growled, watching the interaction.

'That's it for now! See you tonight, on everyone's favourite variety show! The Saja Boys love you!' Jinu flashed a charming smile, before giving Y/N a knowing smile.

The boys disappeared in a puff of pink smoke.

'We are so going to kill those dudes.' Rumi snarled, fixing her hoodie as the group walked back to the Huntr/x tower. 'Y/N do you wanna stay in the tower? We gotta get battle ready.'

'Uh, I actually have to go do the demo for What It Sounds Like remember? Y/N rubbed a hand on her neck nervously.

'Right...' Rumi sighed, smoothing back her braid. 'Okay well call us if anything happens. Actually, call us even if nothing happens okay?' Rumi babbled, swiping her key card at the front opening doors.

'She's right. Those boys seemed to be looking at you. They might try something so call us if you feel anything funny okay?' Mira placed a reassuring hand on Y/N's shoulder while Zoey gave her a hug.

'We'll text you when we send those demons back to where they belong! Maybe we can even record the song today!'

'Alright girls! Stay safe!' Y/N smiled, as the Huntr/x girls walked into the elevator.

'Bye Y/N/N!' The girls chorused, as the elevator doors shut.

Y/N released her breath, 'Oh damn. This is not good.'

Y/N hurried back to her apartment, checking her phone repeatedly.

'So, they wanna kill us tonight huh?' Abel smirked as Y/N rushed past the elevator doors.

'Yeah, I think the purple haired one has a crush on you.' Jinu raised an eyebrow, his face plastered with an unamused smile.

'What?' Y/N blinked.

'How come they get to call you Y/N/N.' Beom pointed at Y/N with his pastel yellow beret.

'YOU GUYS WERE FOLLOWING ME AGAIN?'

Part 6

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[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! Hope you’re doing well💖 sooo last weekend, for the first time, I suffered a terrible migraine that landed me in the er (hated the idea but the iv meds on the other hand… lifesaver 🙏) although I’ll admit I was a nervous wreck (they had to call my bf in to help hehe) so I was wondering if you would be willing to write reader kinda going through the same thing with doc!remus, emt!marauders or fwb!doc Remus (loved the last fic you posted about it!!), whatever makes you the happiest!🤩 love you queen ✨🧡

I'm sorry about your migrane lovely! Ty for requesting

cw: hospital, reader is nervous about needles, vomit, nausea, migraine

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

The damp smell of paper is comforting, though the warmth of your own breath blowing back on your face makes your eye throb all the way to the back of your skull. You’re so focussed on not vomiting you don’t even realize the car has stopped moving. 

James rubs your back. “We’re here,” he says, voice considerately soft. It sends painful reverberations through your head anyway. 

A whimper slips out of you into your paper bag cavern. 

“Let me have that.” Sirius is being quiet, too, though the bag crinkles some when he takes it from you. Your seatbelt clicks off. “It’s okay, you’re not going to be sick. Come on, lovely.” 

You crack your eyes open. Every muscle in your face clenches instinctively at the barrage of sunlight. Sirius waits outside your car door with his hand held out. 

“I don’t want to,” you mumble. Not exactly eloquent, but apt enough. 

Sirius’ mouth pinches with sympathy. “I know. It’s gonna be shit at first, but it’ll be good for you in the end, alright?” 

You hesitate. It’s difficult to think past the pulsing ache in your face and temples, past the taste of bile on your tongue. You know that it’s not your boyfriends’ first time dealing with a migraine, and they probably have a good sense of what warrants medical attention, but you feel strongly that staying where things can be still and quiet is the far superior option. 

“Trust us,” James murmurs. 

You take Sirius’ hand. He helps ease you out of the car, James hovering behind you, and delivers you straight to Remus’ arms. Remus holds you against him like you might crumple without the support. It’s a founded fear. 

“Want to try these?” he asks, transferring a couple of rubber earplugs into your palm. “Might help a bit.” 

You hum your thanks, pressing them in. You walk into A&E with Remus and James on each side of you and Sirius taking up the rear like they can shield you from it all. 

Sirius is right. It’s fucking shit. 

The earplugs do something, perhaps, but not much to deaden the noise of the emergency department. Voices overlapping, machines beeping, some baby somewhere wailing its head off. Anxiety sits in the air like a thick mist, and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights amplifies it all. 

Your nausea surges. “Bag,” you mumble, but in this environment you’re too quiet for anyone to hear. 

You clamp your jaw shut and try to breathe evenly as Remus walks with you tucked close to his side. Eventually, you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him guide you the rest of the way into a small, curtained-off room. 

“Bag,” you try again. James hands it to you—Sirius seems to have peeled off at some point, you don’t know when—just in time for you to bend over, retching. 

“Oh, my love.” Remus gathers a few flyaways back from your face. One of your earplugs falls out. James grips the side of your bag, too, making sure you don’t drop it. “You’re alright, let it out. We’re done going anyplace.” 

Your temples feel like they’re bulging the whole time you’re emptying your stomach into the paper bag, but eventually you’re finished. James ties it off and drops it in a wastebin. 

“Come here,” he coaxes, helping you up onto the table. You tent your legs in front of you, pushing the aching side of your face into your knee. It helps, strangely. James kisses your shoulder. “That’s it. No more moving, I promise.” 

“Alright, we’re all registered,” Sirius announces as the curtain pulls open. You must flinch visibly, because he lowers his volume, Remus’ hand landing between your shoulders. “I’ve filled out your forms—in fucking record time, if I do say so myself—so we’re all set to get you started on some meds, gorgeous. Where’s the—did we throw up again?” 

“Yeah.” You can hear the grimace in James’ voice. “Can we get another bag? Just in case…” 

“I don’t think I have anything left,” you admit. 

“Okay,” Sirius says smoothly. Remus has begun massaging the taut muscles of your neck, your boyfriends’ combined caring wrapping around you like an embrace. “That’s alright, we’ve got you. Let’s have some medicine, yeah?” 

There’s a good amount of shuffling around. Remus’ hand stays on your nape, but you hear equipment being moved, something crinkling and something else squeaking. When you eventually risk opening your eyes again, Sirius and James are nearly done setting up and you find you haven’t completely emptied your stomach, after all. 

“No,” you moan. 

James blinks up at you. “Angel, this is going to help.” 

“I don’t want an IV,” you say. Pleading, but already your sinuses are throbbing with defeat. 

“You can’t have anything oral if you’re going to throw it up.” Sirius looks you in the eyes. His gaze is steady, if not a tiny bit pitying. “It’s going to make you feel better, I swear.” 

“It’s going to hurt.” You start to cry. You’re already dealing with enough hurt. Between the bright lights, and all the noise, and your eye socket feeling like someone is trying to hammer an ice pick through it, you really feel like anything more could do you in. You don’t think you can take it. 

“It only hurts for a second.” James is pleading now, too. He gets up on the table with you, maneuvering himself until you’re sitting between his legs, the warmth of his body wrapped around you. Remus continues soothing the pain at the base of your skull. “Trust us, sweetheart, please. We wouldn’t have put you through all this if we didn’t think we’d be able to help.” 

“Sirius is good at this,” Remus murmurs. “Let him.” 

You sniff, throbbing and nauseous and overwhelmed, but hold out your arm. Sirius presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. 

“We’re gonna take care of you,” he promises, wiping the crook of your elbow. “Close your eyes, baby.” 

You push your face into your knee again and let Remus’ gentle fingers ease the tension in you. Between his hand on your neck, James’ arms wrapped around your shoulders, and Sirius probing at the inside of your arm, all the contact should worsen your sensory overload, but your boyfriends’ touches ground you. Remus shushes you gently when the needle pricks your skin, though you don’t make a sound. 

“There we are,” Sirius murmurs, still messing with your arm. “Doing so good, almost done. And…that’s it.” 

He flattens a piece of tape with his thumbs. When he pulls your fingers to his mouth for a kiss, you squeeze his hand. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

“Anytime, sweetness.” 

“You are good at that.” 

Sirius laughs, trying to quiet himself halfway through. “Well, I am a professional. Did no one mention that?” 

You hum weakly. 

James sets his lips to your shoulder. “You did good, angel. The medicine should kick in soon, okay? Just bear with us a little while longer.” 

You lean into him in thanks, and you wait. You all wait, practically unmoving, you tense with pain and your boyfriends tense with their own torment. You’re the quietest stall in the hospital. 

The meds don’t work all at once. It’s a slow, seeping sort of relief, and you don’t even fully register it until you notice that you’re not pressing your face into your knee as harshly. You don’t feel the need to create your own ache to supersede the one already there. The taut muscles at the base of your skull aren’t so taut anymore. 

You let out a breath. 

“Yeah?” Remus murmurs. 

“Yeah.” 

James plants a happy kiss on your shoulder. “How is it?” he asks. “Scale of one to ten.” 

“I think…probably a seven? But it was a nine before.” 

“That’s good, sweetheart.” You can hear the smile in his voice without raising your head. “It should keep feeling better.” 

You take another full breath. It feels good to do it without worrying you’re going to trigger your nausea again. 

“Want to try laying down?” Sirius asks softly. 

You nod, letting yourself list to the side. James helps you down the rest of the way. Sirius has pulled up a stool to the side of your little cot. He presses his thumb and forefinger to the top of your nose, just under your brow bone, and pushes gently. Something almost like a whimper escapes you. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Feels good.” 

“It’s because his hands are so freezing,” Remus teases. You think you hear the soft sound of a kiss landing on Sirius’ cheek, but Sirius’ hand never falters. He slowly works his way upward, drilling little circles in the center of your forehead before setting his thumbs to both of your temples. You feel the wound-tight knot of your head softening and unspooling. 

“Think you might be able to go to sleep?” Remus hums after a while. 

“I don’t know if I can help it,” you reply. You’ve been weathering this for days, the pain relentless and taxing. You’re exhausted. 

“That’s good, lovely. Get some rest.” 

“Will you…” 

“Yeah. We’ll be here.”

[cheftsunoda]

Hi! I just want to say I love your writing! Very much! And I was wondering if you could write one about where reader is Lando or Oscar's baby sister (18) and he's very protective of her and she's secretly dating Ollie and he goes full on big brother mode.

mclaren protection program — ob87

ollie bearman x !norris reader

lando norris x !sister reader

smau + blurbs

being lando’s little sister came with strict rules — no dating drivers, no sneaking around, and definitely no dating drivers while sneaking around. too bad you broke all three. for four months, she’s been secretly dating ollie bearman. lando is clueless. oscar suspects everything. and the rest of the grid? still thinks she’s just mclaren’s innocent little princess. keeping the secret was easy — until it wasn’t. that’s what happens when you’re in the mclaren protection program.

fc: lily rowland

(a/n) : hiiii love!! thank you so much. i hope you enjoy 💋💋

also sorry for the spacing at the end. i had too much fun and made this too long so tumblr did not allow anymore blocks

—

ynnorris

liked by magui_corceiro, lando, oscarpiastri and 2,700,500 others.

ynnorris : girls trip that lando decided to invite himself on

tagged : lando and magui_corceiro

—

view 175,002 other comments.

lando : i just came to check in on you guys and make sure everything was okay…

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : we literally have security for that

↳ lando : i don’t trust them to take care of you. or anyone for that matter. it could’ve been worse. i almost brought oscar

↳ ynnorris : next time send oscar by himself.

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ ynnorris : or better yet, don’t send anyone next time and let me live my life 😍😍😍

↳ lando : never. you are just a baby.

↳ ynnorris : oml OUT of my comments

magui_corceiro : next time we both need to shut off find my friends and just disappear 😇 but i had so much fun! love you queridaaaaa

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : yeahh we do🙂‍↔️but soooo fun with you my baby. love you more💌

liked by magui_corceiro

↳ lando : see that’s what we aren’t gonna do

↳ ynnorris : 🍅🍅🍅

alexandrasaintmleux : belle fille😻

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : that is all you my angel

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

georgerussell63 : lando…no offense but how are you going to protect them? no one is scared of a smiley british man and you also lack all survival skills and instincts

liked by ynnorris

↳ lando : whose side are you even on here russell???

↳ georgerussell63 : yn’s

liked by ynnorris

oscarpiastri : Glad to see Mclaren Protection Program is still alive and well.

↳ ynnorris : osccccc make him stopppp

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : sadly i cannot, we are all protective in different ways. lando is very obvious about it and i just stand behind you and glare at anyone that looks at you. i protect from a distance.

↳ ynnorris : i prefer your way even though you always scare men away from me

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : that is the whole point little norris

↳ ynnorris : guyssss im 19 now. let me liveeee

↳ lando : 19 is a baby in my eyes. just a little muppet

↳ oscarpiastri : I trust you, yn. I do not trust men, they are all disgusting.

↳ username00 : this is so cute omg i cant

carmenmmundt : pretty pretty girl ❤️

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : carms🥹 imy

liked by carmenmmundt

username1 : does this prove the magui/lando theories??

↳ username7 : wouldn’t be too sure about it. yn and magui have both done many shoots for alo together, could just simply be friends hanging out

—

You are blissfully unaware that your entire life is about to implode. The sun is low in the sky, casting a honey-gold glow across the resort pool, the water shimmering like glass. You’re stretched out on your lounger in a bikini and Lando’s technically-stolen bucket hat, sipping something cold and citrusy while Magui is next to you in oversized sunglasses, legs crossed and judgment fully activated.

“I swear,” she says, adjusting her towel and lowering her shades, “if you smile at your phone one more time like that, I’m going to push you into the pool.”

You don’t even try to stop the grin tugging at your lips. “I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re texting your secret boyfriend.”

You snort. “You don’t know that.”

Magui raises an eyebrow. “YN, you literally giggled when his contact name popped up. Like, audibly. Who giggles at a name? You’re in love.”

You roll your eyes, trying to fight the smile, but fail miserably. “Fine. Maybe I am.”

“I knew it.” She turns toward you, fully invested. “Okay, spill. How bad is it? Like, ‘I miss him after five hours’ bad or ‘I wrote his name in my notes app with little hearts’ bad?”

“…Second one.”

Magui throws her head back in horror. “You’re a lost cause.”

Your voice is soft, honest, almost dreamy as you say, “Fine, I’ll say it. I think I’m actually in love, Magui.”

She lifts her sunglasses and gives you a look of pure disbelief. “Actually in love?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Like, properly. I’m done for, can’t think straight, smile every time he texts kind of love.”

Magui groans into her drink. “Oh no. You’re so doomed. Lando’s going to kill you.”

You laugh. “He’s not even in the country.”

And that’s when the universe decides to ruin your life.

“Interesting.”

A familiar voice cuts through the air like a brick through glass. Your entire body goes cold. You turn so slowly, dread washing over you like a tidal wave — and there he is.

Lando.

Standing there in board shorts and a backwards cap, holding a drink and looking way too amused for someone who should be on the other side of the planet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you shriek, clutching your towel like it’s a shield.

He lifts his drink. “Surprise. Thought I’d crash your little girls trip.”

Magui nearly drops her glass. “You said you were in Monaco!”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “flights exist. Also, you left your hoodie in my flat and I got suspicious. Turns out my sister is sneaky as hell.”

You blink. “You tracked me down over a hoodie?!”

“I have your location, genius.”

Magui mouths “I’m so sorry” behind him.

Lando crosses his arms. “So. You’re in love?”

You freeze. Your heart lurches. “What?”

“You just told Magui,” he says casually. “I walked up right in the middle of your whole confession. Thought I was interrupting some gossip, not a rom com.”

You open and close your mouth. “That could’ve been about anyone. A book. A movie.”

“You said he texts you and makes you smile.”

You want to die.

Magui chimes in helpfully, “Could be a fictional character!”

You glare at her.

Lando narrows his eyes. “You’re hiding something.”

You scramble. “I’m not!”

He stares at you, then huffs a breath and backs off — for now. “Fine. But you’re being weird. Just… don’t do anything dumb, okay?”

He walks away toward the bar, muttering something about needing tequila and a nap. As soon as he’s gone, you collapse onto your lounger, clutching your face.

“He didn’t hear Ollie’s name,” Magui whispers.

You nod, whisper-screaming, “But he knows I’m in love! That’s bad enough!”

“He’s gonna turn into a bloodhound.”

You groan. “This trip was supposed to be peaceful.”

Magui hands you your drink. “You better text your secret boyfriend and warn him. Code red.”

—

The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the Abu Dhabi skyline in hues of peach and lavender. You’re curled up in the oversized armchair by the window, hair wrapped in a towel, legs tucked beneath you, skin still warm from the sun and the chaos of earlier.

Your phone screen glows with Ollie’s face — he’s fresh out of the sim room, damp curls flattened under a cap, hoodie halfway zipped, and that smile already softening every bone in your body.

“You survived?” he teases, voice low and sweet. “Magui said you were one panic attack away from throwing yourself into the pool.”

“She’s dramatic,” you murmur, grinning. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You told her you were in love. Lando heard you say it.”

You cover your face with one hand. “Okay… fine, it was that bad.”

He laughs — low and fond — and you swear your heart somersaults.

“I’m serious, Ollie. He showed up out of nowhere. We didn’t even know he was in the same country.”

“Well, now I’m scared,” Ollie says, mock-serious. “What if he finds out and I have to leave F1 just to stay alive?”

“You’re not helping,” you whisper, giggling into your hand. “He already gave me the ‘don’t do anything dumb’ speech, which means he knows something is up. He’s circling. Like a vulture in swim trunks.”

Ollie smiles, eyes flicking across the screen like he’s memorizing every detail of you.

“I’ll keep my head down,” he says gently. “But for the record… I’d still risk it.”

Your cheeks flush. You’re about to reply — something sappy, something stupid — when the door to your suite clicks open. You freeze. You immediately twist the phone screen away from the door, just as Lando strolls in like he owns the place, mid-scroll on his own phone.

“You left your charger in the cabana,” he says casually, not even looking up.

You fumble with your screen. “Oh, uh—thanks.”

Ollie is still on the call, and you panic, scrambling to hit end. His face disappears mid-laugh. Your phone drops into your lap. Too late. Lando pauses. His eyes narrow, and now he is looking at you.

“Were you just on the phone?” he asks, slow, suspicious.

You force a smile. “Nope.”

“Really?” he tilts his head. “Because I’m very sure I heard you laughing like someone was flirting with you.”

“I laugh at you sometimes,” you offer weakly.

“Not like that.”

You sit there, heart pounding, towel slipping from your hair. Lando squints at you for a second longer, like he’s scanning your soul. Then, with a little nod, he turns and walks to the minibar. “You’re hiding something.”

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally just in my suite.”

“With freshly wet hair, flushed cheeks, and that ‘I just hung up on a boy I like’ face.”

You blink. “That’s not a real face.”

“It is on you.”

He grabs a soda and cracks it open, then stares at you over the can.

“I’ll figure it out, you know.”

You cross your arms. “There’s nothing to figure out.”

Lando smirks, but it’s not angry — it’s something more dangerous: amused. Curious. Calculating.

“Right,” he says. “Sure.”

He turns and leaves the room. And now you’re alone, phone still warm in your lap, and your heart racing because you know that boy is putting pieces together. Fast.

—

You’re already on edge when you sit down. The Abu Dhabi sun is warm but not brutal yet, the hotel’s rooftop terrace breezy and quiet — but none of that matters, because Lando is sitting across from you with his sunglasses pushed up on his head, a croissant in one hand and his interrogation eyes locked on you like a laser sight. Magui is seated between you both, playing neutral Switzerland, pretending her yogurt parfait is more interesting than the slow death happening at the table.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Lando says, sipping his espresso with annoying calm.

“I’m enjoying the peace,” you say sweetly. “Which would be easier if someone wasn’t staring at me like I’m a suspect on Criminal Minds.”

He smirks. “I’m just watching you squirm. It’s very entertaining.”

Magui coughs, awkward. You narrow your eyes. “I’m not squirming.”

“Really?” He leans forward. “Because ever since I showed up, you’ve been weird. You hang up mystery phone calls, deflect every question I ask, and now you’re sweating.”

“I’m just hot!” you snap.

Lando raises an eyebrow. “Mmm. From love, or guilt?”

You gape. “You’re so dramatic.”

Magui mutters into her parfait, “She’s not denying it though.”

You turn on her. “Magui!”

“I’m sorry! I panic under pressure!” she whisper yells.

Lando claps once, smug. “Thank you, Magui. Finally someone with a conscience.”

You groan and reach for your juice.

“I don’t know who you think you’re in love with,” Lando continues, “but I will find out. You know I will.”

You throw your napkin in his face.

“Oh, you’re mad now? Cute,” he says, catching it mid-air. “I wonder if your other brother knows anything about this.”

You blink. “Don’t.”

But it’s too late. Lando already has his phone out. He’s calling Oscar. Magui gasps.

“You wouldn’t,” you whisper.

He smiles. “Watch me.”

He hits speaker. It rings. Once. Twice.

Oscar groans as he answers the phone. “Mate, it’s 6 a.m. in Monaco. Someone better be dying.”

Lando smirks to himself. “Hey, quick question. You know anything about YN being in love?”

Oscar instantly wakes up.’ “WHAT?!”

You slap a hand over your face. Oscar sighs loudly. “With WHO? What happened? Is she okay?”

“YES I’M OKAY,” you yell across the table.

“Why does she sound defensive? Is it someone on the grid? Tell me it’s not someone on the grid.”

Lando shrugs to himself. “She won’t tell me anything. But she hung up a call suspiciously fast last night and started blushing.”

Oscar thinks for a second and then questions, “Was it Ollie?”

Your head snaps up. “WHAT?!”

Magui chokes on her parfait. Lando glances up at you quickly. “Wait, WHAT?!”

You leap across the table and slap Lando’s phone off speaker just in time. “He was JOKING!” you say way too loud. “Oscar jokes like that all the time! Classic Oscar!”

Lando stares at you. “Why was Ollie his first guess?”

You stare back. “Because Oscar is weird. And wrong. So wrong. Very, very wrong.”

You are sweating. Magui looks like she wants to melt into her seat. Lando doesn’t say anything. He just slowly picks up his coffee and takes a sip like he’s storing everything away for later. And when Oscar texts you three seconds later —

who is it. swear to god i will find him myself.

—you know this nightmare is only beginning.

—

You’re exhausted. Not just physically — though the hours of sun, sand, and your brother’s relentless investigation certainly didn’t help — but emotionally, too. Keeping a secret this big, this special, from the people you love is harder than you ever expected. And despite the laughter and the lounging, the poolside mocktails and Magui’s dramatic gossiping, the truth is— you missed him.

You missed Ollie. You unlock your apartment door and push it open with a sigh, expecting the usual stillness, maybe your throw blanket half-slid off the couch or your suitcase left in the hallway. But instead—

The lights are on. Warm, low, golden lighting. The scent of something delicious drifts from the kitchen. A familiar hoodie is draped over the back of the dining chair. Music hums softly through the room — something old and gentle, maybe Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald — and then.

“Hi, angel.”

You freeze in the doorway. Ollie steps out from the kitchen, dish towel slung over one shoulder, curls damp from a recent shower, smile so soft it nearly knocks the breath out of you.

In one hand, he’s holding a bouquet — white tulips, your favorite. In the other, he’s gesturing toward the table, where two plates are already set and candles flicker beside a bowl of pasta.

You blink, stunned. “You’re—here?”

He grins. “I couldn’t wait.”

You don’t even think. You run to him. He laughs as you crash into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around your waist, flowers still clutched awkwardly behind your back as he kisses the top of your head.

You breathe him in — that comforting scent that was just distinctly Ollie. Your heart finally settles in your chest.

“I missed you,” you mumble into his hoodie.

“I missed you more,” he whispers, kissing your temple.

You tilt your head up and he leans in immediately, kissing you like he’s been waiting all week — slow and deep and sweet, like there’s nothing else in the world except the two of you and the soft music playing behind you.

When you finally pull back, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“You made dinner?” you ask, eyeing the pasta with awe and suspicion.

“Attempted dinner,” he corrects. “Let’s just say Kimi’s mum talked me through 90% of it over FaceTime and I nearly set off the smoke alarm. But I didn’t. So… success.”

You giggle, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “It smells amazing. And the flowers—”

“You’ve been through it this week,” he says, serious now. “I figured you deserved something nice. And something normal.”

Your chest aches with how much you love him. He grabs your hand and pulls you toward the table, but not before kissing your knuckles like a cheesy old movie. You both sit, and he pours you water like he’s been rehearsing this all day.

Halfway through dinner, you’re mid-laugh about Magui accidentally texting Lando a shirtless selfie meant for her situationship when Ollie suddenly reaches across the table and laces your fingers with his. You blink at him.

“What?”

He shrugs, smiling softly. “Just needed to touch you again. Make sure you’re real.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’m real. And yours.”

His cheeks flush pink. “I still can’t believe it sometimes.”

You press your foot against his under the table. “You’re literally the best thing I’ve ever kept a secret.”

He grins. “Yeah? Even better than the time you ‘borrowed’ Lando’s credit card and bought a Dyson Hairdryer?”

You raise a brow. “Especially better than that.”

When dinner’s finished, he insists on doing the dishes while you sit on the counter with your legs swinging, stealing kisses every few minutes. Eventually, he pulls you off the counter and into his arms again, this time guiding you to the couch and wrapping you up in a blanket like he has no plans of ever letting you go.

You fall asleep curled into his side, his hand tangled in your hair, the scent of tulips and tomato sauce still lingering in the air.

And for the first time in days, you feel at home.

—

ynnorris added a post to her story!

seen by lando, oscarpiastri, olliebearman & 2,705,003 others.

lando : wtf is this. WHO IS THE BAE

↳ lando : where are you

↳ lando : on my way!

↳ ynnorris : this is quite literally a paid sponsor post - why r u tweaking

↳ lando : i am going to the restaurant and paying the waitress to tell me all she knows

↳ ynnorris : ok detective. have fun x

↳ lando : why is ur location off?

↳ lando : yn;(

↳ ynnorris : lol

magui_corceiro : tão lindaaaaa 😍

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : thank u ma love but can u pls distract lando with your boobs again? he is being annoying.

liked by magui_corceiro

↳ magui_corceiro : lmao sorry babe - he already left. he was mumbling something about killing someone

↳ ynnorris : oh jfc this man

↳ ynnorris : i CANNOT even breath without him

↳ magui_corceiro : he just loves you. so much. its annoying the way he shows it but he is genuine.

lando : oscar and i r on the way

↳ lando : didn't turn off his location hehe

—

You’re sitting across from Ollie at a tiny round table tucked into the corner of your favorite café — all exposed brick, flower boxes in the windows, and exactly the kind of hidden gem where you can pretend you’re not dating a fellow F1 driver in total secrecy.

The two of you are mid-laugh over something stupid — probably Ollie butchering your coffee order in a fake posh accent — when your food arrives. You add your sponsored post to your story before digging in. Aesthetic. Harmless. Vague. You even remember to crop out his sleeve.

And you turned off your location for Lando. But not Oscar.

You find this out approximately six minutes later, when Ollie’s halfway through his eggs and you see Oscar’s name pop up on your screen. Your stomach plummets.

“Oh no.”

Ollie freezes, fork mid air. “What?”

You answer the phone. “Hi.”

Oscar’s voice is far too casual. “Hey, YN. Just out of curiosity… where exactly are you right now?”

You blink. “Home?”

There’s a pause. And then, in the background—

“IS SHE LYING?”  That’s Lando.

Oscar clears his throat. “Funny. Because I can literally see your live location. At a café. 10 minutes away from home.”

You hang up.

“OH MY GOD,” you whisper scream, jumping up so fast your chair scrapes the tile. “They’re coming.”

Ollie chokes on his coffee. “Who?!”

“My brother. And Oscar.”

He bolts upright. “HOW?! I thought you said you turned off sharing!”

“For Lando! I forgot Oscar still has it! Oh my god, oh my god, I’m gonna throw up—”

You spin in circles, full panic mode.

“Hide,” you hiss.

Ollie blinks. “Where?!”

“I don’t know! Bathroom?! Tuck your limbs, be compact!”

He doesn’t even argue — just grabs his plate, shoves the croissant in his mouth like a criminal, and sprints toward the back, disappearing into the bathroom just as the café bell rings—Ding. You freeze.

“Hi.” Lando. Sunglasses, hoodie, chaos in his eyes.

Oscar’s behind him, arms crossed, face neutral but clearly buzzing with big brother mode.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Lando says, sauntering toward you like he hasn’t just hunted you down like a bloodhound. “Thought you said you were home.”

“I was,” you say quickly. “But then I got hungry.”

Oscar squints at your table. “You ordered two lattes?”

“I’m growing,” you blurt.

Lando snorts and gestures to the empty chair across from you. “Mind if we join?”

You panic. “Actually yes. I’m waiting for a friend.”

Oscar’s eyebrows shoot up. “Magui?”

“Yep,” you lie.

“Funny, I just left hers,” Lando says, pulling out his phone. 

You blink. “Other Magui.”

Oscar leans over the table, eyes narrowing. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you sweating again?”

“It’s hot..again.” 

Lando suddenly turns to the waitress, who is just trying to refill the sugar jar. “Hey, random question. Who was my sister sitting with earlier?”

Your soul leaves your body.

The waitress pauses. “Um…”

“Tall?” Oscar asks. “Blonde?”

You kick him under the table. “Are you interrogating the staff now?!”

The poor waitress stares between all of you. “I… I think she was alone?”

You flash her the most grateful look of your life.

“See?” you say, smiling sweetly. “Alone.”

Lando doesn’t buy it. He stands up suddenly. “I’m checking the bathroom.”

“YOU’RE WHAT?!” you shriek, grabbing his sleeve.

Oscar raises both eyebrows. “Why would you stop him if you weren’t hiding someone?”

You flail. “Because it’s weird! What if someone’s in there peeing?!”

“I hope someone’s in there peeing,” Lando says, already walking.

You run after him. “Lando, do not—”

But just as he reaches for the bathroom door, it opens. And out walks an elderly man. You nearly cry with relief.

“Oh,” Lando says, disappointed. “Thought I had you.”

You flip him off behind your back. He shrugs and walks back to the table. “You’re being sketchy as hell, YN.”

“I’m being harassed,” you mutter, sinking into your seat as they finally sit down and start stealing bites of your breakfast.

And then, under the table, your phone buzzes.

please don’t let them kill me.

You smile into your cup.

“Everything okay?” Oscar asks.

You nod. “Perfect.”

—

Across the table, Lando and Oscar are finishing your pancakes like they paid for it, still occasionally side eyeing you like you’re one blink away from cracking under pressure.

“Anyway,” Lando says, licking syrupoff his thumb, “we’re heading to sim. Try not to start a secret relationship while we’re gone.”

“I’ll do my best,” you reply flatly.

Oscar leans in. “If it is someone on the grid… he better be ready to fight me and God.”

You blink. “Okay.”

They both stand, adjusting sunglasses like undercover agents. You smile sweetly. Too sweet. The kind of smile that says please leave before I scream.

“Text me later,” Lando says, pointing at you.

“Be normal,” you reply.

They finally, finally head for the door. You count to ten in your head.

One.

You keep your expression blank.

Two.

Oscar glances back. You pretend to stir your cold coffee.

Three. Four.

Door closes behind them.

Five. Six. Seven.

You stand, head on a swivel, checking for any return.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

You speed walk to the back.

“Babe?” you whisper, tapping gently on the bathroom door like you're defusing a bomb. “They’re gone.”

The door cracks open. Ollie peeks out, cautious.

“Swear?”

“I watched them leave. I waited. I counted.”

He slowly emerges, looking like a hostage who’s been hiding in a bunker. “That was the most terrifying thirty minutes of my life.”

“I aged six years,” you whisper, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the back hallway. “We’re going out the side exit.”

He follows you quietly, his curls slightly messy from running his hands through them, and his hoodie tucked up over his head like he's avoiding paparazzi. You open the alleyway door, peek outside, and the coast is clear. You both walk fast — not quite a run, not quite casual — like two people absolutely doing something suspicious.

When you’re finally around the corner, behind a row of parked scooters, you collapse against a brick wall and burst out laughing.

Ollie bends forward, hands on his knees. “I swear Lando sniffed the air when he walked in. Like he could smell guilt.”

“He tried to interrogate the waitress,” you say, wheezing. “Oscar kept guessing names like he was hosting a live game show.”

Ollie groans, rubbing his eyes. “I was ready to climb out the bathroom window and flee to Monaco.”

You step toward him, arms wrapping around his waist, and bury your face in his hoodie. He immediately pulls you close, chin resting on your head.

“You were so brave,” you murmur into his chest, laughing softly.

“I was a hero,” he replies dramatically. “Someone should’ve given me a medal in there.”

“I’ll give you a kiss instead.”

He doesn’t hesitate — he tilts your chin up and kisses you gently, slowly, like he missed the feel of your lips during the entire harrowing café drama. His hands stay firm on your waist, grounding you as your heart finally settles again.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, smiling.

He smiles back. “You’re the one who posted the breakfast photo.”

You gasp. “Are you blaming me?”

“I’m just saying,” he says, laughing as you swat at his chest, “your boyfriend might have survived longer if his girlfriend wasn’t so chronically online.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop smiling.

“Come on,” you say, grabbing his hand. “Your place. We’re locking the door and ignoring everyone for the next twelve hours.”

He squeezes your hand. “Best plan I’ve heard all day.”

—

The drive had started off normal enough — Lando behind the wheel of his matte black Urus, sunglasses on, music low, Monaco’s streets breezing past in sharp curves and shiny yachts. Oscar was in the passenger seat, sipping an overpriced iced coffee and talking about literally nothing. Until they hit the residential bend up in La Rousse. And that’s when they saw it.

Your car.

A McLaren 750S, papaya orange, obnoxiously clean — parked in front of a sleek glass apartment building tucked between a bougie wine bar and a tiny yoga studio.

Oscar pointed like he’d spotted a wild animal. “Wait. That’s her car.”

Lando glanced over, barely needing a second. “That’s definitely her car.”

Oscar leaned forward, squinting. “She said she was going to lunch at the harbor. This is not lunch at the harbor.”

Lando frowned. “Is she… seeing someone who lives here?”

Oscar’s head whipped around. “Do we know anyone who lives here?”

“I don’t know, Oscar. Monaco is small. Could be anyone.”

“Could be someone terrible.”

They stared at the building. Lando shifted into park.

Oscar looked at him, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “She’s being shady. This is my little sister. And she’s lying about where she is.”

Oscar followed, both of them marching across the cobbled street toward the front entrance like a couple of underqualified spies in overpriced sneakers. They reached the glass door and immediately ran into… a problem.

The intercom.

Oscar jabbed the call button. ��Just press the most expensive sounding name.”

Lando smacked his hand away. “You don’t press things when you don’t know who lives here. That’s literally how you get arrested.”

“Then what’s the plan?”

“Wait until someone leaves and sneak in,” Lando said, peering through the lobby window like a raccoon. “That’s how she got in, probably.”

Oscar tilted his head. “You think she’s sneaking around?”

“I think she’s being suspicious as hell, and I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

Meanwhile, up on the fifth floor, you're curled up with a throw blanket, your legs over Ollie’s lap as he lazily braids a strand of your hair. It’s the first time you’ve truly relaxed since you got back from the girls trip. Until you hear it. Muffled, echoing from the street.

“YN!”

You freeze.

You and Ollie both look up, alarmed.

“No,” you whisper.

He sets your hair down slowly. “Was that—?”

You leap off the couch and race to the balcony, throw open the doors— And there they are.

Lando and Oscar. Standing like two overzealous detectives outside Ollie’s building, both looking up at balconies and pointing at cars like this is some heist movie.

Oscar cups his hands and yells again. “YN! We KNOW you’re in there!”

Lando starts pacing. “Come down and explain why your car is parked here!”

You lean over the railing, completely unbothered.

“Hi boys,” you say sweetly. “Are we playing Where’s Waldo but for my love life?”

Lando shields his eyes and glares. “WHY are you here?”

“I live here now,” you lie smoothly. “Decided to become a mysterious heiress.”

Oscar shook his head. “We don’t know anyone who lives in that building!”

You sip from your water glass dramatically. “Maybe I’ve made new friends. You two are awfully invested.”

Lando turns to Oscar. “We’re getting in.”

Oscar knocks on the door again. “Maybe if I say it’s an emergency—”

The front desk security guy appears, looking visibly tired. “You two again?”

“We need to speak to someone in 5B,” Lando says.

“We can’t give out resident info.”

Oscar points. “But that’s our sister’s car—”

“Still not my problem.”

You watch this unfold from your balcony like a queen surveying her court.

Ollie peeks from behind the curtain. “Are they really trying to break in?”

“Yep.”

“Should I hide again?”

“No,” you say, grabbing your water glass. “I’ve got a better idea.”

You step to the edge of the balcony.

“Hey, Lando!” you yell sweetly.

He looks up. “What?”

You smile. “You’re looking a little dehydrated!”

And you dump the water. Splash. It lands squarely on his hoodie and half his head. Oscar screams laughing.

Lando yells, “YOU ABSOLUTE MUPPET!”

You blow him a kiss and disappear inside, shutting the door behind you.

Ollie collapses on the couch, dying laughing. “They’re gonna murder me.”

You throw yourself down next to him. “They don’t even know it’s you yet.”

He pauses. “Do you think they’ll guess?”

You grin, climbing into his lap. “Not before I hit them with the actual glass next.”

—

ynnorris

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, kimi.antonelli and 3,001,008 others.

ynnorris : ◡̈ dump dump dump ◡̈ also shoutout to @/diesel for always dressing me!

—

view 201,110 other comments.

lando : well

↳ lando : he has arms, brown hair and a...ferrari

↳ lando : none of which he will have once i am done with him

magui_corceiro : girl you are GLOWINGGG

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : it's because of you know whooooo

liked by magui_corceiro

↳ lando : WAIT MAGUI YOU KNOW???

↳ lando : gasp. betrayal.

↳ magui_corceiro : bros before hoes srry

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : ilysfm mags

lando : whose baby is that???? is it yours??? oh my god. im sick to my stomach.

↳ ynnorris : lando. have i looked pregnant the last 9 months?

↳ lando : no but i saw you eat pickles with takis yesterday

↳ ynnorris : ive done that for years im just gross

↳ lando : that baby knows something i don't

↳ ynnorris : yes the infant is smarter than you. well aware.

↳ lando : WAIT. does he have kids???? how old is this fucker???

↳ ynnorris : lando. hush. im two seconds away from blocking you. or calling mum.

↳ lando : ok.

diesel : we LOVE you pretty girl

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : love you all even more!!

franciscagomes : call the wag group rn. we all have questions

liked by ynnorris

↳ ynnorris : anything for my ladies

↳ lando : KIKA. MY FRIEND. PLS RECORD THE CONVERSATION.

↳ franciscagomes : bros before hoes srry

oscarpiastri : ferrari? arthur. i swear to god. the things i will do to you.

↳ arthur_leclerc : surprisingly not me. good luck man. half of monaco has ferrari's.

liked by ynnorris

username00 : half the comment section being lando talking to himself is taking me out.

liked by ynnorris

—

The Bearmans’ house smells like fresh-baked bread and a hint of rose from the garden. You’re barefoot in the grass, sipping lemonade, laughter echoing around the yard as the sun dips just a little lower behind the tall trees. It’s warm in the way only June afternoons can be — not too hot, just sun-kissed and soft, like the kind of day you want to bottle up and live in forever.

Ollie’s little sister, Amalie, is painting your nails a bright coral shade on the back patio. She’s concentrating so hard her tongue is sticking out, and you’re trying not to giggle because her hands are surprisingly steady.

“You’d make a killer glam team,” you say.

Amalie beams. “I already told Ollie I want to do makeup models one day.”

From a few feet away, you hear Thomas — Ollie’s younger brother — shout “heads up!” just before he launches a soccer ball across the garden to their dad. Chaos. Pure, happy chaos.

But the world slows down when Ollie walks out of the house, cradling his cousin’s newborn in his arms. You’ve never seen him like this.

He’s so gentle. Careful. Like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever held — which she might be. The way he looks down at her with soft eyes, how he adjusts the blanket on her little chest, how he sways back and forth without even realizing it. Your heart does something dangerous.

“She loves him,” Ollie’s mum whispers beside you, having appeared with a tray of snacks like all mums do. “He’s always been good with babies. Even when he was little, he’d hold Amalie like she was made of glass.”

You nod slowly, unable to look away from him. The baby coos. Ollie smiles — all pink cheeks and affection — and then, like he can feel your gaze, he looks up and catches your eyes.

“Want to hold her?” he asks.

You hesitate. “I might drop her.”

“You won’t.” He’s already walking over. 

“She’s tiny,” you murmur.

“She’s perfect,” he says, softly, as he passes her to you.

You settle into the chair, heart in your throat, arms curved just right, and suddenly — she’s there. A little pink face. Sleepy eyes. A tuft of fuzzy hair and a lemon-print onesie. She sighs once and then melts against your chest, like you were made to hold her.

You blink, overwhelmed. “Oh my god.”

Ollie crouches in front of you, watching you with this look — soft, proud, like he’s seeing something sacred.

“She likes you,” he murmurs.

“She snuggled,” you whisper. “Ollie, she snuggled me.”

He laughs under his breath. “That’s usually a good sign.”

You glance up at him, the warmth of the baby against your heart, and you swear the moment stretches. Like time pauses for just the two of you.

“She’s so small,” you say, voice barely above a breath.

“You’re holding her like you’ve done it a thousand times.”

And you feel it — not just the weight of the baby in your arms, but something heavier in your chest. The kind of love that sneaks up on you quietly, builds over months and moments until it breaks the dam. You look at Ollie again, and he’s still staring. Like you’ve just said his name without saying anything at all. Later, when you’re lying on the couch inside, baby-free, curled up next to him with a blanket over your knees, Ollie kisses the top of your head and whispers,

“I think I fell a little more in love with you today.”

You smile, sleepy and full. “Me too.”

—

The second you pull up in Ollie’s Ferrari, you already regret it. Not because it isn’t fun — it is. The car purrs beneath your fingertips, the sun reflects off its deep metallic red like a spotlight, and people turn their heads when you park it like you own half the street. But because your brother and…other brother are already outside the café. And they see everything. Oscar squints the moment you parallel park. Lando does a full body pivot like a sniffer dog. And by the time you’ve stepped out, their jaws are already halfway on the pavement.

“Since when do you drive a Ferrari?” Lando asks, arms crossed.

You shrug, locking the car. “Borrowed it.”

Oscar walks a slow, suspicious circle around the car like it’s a crime scene. “From who?”

You smile, innocent. “A friend.”

Lando points at you. “You don’t have friends with cars like this.”

“I do now.”

He mutters something under his breath, then crouches in front of the grille like he’s about to get a reading off the VIN number. Oscar checks the back.

You blink. “Are you serious right now?”

“Very,” Lando says, pressing a hand to the hood. “Still warm.”

“I just drove it here, sherlock.”

He ignores you and turns to Oscar. “This isn’t a rental.”

Oscar nods solemnly. “This is definitely someone’s personal car. That color isn’t even in the stock range. This is custom paint.”

You walk past them into the restaurant. “Okay, Sherlocks. You two enjoy your Top Gear moment.”

Inside, the hostess leads you to your table. Through the floor to ceiling glass, you watch Lando and Oscar continue their ridiculous investigation. Oscar checks the side mirrors. Lando opens his Notes app like he’s logging evidence.

You text Ollie under the table.

ur car is being interrogated.

what did he say.

oscar just wiped a fingerprint off the bumper and looked disappointed it wasn’t a match.

they’re unwell.

they’re obsessed with me.

i don’t blame them.

You smile and sip your drink, just as Lando finally enters, sunglasses now pushed up into his hair.

He sits down, leans across the table, and says with total seriousness.

“You’re hiding something.”

Oscar sits beside him, arms folded. “And we’re going to find out what it is.”

You lean back in your seat, unbothered. “You guys do know you’re not in a Netflix documentary, right?”

They don’t blink. You smile sweetly. “Hope you like the carbon fiber seats. They’re heated.”

They both groan at once.

—

ynnorris

liked by lando, olliebearman, oscarpiastri and 3,709,002 others.

ynnorris : beach bummin

(comments r off until lando and oscar learn to behave)

—

The sun is warm on your skin, the sand soft beneath your towel, and Ollie is lying next to you, arm lazily thrown over your waist, both of you half-asleep under a wide straw umbrella. Your phone buzzes against your thigh, and you grin at the likes rolling in on your Instagram post. Back in Monaco, however, peace is not the vibe.

Lando’s lying on his couch, one sock on, one sock missing, a half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table, and a look of absolute suspicion on his face. The moment your story popped up, he froze mid-bite. He stares at it again now, zooming in and out like it’ll suddenly reveal a reflection of the man holding your hand. Next to him, Oscar is half asleep, scrolling TikTok. He only glances up when Lando mutters-

“She’s on a beach. Somewhere tropical. And that arm isn’t hers.”

Oscar peers at the screen. “Yeah, no. That’s 100% male forearm. Good tan too.”

Lando groans and slaps his phone down. “She turned her location off for me, Oscar.”

Oscar shrugs. “She didn’t for me.”

Lando’s head whips around. “What?!”

Oscar scrolls casually. “Says she’s in Ibiza.”

Lando stands up like he’s just been personally betrayed by the island of Ibiza. “Who the hell is she in Ibiza with?!”

Oscar hums. “Could be anyone. Could be a friend.”

“A friend with coconut water and veiny forearms? Yeah, okay.”

Lando paces.

Oscar adds, “She’s posting suspiciously curated content. This isn’t an accident.”

Lando stops. “There’s only one person who might know.”

Oscar’s brow lifts. “You’re not gonna—”

“Oh, I am.”

—

Magui opens the door in an oversized tee, holding a smoothie bowl and looking halfway through a Real Housewives binge.

Lando barges in. “Where is she?”

“Hello to you too,” Magui deadpans, shutting the door behind him. “Can I help you, detective Norris?”

He turns his phone toward her, showing your story. “Do you see this? Do you see the coconut? The hand? The shoulder vein?”

Magui takes the phone, sighs, and walks into the kitchen. “I’m not doing this today.”

Oscar appears behind Lando with a quiet “Hey,” and grabs a spoon from her counter like he lives there.

Magui points at them both. “You two need a hobby. And no, I’m not telling you where she is.”

“She’s in Ibiza,” Lando growls. “With a man.”

Oscar squints at the photo again. “He has nice wrists.”

Lando smacks his shoulder.

Magui leans against the counter, bored. “You’re acting like she’s being kidnapped. She’s on holiday. During her break. Living her best life.”

“With who?” Lando repeats, clearly unraveling.

Magui smiles slowly. “Let’s just say he treats her right. Brings her flowers. Drives a Ferrari.”

Oscar gasps. “It’s someone we know.”

Lando looks like he’s about to pass out.

Magui grabs the remote. “Maybe if you two stopped acting like overprotective sitcom dads, she’d actually tell you things.”

Lando stares at the TV. Oscar leans over the couch, mouth full of granola. “I think I’m gonna solve this before him.”

Lando glares. “Over my dead body.”

—

You’re sitting poolside, legs in the water, a mocktail in your hand, and your boyfriend’s head resting comfortably in your lap. Ollie’s got on sunglasses and a backwards cap, sun-warm and sleepy as you run your fingers through his curls and talk about absolutely nothing. The playlist you made together is playing softly in the background, your towel smells like coconut, and you haven’t worn real shoes in three days. Life is perfect. Until Ollie tenses. And sits up slowly.

You blink. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer — just stares out across the resort terrace like he’s seen a ghost. You follow his gaze. And there they are. Lando. And Oscar.

Wearing disguises that don’t work, sunglasses, baseball caps, and matching white linen shirts like they’re auditioning for a DJ set at a beach club. They’re lurking behind a fake palm tree near the juice bar, whispering and peeking over the shrubbery like two middle-aged tourists in a soap opera. You blink again.

“Oh my god.”

Ollie looks at you in horror. “Do we run?”

You sip your drink calmly. “No. We act natural.”

“Define natural,” he whispers as you pull your sunglasses on.

“Hot. Unbothered. Maybe a little smug.”

Ollie adjusts his hat. “So just you, then.”

You grin. Meanwhile, across the patio, Lando is practically vibrating with tension.

“That’s him. That’s his hair,” he hisses to Oscar.

Oscar nods gravely. “Same jawline. Definitely Bearman. I knew it.”

“I can’t believe she’s dating Ollie.” Lando sounds genuinely wounded. “She went for the baby driver?!”

“He’s not even legally old enough to rent a car in some countries,” Oscar mutters.

“I knew that arm in the story was familiar,” Lando groans. “I knew it.”

Oscar’s eyes narrow. “They’re… touching.”

“They’re cuddling.” Lando grips the fake tree like it insulted him. “Oh my god. I’m gonna pass out.”

“Stay strong,” Oscar whispers. “We’re already here. We finish the mission.”

Lando squares his shoulders like he’s going into war.

“Let’s go confront them.”

You look up from your drink just in time to see Lando and Oscar marching toward you with the energy of two men who haven’t thought this through even slightly.

Ollie mutters under his breath. “Should I pretend I don’t speak English?”

Lando points the moment he gets close. “YOU!”

You smile brightly. “Me?”

Oscar looks at Ollie like he just kicked his dog. “So it is you.”

Ollie raises his hands. “Hi.”

“How long?” Lando demands, arms crossed, dramatic as ever. “How long has this been happening?”

You feign innocence. “Define ‘this’?”

“The hand-holding. The pool-side spooning. The vacationing.”

Ollie opens his mouth, closes it, then says gently, “About… five months?”

Lando gasps like he’s just been stabbed.

“FIVE?!”

Oscar turns to you. “You told me you were going to get lunch. That was three months ago.”

Lando paces. “Oh my god. We interrogated the car.”

You sip your drink calmly. “Yeah, that was super embarrassing for you both.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Oscar asks, voice only slightly hurt now. “We’re your brothers.”

“Because you’re my brothers,” you say, motioning toward their matching shirts. “And look at you. You flew to Ibiza to catch me like I’m running a smuggling ring.”

“Honestly,” Ollie mumbles, “this went way better than I thought it would.”

Lando stops pacing. “You thought this went well? I want to fight you. Right now. In the pool.”

You grab Ollie’s arm protectively. “Absolutely not.”

Oscar sighs and flops onto the lounger beside you. “Well… now that it’s out there… I guess I can stop cyberstalking every hand in your photos.”

Lando mutters, “I need a drink. Or five.”

You nudge Ollie. “Should we buy them smoothies as a peace offering?”

Ollie smiles weakly. “Will they spit in them?”

“Almost definitely.”

—

olliebearman

liked by ynnorris, lando, kimi.antonelli and 5,007,005 others.

olliebearman : since her brother and her...oscar...flew all the way to ibiza to bust us. happy hard launc

tagged : ynnorris

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—

[temiizpalace]

☆┊RESPOND TO MY TEXTS!

SUMMARY: how long do they take to respond to your messages?

CHARACTERS: all dorms + rsa, rollo & skully

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: some of these come from personal experience 💔💔

reader gender is not mentioned

SUMMONED SPIRIT

as soon as you hit send, you get a response immediately in return. it’s as if he’s been waiting all day for your text, summoned by the ping of your message. no matter what kind of message it is, he replies in mere seconds. funny video? he’ll laugh on text as loud as he can. need something at the store? already there. need a hug? on his way. he loves receiving these messages from you, and he wants you to know that by spamming your phone with his little replies.

cater, ace, kalim, rook, idia, lilia, sebek, che’nya, skully

REPLIES AT A REASONABLE TIME

he responds within a few minutes to hours. it’s understandable, he’s a busy guy with a lot going on in his life. he does appreciate your texts, your messages of motivation. it does make him feel a little guilty for making you wait for his response, but he makes up for it in other ways. besides, he’d rather be with you in the moment rather than over the phone. not that he doesn’t want your messages! overall, he responds in a reasonable amount of time that’s not too late, but not too soon.

riddle, trey, jack, azul, jade, jamil, vil, neige

REPLIES WITHIN WEEKS

never responds until weeks later. his phone is probably on do not disturb all the time because you swear he never reacts until forever. you could’ve sent him a meme you found funny from months ago and he’ll respond on a random saturday night at 7:47pm with some dry ass response like “haha” nearly scaring the ever loving crap out of you. you love him, you do, but dear lord would you wish he checked his phone once in awhile.. he probably texts like a dry old woman too.

riddle, ruggie, silver, rollo

REPLIES IN PERSON

he knows he can say it over the phone. he knows he can just reply instead of showing up to your doorstep. but he doesn’t want to. it’s wayy more meaningful if he says it to you to your face, right? you open the door, a puzzled look on your face as you see your boyfriend at the door. “i thought the video you sent me was funny.” he says bluntly before stepping through the door and inviting himself in. he finds this as an excuse to see you, to visit you. “you could’ve just texted me.” you sigh, pinching his cheek. he doesn’t care. and honestly, neither do you.

deuce, leona, floyd, epel, malleus

A/N: within weeks one gives me flashbacks im afraid

date published: 06/29/25

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[asiatic-apple]

Omg hii! Congrats on 200! I was wondering if the ask for the event is still open? I was hoping to ask for smut prompt 11 (quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials) with zayne. Thank you! I hope you're having a wonderful day! Congrats on 200!

Thank youuu 💕 Tbh I’m not sure if I captured zayne properly here since this is my first time writing smut for him 🙈 so please feel free to leave any constructive criticism. I hope this is to your liking though!

Mid-shift fix

Zayne x female reader

Prompt: quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials

Content: sex in a public place (no one sees it), slightly mean dom zayne, brat tamer zayne, “sweetheart” used as a pet name for reader, also he calls you a “brat” and a “naughty girl” (i’m sorry if this is an ick), creampie and pulling the panties over afterwards

Zayne should be diligently reviewing patient files. Instead, he’s got you pinned to the wall of his office, your panties hastily shoved to the side and your cunt squeezing around his cock with every ragged breath you take.

His crisp dress pants are barely pulled down. Your blouse is half unbuttoned from how frantically he’d fumbled to feel your skin. The only thing keeping you upright is his solid frame pressing you against the wall—and his harsh grip, fingers digging into one plush thigh as he keeps you wrapped tight around him. His other hand is braced against the wall beside your head, nearly clawing at it as he tries not to lose his mind completely.

“You have approximately five minutes,” he says sternly, even though his voice is rough with desire. “Make it count.”

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders and creasing his pristine white shirt. “You’re the one who interrupted our lunch together,” you tease breathlessly.

Zayne hums a low, humorless sound. “Because you were mouthing off all through lunch. Testing my patience.”

You try to retort, but the way he slams back inside you turns your words to a soft, garbled cry. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and sex, thanks to the sheen of sweat coating both of your bodies—and the coupling of your slick arousal that forms a creamy ring around his cock. He glides in and out of you too easily, the wet sound of it loud enough to make your skin prickle with the fear that someone passing by outside might hear the suspicious sounds.

“I can’t focus when there’s a brat in my office,” he says through gritted teeth, punctuating the statement with a sharp thrust that makes you moan. “But it seems you like to misbehave when you’re with me.”

His voice stays soft even in this moment, still measured and clinical as he reprimands you. It makes your spine go stiff and your cunt clench harder around him. He smirks when he feels it. “Such a naughty girl.”

Even though he teases you for being needy, you can feel him twitch inside you, getting closer with each delicious thrust. He groans against your neck, breath hot and uneven. When he’s this close to your skin, he can’t help but nip at it, leaving small love bites all over you.

“Your time is almost up, sweetheart,” he whispers near your ear, breath tickling your skin when he chuckles at your increasing whines.

Zayne slides a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, punishing circles. It’s not slow or indulgent—just efficient, deliberate. It’s the way he does everything when he’s at work. Like he knows exactly how to get you to crumble in the least amount of time. And he’s succeeding.

“Be good for me now,” he mutters, pace increasing as your legs tremble around him. “Come on my cock so I can get back to work.”

You can’t help but listen when he gets like this—scarily authoritative in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. It’s clear he’s solely focused on punishing you with an orgasm that is too fast, too fleeting to fully satisfy you. And then he’ll send you home with a wet, sticky reminder of your misbehavior seeping through your panties and trailing down your thighs.

Still, you can’t stop the pleasure that rolls through you. Your body tenses, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm turns your body to jelly.

Zayne curses, biting his bottom lip to stay quiet, but his controlled thrusts falter with the way your walls flutter around him. He fucks you through it, chasing his own high now with quick, shallow thrusts. And then he buries himself deep and chants your name like a prayer as he pulses inside you.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. He just leans into you, forehead resting against yours and breath fanning across your lips. His cum drips out of you in slow, warm rivulets the moment he pulls out with a soft groan. Then he carefully sets you down on shaky legs and pulls your panties back up over the mess to keep it all smeared against your puffy folds.

There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he fixes your skirt and blouse with those precise fingers of his. No matter how much you try, everyone will see how thoroughly fucked you are when you walk out of the hospital. But no one will dare say a word to the girlfriend of the esteemed Doctor Li.

“You should go,” he says quietly, already adjusting his own clothes and reaching for the files on his desk.

At first, you think he’s back to his usual cold, strictly professional self. But before you can turn, he cups your jaw and kisses you slowly. His lips mold against yours with more reverence than the clash of teeth from a few minutes ago. He has to use all his willpower to eventually pull away and leave you panting softly.

“I’ll text you when I’m done with work,” he says, brushing his thumb under your lip in a poor attempt to quell the desire to kiss you again. “I’ll be more thorough with your punishment when I come home.”

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dividers by me (please do not repost)

[meadowfics]

guardian devil

cho hyun ju x f!reader with features of namgyu x f!reader and myunggi x f!reader

warnings: attempted homicide, violence, fluff

based off of this request linked here

SPOILERS FOR SQUID GAME SEASON THREE BELOW -> DON'T CLICK 'KEEP READING' IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS!

a starry night maze glowed under a canopy of artificial stars, its twisting corridors echoing with the desperate footsteps of players in the fourth game of the squid game.

the rules were brutal for the blue team: navigate the maze, find the exit, and survive.

meanwhile, the red players had to stop at least one blue player in order to survive by any means necessary.

the prize money loomed over every decision, a cruel incentive that turned allies into enemies.

for you, a red team player, the stakes were higher than money.

hyun-ju, your girlfriend, was out there, her blue team uniform marking her as your rival in this twisted game.

however, your love for her burned brighter than any star in the maze’s false sky.

you and hyun-ju had been together for two years. she was the stronger one in the relationship, her military training giving her a physical edge you could never match.

in this maze, your heart drove you to protect her, no matter the cost. hyunju's ankle, already badly injured thanks to another red player from earlier, slowed her down, making her vulnerable.

you’d promised her before the game began that you'd keep her safe. you wanted to switch with her actually, but hyunju refused in order to keep junhee safe.

hyunju'\'s calloused hand had squeezed yours, her dark eyes fierce with trust.

“its better for me to be a blue player, than it is for you, love.”

now, your white sneakers pounded against the maze’s cold floor, the red fabric clinging to your sweat scented jacket. the ceiling was shimmered with swirling galaxies, disorienting and cruel.

you’d passed the game already, finding an injured blue player that asked you to take them out of their misery.

as you turned into another corner... you saw a sight which nearly took the breath out of you.

your blood ran cold as you sprinted down the maze. all you saw was 333's knife glinting under the starry light, raised to strike.

time was slowed.

your body moved before your mind could catch up.

“no!” you roared, launching yourself at 333. your shoulder slammed into his chest, sending him crashing to the ground.

the knife skittered across the floor, bouncing out of reach.

hyun-ju spun around, no realizing that someone was about to attack her from behind.

the woman's eyes wide with shock as she registered what had happened.

“y/n?” she gasped, her voice trembling with relief and fear.

you scrambled to your feet, standing between her and 333, who groaned on the ground, clutching his ribs from your tackle.

“are you okay?” you asked, not taking your eyes off him. hyun-ju nodded, her breath ragged.

“i’m fine.” hyun-ju's hand grazed your arm, a fleeting touch. you wanted to pull her close, to kiss her and promise you’d both make it out, but there was no time.

“come on,” you said, helping her up.

hyunju's injured ankle couldn’t bear much weight, so you slung her arm over your shoulder.

“we’re getting you out of here.” you say.

"wait--" hyunju stops you.

you looked at her confused, before you look into the room that hyunju was looking into shortly before 333's attempted ambush.

its junhee, holding a newborn baby as geum-ja looks at you, exchusted.

together, you guided all four of them toward the exit.

when you reached the exit, a cheerful song blared, a hollow victory.

you made sure hyun-ju, jun-hee, geum-ja, and the baby crossed the threshold to safety before turning back.

hyun-ju grabbed your wrist.

“y/n, don’t go back in there.” her voice cracked, her eyes pleading.

“i have to,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“i need to make sure that the others are safe.”

you kissed her, pouring every ounce of your love into it.

“i’ll come back. i promise.”

the maze swallowed you again. it didn’t take long to find player 333, still sprawled where you’d left him, clutching his side.

before you could say anything, player 124 danced up the maze, his eyes glassy and a manic grin plastered on his face.

he was high, the drugs making him unpredictable.

“well, well,” he slurred, clapping 333 on the shoulder.

“you almost had them, huh?”

“are you both crazy?” you snapped, your voice shaking with rage.

“you already killed someone. you didn’t need to go after others just for fun!” your fists clenched, the memory of hyun-ju’s unawareness fueling your anger.

namgyu laughed, swaying slightly.

“fun? nah, it’s about the money, y/n. every kill makes the prize bigger. why stop at one?” his casual cruelty made your stomach churn.

“you’re disgusting,” you spat, your voice low and venomous.

silently, you hoped they’d be the next to fall in this brutal set of games.

you didn’t care about the money, not anymore.

all that mattered was hyun-ju and her safety, her life, her love.

you turned away, leaving them in the maze’s cold glow, determined to return to her side.

as you reached the exit again, the cheerful tune mocked you once more.

beyond the door, hyun-ju waited, her eyes lighting up when she saw you.

you pulled her into your arms, careful of her injured ankle, and held her tight.

“i told you i’d come back,” you whispered, smiling as happy tears formed in your eyes from seeing your lover still alive.

masterlist

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

18+ only- No Minors

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 6: Walls

A few days later, Hongjoong cornered you in the library to inform you there would be a security meeting that evening. Your response was swift and succinct: eat glass.

An hour later, there was a soft knock at your door. When you opened it, you found Mingi standing in the hallway, all six feet of him radiating an almost puppylike hopefulness that was completely at odds with his intimidating stature. His dark eyes held that same gentle pleading expression that had gotten him out of trouble countless times as a child.

"Y/n," he said quietly, his deep voice somehow managing to sound both respectful and utterly vulnerable. "Would you please consider joining us for the meeting tonight? We... I would really value your perspective."

The bastards. They knew exactly what they were doing, sending Mingi—sweet, earnest Mingi who had never been able to lie convincingly, whose genuine expressions could melt stone. It was emotional manipulation of the highest order.

And damn them, it was working.

"That's a dirty trick," you told him, crossing your arms and fixing him with your most withering glare.

Mingi had the grace to look slightly ashamed, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Maybe," he admitted. "But we really do need you there."

You stared at him for a long moment, watching the way he fidgeted under your scrutiny, the way his hands hung loosely at his sides like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. Seven years later, and he still had that same nervous energy when he was asking for something he wasn't sure he'd get.

"Fine," you said finally, your tone suggesting this was a tremendous burden you were shouldering purely out of the goodness of your heart. "But I'm only coming because you asked nicely."

The smile that broke across Mingi's face was so bright, so genuinely relieved and grateful, that you had to look away to hide your own reluctant softening.

"Thank you," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made something in your chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Don't thank me yet," you warned. "I haven't decided whether I'm going to participate or just sit there and judge all of you silently."

"I'll take silent judgment over absence," Mingi replied with a small, self-deprecating smile.

The security meeting was held in a state-of-the-art command center hidden behind what had appeared to be an ordinary wall in Hongjoong's office. 

As the panel slid open to reveal the room beyond—filled with monitors, weapons, and advanced technology—you worked to keep your expression neutral despite your genuine surprise.

"Impressed?" Hongjoong asked, catching your reaction despite your efforts.

"I've seen better," you lied smoothly, following him into the room.

The others filed in behind you, each taking what was clearly their usual position around a large central table. There was an empty chair between Hongjoong and Seonghwa that was obviously meant for you. You considered refusing it on principle, but decided that would seem childish. Instead, you took the seat with all the casual confidence of someone who belonged there.

"The Russo family has been unusually active near the western district," Seonghwa began without preamble, pulling up a digital map on the main screen. "Three of our informants have reported movement suggesting they're establishing a new base of operations here." He pointed to an industrial area marked in red.

"Why there?" Jongho asked, leaning forward to study the map. "It's not strategically valuable."

"Unless they're trying to get closer to something—or someone—in this direction," Yeosang observed quietly, his finger tracing a line from the marked area toward the ATEEZ compound.

"They wouldn't be that bold," San argued, but he didn't sound entirely convinced.

Throughout the briefing, questions flew, theories were proposed and dismissed, and strategies were debated. You remained largely silent, observing the dynamics at play. Despite their occasionally heated disagreements, there was a seamless efficiency to how they worked together—Hongjoong making the final decisions but clearly valuing each person's unique perspective. Seonghwa provided logical analysis, Yeosang noticed patterns others missed, Jongho focused on defense, San thought like their enemies, Yunho considered innocent bystanders, Mingi evaluated resource needs, and Wooyoung, surprisingly, had an uncanny ability to predict unpredictable variables.

They were good at this. Very good.

Occasionally, someone would glance your way, as if expecting or hoping for your input, but you offered little beyond a nod or shrug. Let them handle their business. You weren't really part of this, no matter what the marriage certificate would eventually say.

"Y/n," Hongjoong said finally, drawing your attention. "You've been quiet. Thoughts?"

You met his gaze levelly. "I think it's interesting that you're all so concerned about the Russo family when my father has been handling them for years without issue."

A tense silence followed your observation. Hongjoong and Seonghwa exchanged a glance that contained an entire unspoken conversation.

"Your father's resources have been... stretched thin recently," Seonghwa said carefully.

"And the nature of the threat has changed," Hongjoong added.

You raised an eyebrow. "Changed how?"

Another loaded silence.

"That's classified," Hongjoong said finally.

You laughed, the sound sharp and without humor. "Classified? From your fiancée? The one you're supposedly protecting from this very threat?"

"We're gathering more information tonight," he said, avoiding your question. "Once we have a clearer picture, you'll be briefed accordingly."

Your eyes narrowed, but before you could press further, Wooyoung jumped in.

"Hey, it's almost dinner time! And I've been cooking all afternoon—something special," he said, his enthusiasm barely containing his obvious attempt to change the subject.

"We'll continue this tomorrow," Hongjoong decided, rising from his seat. "Gear check at nine. We move at ten."

As everyone began to file out, you lingered, studying the map on the screen. Something about the pattern of movement didn't make sense if the Russos were truly targeting the ATEEZ compound. They were circling too far west, approaching from the least strategic direction.

"Coming?" Yeosang asked quietly, waiting by the door.

You nodded, filing away your observations for later consideration. "What's Wooyoung so excited about? He's not usually the chef, is he?"

A small, knowing smile touched Yeosang's lips. "No. But he's been planning this dinner for days."

* * *

The dining room was filled with an aroma that stopped you in your tracks the moment you entered. It couldn't be. There was no way.

The table was set more casually than usual, with platters of food arranged family-style in the center. Your eyes were immediately drawn to a large ceramic dish containing what appeared to be—

"Pasta alla Norma," Wooyoung announced proudly, watching your reaction closely. "With caponata and arancini di riso on the side."

Your mother's signature dishes. The meals she had prepared for special occasions, teaching you the recipes that had been passed down through generations of her Sicilian family. Dishes you hadn't tasted since before she died, because you couldn't bear to make them yourself.

You looked up at Wooyoung, unable to completely mask your shock. "How did you..."

"I remember," he said simply. "She taught me too, remember? That summer when you were sick with pneumonia and she needed extra hands in the kitchen for your father's birthday dinner."

You did remember. Wooyoung had been the only one with both the patience and enthusiasm to learn your mother's exacting techniques, spending hours with her in the kitchen while you recovered upstairs. The memory hit you with unexpected force—Wooyoung appearing in your bedroom doorway afterward, his clothes splattered with tomato sauce but his face triumphant as he brought you a plate of perfectly prepared pasta.

"It won't be the same," he added quickly, mistaking your silence for disappointment. "I did my best, but Elena was an artist with these dishes. I—"

"Thank you," you interrupted softly, the words escaping before you could stop them.

His entire face lit up, surprise and joy transforming his features. "You're welcome."

Dinner began with an unusual quietness, everyone watching surreptitiously as you took your first bite of the pasta. The familiar flavors exploded across your tongue—the slight char of the eggplant, the sweet acidity of the tomatoes, the sharp bite of ricotta salata—and suddenly you were twelve years old again, sitting in your mother's sun-drenched kitchen, her laughter filling the air as she taught you how to properly salt the eggplant.

You hadn't realized you'd closed your eyes until you opened them to find everyone staring at you. Emotion threatened to overwhelm you—grief and gratitude and anger and longing all tangled together in your chest. It was too much, too confusing, too raw.

But when you glanced at Wooyoung, the hope and nervousness in his expression so painfully evident, you couldn't help the ghost of a smile that briefly crossed your face before you returned your attention to your plate.

It was enough. Wooyoung beamed like you'd handed him the moon, then launched into animated conversation with the others, allowing you to eat in peace, processing your emotions without an audience.

As dinner continued, you found yourself observing them through new eyes—not as the enemies who had abandoned you, but as the boys you had once known, now grown into men. They spoke of everyday things—a movie Yunho wanted to see, a book Jongho was reading, a new training technique San was developing. Their interactions were comfortable, punctuated by inside jokes and good-natured teasing. Family, in all but blood.

Hongjoong caught you watching and held your gaze for a moment, something unreadable in his dark eyes before you looked away.

They were still beautiful, all of them, in their different ways. Hongjoong's commanding presence, Seonghwa's elegant features, Yunho's warm smile, Yeosang's soulful eyes, San's dangerous charisma, Mingi's gentle strength, Wooyoung's vibrant energy, Jongho's steady reliability. But they had hardened too—their bodies more muscled, marked here and there with tattoos and scars that told stories you didn't know. Stories from the seven years you'd missed.

You had loved each of them fiercely, in different ways but with your whole heart. When they left and your mother died soon after, the double blow had nearly destroyed you. There had been days—weeks—when you hadn't been sure you wanted to live. Only Marco's unwavering presence had pulled you through that darkness.

And now here you were, sharing a meal with the very men who had broken you, feeling the treacherous tendrils of those old feelings stirring beneath your anger.

You finished your meal in silence, the food both a comfort and a heartache. When you excused yourself to return to your room, no one tried to stop you, though you felt their eyes following you out.

* * *

Hours later, from the top of the grand staircase, you watched a flurry of activity in the foyer below. The eight men moved with practiced efficiency, checking weapons, adjusting tactical gear, and communicating in shorthand that spoke of years working as a unit.

Hongjoong was at the center, his usual fashionable attire replaced by all black tactical clothing that emphasized his lean, powerful build. He moved with the assurance of a natural leader, his commands brief but clear as he directed final preparations.

Your curiosity finally overcame your determination to remain distant. You descended the stairs, your footsteps announcing your presence before you spoke.

"What's going on?" you asked, surveying the scene.

Hongjoong glanced up, his expression briefly surprised before settling back into professional neutrality. "Mission. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"A mission," you repeated. "To the Russo site you were discussing earlier?"

He nodded once, returning his attention to checking his weapon. "We'll be back before dawn. Yunho and Wooyoung are staying behind to maintain security here."

"I want to come," you said, the words surprising even you.

Hongjoong actually laughed, the sound both genuine and dismissive. "No. You're too fragile for this."

The words hit like a slap. Your eyes widened, brow raising in a gesture they were all too familiar with from your childhood—the look that had always preceded you proving someone catastrophically wrong.

"I can pick a lock in 4 seconds, hot wire vehicles, use a blade with precision, and take down a man three times my size without a weapon, I might add," you stated coldly. "I can handle more than you think."

Eight pairs of eyes turned to you, expressions ranging from shock to disbelief to... was that pride on San's face?

"Why do you know all that?" San asked, voicing what they were all clearly wondering.

Your smile was sharp enough to cut. "Because I had eight protectors, then suddenly had none. I had to learn to protect myself." The insult landed exactly as intended, several of them flinching visibly.

"We still protected you, you just couldn't see—" Mingi began, but Hongjoong cut him off with a sharp "Mingi."

You frowned, not understanding what Mingi had been about to reveal. Protected you how? When?

Hongjoong shook his head, his decision unchanged. "The answer is still no."

You crossed your arms, a calculating smile spreading across your face. "You're right. Since all of you will be gone, it'll be easier to snoop, possibly escape, and maybe go to a bar and live up my bachelorette life before the big day."

The effect was immediate and gratifying. Jealousy flashed across eight faces in various degrees of intensity—from Seonghwa's subtle jaw clench to Hongjoong's darkening eyes to Wooyoung's comically outraged expression.

Hongjoong sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You are the most maddening woman I have ever met," he growled. "Fine. But you stay in the car with Yunho. No arguments."

Your victorious smile was answer enough.

As the others finished their preparations, Seonghwa approached, handing you a small earpiece. "This is for emergency communication only," he instructed. "Channel is secure, but minimize chatter. If you absolutely need to speak, press once to activate, release when you're done. Clear?"

You examined the sleek device, turning it over in your palm. "Minimal chatter? Then why do you let Wooyoung have one?" you asked, your tone lightly teasing.

Wooyoung's indignant "Hey!" was drowned out by unexpected laughter from the others. He beamed at you despite his protest, your teasing tone clearly registering as the most significant breakthrough since your arrival. To him, it might as well have been a declaration of love.

"She's got you there, Woo," San chuckled.

"I'll have you know," Wooyoung retorted dramatically, pressing his hand to his chest, "that my 'chatter' has saved our lives on multiple occasions. Remember the Nakamoto operation? Who spotted the secondary security team because he was 'chattering' about the guard's ugly shoes?"

"He's not wrong," Yunho admitted, grinning. "Wooyoung notices the strangest details, but they often turn out to be important."

You found yourself fighting back a genuine smile, the familiar banter momentarily breaking through your defenses. It felt... normal. Almost like before.

The realization was jarring.

Hongjoong seemed to notice the shift in your demeanor, his perceptive eyes studying your face before he called everyone to attention. "Time to move out. Y/n, you're with Yunho and Jongho in the second vehicle. Remember—"

"Stay in the car," you finished for him. "I heard you the first time."

"And yet, I remain unconvinced you'll actually do it," he replied dryly. “Stay low, stay quiet, and for the love of God, don't do anything reckless."

"Me? Reckless?" you asked with exaggerated shock. "I'm the picture of restraint and good judgment."

"You threw a knife at my head," he pointed out.

"And missed," you replied sweetly. "See? Restraint."

Despite himself, Hongjoong's lips twitched toward a smile. "Just... try not to get shot, okay?"

"I'll do my best," you promised, though the gleam in your eyes suggested that your definition of "best" might differ significantly from his.

"That's what worries me," he muttered, but there was something almost fond in his exasperation.

As you followed them out to the garage, your heart beat with unexpected excitement. You had pushed your way into their world partly out of boredom, partly out of spite, but now that you were here, a part of you—the part that had always craved adventure and action—was genuinely curious to see ATEEZ in operation.

Whatever else they were, whatever pain they had caused you, you couldn't deny they were impressive. Dangerous. Powerful.

And tonight, you would finally see exactly what they were capable of.

* * *

The sleek black van sat hidden in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, positioned perfectly to maintain visual coverage of the Russo compound while remaining undetectable. Through the tinted windows, you could see the occasional movement of security guards patrolling the perimeter—men with the distinctive bulge of concealed weapons beneath their jackets.

Inside the vehicle, a different kind of tension filled the air.

You were in the back with Yunho, surrounded by an impressive array of technology that had transformed the van into a mobile command center. Multiple screens displayed different camera feeds, thermal imaging, and a detailed map of the area with eight blinking dots representing the team members currently infiltrating the compound.

You watched as he worked, his large hands moving with surprising dexterity across keyboards and control panels. He had rolled up the sleeves of his black tactical shirt, revealing muscled forearms decorated with a few tasteful tattoos—geometric patterns that somehow suited him perfectly.

"Got eyes on the south entrance," he murmured into his comm, his deep voice softer than you remembered. "Hongjoong, you're clear to proceed. Seonghwa, hold position until the guard changes."

As he reached to adjust one of the monitors, the focused concentration on his face transported you back in time. Despite the tactical gear, despite the hardened muscles and new tattoos, in this moment of quiet competence, he looked just like the boy you had grown up with.

The boy who had been the first to change in your eyes.

* * *

Seven Years Earlier – Age 15

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon at the Kim estate, the kind of sweltering summer day that made even the simplest movements feel like swimming through honey. The eight boys had been playing basketball on the outdoor court, and you had been perched on a nearby bench, ostensibly reading but mostly watching them through your sunglasses.

They had been playing for nearly an hour when they finally called a break, sweaty and laughing as they collapsed on the grass near your bench. Yunho, who had scored the winning point, pulled off his shirt to wipe his face before tossing it aside.

And that was when it happened.

You'd seen the boys shirtless countless times before—at pools, at beaches, during countless summers of growing up together. But something was different now. Yunho had... changed. When had his shoulders become so broad? When had his chest developed those defined muscles? When had his arms...

You felt your face grow hot, and it had nothing to do with the summer heat. For the first time, you were seeing Yunho not as your childhood friend, but as a *boy*—a very attractive boy who made your stomach do strange flips when he smiled in your direction.

"Water?" he asked, approaching your bench, still shirtless and glistening with sweat.

You fumbled with the bottle, nearly dropping it as you handed it over. "Here."

"Thanks," he said, taking a long drink that made you inexplicably fascinated with the movement of his throat.

"You okay?" he asked, catching your stare. "You look kind of flushed."

"Fine," you squeaked, mortified by the unfamiliar pitch of your voice. "Just hot."

Yunho grinned, completely oblivious to your internal crisis. "We're heading to the pool after this. You should come."

The pool. Where they would all be shirtless. Where you would be in a swimsuit. Where this new, confusing awareness would have nowhere to hide.

"Maybe," you managed, hiding behind your book again.

But as the boys resumed their game, you found yourself unable to focus on the words. Instead, your eyes kept drifting to Yunho—and then, with growing horror and fascination, to the others as well.

When had Hongjoong's intense focus become so captivating? When had Seonghwa's elegant movements started to seem so graceful? When had Mingi gotten so tall, Wooyoung so energetic, San so charismatic, Yeosang so mysteriously appealing, Jongho so strong?

When had your eight best friends become eight boys who made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with friendship?

* * *

Two Weeks Later – The Lake

"Are you sure about this?" Elena asked, eyeing the bikini you had laid out on your bed. It was modest by most standards—a deep blue two-piece with more coverage than most—but compared to the one-piece swimsuits you'd worn your entire life, it might as well have been lingerie.

"I'm fifteen, Momma," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Everyone wears bikinis now."

Your mother's knowing smile made you blush. "And this sudden fashion evolution has nothing to do with eight certain young men who will be at the lake today?"

"Momma!" you protested, mortified at being so transparent.

Elena laughed softly, coming to sit beside you on the bed. "Oh, my darling girl. I've been waiting for this day."

"What day?"

"The day you finally realize what I've known since you were twelve—that those boys would eventually become more than just your friends." She brushed a strand of hair from your face. "At least in your heart."

"It's not like that," you mumbled, though it was exactly like that. "I just... I want them to see me differently. Not just as the little girl they need to protect."

Your mother's expression softened. "They will, in time. But bambina, be careful with your heart. Loving one boy is complicated enough. Loving eight..." She shook her head, a hint of worry creasing her brow.

"I don't love them," you insisted, the very word making your stomach flip. "I just..."

"Want them to notice you," she finished for you. "I understand. Just remember that you are precious, Y/n. Your heart is precious. Guard it carefully."

Two hours later, wrapped in a cover-up that concealed your new swimsuit, you arrived at the lake with your mother's warning still echoing in your mind. The boys were already there, having claimed the best spot on the shore. You could see them from the parking area—horsing around in the water, lounging on beach towels, looking like they'd stepped out of a summer advertisement with their sun-kissed skin and carefree smiles.

Your courage nearly failed you then. What were you thinking? These were your best friends. What if your awkward attempt at being "noticed" ruined everything? What if they laughed at you? Worse, what if they were uncomfortable?

But then Wooyoung spotted you, waving wildly. "Y/n! Finally! We've been waiting for you!"

There was no turning back now.

You made your way down to their spot, your heart pounding so hard you were sure they could hear it. Casual greetings were exchanged, jokes were made, and then came the moment of truth.

"Aren't you hot in that?" San asked, gesturing to your cover-up. "It's like a thousand degrees out here."

With a deep breath, you removed the light fabric, revealing the blue bikini beneath.

The effect was immediate and dramatic. All conversation ceased. Eight pairs of eyes turned to you, expressions ranging from shock (Wooyoung's jaw actually dropped) to something darker and more difficult to interpret (Hongjoong's intense gaze made your skin tingle).

"You... um... you look different," Yunho managed, his ears turning red.

"Good different?" you asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

"Yeah," he replied, his eyes meeting yours briefly before darting away. "Really good."

An awkward silence fell, broken only when Jongho, the youngest but often the most practical, cleared his throat. "Who wants to go swimming?"

The moment passed, but something fundamental had shifted. Throughout the day, you caught them looking at you when they thought you wouldn't notice. Their usual casual touches—an arm around your shoulder, a playful push, a hand helping you up—became more hesitant, more charged.

And when Mingi offered to apply sunscreen to your back, his large hands gentle but trembling slightly, you knew with absolute certainty that they were finally seeing you as more than just their childhood friend.

You were being seen as a young woman. And it was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

* * *

"Earth to Y/n," Yunho's voice pulled you from your memories. "You okay? You zoned out for a minute there."

You blinked, reality rushing back. You were in an van on a surveillance mission, not at a lake seven years ago.

"Fine," you said, the echo of your fifteen-year-old self's same response making you smile despite yourself. "Just thinking."

Yunho studied you, his eyes somehow both familiar and different. "About what?"

"The past," you admitted. "When things were simpler."

A small, sad smile touched his lips. "Were they? I remember those days being pretty complicated."

The knowing look in his eyes made you wonder if he was remembering the same moments you were—that summer when everything changed, when friendship began its inevitable, complicated evolution into something more.

"The lake day," you said quietly, testing the waters. "Do you remember?"

His smile widened, a hint of his old playfulness returning. "When you showed up in that blue bikini and nearly gave all eight of us simultaneous heart attacks? Yeah, I remember."

Heat crept into your cheeks. "I wasn't that obvious."

"You were," he assured you, his attention divided between you and the monitors. "But we weren't much better. Hongjoong actually pulled us aside afterward and gave us a whole lecture about respecting you and not staring and..." He trailed off, chuckling at the memory.

"Really?" The thought of a teenage Hongjoong lecturing the others about proper behavior toward you was both surprising and strangely endearing.

"Really," Yunho confirmed. "He was always protective of you. We all were, but Hongjoong..." He glanced at you. "Well, you know."

You didn't know, not really, but you didn't press. The comfortable moment between you felt too fragile to risk with difficult questions.

Instead, you watched as he set up a small drone, his fingers deftly making final adjustments to the sleek black device.

"Launching surveillance drone," he reported into his comm. "We'll have aerial coverage in thirty seconds."

You leaned closer to see the screen where the drone's camera feed would display, your shoulder brushing against his. The casual contact sent an unexpected jolt through you, your body suddenly hyperaware of his proximity in the confined space of the vehicle.

Yunho felt it too—you could tell by the slight catch in his breathing, the momentary stillness of his hands over the controls.

"Sorry," you murmured, though you didn't move away.

"Don't be," he replied, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent a shiver down your spine.

You risked a glance at him and found him already watching you, his eyes dark and intent in the dim light of the vehicle. Something electric passed between you, seven years of distance suddenly collapsing into nothing. He was still Yunho—your Yunho—the first boy who had made your heart race, whose kiss by the bonfire had been your first.

His gaze dropped to your lips, and you knew with absolute certainty what was about to happen. You should stop it. You should pull away, maintain the walls you'd built, remember all the reasons you couldn't trust him.

Instead, you found yourself leaning closer, drawn by a gravity neither of you seemed able to resist.

"Y/n," he whispered, your name a question and a plea.

You were close enough to feel his breath against your lips, close enough that the slightest movement would bring them together. Your eyes began to flutter closed, years of anger and hurt momentarily overpowered by memory and longing.

The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the moment.

You both jerked back, training and instinct taking over as more shots followed in rapid succession.

"Status report!" Yunho barked into his comm, all traces of the vulnerable moment gone as he transformed into the professional operative. "Hongjoong! Seonghwa! Anyone!"

The comm crackled with bursts of communication—fragments of shouted orders, the unmistakable sounds of combat.

"Ambush—" Hongjoong's voice, tight with tension. "North side—"

"—multiple hostiles—" Seonghwa, unusually breathless.

"—need backup—" Mingi, followed by what sounded like an explosion.

Yunho was already moving, grabbing a tactical vest and weapon from a compartment behind his seat. "Stay here," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, there's an emergency protocol programmed into the navigation system. Press the red button under the dash and the vehicle will take you back to the compound automatically."

"Yunho—" you began, but he cut you off.

"Please," he said, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that silenced your protest. "I can't help them if I'm worried about you."

Before you could respond, he was out of the vehicle, moving swiftly toward the compound where flashes of gunfire illuminated the night.

You watched him go, your heart pounding with fear—not for yourself, but for him. For all of them.

The almost-kiss forgotten, you found yourself facing a stark realization: despite everything they had done, despite the years of pain and abandonment, the thought of losing any of them again was unbearable.

And that terrified you more than any gunfire ever could.

Next>>

Taglist: @paramedicnerd004, @miracle-sol  @drinkingrumandcocacola @cksanpurpleluv @everglow98

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[letters-from-himring-hill]

Huh. Interesting. I didn't know you could actually die of sleep deprivation. I wonder where I heard that you couldn't... Let me guess, they're both at least partly a result of the [redacted] messing with her head?

They did. I'm back from martial arts and found the quote:

Gavrel has changed into his slouchy pants, and [Furniture Man] and [Doc] are both setting up their own bedrolls. "Do you want me to set yours up?" Gavrel asks, pulling his own bedding from his inventory and setting it out. "Yes, please," I say, remembering that I opted to carry my own clothes and give him the camping equipment. He grabs yours and begins setting it up, between the back wall and his roll. Once it is set up, I sit down with a tired flop, leaning on one hand, and wait for someone else to start the conversation, because I have very little people energy left and anything I say is going to come out very blunt. And I tell Gavrel "Thanks" when he's finished. "So, we were talking earlier, and we think it will be best to send a messenger to [redacted] to set up a safe space rather than having [Furniture Man] and [Doc] return themselves." "Sounds like a good idea to me."

I believe the deciding factor was the travel time - it would take them too long to make it back home and then turn around and go to the Village for the Tournament, where they'll need to make an appearance to avoid suspicion. Hey, Terrafell rereads are always fun!

I love a character raised to be a weapon as much as the next guy. But what really gets me is a character raised to be a shield. Who can’t fathom being needed—or even being wanted— beyond keeping others safe. Who believe they are alive only to insure someone doesn’t die. no matter the cost. Characters who self-sacrifice not because they think they deserve it, but because no one else does deserve it, and it’s their job to protect.

Characters who’ve been told that’s why your important. Your worth something because this other person/ thing is important, and you are here solely to keep them safe.

Bonus points if it’s not a legitimate job they’ve been given. Maybe at one point it was, but now that they are free from it, they haven’t given up that mentality. No one is forcing or asking them to do this, but they need to. They need to in order to be deserving.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Since 1943

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky hasn't danced since 1943, until he dances with you.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff and cute moments, secret relationship, writing letters and sending postcards, platonic!sam, a storm knocks the power out, dancing under candle light.

You’d met him in a diner just outside of New York at around 11pm at night. 

A heavy storm had been over the city for the last few days, and you had been put on the graveyard shift at work for the last three weeks. And, you’d just been given two weeks off. You sleep schedule was kinda fucked. 

“Here.” You handed him a towel. 

He took it with a slight awkward smile. “Thanks.”

He ran it over his head and face for a minute or two, trying his best to clear the storm water from his ears. 

“Don’t you have an umbrella?”

“In this weather, I don’t think it would keep me very dry.”

You chuckled, “No, I guess you’re right.” Then you held your hand out. 

“I’m Y/n.”

He took it almost as awkwardly as he smiled. “Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Bucky nodded and dropped your hand lightly just before the waitress came back inside. She smiled brightly. 

“Another victim caught in the storm of a century. What can I get for you, hunny?”

“Just, uh, a coffee. Please.”

“Coming right up. Take a seat.”

And so he sat a few stools down from you at the counter. 

“Brooklyn, right?”

Bucky looked around, a little confused. But then he nodded. “Uh, yea- yes.”

You smiled. “What brings you this far out of the city?”

He shrugged, softly. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah,” you said, lifting the cup of coffee to your lips. “Fellow insomniac.”

The waitress, Minnie, returned. She laid the cup of coffee in front of Bucky. “Here you go, hunny.”

As he thanked her and she left to go and serve one of the truckers sat at a booth, Bucky turned to you. 

“What about you? Where are you from?”

You told him. “I lived in Brooklyn for a couple years. That's why I recognised the accent.”

Bucky nodded before turning back to his cup of coffee. And for a few seconds, you were silent, watching him. And something told you to move a few stools closer. 

“I’m going to live in London.”

“London?”

You nodded, “Have you ever been?”

Bucky nodded slightly. “Once. A long time ago.”

“Is it as great as they say? I don’t, you know, want to get there and it is not be as great as they say.”

Bucky waited for a moment. “It’s been a couple years since I’ve been, but, yeah. It’s a good place.”

You smiled. “Good.”

“Are you going anywhere else?”

You nodded with a proud smile. “Paris, Rome, Florence, Madrid. I’ve spent all of my life either at home or at work.”

“And when did you decide on taking this big adventure?”

“A few days ago. But, don’t tell my boss.”

Bucky made a motion to zip his lips shut and threw away the key. Then he smiled. It made something flutter in your stomach. 

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’ve got no-one else to tell,” you answered honestly before turning your legs under the counter. “And Minnie has been flirting with Bill for the last ten minutes.”

Bucky craned his neck to see where you were looking. Lo and behold, Bill was blushing bright red, holding his trucker hat against his chest. 

As Bucky and you are watching a whole new romance play out in front of them, a lightbulb went off in his head. 

“You should send me postcards.”

You turned back to him, “What?”

Bucky smiled. “Postcards. If you really have no-one else to tell…you could send them here.”

You smiled a little. “Would you be here to receive them?”

Bucky nodded. “This is the first decent cup of coffee I’ve had in months, so…” Bucky turned back to you and smiled. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”

And he was. 

The next day, you made a call into your job and booked your first flight to London. Three days later, Bucky received the first postcard from Minnie as he sat down for a cup of coffee. He had no way of contacting you, so he waited for the next one. 

Which, thankfully, came with a letter. 

“Anything interesting, hunny?”

Bucky looked up. “Do you have any paper?”

Minnie smiled, putting away the coffee pot before producing three sheets of A4 paper. Bucky thanked her before pulling a pen from his jacket pocket and he started writing. 

For six months, you and Bucky exchanged postcards and letters. Every once in a while, when you were a little homesick, he would send you a postcard from New York. First, it was Brooklyn, then it was Manhattan – then a random one from North Dakota – and a third NY one with the Empire State building on the front. 

After six months, he sent you his address. It was a single PO box based in New York somewhere. The diner was undergoing some repairs since Minnie had bought it from the owner. 

“Whatcha reading?”

Bucky quickly stuffed the letter behind a few pages of his book before Sam could read it. “Nothing.”

“You’re blushing like a kid that got caught sending love letters. Ooh, has someone got a girlfriend?”

Bucky chuckled. “It’s nothing, Sam.”

Sam smiled. “You have been like Tigger on steroids waiting for letters and now…postcards?” 

Sam plucked the corner of one from the book and held it up. Bucky quickly took it back before placing it back with the letter and standing. 

“Is there something I should know?”

Bucky sighed as he got to the kitchen. For a moment, he turned on his heel. He’s wanted to tell Sam, but telling Sam would land him in hot water with the rest of the team. Why didn’t they get to know? Who was she? Where is she?

Which would only lead Yelena and Kate to do snooping that could go as far as stalking the streets of Europe to find you. 

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else. We’re just friends and it’s not that big of a deal.”

Sam hurried forward, drawing a cross over his heart before taking a seat. And for twenty minutes, Bucky explained everything about you to Sam. Where you’d met, what you had said to him, the colour of your eyes, the angle of your smile, the sound of your laughter, where you were going, where you’d been…

Everything. 

“And now you’re in love with her.”

Bucky tried to think of an argument but Sam already beat him to it. 

“You were a soldier in the 40s. You of all people should know how people can fall in love over letters.”

Bucky had to agree there. Plenty of his fellow soldiers had a girl to write to back home, even though they’d probably only met two days earlier. 

“You know what?” Sam stood up and plucked a business card from the fridge. 

A few days before, Joaquin had pinned it under a magnet Ava had bought from the last time she’d been in England. He had found a little dance hall in the city that had ballet classes every Tuesday, and was saving it to show Yelena when she returned from her mission somewhere in Asia. 

“They have a dancehall thing every Friday. You should invite her. When does she get back?”

“In two weeks. But, I doubt she’d want to go.”

Sam shrugged as Bucky finally took the business card. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

And it didn’t. 

Because you said yes. 

“Where is she?” 

Bucky had been relaxing against the table, letting his mind go ten times to the dozen about where you could be. You’d agreed to meet at 6 pm on the dot. It was approaching half past. 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked Sam. 

Sam shrugged and looked around the room. Although he’d never seen a picture of you, the description Bucky had given had been both slightly vague, yet oddly specific. 

“I wanted to meet her. You’ve been talking to her for almost a year, Buck. And as your self-proclaimed bodyguard-”

“Glad it’s self-proclaimed.”

“-I needed to see what all the fuss was about. For all you know, she could be a serial killer.”

Bucky chuckled. “She’s not a serial killer.”

“You don’t know that.”

Bucky tilted his head, a little before taking a swig of his beer. He couldn’t physically get drunk but the placebo effect was helping calm his nerves a little. 

“What time was she meant to be here?”

“Six,” Bucky answered nervously. 

Even if Sam wasn’t Bucky’s best friend, he’d be able to read the expression on Bucky’s face. He was worried you weren’t going to show. 

“Maybe she’s just caught in traffic. The storm that’s rolling in has shut down some of the roads. They still need to clear the drains for the water to leave.”

Bucky nodded. “Maybe.”

Almost as if on cue, both Bucky and Sam heard one of the doors open a few feet away. Though, it was hard to miss. The hinges definitely needed oiling. 

Running in from the rain, you shook off the newspaper that had done a pretty terrible job at trying to keep you as dry as possible. Your coat was certainly drenched, though your clothes underneath seemed pretty dry. And your hair was frizzing from the growing humidity outside. 

A thunderstorm was definitely on the way. 

Dropping the newspaper in the bin, you removed your coat and handed it to one of the staff that rushed over to help you. You thanked her before taking time to look around. 

Then you spotted Bucky. 

He smiled. 

And your stomach did a flip. 

You smiled back. 

“You look beautiful, sweetie. He’s a lucky man,” the staff member said as she walked back over to you. Then she gave you a small push. 

And you were on your way. 

Sam made himself scarce, especially when Bucky said something and your head turned and looked directly at Sam before you waved. But he watched as you and Bucky reunited. A certain kind of smile appeared on both of your faces as you sat down and ordered a drink. And for a while, Sam watched from across the dancefloor. 

He smiled to himself. Bucky seemed genuinely happy. 

But he couldn’t watch for too long, because it wasn’t long until he was asked to dance by one of the members. He accepted and whisked her onto the floor with the rest of the dancing couples. 

After thirty minutes or so, Bucky asked you to dance. And you gladly accepted. 

“You should know, I haven’t danced since 1943.”

You chuckled into his shoulder. “I trust you, Bucky.”

It was the first time you’d felt that…spark. That kind of feeling you get in your chest that makes the smile on your face impossible to get rid of. That kind of feeling in your stomach that makes you feel giddy, rather than doomed. 

“I’m really glad you asked me here tonight, Buck.”

Bucky smiled at you. “So am I. I’m glad you said yes.”

“Were you worried I’d say no?”

Bucky shrugged a little, fixing your hand into his. “A little. We’ve written letters for a year, but technically, we’ve only met once before. On a night, kinda like this one.”

You smiled. He meant the storm. 

However, just as you managed to tear your eyes from his blue ones for a moment, the entire building went dark. 

Everyone made a noise before looking around. 

“Did I just jinx us?” You heard Bucky ask. 

“No, it’s probably just the storm. It cuts the power.”

Somewhere across the room, a phone started beeping. 

“Buck!”

Bucky looked around until he spotted Sam, holding up his phone around a pillar. He kept hold of your hand as he navigated through the crowd in order to get to Sam. 

“The entire block has gone down. Lightning struck the power lines.”

“How long till they come back on?”

Sam shrugged. “A few hours maybe.” 

Bucky ran a hand down his face, his other hand still securely in yours. 

“What about back-up generators?” You asked. 

Another message came through. 

“Torres is taking a team down to the main facility. Maybe they can get something up and running.”

Somewhere beside you, a voice spoke. 

“What are we meant to do here?”

You, Sam and Bucky all looked between each other. Then another voice spoke, a little closer to Sam. 

“The backup generator has been out of commission for months-”

“Why?” Sam asked. 

“We’ve called the city multiple times, they just haven’t gotten around to helping replace it. But, we do have boxes of candles in the cellar.”

You, Bucky and Sam all looked at eachother. 

“That could work.”

Ten minutes later, Sam was making an announcement from the stage as Bucky lit the candles and you carefully passed them down to each member inside the dancehall. 

“Careful, sweetie.”

The little kid, supervised by their parents, nodded and slowly took the bottom of the candle in their hand. By the time you stood back up, you found Bucky smiling softly at you, which made you blush a little deeper. 

Eventually, the entire hall became candle-lit. Sam even found some old candle holders in a box, somewhere in the cellar. 

The entire room suddenly became incredibly…romantic. 

“Would you like to dance?”

You nodded, “I’d love to.”

Bucky nodded back before quickly descending the stage stairs before holding his hand up to you, helping you down to the main floor. 

On the dancefloor, Bucky held you like you were his last piece of home he would never let go. And, after travelling for almost a year, and finding some places that felt like they could be home one day, you smiled at the feeling of his arms around you. 

Because, despite a random meeting one late night in a diner, Bucky had been your loving anchor to home ever since. 

So, with his arms around your waist and your hands over his shoulders, you held him a little closer to you. 

Because there was a very real chance, he too, was your home. 

[fedeath]

Well i'm having a hard time lately since 2 months now, so i'm taking emergency commissions at special prices so i can pay my debts of this month and the nnext one, so if you are interested in having your characters in my style send me a DM or if you want to help ya boy i have my ko-fi, thank you and i will apprecciate all the shares!

[mona-risms]

Imagine being Zoey's older sibling who lives all the way in America. When you visit your younger sister in the Huntrix penthouse someone else opens the door and you just see this purple-haired woman staring at you with parted lips. Whether she was staring in curiosity or in awe, you have no idea and you had no time to figure it out because suddenly Zoey is squealing and tackling you.

You already know who this purple-haired person is—Zoey's ABSOLUTELY very much overshared to you about Rumi and Mira from every time the two of you text (though 'texting' would be a generous term sometimes when she sends you photos of her entire life half the time) or call—but seeing her face to face doesn't actually do it all justice

And it's the same with Rumi, with how she KNOWS of you, knows a LOT about you thanks to Zoey again, and she's definitely seen what you look like (and tbh embarrassingly asked for a second look the first time Zoey ever showed them a pic of you) but oh. Oh fuck. Zoey didn't say anything about you having a whole other effect to you when seen face to face

Zoey is a whirlwind though bc HELLO??? THIS IS HER OLDER SISTER!!!! GUYS!!!!! DID YOU KNOW THIS IS HER OLDER SISTER BC EITHER WAY SHE'S GONNA INTRODUCE YOU!!!! But it's like nothing goes in Rumi's ear and stays there bc this woman's absolutely stunned at the look of you. The only time she actually manages to tune in is when Mira points out how Rumi's been dying to meet Zoey's sister 😜😜 which she's all wishy-washy about ("NO. I MEAN YES. I MEAN--") and it's such an endearing sight that you can't help but laugh, which only makes her eyes widen more because ohmygoodness you have a really pretty laugh (and for those who have uglyass laughs like me, it literally does NOT matter to her bc this woman's enough of a loser not to care)

The whole time you're staying there at the penthouse bc Zoey insists you CANNOT stay at some hotel when your younger sister has space in her bed "obviously!!!! Like old times!!!!!!!", and whenever Rumi forgets to act like a competent human being, she cannot help but sometimes stare and go out of her way to make you comfortable in that loserass way. And whenever she hears you speak or laugh or even look at her with a smile, even if it's just over something simple as you taking over with washing the dishes, she gets really nervous it's so funny to watch. She's just so stunned please can anyone blame her?????

(At the sight of this, Zoey goes on about how Rumi could be her future sister in law and she moves/teleports to shut her up so fast 😭😭😭)

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

"Act of desperation" is maybe a little strong, but otherwise, this! Hunting through the bookmarks, even as someone who's only ever got one needlessly unhelpful bookmark in all my time writing, is an active chore - either going through every fic manually (at this point I have the bookmark count of my last ten or-so fics memorised...), or having to do an elaborate search with the extended search filters.

I'm not complaining because that's more work for me! But the fact that this takes so many more steps for the author to even see makes it feel like this wasn't for them. It's that same weird phenomenon of fans talking to each other on social media about a fic, but never leaving a comment. To some extent, even the thing where you make a post advertising your fic on tumblr or elsewhere and someone reblogs it saying "oh this is my favourite I read it all the time!!", but they never left a comment on the fic itself.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still happy to hear I made someone happy with my writing - but comments aren't payment for a fic. If they were, it would all be equal, right, bookmark comment, regular comment, kudos, recs, discord convo... Butt they're not payment. I want to have conversations with my readers about the thing we're both passionate about! And all these options - comments in bookmarks, discord conversations, fic recs - specifically put extra steps between yourself and the author. They do something else really nice for a fic, because they get the word out and might bring more people to it! But there's some odd implicit rejection of the author in choosing all those options before leaving a comment that the author can reply to. Especially with bookmarks! I've had some people leave incredibly sweet bookmarks on my biggest fic. I'm very emotionally invested in that work and every kind word on it means the world to me, and I can never thank these people! Because you can't message people on Ao3, you can only reply to comments, and they never left one.

Again, I really appreciate a bookmark, or kudos - but it doesn't change the fact that there's a weird trend of isolating the author from the conversation around their work. This would be normal if this were a published work of writing - if everyone who read Suzanne Collins's books or Stephen King's books sent them individual reactions, they would drown in mail (though I'm willing to bet they would still appreciate the gesture a little bit even as their inboxes crash).

But Ao3 writers aren't on the New York Times Bestseller list! This etiquette of how to engage with published art does not apply to us! We are not too far above you to hear your "trivial" opinion you share with your friends - we want to hear them too! We want to also talk about our fic! Fic writing, to most of us, is literally back to sitting around a campfire and sharing a story. I want to look up and see your faces, and talk to you about how scary that last part was, and wasn't that a fun idea to have the power come back on in that moment, and what do you think would be a cool idea for next time! I don't want to look up to ten people staring at their phone as they text their friends about the cool story I just told them, or blankly look at me until I send around a link to a recording of me telling the story so they can send that to their friends or give a little thumbs-up emoji on it.

Again, I don't mean to say that I don't appreciate these other forms of engagement and feedback. It's still way nicer than sitting at the campfire alone. But again, I'm not Stephen King hitting send on an email to his publisher. I'm looking up from the campfire, and I want to see your faces.

Comments versus Bookmarks on AO3

A few people seemed appreciative of my post about how to use AO3's Marked for Later feature, so I thought I'd follow up with another tip about comments versus bookmarks. As part of the amazing @justleaveacommentfest I noticed a few people mentioned leaving nice comments in bookmarks, and I thought it might help to have a little info about how comments are different from bookmarks, and why it's better to send a comment if you want to make an author happy or make fandom friends or have an interesting discussion.

Bookmarks *are* viewable by everyone, unless you make them private. If you plan to say anything negative in your bookmark, please make it private. It's not really the flip side, however, that leaving positive statements in your bookmarks will reach the author, though.

Most authors are alerted when they get new comments, either through their dashboard or via email if they choose, or both. Yay! Serotonin boost, and also the ability to reply back and start a conversation! Plus, readers can have great discussions with each *other* in the comments section of a fic! If you're super into a fic you can read comments on the chapter even years later, and sometimes find the author adding additional thoughts or discussing their thought process while writing! It's like DVD extras for fanfic! (Do kids these days know what DVD extras are any more? Damned if I know).

You don't really know, as an author, when someone bookmarks one of your fics. Some authors, particularly when they are feeling low (cough cough) may also look at bookmarks to see if there are nice things there. This would basically just involve clicking on the bookmarks for each of your fics individually to see if there's anything a.) new and b.) nice in them.

This is an act of desperation. It's not really a wise thing to do, as 99% of bookmarks have no comments, or just list the title and author in fear of the fic being deleted some day and not knowing what you're missing. Even worse, if you, as an author, get desperate enough to cruise your bookmarks, you are as likely to see someone say something like "Meh" or "This got boring so I stopped reading at Chapter 5" or "Too many werewolves 3/10" in a werewolf fic than you are to see a nice compliment.

So, if you loved a fic and want to memorialize your love in a bookmark, be an extra super-duper sweetheart and cut and paste that into a comment for the author! Make the AO3 environment enriching for both authors and fellow readers in the comments section, and protect your friendly local author by not providing intermittent positive reinforcement for the negative behavior of scrolling through bookmarks!

I still recommend bookmarking fics. Bookmark those favorite fics you want to come back and read later, or use bookmarks to leave yourself little reminders if they are nice or in private bookmarks if they are not nice. Bookmark good resources, like how to code things in html or how to use AO3 filters most effectively. Find awesome new things to read by looking through the bookmarks of your favorite authors, because if you vibe with someone's writing you may also vibe with their favorite fics to read!

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - PART SEVEN*

Summary: “When Y/N confesses she needs Harry’s toolbox, he comes rushing to give it to her…” (I’m sorry this summary is so fucking stupid lmfao😭)

Wc: 5.2k

Tropes: boxer!Harry x innocent!reader

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment/assault, bit of angst, SMUT, praise kink, sub/dom dynamics, teehee🤭

A/N: helloooo as promised, here is a new chapter of NFWMB in celebration of me getting my bachelor’s degree (woo🥳)! Thank you for being patient with me💞 I love these two they are so cutiepatootie, so happy reading!

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

Harry was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

Ever since Y/N had told him she wanted him, he had been floating on a cloud of ecstasy.

Sure, his original intention was to do it all the old-fashioned traditional way. Take her out to dinner, take it slow, really court her. But when Y/N said she didn't like the pressure of dating, he knew he needed to act quick in order to not fully lose her. He'd do anything in any way she wanted, as long as he could get a chance to show her how much he wanted her.

Now, this was definitely not the traditional way, but Harry hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. The sole idea of Y/N in that intimate capacity had the ability to send him to the edge. He needed to actively seek distractions in order not to think about it all day.

But when he wasn't thinking of Y/N's beauty or the agreement they made, his mind would float to that pathetic rat that had dared to make her feel unsafe. That had... touched her. He couldn't think about it too long either, not wanting to do anything rash and disrespecting Y/N's wish for him to let her handle the situation.

He just felt so angry and frustrated, and he wanted to her help her so bad, but he just didn't know how. Teaching her to defend herself was the help he was able to give for now, but he was hoping for her to let him in and let him offer her more emotional support as well.

All in good time, he thought.

For now, he was trying to focus on giving his client all of his attention while he was doing his exercises. He was a personal trainer for a select group of people who paid a significant amount to get the most detailed training, so the time-slots with these clients required his full focus.

"All right, good form Brady. That was the last one for today. I still see some restraints when you jump, which is coming from a lack of focus on hip exercises, so we're going to be incorporating those from Friday onward. Sound good?"

The sixty-five year old man smiled at Harry. He had come in here about four months earlier, wanting intensive personal training after five years of not working out because he had decided he was going to run a marathon by the end of the year. He'd later told Harry that his daughter was training for the marathon, and since they used to run together when she was little, he'd wanted to surprise her. Harry immediately signed himself on as Brady's personal trainer.

"I mean that's what I pay you for, right?" Brady joked, wiping off some sweat with the small towel around his neck. Harry huffed out a laugh, humming in agreement and handing Brady his water bottle. Suddenly, he heard a 'ping' sound coming from his pockets.

Turning on his phone, Harry frowned at seeing he had two message notifications from an unknown number.

Unknown

Heyy, I'm so sorry to bother you but I have kind of a weird question.

My bathroom cabinet door just kind of fell off its hinges and Sophie said you had a toolbox. And since I do not have one of my own, nor know how to fix this, I was wondering if maybe you had time to come over and help me somewhere later today?

This is Y/N, by the way. Sorry I should have started with that.

Harry hadn't realized how wide his smile was until Brady flicked him with his towel.

"What are you smirking at?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry looked at his client and noted the playful glint in his eyes. "I thought you were a bit different the last few sessions, now I know why."

Harry rolled his eyes, not really saying something. Brady sniffed a laugh and turned to gather his things.

"If she makes you smile like that then you better go for it." He said, and Harry was glad that Brady wasn't looking at him because he felt his cheeks turning a little red. "Because I did, and let me tell you... best decision of my life."

A wide smile spread on Harry's face as he listened to the advice of his client. He didn't even try to deny it, just took it with a smile and a nod. Brady only winked at him before walking off to the lockers. Harry immediately opened the chat with Y/N and put her into his contact list.

Harry

Hey

Of course, I'm free for the rest of the day, so just let me know when I can come by.

He quickly shut off his phone before he could overthink his text too much, and scurried off to his office to stress out in private. By the time he whipped his phone out again, he had a text from Y/N.

Y/N

Really? That'd be great, thank you!

I'm working from home today so you could swing by at like 4 if you want?

Fuck yeah, Harry thought.

Harry

Alright, see you in a bit.

With toolbox.

Y/N

Thanks! You're a life saver!

Harry beamed the whole way home. In his car, while he sought the toolbox, as he put the car in the toolbox. He just couldn't stop being giddy over the fact that Y/N had called him a life saver. It was kind of terrifying; how much an impact she had on his mood. Then again, he was too damn happy to worry about it.

It was only a fifteen minute drive from Harry's place to Y/N's. He wondered how it was possible that they'd only recently crossed paths. Maybe it was some kind of faith. Maybe they had come into each other's life at the exact right time.

Harry forced himself to stop pondering as he rang the downstairs doorbell. Taking a deep breath, he waited for Y/N to open the door. When the buzzer went off, Harry was quick to push the door open and hurry upstairs to her apartment.

Y/N was standing in the door opening, smiling as Harry walked up to her. She gave him a small wave, cracking a smile out of him too. She was just so adorable.

That was until his eyes traveled down to her legs, which were barely covered. She was only wearing tiny shorts and a large cardigan. And there was absolutely nothing adorable about those legs.

"Hey." She said when he was finally close enough. Her gaze dropped down to the toolbox in Harry's hand. It was a gift from his dad that he had gotten when he'd just moved out, but the box was huge. It did come in handy whenever something broke, though. Harry barely ever had to run to the store.

"I said bring a toolbox, not the entire hardware store." Y/N joked, stepping aside to let him in. Harry faked a gasp as he stepped into the apartment, his stomach swirling at the memory of the last time he was here.

"Are you making fun of my toolbox, Y/N?" He raised a playful brow, the insinuation floating between the two of them. Y/N stepped closer to Harry.

"I wouldn't dare to make fun of your toolbox." She replied cheekily. Harry's eyes slightly widened at her words. He had expected her to get a bit shy like she always did, but he was pleasantly surprised by her surge of confidence.

It took Harry a few seconds to regain himself, delaying his response. "So, where's the broken cabinet?"

Y/N pointed to a door on her right, and Harry immediately walked towards the bathroom. She was really looking too beautiful today but he needed to focus on fixing this cabinet before he could divide his entire attention to every inch of her skin, despite how badly he wanted to abandon everything and just spend the rest of his life in these four walls admiring her.

He went to work quickly, and Y/N brought him a glass of water while he began rummaging through the toolbox to find the right hinges and screwdrivers. Y/N sat leaned forward on the edge of her bathtub, head leaning on her hands as her stare burned a hole in his brain. He felt his ears turning red at the feeling of being watched by her, but he liked it too much to say anything about it.

"All done." Harry said after ten minutes, turning to see a gaping Y/N looking at the fixed cabinet door. She gasped as she got down to the floor and sat next to Harry, fascinated by the working door.

"Oh my god, you're so fast!" Y/N said with a wide smile as her fingers grazed over the new hinges. Just for good measure, she opened and closed the cabinet. Her gaze flicked over to Harry, the closeness between them suddenly very obvious.

"Thank you." She said softly. Her shy smile made the urge to kiss her almost too big to bear. Harry found himself automatically starting to lean in when Y/N suddenly pulled away and turned back with a glass of water in her hand.

"You didn't drink anything yet." She stated, her big eyes looking up at him. Y/N was back to being her skittish self, and for some reason, when she nervously bit her lip, Harry couldn't handle it anymore.

Leaping forward, he grabbed her face and put her lips on his. Slightly taken aback by the impact of the movement, Y/N let out a small noise, combining a yelp and a moan, but she immediately kissed him back. It was only because Harry felt something dripping from his elbow, that he leaned back from the phenomenal kiss.

Splattered all over Y/N's cardigan was the water that had once been in the glass she still holding. It must've tipped over when Harry launched toward her. She looked down and let out a small laugh.

"Oh, you made me all wet!" She giggled, trying to wipe over her cardigan as if it would help the situation. Harry groaned at Y/N's words, his cock suddenly straining way too much in his pants.

"Fucking hell..." he cursed under his breath, hoping it was subtle enough. Y/N heard it anyway, a frown on her face as she met the eyes of the pained man in front of her. Only when a few seconds had passed, she realized the double meaning of her sentence.

"Oh." was the only thing that came out of her mouth as she stared blankly at Harry. Slowly, he began to worry. Had he made her uncomfortable? He couldn't read her face expression.

He was about to ask if everything was okay, when Y/N's hands slowly floated to the button of her cardigan. Harry's eyes followed suit, and his heart rate began to pick up as she began to unbutton her cardigan.

Harry had to actively keep his mouth closed as he watched her take off the cardigan to reveal nothing but a yellow lace bra underneath it. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to touch her in any way he could, but he waited. Either for a signal or to ask for her consent. Just because she was taking off her cardigan didn't mean he'd suddenly gained the right to touch her.

He'd do anything to earn it, though. He'd get on his damn knees to beg for it if he had to.

"Better to take it off, right?" She whispered, a bit uncertainty lacing her words. She was timid; it was the first time she'd really initiated something in this manner.

"Right." Harry whispered back, making sure to keep his eyes on hers. Y/N frowned a bit.

"I bought this yesterday, do you like it?" She ran her fingers over the lace of the bra. Harry's eyes lowered, and he took his time to observe every inch of her breasts and the lace that covered them. His cock was growing painfully hard, but he had to be patient.

"I love it. Fits you perfectly." He rasped. He glanced at Y/N, who swallowed at his words. When his gaze traveled back to her chest, he could see the quickened breaths she was taking.

"Does it make you want to touch me?"

Harry could've melted at the shy words that left Y/N's mouth. He took a deep breath, restraining himself.

"Y/N, everything about you makes me want to touch you." He said, his stomach fluttering as he saw a smile grow on her face. He smirked, leaning closer until his lips were mere inches away from hers. "Can I touch you, darling?"

"Please."

Harry needed nothing more to immediately go in for the kill. He planted hungry kisses on her chin and jaw, working his way down to her neck, Y/N ragged breathing and stifled moans only encouraging him more. His hands traveled up to her chest, cupping one of her breasts and softly squeezing it has he worked to leave bruises on her neck.

"I— Ah... I bought it for you." Y/N croaked out in between moans, her hands searching for any part of Harry's body to hold onto.

Harry groaned into her neck, the confession making him go crazy. Wrapping both his arms around Y/N waist, he pulled her into his lap, placing her right on his hardened cock.

"Yeah? Just for me?" He asked, looking up at her as his fingers trailed the bare skin on her back. Y/N hummed, unconsciously rolling her hips against him to get closer. "How'd you know yellow is my favorite color?"

Y/N sniffed a laugh, her cheeks turning red. "I didn't know it was."

"It is now." Harry said, diving his head in between her breast to leave kisses all over her chest. Y/N grabbed Harry's hair, slightly tugging on it as his mouth touched her all over.

"Harry, please..." She sighed, trying not to moan too loudly. He backed away, looking up at the panting girl in front of him.

"What is it darling? What d'you need?"

Y/N let out a huff. "You know what..."

"No I don't." Harry shrugged, shaking his head. "If you want something you gotta tell me. I always need to know you want it."

Y/N's face was puzzled, and possibly a bit taken aback by Harry's stern statement. He could see her trying to scramble the words in her brain. He knew it wouldn't be easy for a shy girl like her, but he hoped that learning to voice her needs would help her become more confident. In all aspects of her life.

"I... I want you to touch me."

"I am touching you." He took it a little further. Y/N groaned.

"I mean—" she dropped her shoulders. "I want you to touch me.... down there... if you want! Of course. I don't—"

Harry was quick to grab her face. "I want to do whatever you ask of me, don't worry about that. Just tell me what you want, you're doing good baby."

Y/N nodded, looking away as she scraped together some courage. She swallowed before locking eyes with Harry again.

"I want you to touch my pussy with your fingers... please." She said, her eyes wide as she waited for Harry's reaction.

Suddenly, Harry stood up. Y/N clung to him as he went to stand straight and planted her in front of the counter next to the sink. He could tell she was confused when he took a step away from her.

"Take off your shorts and your panties." Was all he said. Y/N did as she was told, quickly taking off her clothes and throwing them to the side. Harry admired her body as she stood there in front of him, waiting for his next move.

"Good girl." He said before grabbing her hips and turning her around to face the mirror in front of them. She was so tiny compared to him. It wasn't that she was extremely short, but his muscles made him way broader in comparison to her frame. But still it was perfect, she was perfect for him.

"See yourself, baby?" He said, lowering his head to plant a kiss in her neck while his arms snaked around her waist. He looked at her through the mirror, seeing her nod in agreement. "You look so perfect, don't you? Tell yourself you look perfect."

Y/N brows creased. "W— what?"

"Tell yourself you look perfect." Harry repeated matter-of-factly, stunning Y/N a bit. She opened her mouth but no sound came out; she was contemplating.

"I look... perfect?" She tilted her head slightly as she did what he asked, but Harry just scoffed.

"A little more conviction, please."

Y/N sighed, hesitantly biting her lip. "I look perfect."

Harry's fingers dug into the sides of her waist, and pulled her into him. In the way her eyes widened slightly, he figured she could feel the bulge that was hiding in his jeans.

"That's it, baby. Yeah you do." He encouraged her with a smile, causing Y/N cheeks to turn red a bit and look down. She gasped when he suddenly slipped his hand into her panties, the sudden touch on her clit causing her to lean into him. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut as she tried not to make too much noise as Harry's fingers explored her cunt.

"Just when I thought it couldn't get more perfect..." Harry said, planting a kiss on her neck before suddenly sticking a finger inside of her. Y/N's hips bucked slightly at the sudden intrusion, and she was quick to grab onto the counter in front of her.

"Shit..." she whispered, breathing becoming more heavy as Harry added a finger. The wet noises of Y/N pussy filled the room, and Harry's pants tightened even more at the sound of it.

Needing her to come desperately before he was going to cream his own pants, Harry picked up his pace. Y/N let out a whine at the speed of his fingers, and began to clench around them.

"You gonna come for me baby?" He took it as a sign, and by the way Y/N's head was hanging low with nothing but small moans leaving her lips, he was interpreting it just right. She quickly nodded in response, keeping her eyes closed as her face began to scrunch up. Harry eyed the counter she was holding onto, and spotted her white knuckled hands.

"You're doing so good, you can come for me." He motivated her. It didn't take more than a few seconds for her to start spasming around his fingers. Y/N's body fell forward a bit, her shaky legs barely being able to keep her up as she came around Harry's fingers. He was quick to pull her back into him, forcing her to hold onto to his arm as she rode out her orgasm on his hand.

Whispering sweet nothings in her ear, Harry took his time to let Y/N come down from her orgasm. When she finally opened her eyes, and Harry's spotted the dazed look in her eyes, he couldn't help but smile.

"There she is." He teased. Her cheeks were a bright pink from the orgasm she just had, and a small giggle left her mouth. "Was that good for you? Was that what you wanted?"

Y/N said nothing, solely smiling as she turned around to face Harry. His brows furrowed slightly as the silence went on, but he froze when she suddenly began to sink to her knees.

"Baby, you don't have to feel obligated to—"

Immediately, her smile dropped, much like Harry's heart. She looked up at him with those doe eyes of her, looking disappointed.

"You don't want that?" She asked, and Harry was pretty sure a piece of his heart cracked at hearing the tone of her voice.

"I want everything from you. I just don't want you to feel like you have to make me feel good just because I make you feel good, okay?" He explained, hoping she would understand.

Y/N tilted her head. "But... I want it."

Harry thought it over for a minute, then answered.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

Y/N swallowed, then nodded. Harry quirked up a brow.

"Yes." She voiced quickly, instantly understanding his silent demand for verbal consent.

"And you wanna suck me off?"

Again, Y/N nodded. "Yes."

"Greedy girl." Harry's lips quirked up, and he pushed back a strand of hair behind Y/N's ear. "Alright, who am I to say no? But just for a little bit, I don't think I'll last long."

Y/N hummed eagerly, immediately reaching for Harry's pants. He was shocked at her sudden burst of confidence when she turned them around so Harry could lean against the counter. He wondered where she'd learned that move, and then he quickly took that thought back, because he didn't want to think about Y/N making this move on other men.

All racing thoughts were thrown out the window when Y/N pulled down Harry's boxers. He could tell she was a bit surprised, and he would be lying if he said it didn't inflate his ego just a bit.

"You still sure about this?" He asked for good measure. Y/N looked at him, a bit... annoyed?

Harry didn't have much time to figure out what the expression on her face meant, because before he knew it, she licked a long stripe from his base the way to the tip of cock. Harry hissed, gripping onto the counter as she began to kitten lick the tip.

Fuck, he wasn't gonna last long like this at all.

When Y/N properly put her lips around him and began to really suck him off, Harry had to do everything in his power not to come in the spot. Automatically, he threw his head back, but as soon as he realized he was missing the view of the most beautiful angel he'd ever seen giving him a blowjob, his eyes traveled back to her.

"Fucking— hell..."

Looking up through her lashes, Y/N was sucking on Harry, taking care of what she couldn't take in her mouth with her hand. And then, when she began to speed up, Harry couldn't take it anymore.

Leaning forward, he pulled Y/N off his cock and got her to stand up straight. She yelped at the sudden movement, and she looked slightly offended to be disturbed during her performance of a lifetime. Somehow, when he lifted her up, she knew to wrap her legs around him. She held on tightly as he moved out of the bathroom and made his way over to the couch.

"I have a condom with me."

Y/N tilted her head. "I’m on contraceptives."

"Okay." Harry said. "I haven't been with anyone in like, three months. I got tested then, and I'm clean."

Y/N nodded. "Right... well I haven't been with anyone for like, two years, so I'm definitely clean."

Again, Harry would have been lying if he said that didn't made him feel a bit better about the two of them. But that was not the focus of right now.

"Alright, no condom then?" He asked.

"No condom." Y/N repeated, and that was that.

Sitting down with Y/N on his lap, Harry let her go at her own pace as she grabbed his cock and lined it up with her pussy. It was difficult not to dig his nails into her when she pushed his cock into her. Her jaw was slack, definitely getting used to the size and girth of the man she was pushing inside of her.

It was a matter of patience, but Y/N's tight walls, that patience was running thin. When Harry was about halfway in, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Want me to help?" Harry asked, and when Y/N nodded, he bucked his hips up, impaling her on his dick. She let out a loud a moan at the harshness, throwing her head back. But Harry didn't stop, he began to fuck up into her.

He was mesmerized, watching her tits bounce from the impact, her head back and her neck on display. She was a sight for sore eyes and he couldn't believe he was lucky enough to see her like this.

"Fuck, angel, you feel so good." The nickname slipped out like it was the most normal thing on earth. Harry was pleasantly surprised to feel her clenching around him in response, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"D'you like that? When I call you angel?" He began to provoke her. She nodded.

"I love it." The confession slipped past her lips. She opened her eyes, gazing into Harry's. "Again, please."

"Yeah? Want me to call you angel?" He asked, the rhetoric question earning some groans from Y/N's side. "You know why I call you angel, baby?"

"Why?" Her voice was soft, breath hitching as she began bouncing on Harry's cock more now that he had slowed his pace.

"Because the first time I saw you I thought I was dreaming." Harry said, holding onto her waist. Y/N let out a small moan. "You have this radiation about you, angel. You light up every room you’re in."

"Fuck..." Y/N cursed under her breath. "I can't— I need more, please, please..."

Harry groaned at the sheer desperation in her voice, pulling out to switch positions and laying Y/N on her back. When he entered her again, he didn't waste much time before pounding into her.

"Needed this angel? Needed me so bad, huh?" He asked, watching Y/N's eyes roll back as she tried to hold onto anything she could in order not to fall off the couch.

"Harry— oh my god!" She cried out helplessly, clawing onto his chest and arms. She wrapped her legs around Harry's torso, and he leaned forward to go even deeper, his cross chain dangling above her mouth.

Harry about lost it when she took the chain between her teeth and used it to pull him closer before putting her lips on his. All the sounds that left their mouths entered each other, their pleasure flowing between bodies like a steady wave.

Harry wasn't surprised that Y/N stopped kissing him, having felt her clench around his hard cock. She couldn't even get a word out, but Harry knew enough.

"C'mon angel, come for me." He growled, beginning to chase his own high as Y/N came around him.

Harry's orgasm followed not long after, and he was quick to pull out, his seed coating her lower stomach. Both were breathing heavily, not really speaking to each other as they came down from their highs. After a minute or two, Harry leaned forward and planted a kiss on Y/N's forehead before getting up from the couch.

Y/N was too dazed to say anything about it, but she didn't have to wait long before Harry returned with paper towels to clean up the mess he made. He praised her casually as he wiped her stomach clean.

When he was done, he pulled her to sit up straight on the couch and got a glass of water for the both of them. Again, Y/N could only nod. He sat back down, handing one of the glasses to the girl next to him and watched her take some big sips before grabbing the glasses again and putting it back on the table. He was shocked when Y/N suddenly spoke up.

"I think I'm gonna quit my job." She said, staring at the wall in front of her. Harry put down his drink as well, re-positioning himself on the couch so he was sitting towards her.

"Y/N..." He was speechless. Seeing the look on her face, hearing those words come out of her mouth, it hurt him to see her like that. She finally turned to look at him.

"I can't... I can't be in the same space as him." She looked down at her fiddling hands, and Harry spotted the tears welling in her eyes. "I'm just so afraid all the time."

Fuck.

He didn't know how much quicker he could've pulled her into a hug. Y/N didn't particularly hug him back, but she rested her head on his shoulder as she accepted his embrace.

"I'm sorry." Y/N mumbled, barely cohesive as her words were muffled by Harry's shoulder. He pulled away from the hug. "I didn't meant to ruin the vibe."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He reminded her, wiping a tear away from her cheek. "I'm glad you felt safe enough to tell me."

Y/N sighed. "It's gonna be hard as shit to find a new job here, though."

It was so incredibly unfair that Y/N had to be the one to switch jobs. Harry's jaw clenched. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to HR? They might be able to do something."

Y/N shook her head. "I don't have proof."

"Sexual harassment isn't about proof. If someone makes you uncomfortable, whether they intend to or not, that is sexual harassment." Harry said. He had a zero tolerance policy at the gym, and unfortunately had a sexual harassment situation once at work when a personal trainer kept making inappropriate comments towards one of the cleaners. He was very thankful that the woman felt safe enough to inform him, and he hated that Y/N didn't have that.

"It's complicated. I went on a date with him, that doesn't make me look very good." She replied. The look in her eyes was hopeless, and it scared him that this situation had been draining her so much.

"I still think you should consider it." Harry insisted anyway, hoping she would keep the option in the back of her mind at the very least.

Y/N shrugged. "I'll see."

The silence loomed over the both of them, and Harry didn't know what to do. He wanted to comfort her, tell her all the right things she wanted to hear. But he wasn't sure what she did or didn't want to hear.

Instead, Harry leaned forward, his hand cupping her jaw. Her eyes fluttered closed, head tilting towards his hand. In turn, his stomach fluttered.

"You're going to be okay, no matter what." He assured her. Sure, he didn't know what she was going to do or how everything was going to turn out, but he felt very strongly that things would be fine.

"Thank you." Y/N whispered sweetly, her eyes still closed.

Harry smiled. She looked safe now.

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno @inkedskin @fangirl509east @mellamolayla @lizsogolden @prettydelilah @kierramcduffie @harry2121 @babegoals @hermionelove@bitchidontpost @lomlolivia @harringtonhundreds @fruit-harry

[andy-15-07]

Hi love. Can I ask for some old Joel smut. Maybe after they get to Jackson safe, grumpy old Joel asks for something back since he basically saved her life and now they live together. He wants to release tensiin and stress. He wants to have free use of her, get to touch her and ask for things like that whenever he wants. He is nice and loving eith her, except when it comes to that, he is pervert, likes it rough, etc.

Something lime that. Thank you

What You Owe Me

PAIRING:Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 886| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

You owed Joel Miller your life.

And he never let you forget it.

It wasn’t like he held it over your head every day,not out loud, anyway. He’d just glance at you sometimes, sharp and unreadable, the way a wolf eyes something it’s already claimed.

You still remembered that night. The scream. The clicker lunging at you in the dark. The blood splatter. And Joel standing over the body, chest heaving, bloodied crowbar in hand.

He didn’t even look at the corpse,just looked at you. “You okay?”

You’d nodded, trembling. “I owe you.”

And he’d said: “Damn right you do.”

Now you lived with him. Shared food. Shared warmth. Jackson was safer than anywhere you’d ever been,but Joel? He wasn’t safe at all.

He was brooding, gruff, territorial. He didn’t talk much. But when he looked at you, it was with heat. Hunger. Frustration.

He wanted you.

And he was tired of pretending he didn’t.

It started with a knock on your door.

It was late,after midnight. You were in bed, half asleep when the heavy knock startled you upright.

You cracked the door open.

Joel stood there in a worn shirt, boots still on, eyes shadowed. Jaw tight.

“Joel?” you asked, voice hoarse. “Is everything okay?”

“Need you to come with me.”

Your heart jumped. “What,what happened?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and walked down the hall.

You followed, pulse thumping.

He led you into his room. Shut the door. Locked it.

Turned to face you.

"You remember what you said?” he asked. “That you owed me?”

Your stomach twisted. “Yeah.”

His voice was low. Rough. “Time to collect.”

You froze.

His gaze dropped to your body,bare legs, old shirt hanging off one shoulder. He stepped closer, tilting his head.

“I saved your life,” he said. “Put my ass on the line. Nearly got bit.”

“I know,” you breathed.

“And you been sleepin’ in my house. Eatin’ my food. My bed, when you get nightmares.”

You swallowed hard. “What do you want, Joel?”

His eyes burned.

“You.”

A pause.

“I want to be able to touch you,” he said. “Whenever I need to. Take what I want. Use you when this world gets too fuckin’ heavy.”

Your thighs clenched. You hated how much you felt that in your gut.

“And if I say no?”

He didn’t move. “You can. Always. Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Your voice shook. “You want… free use?”

He stepped in, voice dropping to a growl. “I want that tight little body on your knees when I come home angry. I want your mouth when I wake up hard. I want you bendin’ over when I say now, no questions.”

His hand cupped your cheek,gentle, almost sweet.

“But only if you want it too, baby.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You dropped to your knees.

Joel groaned.

“Good girl.”

Your shirt was gone in seconds. Joel gripped your chin, thumb sliding along your bottom lip.

"Open."

You obeyed.

He unzipped himself, cock already hard, leaking.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Mouth’s too fuckin’ pretty not to use.”

He shoved in slowly,groaning as your lips stretched around him, hand curling into your hair.

“Take it. All of it. C’mon, baby, let me fuck that sweet mouth.”

You moaned around him. He started to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper,grunting with every stroke.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled. “Been thinkin’ about this since you moved in. Knew that mouth’d feel like heaven.”

You gagged as he pushed deeper.

“Good girl. You let me do this when I need to, yeah?”

You nodded around him.

He pulled out suddenly, grabbing your arm and hauling you to your feet.

“Get on the bed.”

You scrambled up, chest heaving, and lay back. He yanked your panties off, pushed your knees apart, and stared.

“Fuckin’ soaked.”

His thumb slid through your folds. You whimpered.

He leaned in, voice hot against your thigh. “You like bein’ used, huh?”

You gasped. “Yes.”

“You like knowin’ you belong to me?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes, Joel,please.”

He growled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Then he was inside you.

No teasing. No patience.

Just thick, hard cock splitting you open as he groaned into your throat.

“Shit, you’re tight.”

You cried out, nails digging into his back.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

He fucked you hard, rough, like you were a pressure valve for everything he’d ever felt and never said. His hips slapped against yours, his hand gripping your throat,not choking, just holding. Possessive.

“Gonna fill you up,” he snarled. “Gonna use this pussy whenever I fuckin’ want.”

You arched under him. “Joel,please,”

“Please what?”

“Please come inside me. Use me. I’m yours.”

He came with a low, broken growl,burying himself deep, pumping you full.

You moaned as his seed spilled into you, thick and hot, your own orgasm pulsing through your body seconds later.

He collapsed over you, breath ragged against your ear.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then,

“You did good,” he murmured. “Took me real well, sweetheart.”

You blinked up at him.

His face softened.

“You still okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah. I… liked it.”

He smiled, small and rare. “I know.”

Then he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Sleep now,” he whispered. “You’re mine. I’ll take care of you.”

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

Hi Eve! Congrats on 500!!! Requesting 3 or 19 for Sylus out of your prompt list pleasseeeee :3 (whichever hasn't been taken yet or compels you more!!)

the portrait standoff.

[ sylus x reader ]

you bring home a massive portrait of mephisto dressed like a victorian lord. he says absolutely not. you argue. he argues harder. but when you’re breathless, grinning, toe-to-toe—he shuts you up the only way he knows how.

ABOUT | 2k words. fluff. comedic bickering. ridiculous decor war. unhinged you. deadpan Sylus. victorian crow portrait as the final boss.

TAGS | slice of life. domestic comedy. heated bickering. ridiculous art. soft resolution. shared space shenanigans.

NOTE : this is part of the celebrate 500 followers event! want to pick a prompt? [press here]. thank you for being part of this space, and for reading and enjoying these stories.

a special thank you to Em—you are an incredible support. your reviews and thoughtful tags always make me feel like you catch every single word. every time i see a note from you, i can’t help but smile. thank you for making this space brighter. 🖤

YOU CRADLE IT...like it’s something sacred. Or fragile. Or both. The frame alone stands nearly as tall as you, all ornate gold swirls and faux age spots—exactly the kind of thing that would send an antiques appraiser into cardiac arrest. Your arms burn from hauling it up the stairs, but it’s fine. Worth it. You adjust your grip on the heavy wood, nudge your hip against the apartment door, and—through sheer willpower and a heroic amount of desperation—manage to shove it open.

The silence inside is the deliberate kind, the kind that usually means Sylus is somewhere nearby, reading reports or silently passing judgment on the world. The apartment smells like him: coffee, soap, something clean and sharp. For one triumphant heartbeat, you let yourself imagine him appearing in the doorway, his eyes lighting up as he takes in your prize, immediately recognizing your impeccable taste. Maybe he’ll laugh. Maybe he’ll say, Brilliant choice. Let’s hang it right now.

You step inside, and there he is—leaning against the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, glass of water in hand. His eyes lift. His brow furrows. The glass stalls halfway to his lips.

Silence expands, taut and unyielding. His gaze drops to the painting. Mephisto, rendered in full baroque absurdity, stares back—powdered wig, crimson suit, monocle glinting with imperious challenge.

Sylus’s voice, when it comes, is low and almost painfully measured. “What is that.”

Not what’s this—but what is that. As if you’ve brought home a live crocodile. Or a bomb.

You smile, bright and unwavering. “It’s art.”

His jaw tightens, so subtle it would be easy to miss. But you don’t.

Because this isn’t just about a painting. It’s about the wall. The space. Your space. And you’ve just fired the first shot.

You set the painting down with care, propping it against the couch so Mephisto’s beady eyes can cast judgment over the entire apartment. Straightening, you brush your hands together like you’ve just accomplished something heroic.

“It’s going right here,” you announce, sweeping your arm toward the blank wall above the sofa with a flourish. “The perfect spot. He’ll inspire conversation.”

Sylus’s gaze slides from your beaming face to the portrait, then back again. His expression is neutral in the way a thundercloud looks neutral before it splits open. “Conversation?” His tone is so flat it’s practically a miracle of composure. “You mean emergency evacuations.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Excuse me?”

“People will run screaming.” He sets his glass on the counter with a deliberate clink. “They’ll think we’re… unwell. Or possessed.”

You resist the urge to cross your arms. Instead, you plant your hands on your hips. “It’s called personality. You can’t get that from mass-produced canvas prints of sad grey flowers.”

His brow lifts, a quiet challenge. “And you think this”—he gestures at Mephisto’s regal, faintly sinister face—“is the cure? The antidote to bland décor?”

You glance at the painting. Mephisto’s tiny monocle gleams beneath the overhead light like it’s daring you to falter. “Absolutely.”

He exhales, long and quiet, a sound that says he’s searching every corner of his mind for patience. “You know there are other ways to make this place feel like home,” he says, voice almost soft. Almost.

Something in you stutters at that word—home—but you shove it down, refusing to break now. “Yes,” you counter, “but none of them involve a crow with a better wardrobe than either of us.”

His lips twitch, the tiniest betrayal of amusement. “He looks like he’s plotting to bankrupt a small European nation.”

“He looks dignified,” you argue, already picturing him above the couch as the centerpiece of every future conversation. “And for the record, he’ll keep us on our toes.”

He steps closer, boots silent on the floor. The distance shrinks, heat crackling in the charged air. “On our toes,” he repeats, eyes locked on yours. “That’s what you’re going with.”

You nod, chin high. “On. Our. Toes.”

A beat of silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. His gaze flickers to your mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. “This is absurd,” he murmurs, voice softened just enough for you to hear it.

Your heart hammers, but you refuse to retreat. “You’d rather hang nothing? A blank void of beige? Is that what you want our place to say about us?”

His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to see right through you. “Our place,” he echoes, voice low but no longer cold.

Your cheeks burn at the slip. “Yes,” you whisper, but your resolve holds firm. “Our place.”

You start mentally drafting wedding invitations for yourself and the painting, just in case he throws you out. It would be a tasteful ceremony. Small guest list. Possibly catered by that bakery down the street.

He drags a hand down his face like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation. “You’re impossible,” he mutters.

“And yet you’re still here,” you shoot back, unable to stop the breathless grin from curling across your lips.

His eyes don’t leave yours. The grin softens there, lingering at the corners of your mouth, but suddenly it feels too bright, too loud in the hush that follows. He’s looking at you like he sees past the joke. Past the grin. Past Mephisto, in his ridiculous powdered wig and that monocle you’re beginning to have second thoughts about yourself.

Sylus doesn’t speak. He just watches you, gaze steady and unflinching, and you feel the weight of it—the unsaid things crowding the space between you, heavier than the ornate frame at your feet. The apartment still feels new. The paint clings faintly in the corners. The furniture is functional, mostly his. The walls are blank. Except now there’s this painting. This one piece of you.

You’re the first to look away, eyes dropping to the floor because it’s easier than meeting his when your heart is pounding like this. Your voice emerges quieter, almost hesitant. “It’s just… it’s ours now, you know? This place. I wanted something that made it feel like that.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, too bare, too raw, leaving you exposed.

Sylus shifts, as if on the verge of speaking, then doesn’t. His arms fold across his chest—not defensively, but like he’s bracing himself, as if letting go might cause something inside him to splinter. His gaze drops to the painting, and for the first time, there’s no humor there. Only something softer. A flicker of understanding. Maybe even regret.

“I know.” His voice is low, quiet as confession. “I know what this is about.”

You risk a glance up. He looks tired somehow—not in body, but like this is harder for him than you’d ever meant it to be.

“I’m not trying to take over,” you say, words tumbling out in a rush, awkward and earnest. “I just—I wanted something here that felt like both of us.”

His jaw tightens, working silently. His fingers tap once against his arm, then fall still. The silence between you doesn’t feel heavy anymore. It feels tentative. Careful. Like you’re both afraid that moving too fast might shatter something delicate and irreplaceable.

A beat passes. Then another. And just like that, the quiet shatters.

You straighten, spine snapping taut with new determination. “I’m hanging it.” The words burst out sharper than you intend. You step forward, finger stabbing the air at the spot above the couch. “There.”

Sylus’s eyes flash, dark and unyielding. He closes the space until his chest almost brushes yours, his own finger jabbing at the same blank wall—just an inch lower. “Here.”

“No.” Your pulse spikes. You lean in, toes nearly bumping his boots. “Higher.”

“Lower,” he growls, voice dropping rough.

You match his volume, cheeks flushing hot. “Higher.”

“Lower.”

His breath ghosts across your cheek, hot and ragged, pulling the world tighter around you. His hand falls from his chest, brushing your wrist, the contact electric—zinging through your veins, leaving your skin humming.

Your heart pounds so hard it’s dizzying. “I swear, Sylus, if you don’t let me—”

He cuts in, voice low, clipped, dangerous. “You’ll what, kitten?”

Your hand rises between you, finger still pointing defiantly. His hand lifts at the same time, colliding with yours. Fingers tangle, awkward but desperate, neither of you willing to yield. You twist, he shifts, stepping forward again, boots nudging yours aside. Your breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Somewhere in the apartment, Mephisto’s painted eyes glower in silent, absurd judgment.

The air thickens, heavy with heat and the weight of unspoken words. Dialogue spills out fast, overlapping, raw edges smoothed by the sharp, breathless current between you.

“I’m not letting it go there—”

“I’m not letting it go there—”

“You’re impossible—”

“You’re stubborn—”

His hand flexes around yours, grip tightening like letting go would be more dangerous than holding on. Your shoulders tense. His gaze drops to your mouth; yours flick to his lips. For one suspended moment, everything falls silent except for your breaths—quick, shallow, shared.

You can feel it—something cracking open between you. Balance tipping. A heartbeat teetering on the brink of something reckless, something that could change everything.

It happens all at once, like a rubber band snapping. Your laugh bubbles up first—high, breathless, a little ridiculous—spilling into the quiet like a dropped glass shattering across tile. His breath catches, and then he’s laughing too, low and ragged, each chuckle vibrating through his chest.

The tension unspools in a single, dizzying rush, leaving you almost swaying. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, warm and careful, the touch a quiet question. You don’t know who leans in first—and it doesn’t matter. His mouth catches yours mid-laugh, cutting your next word short. The kiss is messy, clumsy, perfect—lips parting on a soft, startled gasp.

His hands glide up your arms, fingers curling against your shoulders. Heat blooms wherever he touches, radiating out until your knees feel loose and your bones light. His stubble scrapes your cheek, leaving a prickling trail that makes you shiver. There’s the faint taste of coffee on his tongue, rich and familiar, and the air thickens around you like time has gone syrupy, stretching slow and sweet.

You pull back just enough to drag in a breath. His eyes are hooded, lashes low, mouth pink and swollen. A laugh, small and disbelieving, ghosts across his lips. He tips his forehead against yours, the space between you pulsing with something tender and a little wild.

“I hate that painting,” he whispers, voice rough at the edges.

“I know,” you breathe, chest rising against his. “But you love me.”

He exhales a sound that’s almost a groan, mouth finding yours again—softer this time, unhurried, like he’s sealing a promise he hasn’t found words for yet.

When you finally break apart, he stays close, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. His eyes flick to the absurd portrait leaning against the couch. Mephisto’s painted face looks even smugger in the low light, monocle glinting like he knows he’s won.

A slow grin curves your lips. “You realize Mephisto is going to strut around like royalty when he sees himself immortalized in velvet and lace, right?”

Sylus’s eyes narrow a fraction, but his mouth tugs with reluctant amusement. “He’ll be insufferable,” he mutters. “You’re giving a mechanical bird an ego complex.”

You laugh, softer now, as his hand settles at the small of your back, grounding you. His chest rumbles with quiet agreement. The ridiculous painting stands silent witness—its ornate frame catching the glow of the kitchen light, Mephisto’s haughty gaze presiding over your tangled forms.

Sylus leans in again, his mouth finding yours with a steadier purpose this time, the kind that makes your knees buckle and your back bump gently against the couch. His hands cradle your face, thumbs sweeping along your jaw as he deepens the kiss, slow and sure, like there’s nowhere else either of you needs to be.

You breathe his name, soft and questioning—“Sylus?”

He hushes you with another kiss, lips warm and certain. “We’ve got time,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough with quiet affection. “Plenty of time before we have to hang that monstrosity.”

And just like that, the apartment feels different. Yours. His. Ours. A place where even the most ridiculous things can belong.

thank you for reading, and happy 500 followers!

[lucygraysboy]

as much as billy would like to present lucy gray his pale ass, he doesn’t want to be that crude. he keeps his shorts on even once he’s waist-deep in the lake. looking over his shoulder as she calls out to him, he laughs and shakes his head. “oh, wouldn’t you want to see it, hm? freaky woman,” he lightly teases, making sure his privates are fully submerged before pulling off his shorts. he swings the wet fabric over his head a few times and tosses it onto the shore. “what are these? oh, this is so fancy, babe. we get to use actual toiletries? thank you!” he was fully prepared to use just water, but this is a very pleasant surprise, he thinks as he examines the contents of the float. he takes the washcloth off his shoulder and waves it at lucy gray. “you really did think of everything!” it never fails to amaze him how well-prepared she is at all times. “are you gettin’ naked, lucy gray? gettin’ naked behind me?” he asks, covering his eyes and turning around to give her some privacy, but mostly to spare himself a moment of serious embarrassment if he as much as catches a glimpse of her perfect body. “i don’t want you lookin’ at my butt and gettin’ turned on,” he playfully muses, sending a small wave of water her way but without glancing at her. 

“oh, even without your surprises, you’d never be just another ordinary gal,” the cowboy insists, propping himself up on his elbows just to watch as she piles up dirt on his legs. “you’re just like my ma when it comes to that. she always had everything we needed in case of an emergency.” which has his smile faltering a bit, thinking about those harsh times that made them who they are. “i’ll just tell him i’ll make him my home screen,” he laughs, taunting right back, growing amused when she begins to get all riled up. “mhm, sure, you don’t.” it seems to him that lucy gray and jesse have been in some sort of competition for years now, which is hilarious because these two relationships can coexist peacefully. he can spend time with both his best friend and his girlfriend who isn’t really officially his girlfriend. “that’s ‘cause i’m pretty sure you’re puttin’ ants and bugs on my sunburned legs. does this work better than aloe gel?” laughing, he thinks it’s a good thing he isn’t too squeamish. “it’s a known fact. out of the two of us, you sure are the better actor.” it’s a genuine sentiment. she would play dead until he got seriously confused and started to dial 911. “lucy gray! lucy gray, can’t leave me like that! what if these ants eat me or get in my cutie crack?” he calls out after her, moving his legs to dust off this combination of dirt and grass and bugs, and picks himself up, ready to chase after her.