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buckyspancakes · 7 days ago

Text

apologies ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

bucky x fem!reader

summary - the thunderbolts* team’s mission goes wrong and you’re worried out of your mind when you don’t hear from bucky. but you shouldn’t worry because he makes it up to you in his own way ;)

warnings - 18+ mdni (you are responsible for the media you consume), oral (f receiving), p in v, dirty talk, little bit of fluff

notes - post thunderbolts* – reader and bucky already have an established relationship !!! and as always ty @luvemmdubb for beta reading ilysm

word count - 2.5k

You swore on everything good in this world that Bucky Barnes was going to drive you up the damn wall.

You sat at the counter of the kitchen in the New Avengers building as you ran a hand through your hair, staring at the tablet in front of you. The team had gone out on another recon mission, something about having to run surveillance on a warehouse used by, yet again, another group of mass weapons dealers. When they had left, Bucky had pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead, reassuring you that it was going to be quick and easy. Simple and nothing out of the ordinary.

You should have known better than to believe that.

Grainy black and white security footage replayed in front of you, reliving the combat that had broken out between the team and men at the warehouse. To put it kindly, the team had sort of gotten their asses handed to them. From what you could tell of the footage, your team had been caught off guard and out numbered. They had tried to fight but it looked like they had taken a really bad beating.

Shortly after the security footage had cut out, presumably by a stray bullet, Val had called you, telling you an extraction team had gotten them out and that everybody was alive. Bob had appeared from whatever alcove he was hiding out in and rubbed a hand over your back, offering you an awkward yet comforting smile. You had smiled up at him, squeezing his hand in thanks before he retreated back to wherever he had camped out with his current read.

You glanced down at your phone. Nothing. It had been hours now and Bucky still hadn’t let you know he was okay. You’d take anything at this point: a text, a call, a fucking email. Hell, you’d even take Morse code.

The two of you had talked about this on multiple occasions, agreeing that if anything went awry on a mission that the other wasn’t on, you’d check in as soon as possible. It didn't have to be this huge paragraph, it could be a simple “hey” or one singular letter or one of those silly emojis Bucky had taken a liking to after you’d shown him how to get to them on his phone.

But exactly 5 hours and 28 minutes later (not that you were counting or anything) and you were still in the dark. Not a single smiley face cat or a lone thumbs up. Nothing.

The pit that sat in the bottom of your stomach felt like it weighed tons, pressing down on you as if trying to smother you from the inside out. You had full faith in the team, knew they were skilled and could handle their own when it mattered most but anxiety still gnawed at you, chipping away as the minutes continued to tick by into hours.

You continued to stare at the footage on the tablet, waiting for something to change, some notification to pop up saying ‘Hey the team is just dandy!’ even though you knew it wouldn’t.

Your head whipped around at the sound of several pairs of boots on tile. The door to the floor slid open and the – now disheveled – New Avengers stepped out. You winced as you took them in, the cuts and bruises and exhausted faces plastered on them all.

Yelena was the first to see you, waving sheepishly at your glare. When you simply raised a brow in response, she cleared her throat, waving a hand behind her at Bucky to motion him forward.

“I think she’s mad. Make her not mad,” she mumbled, twisting her head behind her but never letting her gaze slip from you.

Beside her, Ava snorted softly as you shoved off of your stool and slowly stalked to stand in front of them. Bucky pushed forward from behind the group. Alexei muttered something about how scary you were when you were quiet like this, to which John responded by shooting him a look.

Bucky tilted his head with a hesitant smile, pushing hair and dirt from his tired face. “Doll, look we –”

“Nuh uh,” you tsked, shaking your head. Glancing at the group behind him, you pointed to the side towards the hallway. “All of you go get cleaned up and get some rest. Val is expecting you first thing in the morning for mission reports.”

They nodded, the group dissipating in quiet mumbles and sympathetic glances back to Bucky as the other four turned to go to their rooms. Bucky moved to go as well but your hand darted out, grabbing his metal arm. “You don’t get to leave just yet.” Without looking at you, he closed his eyes and groaned inaudibly, turning on his heel to stand in front of you. You blinked up at him, your glare hard and unwavering.

“Look. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, okay? We were supposed to be in and out. Just go in, get the layout, get an estimate of how many people were inside, then come straight back, but we weren’t ready for an ambush.” Bucky tried to explain, hands situated on his hips as he looked down at you, daring to meet your eyes. “They knew we were coming, I don't know how, but they did. And after that first shot it all went to hell and I got sidetracked and I'm sorry I didn't call.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, tentatively stepping towards you. Your gaze softened momentarily. You swallowed, rolling his words over before nodding.

“I know. But you can’t just not tell me. I had to hear it from Val that you were okay. And I know that you had more pressing matters at that moment, I am well aware of that, but Buck, you said if shit like this happened you would let me know.” You chewed on your bottom lip, arms crossed, turning your head away from him to look out at the city below you.

He nodded, ducking his head. “I know that, doll. I’m sorry, okay?” Bucky stepped closer, tilting your head with his hand to face him. The feeling of his cold, metallic hand against your flushed skin sent a shiver down your spine.

You met his steely blue eyes as you nodded softly. At your nod, his shoulders slumped, tension vanishing from his face. Bucky smiled softly, pulling you into his chest. Your arms twined around his neck, leaning into him.

Bucky rested his chin on your shoulder, nose brushing against your neck, lips pecking your shoulder through your shirt. You rolled your eyes as you pushed him back gently, swatting at his chest.

“Go shower. You aren’t getting in that bed covered in whatever that is.” You motioned at his shirt which was now ripped and littered with dirt and blood. Bucky smirked, leaning down into you once more.

“I will but you know you like me when I’m all ratty like this.” He smirked harder at the red blooming across the apple of your cheeks. You scoffed, hitting his chest again.

Bucky grinned, stepping even closer, your chests brushing. He kissed your nose before bending down and hooking an arm around your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder.

“James Buchanan Barnes I am not doing this right now. I’m still pissed off at you. Put me the fuck down.” Your fist met his back as he laughed, deep and rich, sliding a hand over the back of your knee and giving it a possessive squeeze.

Your vision swayed as he started forward, hauling you towards your room. The door to your room opened and Bucky flicked the light on with his free hand before stalking towards your bed and tossing you down unceremoniously.

You flopped back on the bed among the untucked blankets and sheets with a soft oof, hair splayed around you like a halo. Bucky grinned above you, holding your wrists with his hands as he caged you in. You rolled your eyes, tugging your wrists to no avail.

“I’m still mad at you,” you muttered, meeting his eyes as he moved to rest his knee between your legs.

“I know, but I’m hoping I can make it up to you,” Bucky hummed, low and raspy, as he gathered both of your wrists in his broad metal hand. He ducked his head to your chin, leaving a trail of scalding, sloppy kisses down your neck and towards your collarbone. Your knees twitched at his side as he hovered above you, desperate for connection, desperate to soothe the ache that had begun to grow between your thighs.

In one fluid motion, Bucky had slid your shirt off of you, and continued his path with his mouth over your chest, brushing against the swells of your breasts. He toyed with the edge of your bra with his teeth, grazing your tender skin, sending a shiver through your limbs.

You felt him smirk into your skin at your shiver, slipping a hand between your back and the cotton sheets beneath you. Your bra shifted forward, loosened by his hand, as he slipped it up and over your arms.

Holding your gaze, Bucky dipped lower, exhaling gently onto your exposed nipples. He hummed against you, before kissing around the now-perked nipple and taking it into his mouth. Working the soft flesh with his tongue, he took the other in his vibranium hand, rolling the bud between his thumb and pointer finger.

Underneath him you squirmed, a mix of pleasure and need swirling inside you like the beginnings of a thunderstorm in mid-July. You felt it coiling in your belly, tight and hot and consuming, as he worked at your chest, pulling soft, wordless moans from your lungs.

Bucky traveled lower even still, kissing along your ribs, down along your stomach, and across the waistband of your underwear. He hummed as one hand toyed with the tiny silk bow in the center of the lace elastic.

“You just casually wear these?” He glanced up at you, eyes teasing. You groaned, rolling your eyes, as he flicked the bow with his forefinger, slipping it under the elastic and popping it softly against your skin

“Shut up,” you huffed, face turning scarlet as he slipped the fabric off of you. Bucky inhaled sharply as he nudged your clenched thighs apart.

“Spread your legs for me, doll. That’s it,” he muttered, peppering soft kisses along the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs. Your fingers threaded through his hair as his nose brushed just above where you wanted him most.

You tugged at the ends of his hair and he glanced up. You nodded gently and he smiled, kissing your belly before licking a stripe up your folds. You gasped, back arching slightly as he teased your core with his tongue, darting in and out just enough to make you grind your teeth in desperation.

Bucky pulled back, blowing a puff of cold air against your clit, making you groan his name, the side of your cheek pressed firm into the mattress beneath you. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me.”

He gripped your thigh, hoisting it over one shoulder while bracing himself against the other as he dove into you like a man starved.

His tongue worked at you meticulously, pressing into your harder with each grunt and whimper you let out. Bucky grunted against you, a sound hard in his chest, that sent a white hot flash of heat down your trembling spine.

“Buck…” you exhaled, voice quivering. Bucky looked up from where he was situated between your legs, face flushed with something raw, almost primal, tongue stilled inside of you. “Need you,” you gasped, “Now.”

Bucky laughed lowly against you, sending a tremor through you once more as he sat back, resting on the backs of his thighs. “For somebody who was mad at me just a little bit ago, you sure are needy now, aren’t you, doll?”

You attempted to glare at him but it was lost on him as he tugged his black shirt over his head. Bucky leaned up over you once more, pulling your head up as his hand cupped the back of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss. This time, a more gentle kiss, more sincere.

He stood from the bed, slipping his belt off and stepping out of his battered jeans. Despite having seen him this way dozens of times before, you still blushed, biting the inside of your lip as he tossed his boxers down beside his jeans.

Bucky situated himself back between your legs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone as he toyed with your clit with his fingers. His head hovered near your ear, the scruff of his 5 o’clock shadow tickling your cheek as he uttered filth into your ear, sucking at the skin just under it as you whined. You grasped at his face with your hands, pulling him into a deep kiss, opening your mouth as he teased at your lips with his teeth.

On top of you, you felt Bucky’s hand move from between your legs. You gasped into his mouth, eyes fluttering as his tip nudged at your entrance.

“Let me make it up to you,” he mumbled, resting his forehead against yours. You nodded, half conscious eyes blinking up at him, brimming with a mixture of need and anticipation.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving to rest his head in the junction between your neck and shoulder as he pressed into you. You gasped, thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he sunk into you completely.

“Fuck…” he mumbled, ragged and tense, as your hips bucked up into his. “You can get mad at me anytime you want if this is what it takes to apologize, doll.”

You whimpered at both his words and at the way Bucky lifted his hips, sliding out of you and pushing back in. Slowly but surely, his pace sped up, ramming in and out of you. An amalgamation of moans and grunts, sweat and sex, heat and intensity, filled the space around the two of you. Your bodies connected together in soft thuds, matching the pace of the need thundering through you both.

You tensed around him and he groaned, lips attaching to the tender spot underneath your ear as he braced himself against your arms.

“I’m sorry baby,” he panted beneath thrusts, punctuating each word by hitting that spot inside of you, “I’ll call you next time, I fucking swear it.”

You whined, as Bucky filled every inch of you, babbling back at the praises that tumbled recklessly from his mouth. You gasped, hands spasming underneath his vice-like grip as you squeezed around him, body tightening suddenly. You blinked, stars swimming across the horizon as he continued to rock into you, riding out your high as you relaxed back into the bed underneath you.

Bucky came undone, panting into your shoulder and pressing deep into you with one concluding grunt. He stilled, remaining inside of you, before holding himself over you on his forearms. You blinked up at him blearily, exhaustion taking over your face.

He smiled at you lazily, face flushed and glowing in the soft light. “Am I forgiven now?”

You laughed weakly, reaching up to push a strand of hair away, plastered to his temple by the light sheen of sweat that coated his face.

“I dunno. I think you should try apologizing again.”

#bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #buckyspancakes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #thunderbolts #the new avengers

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ari-ana-bel-la · 17 days ago

Note

Ok, imagine this. Lewis being a father and when he is at Ferrari, his daughter is helping him with his Italian, because daughters mother is from Italy. Maybe Lewis and the Mom still being good friends and daughter always spending a few months in Italy since she has been small so that is why her Italian is so good.

Sorry, English is only my second language!

Rosso e Sole

When Lewis stepped into the Ferrari garage for the first time, clad in red from head to toe, there was a buzz in the air. Not just because of the legend now standing under the Prancing Horse emblem, but because standing beside him, a touch shorter than his shoulder, was a girl with wavy dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and greenish-brown eyes that sparkled like the Italian coast.

Her name was Yn. Sixteen, confident in her quiet way, and with an Italian lilt to her English that made the engineers smile every time she spoke.

“Papa,” she said that morning, standing just outside the hospitality suite, looking up at her dad who was clearly trying to memorize his morning briefing in Italian, “you just said the car is made of bread. You meant carbonio, not pane.”

Lewis blinked down at her. “Wait, really?”

“Veramente,” she smirked. “You said: ‘la macchina è fatta di pane.’ Which would make for a deliciously fragile car.”

He groaned. “Oh my god. Why is this language so hard?”

Yn shrugged, stepping up beside him and tapping on his tablet. “You’ve just got to stop trying to make everything so literal. Italian is a feeling, not a formula.”

Behind them, a few of the mechanics stifled chuckles. One even whispered to a colleague, “La ragazza di Hamilton è meglio di lui in italiano.”

And she was. Always had been.

Yn was born under a hot sun in Tuscany, in a small private hospital where her mother, Maria, had insisted on giving birth near her parents’ home.

Lewis had been there, holding Maria’s hand, tears falling on the baby’s blanket when Yn let out her first cry. They had been young, ambitious, wildly in love, but even then, they both knew that love alone wouldn’t be enough to build the life Yn deserved.

So when Yn was barely a year old, Maria and Lewis sat together on the terrace of Maria’s father’s home, drinking espresso while the baby slept inside, and made a decision that would shape the rest of their lives.

“We’re not going to make each other happy, not in the way we thought,” Maria had said softly.

Lewis nodded, fingers fidgeting with the sugar packet in his hand. “But we’re going to make her happy. That much, I know.”

And they did. They built something beautiful out of what they had. A friendship that turned into a lifelong alliance. Two worlds that somehow always made space for each other.

Yn grew up between two countries, two languages, two lives. When her parents had to be away—photo shoots in Paris, testing in Bahrain—she’d stay with her Nonno and Nonna in a house full of lemon trees, espresso machines, and old records of opera playing in the kitchen.

She never minded. She never resented it. Because her parents never made her feel like she came second. Every reunion was filled with joy, every phone call with love. They never missed a chance to tell her she was adored.

Now at sixteen, Yn was becoming her own person—curious, witty, always carrying a journal around to sketch or write little thoughts in Italian and English. And since Lewis joined Ferrari, she had become somewhat of a celebrity in the paddock.

“Hey, principessa,” called one of the engineers as she passed the garage entrance. “Did your papa learn how to say ‘rear wing’ yet?”

“Not unless he wants to tell you about his red wine again,” she quipped, without even turning around.

That afternoon, Lewis and Yn sat together under the canopy outside the Ferrari motorhome. She was scrolling through her notes app where she’d written down a few helpful phrases for her dad to memorize before his post-qualifying interview.

“Okay,” she said, handing him her phone, “repeat after me: La macchina ha avuto un ottimo bilanciamento oggi.”

Lewis furrowed his brows. “La macchina ha avuto un ottimo... bilanc... bilanciamento... oggi.”

“Perfetto!” she grinned.

“Wait. What did I just say?”

“That the car had great balance today.”

“Right. That’s... true, I guess. We can pretend it did.”

She laughed, and then leaned over to fix his collar.

“Fans love this, you know,” Lewis murmured. “Us talking like this. Teaching me Italian. You’re becoming more famous than me.”

“Impossible,” she teased. “But they do like it. Especially when you mess up.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Papa,” she said, her tone suddenly softer. “You know I love this, right? Being here. With you. Watching you race.”

He looked at her then, his expression warm, the lines around his eyes softening. “You don’t think it’s weird? That we missed so much time together when you were younger?”

“Not weird. Just�� life,” she shrugged. “I never felt unloved. Not once. And I always had Nonna and Nonno. They taught me how to cook and yell at the TV during football.”

“I owe them everything,” he whispered.

“We all do,” Yn replied.

There was a beat of silence between them before Lewis spoke again.

“Do you ever wish we’d done it differently? Your mom and me, I mean?”

Yn tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But then I wouldn’t be me, would I? I wouldn’t have grown up between London and Florence. I wouldn’t have learned to be strong, or independent. I wouldn’t have learned to miss people and still love them just the same.”

Lewis stared at her for a long moment, then pulled her into a hug. “You’re too wise for your age.”

“I read a lot of Italian poetry,” she smiled into his chest.

That Sunday, after the race, Yn stood in the paddock, holding her dad’s race suit jacket while he did interviews. As usual, she corrected his phrasing gently when he slipped up.

“No, Papa, it’s soddisfatto, not soffritto. You just said you were ‘onion-fried’ with the car’s performance.”

Somewhere nearby, a fan held up a cardboard sign that read: Yn for Italian Teacher of the Year!

Maria arrived a bit later, fresh from a photoshoot in Milan, her heels clicking on the pavement. She waved at Yn, who ran into her arms, and then the two joined Lewis for a brief chat near the motorhome.

“We’re thinking of renting a place in Rome for the summer,” Maria said. “You should come.”

Lewis raised a brow. “You mean all three of us?”

“Why not?” she shrugged. “She’s growing up. We should enjoy the time we get.”

Yn beamed. “Can we? Please?”

Lewis smiled. “Only if you promise to keep teaching me Italian.”

Maria smirked. “And maybe some fashion, too. You still can’t dress without her help.”

“Rude,” he said, but laughed.

As the three of them stood there, blending the past and the present, the paddock moved around them, fast and loud. But in that moment, Yn didn’t feel like a girl caught between two worlds. She felt exactly where she was meant to be.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-💚🐍

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newobsessionweekly · 2 months ago

Text

She's my wife

Tim Bradford x wife!reader

part 1

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You are Tim's wife, six months pregnant, and refusing to rest. When you're assigned to recruit police officers for a new Metro team, your husband makes sure no one messes with his wife.

Fluff

A/N: Well, it's been a while but I guess I'm back in business. The most requested imagine of all! I hope you all enjoy it and excuse my disappearance. I can't guarantee you'll get more work from me as often as I used you to, but I can promise you I'll write and post all my ideas! Thank you for your support! Lots of love, bubs! Take care of yourselves! 🫶🏻

Warnings: None, pure fluff, (maybe mention of small injuries i guess?), not proofread yet

Requested: Yes!

Words: -

If there was one thing Tim Bradford never expected to happen in his lifetime, it was being completely and utterly wrapped around someone’s finger.

And yet, here he was.

It had started the second you told him you were pregnant. He’d been so sure he’d keep his cool—be the composed, level-headed Sergeant he was known to be. But the moment those words left your mouth, his entire world tilted on its axis. For the first time in years, something scared him. Not a suspect pulling a gun, not a high-risk Metro raid—this. You. The life growing inside of you.

Of course, you didn’t make it easy on him.

You had spent the first two trimesters of your pregnancy insisting that you were fine, rolling your eyes every time he tried to gently suggest that you should slow down.

"Tim," you sighed one evening, standing in your kitchen while he insisted on cooking for you. "You’re hovering."

"I am not hovering," he said flatly, though he absolutely was.

You arched a brow, leaning against the counter. "I’m pregnant, not dying."

Tim grunted, flipping the chicken in the pan. "Still not taking any chances."

You smirked, stepping closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. "You love worrying about me, don’t you?"

He sighed, tilting his head down to press a kiss to your temple. "Yeah, well. You make it impossible not to."

What he didn’t expect was that pregnancy would turn him into the world’s most overprotective husband.

It started subtly—making sure you ate on time, setting reminders on his phone for all your doctor’s appointments, researching vitamins when you weren’t looking. Then it got worse.

Like the time he woke up at 2 AM to find you scrolling through work emails.

"Are you kidding me?" He groaned, rolling over to take the tablet from your hands. "You’re supposed to be sleeping."

"I am sleeping."

"You’re awake," he deadpanned.

You just smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "Then make me tired, Sergeant."

But by the second trimester? Oh, he was doomed.

Because you were still you—stubborn, reckless, and infuriatingly unwilling to slow down.

He should’ve seen it coming. You had spent your entire career proving yourself in Metro’s elite tactical unit, earning every bit of respect that came your way. You weren’t just some officer—they called you a tactical genius, someone who could think three steps ahead in high-pressure situations.

So of course, when the brass suggested you take maternity leave, you laughed in their faces.

"You should take it," Tim had said carefully, fully expecting a figh

You scoffed, arms crossed over your chest. "And do what? Sit at home and wait?"

"It’s called resting, sweetheart."

You’d rolled your eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t get stuck. "Not happening."

And, of course, you won.

Instead of getting benched entirely, you were offered a leadership role—forming a new Metro team. It was a compromise. Less fieldwork, more strategy. And while Tim reluctantly agreed it was the best option, it didn’t stop him from hovering over you like a damn bodyguard every chance he got.

Now, here you were—six months pregnant and stationed at Mid-Wilshire, observing officers, evaluating skills, and deciding who was good enough for your team.

And here Tim was, barely keeping it together.

The Mid-Wilshire training room was filled with tension as the candidates for your Metro team sat in front of you. Lucy Chen, Angela Lopez, John Nolan, Nyla Harper, and a few other officers watched you with rapt attention as you paced the front of the room, flipping open the folder in your hands.

"Metro isn’t just about skill," you said, voice steady and firm. "It’s about adaptability, precision, and teamwork. Today, I want to see how you handle high-pressure situations."

You gestured toward the training mats. "We’re going to run a combat demonstration—basic takedowns, disarm techniques, and reaction time drills."

Tim immediately frowned.

He knew what you were doing. You wanted to prove yourself. Wanted to show these officers that pregnancy hadn’t slowed you down, that you were still as sharp and dangerous as ever. And while he respected the hell out of that, it didn’t stop the knot of worry from tightening in his chest.

"Are you sure—" Tim started, stepping forward.

"Yes," you cut him off before he could finish, shooting him a look that said don’t start.

He exhaled sharply but didn’t argue.

The officers lined up as you demonstrated a quick disarm technique, moving through the motions with practiced ease. But Tim saw it immediately. The slight hesitation in your step, the way your movements weren’t as fluid as usual.

Your balance was off.

Officer Matthews—new to Mid-Wilshire, cocky as hell—stepped up for the exercise. He moved fast, testing the maneuver harder than necessary. You reacted on instinct, blocking his attack, but—

You stumbled.

Not a lot. Barely anything. But Tim saw it.

Before anyone else could react, he was already there, hand gripping your arm, the other steadying your waist. His entire body was rigid, tension rolling off him in waves.

"Are you okay?" His voice was low, controlled—but barely.

You huffed, annoyed. "I’m fine, Tim. I just lost my footing—"

"You shouldn’t even be—"

"Don’t." You cut him off sharply, leveling him with a glare. "I know my limits."

Tim’s stomach burned.

And then Matthews laughed.

Your husband's head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle the kid didn’t flinch.

"You think this is funny?" Tim’s voice dropped, low and dangerous.

Matthews shrugged, unfazed. "I just think it’s a little ironic that Metro sent a pregnant woman to recruit us."

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Lucy and Angela both stiffened, already knowing what was coming. Nolan looked like he wanted to disappear, and Nyla just smirked, waiting for the fallout.

Tim took a slow step forward. "You want to run that by me again?"

Matthews chuckled, oblivious. "I just mean, maybe Metro should—"

"That’s my wife." Tim’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Matthews’ smirk vanished.

Tim stepped closer, looming over the rookie, his entire body coiled with restrained fury. "That’s my wife," he repeated, voice sharp as steel, "and if you ever question her ability again, you won’t just lose your chance at Metro—you’ll lose your badge altogether."

Matthews swallowed, stepping back. "I—I didn’t know—"

"Yeah?" Tim’s tone was ice. "Well, now you do."

Silence.

The entire room seemed to collectively hold its breath.

Tim turned back to you, eyes scanning over you, checking—always checking. His hand found its way to your waist again, grounding himself in the solid reality of you standing there, unharmed.

"You okay?" he murmured, softer now.

You sighed, pressing a hand to his chest. "Tim, I’m fine."

He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. "We’re talking about this later."

"Looking forward to it," you deadpanned.

The tension in the room slowly lifted as Matthews slinked away, and Lucy finally broke the silence with a grin. "Well, that was fun."

Nyla chuckled. "I was wondering when people would finally figure it out."

Nolan exhaled, shaking his head. "I knew something was up."

You rolled your eyes, stepping back and addressing the room. "Alright. Now that everyone is caught up—back to training."

And just like that, the spell broke.

But as you walked back toward the mats, Tim caught your hand, squeezing gently. You looked up, meeting his gaze—warm, steady, and unapologetically devoted.

Because if there was one thing everyone knew now, it was that messing with you meant dealing with him.

And no one messed with Tim Bradford’s wife.

#tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #the rookie #tim bradford x reader #tim x y/n #tim x reader #tim x wife!reader #she's my wife #tim imagine #the rookie request #the rookie fic #tim the rookie #the rookie fanfic #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc

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pitlanepeach · 29 days ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, time-skips, the Alpine drama.

Notes — We’re wrapping up the 2022 season in this chapter!!!!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

(France—Abu Dhabi)

The morning after the French Grand Prix, the Red Bull garage was quiet. Amelia stood in front of the data wall with a paper cup of bitter coffee, hair half-tied and eyes heavy with the familiar weight of no sleep and too much adrenaline. France had gone well, better than expected, and she’d felt something click into place watching Max take the chequered flag with surgical precision.

She knew what was coming.

She could feel the momentum building like the weight of a wave just before it crests.

Hungary was next.

—

Lando was in the armchair, hair damp from the shower, watching Amelia as she stood at the window in one of his shirts, tablet in hand, replaying strategy notes. He let her stand there in silence for a while before calling out softly, “Baby.”

She hummed, eyes not leaving the screen.

“Come here.” He stretched a hand toward her, wiggling his fingers like she was a cat he was trying to lure. “You’re not working tonight.”

“I’m not working,” she said flatly. “I’m reviewing.”

“Same thing. C’mere.”

Amelia hesitated. Then closed the iPad, placed it gently on the side table, and padded over. She climbed into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“You did so good today,” he murmured.

“Mhm. So did you.”

—

The Hungaroring was a heat trap, close and sticky, and the hills that hemmed it in made the sound of the engines feel louder, like thunder that never stopped. Amelia crouched next to the Red Bull pit wall, fingers flying across her iPad screen. The forecast had shifted—rain maybe, maybe not—and she could already see the early phases of strategy threading themselves together like a puzzle in her mind.

Max was at the top of his game. Again.

Every conversation with him that weekend was sharper, tighter. He was dialled in, and he listened to her with a kind of shorthand they’d perfected now. She didn’t have to explain things fully—he trusted her interpretation, her instincts.

After the win, Amelia didn’t celebrate much. Max was grinning, sweaty, joking with the engineers. She lingered behind the crowd, tapping notes into her tablet for Spa.

Lando found her eventually, kissed her cheek, and said, “Hey, genius girl. Good race.”

She smiled, small but real. “Yeah. We did okay.”

—

The birds outside were loud. Too loud. Amelia’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter again and again, each notification setting her teeth on edge. She was barefoot, half-through slicing peaches for a tart, when Lando walked in wearing gym shorts.

“Why’s your phone going crazy?” hH asked, mouth full of granola.

Amelia didn’t answer. She was frozen in place, phone in one hand, brow furrowed so tight it looked like she was in physical pain.

Lando stepped closer, peeking over her shoulder. “‘We are delighted to announce Oscar Piastri will drive for Alpine F1 Team in 2023’… wait. What?”

Amelia said nothing. Just turned, placed the knife down with almost worrying care, and scrolled. Read the press release again. Read it a third time. Then pulled up her contacts and tapped Mark Webber’s name.

“C’mon, pick up,” she muttered, pacing toward the hallway.

Lando leaned in the doorway, spoon in mouth.

“Mark?” She snapped, as soon as the line clicked. “Tell me this is some kind of terrible joke.”

She listened.

Lando couldn’t hear the other side, but he could see the way her shoulders relaxed half a centimetre. Then tensed twice as hard.

“That’s what I thought. So it’s bullshit.”

Another pause. She nodded, short and sharp.

“Okay. Thanks.”

She hung up and immediately scrolled down to Dad – Zak, and hit call.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “I need you to know that I’m so turned on by you right now.”

Amelia didn’t look at him. “I’m too stressed for sex.”

“Okay, baby.” He smiled.

When Zak picked up, she didn’t even say hello.

“Dad. I need you to give Oscar the seat. Properly. Now. No politics, no delay. He deserves it. Alpine's trying to strong-arm him.”

A pause.

“No, I don’t care what the board says. This is your chance to do something smart and right at the same time. He’s available, make it happen. Please.”

Another pause. Then she said, quieter, “Get my contract put together too, okay? I’ll sign it as soon as I see you. That should satisfy the board.”

When the call ended, she stared at her phone for a second.

Lando padded over. “You okay?”

She turned to him. Her voice was a little hoarse. “They’re trying to trap him into a seat he doesn’t want. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

Lando nodded. He set his granola down and pulled her into his chest. “You’re so sexy when you’re mad,” he said into her hair.

She let herself be held. “I’m not mad,” she said. “I’m furious.”

—

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.

Amelia, after a long moment of satisfaction, typed a quote tweet. Straightforward. To the point. Very Amelia.

Correct. Proud of you.

It got 60k likes in the first hour.

—

Spa felt like breathing fresh air after the heat of Hungary. The track was fast, treacherous, and so beautiful.

Amelia walked the paddock in the early morning mist, her boots damp from dew, her jacket pulled tight around her shoulders. She met with the engineers before breakfast, had three different setups ready for Max depending on the weather window, and already knew the kind of race this could be.

She found Max by the Red Bull sim rig later, and he looked up as she approached.

“You’re early,” he said, squinting.

“You’re late,” she shot back, deadpan. “You want to win again or not?”

He laughed, and when the race came, he was unstoppable. Took pole. Kept it. Dominated every lap like the car was built just for him—which, in a way, it was. Amelia’s fingerprints were in every corner of that chassis.

Afterward, when champagne hung in the air and Jos clapped her on the shoulder with a glint of approval in his eyes, Amelia felt something settle deep in her chest. Satisfaction.

—

Lando had somehow convinced Amelia to join him for a midweek stream—"Just an hour, baby, I’ll set it up, you don’t have to do anything."

She wore one of his hoodies and sat with her knees tucked under her, sipping from a mug. The chat exploded when she leaned into his frame mid-game and quietly said, “You should try the other line through sector two. You’re braking too late.”

Lando turned to her, jaw slack. “You’re back-seating me on stream?”

“I’m trying to help,” she said primly.

He laughed, so loudly the mic clipped.

The fans loved it. #AmeliaCarry trended for about six hours. Amelia didn’t care. But she let Lando show her the memes that night in bed, his face glowing blue from his phone, his other hand laced with hers.

—

Zandvoort was a pressure cooker. Orange everywhere. Max's home race. The stands roared his name every time he crossed a sector line.

Amelia stayed out of the fanfare. Let him have his moment. She was in the engineering truck most of the weekend, cross-referencing strategy models and keeping an eye on tire deg. She even started dreaming in telemetry.

Max didn’t speak much before the race. He didn’t need to. When he rolled out of the garage that Sunday, Amelia stood back, arms crossed, watching him thread the car into place like it was an extension of himself.

He won again, and the fans lost their minds.

Lando messaged her after the cool-down lap: ‘You’ve created a monster.’

She sent back: ‘Not a monster. Just a champion.’

—

Amelia was folding his shirts in precise squares. Lando balled his socks like a child and tossed them into the basket from across the room like it was a game.

“You have no spatial respect,” she said, not looking up.

He tossed another sock. “I have excellent aim.”

She gave him a look. “You folded this hoodie inside out.”

He walked over, took the hoodie from her hands, and refolded it correctly. “How’s this?”

“Better.”

“I live to serve.”

They bumped shoulders and continued in companionable silence, interrupted only when Lando pulled a stray dryer sheet out of her sleeve and stuck it on her head like a crown. “Queen of laundry,” he said dramatically.

Amelia rolled her eyes, but didn’t take it off.

—

Monza was brutal in the way only low-downforce tracks could be. Everything was about speed and restraint, the margin for error razor-thin.

Max was already talking about the championship. Quietly. Confidently.

Amelia worked through the nights, tweaking the software inputs, working with the aero team to adjust a wing spec she knew would shave tenths off the straight. She didn’t sleep until the morning of qualifying, and even then, it was for two hours on a cot in the motorhome.

Lando caught her outside the hospitality unit and handed her a coffee. “You okay, baby?” He asked, brow furrowed.

Amelia nodded. “We��re on a run.”

“You are,” he corrected, pride soft in his voice. “This is all yours.”

She didn’t answer. Just kissed him lightly and headed for the garage.

When Max crossed the finish line at Monza, first again, Amelia sat down for the first time that day. Her ears rang from the noise. Her hands were steady.

Four wins. Four weekends. Four different tracks. And Max hadn’t put a foot wrong.

She looked at the team celebrating in front of her, all navy and red and wide smiles, and thought—this isn’t even about the car; this is all Max.

—

They lay in bed with the windows cracked open, the Milan breeze tugging at the curtains. Amelia traced the bone of Lando’s wrist with one finger, quiet in the dark.

“You still like being married?” She asked, voice low.

Lando kissed the back of her hand. “I think it’s my favourite thing.”

There was a beat, then—“You’re gonna lose your socks again tomorrow,” she said.

He grinned into the dark. “Yeah. And you’re gonna find them. That’s marriage, baby.”

—

The Singapore humidity wrapped around them like a second skin. Up on the open-air terrace, ceiling fans twirled lazily overhead and lanterns swayed from wire strings. The whole grid had somehow materialised—drivers, a few partners, a handful of social media execs—seated around long tables laden with chilled beers and tiny sharing plates. Even Toto had been spotted earlier, though he’d fled once the conversation turned to karaoke.

Amelia was sitting between Charles and Max, sipping a lychee soda and trying to fan herself with a paper menu.

“Ordered you another ice water baby,” Lando said, dropping into the chair next to her with a sweat-damp curl stuck to his forehead.

“Thank you,” she sighed.

George, already a few drinks in and pink in the cheeks, leaned across the table. “Oi, Amelia,” he called. “Serious question. Did you actually manage to hide bouncy castle from Lando until the wedding?”

Amelia hummed. “Yes.”

“And Lando genuinely didn’t know?”

Lando groaned, long and dramatic. “No, I didn’t. She proper tricked me.”

“You cried,” Oscar chuckled.

“It was the best surprise ever,” Lando defended. “You would’ve cried too.”

“You said it was the best moment of your entire life,” Max deadpanned from across the table. “You said those words about a bouncy castle on your wedding day.”

“Okay—” Lando pointed at him, rolling his eyes. “Okay. Don’t pretend you didn’t love it, mate.”

Max shrugged, mock-casual. “I did a flip.”

“You nearly tore the wall netting,” Amelia reminded him. “You were too tall.”

Carlos clinked a glass with his fork. “Can we all just agree that it was the wedding of the year?”

“Wedding of the century,” said Alex.

Pierre raised a hand. “Still mad I wasn’t asked to DJ.”

“You would’ve played a six-hour Tiësto remix,” Amelia said.

He lifted his beer in salute. “And you would’ve loved it.”

A waiter delivered her ice-water to Lando, who pulled out one of the ice cubes with his fingers, held it in his fist, and then rubbed his hand across the back of her neck.

It was cold and perfect. She sighed blissfully.

—

The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the paddock, sun catching on the rows of motorhomes and camera cranes. The faint hum of energy buzzed through the glass like white noise from her phone speaker on the nights she was forced to spend without Lando.

Oscar sat with his phone, posture straight but slightly hesitant. He was flanked by Mark Webber on one side and Amelia on the other, who sat cross-legged in the chair like she belonged there. She had a pen in one hand and a diagram of the MCL60 on the tablet in front of her.

Mark had just finished explaining the bones of the Oscar’s new contract. The training schedule, the brand commitments, the expectations.

Amelia took over from there, voice level and calm.

“So,” she said, clicking to the next schematic. “This is what you’ll be driving. Aero package is still in development, but the structure and balance are looking, uh… solid.” She tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Uh, they’re running new floor tech—wind tunnel modelling’s showing decent enough results. You’ll have the full-spec package from race one, according to your contract.”

Oscar blinked. Stared at her. “And you—you're part of the car build?”

Amelia winced. “No. Unfortunately not… I’m still in contract with Max until the end of the year, so I couldn’t be involved, but I—“ She bit her lip. “As soon as I’ve got a foot in the door, I’ll start fixing things. I promise.”

Mark leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a satisfied look.

“And you'll be my race engineer too?” Oscar asked, referring to his contract.

“Yes,” she said. No hesitation.

Oscar’s eyes widened just a little. “So you’re going to be part of my team?”

“I will be,” Amelia said. “Officially joining in January. I’ll be on comms every session, responsible for balance calls and strategy during races, and I’ll be at the factory part-time for simulator and telemetry feedback.”

Oscar was silent for a beat.

Then he said, honestly, “That’s kind of a huge deal. You—you’re working with Max Verstappen, and you’re leaving him to work with me?”

“Yes,” she said.

Mark gave him a look. “She fought for this. For the role to be split the way it is. McLaren have never had anyone working a dual development/trackside post before.”

Oscar glanced between them. “Why now?”

Amelia tapped the side of her iPad. “Because I believe in building things I understand from the inside. And because I don’t like being told that engineers and drivers should be separated by a wall of PR and protocol. I want to be on the car, with the driver, for every phase. If I’m going to trust you at 300 kph, I need to understand exactly what you need to feel in your hands and spine to push.”

Oscar was very quiet for a moment. Then, “Max says that you’re the best.”

Amelia shrugged. “Max is biased.”

“Still,” Oscar said. “This is… a lot of trust. Thank you.”

She smiled, just faintly. “You’ll earn it.”

Mark slapped a hand on the desk and stood. “Well, I think that about covers it.”

Oscar stood too, and hesitated for half a second. Then extended a hand to Amelia. She looked at it, then pursed her lips. He slowly withdrew it, looking nervous.

“When you hug me, you have to use all of your strength. Don’t hold back, even if you think you might hurt me. You won’t.” She told him.

He blinked at her.

And then she was hugging him.

And after a beat, his arms wrapped around her, and God, did Oscar know how to hug.

He was all tight arms and a little lift off the ground that made her release an amused huff of breath.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he told her, once she was on her feet again.

“I’m glad you’re not intimidated by me,” she replied.

He laughed. “Oh, I definitely am.”

Amelia tipped her head. “That’s okay. You’ll get used to it.”

—

“You can’t just rinse it and call it clean,” Amelia said, arms crossed.

Lando, sitting on the counter and eating a banana, looked at her innocently. “But I didn’t eat off that plate. I was staging.”

“You were using it to butter toast!”

“That’s staging!”

“It’s unhygienic,” she snapped.

He slid off the counter, banana halfway to his mouth, and kissed her on the cheek with exaggerated loudness. “Sorry, my love. My life. My neurodivergent goddess. Would you like me to run a full sterilisation cycle in the dishwasher?”

“Yes,” she said.

He grinned. “Then your wish is my command.”

She didn’t smile—yet—but she wasn’t fuming anymore either. That was the thing about Lando. He never mocked her rules. He just… learned them. Played with them. Let them matter.

—

iMessage — 13:09pm

Lando (Husband)

Baby where do we keep the spare kitchen rolls

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

We ran out last week. I put them on the list

Lando (Husband)

What list?

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

The grocery list

Lando (Husband)

We have a grocery list?

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Yes it’s on the fridge. Yellow paper

Lando (Husband)

Oh yh sry

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

It’s fine. I’ll bring some home.

Lando (Husband)

Hurry up and come home I miss you

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

I’m literally sat in a cafe five minutes away

Lando (Husband)

So what?????????? Can still miss you can’t I

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

I’ll bring you home a cinnamon bun

Lando (Husband)

HELL YEAH

—

The paddock was a mess. Water dripped from every surface — from the canopies overhead, from the edges of the pit wall, from the soaked hems of jackets and team uniforms. Everything was grey, washed-out, blurred.

And yet.

Somewhere in the chaos, Max Verstappen had just won his second world title.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Amelia jogged through the Red Bull garage, rain still dripping from her ponytail, her boots squelching with every step. The broadcast had only just confirmed it — half points hadn’t been applied. The race had gone over 50% distance. Leclerc’s penalty stood. Max had enough of a gap. The title was his.

But nobody had told him.

She ducked past a stack of soaked tires and grabbed a spare headset from the wall. “Christian,” she said, voice clear through the comms, “Max doesn’t know.”

“I know,” Christian replied. “They’re about to tell him—”

“I’ll do it.”

A pause. Then, “Alright. Go. Quickly.”

The winner’s cool-down room was quiet when she reached it. Muted, like the sound had been turned down on the world. The white walls hummed under the fluorescent lights. Max stood at the far end, towelling off his face, talking to someone from the FIA with a skeptical look in his eyes.

“No, really,” he was saying. “What position is Charles in again?”

“Second,” the official said, unsure. “But—”

“Max,” Amelia called softly.

He turned. Hair damp, suit half unzipped, eyes sharp. “Hey. You okay? What’s going on?”

She walked toward him, slow, steady. “You did it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re Champion.” She smiled — small, private, steady. “Again.”

There was a beat of silence, where the words hung suspended.

Max tilted his head. “No, that can’t be right. It’s half points. They didn’t—”

“No, it’s full points,” she said, and stepped closer, lifting the printout still in her hand. “They changed the rule after Spa. If the race isn’t red-flagged and restarted, full points count. And Leclerc got a penalty. You had the margin.”

He stared at her for a moment. Open-faced. Vulnerable in a way few people ever saw.

“Seriously?”

She grinned now, wide and warm. “Seriously. You’re World Champion.”

Max made a noise halfway between a laugh and a breath of disbelief. “That’s— That’s so stupid.”

“I know,” Amelia said, and let him wrap her into a soaked, giddy hug anyway. “But it’s real.”

He hugged her like a brother. Tight and unselfconscious. Just pure joy. “This is insane.”

“Yeah,” she said into his shoulder. “And you are too. Insane enough to win back to back championships.”

Someone from the FIA entered with a trophy. Max blinked at it, then back at Amelia. “I didn’t even do the math.”

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “I did it for you.”

Max smiled at her, eyes shining. “Thank you. For everything.”

She shrugged, like her efforts had been no big deal. “I’m proud of you, Maxie.”

—

The rain had finally stopped, but the ground was still wet, and the air smelled of gas, damp grass, and cold metal. Most of the paddock lights had been shut off. Only a few puddles of fluorescent glow spilled out from half-closed garage doors and hospitality units.

Amelia sat on a folding crate behind the McLaren motorhome, still in her Red Bull jacket, though she’d unzipped it halfway. Her hair was twisted into a bun, frizzing around the edges. Her boots were muddy. Her phone was face-down beside her.

She was tired; she’d emptied everything she had into the day, the season, Max.

Lando spotted her from the walkway and changed course without hesitation, two takeout cups in hand. He handed her one without a word, then sat beside her, knees bumping. “Mint tea,” he said.

Amelia blinked at him, then smiled. “Thank you.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds, steam curling between them in the cool air. Somewhere nearby, someone was packing away crates. A radio buzzed. Then faded.

“She still smells like Red Bull,” Lando said, mock-accusing.

Amelia gave him a sideways look. “I’ll be in papaya soon enough.”

“I know,” he grinned. “We’ll match.”

Amelia laughed softly. Then she went quiet again, thumb tracing the seam of her cup. “I’m really glad I got to do this,” she said eventually.

“Today?” Lando asked.

“These past two years.” She paused. “With Max. With Red Bull.”

Lando didn’t interrupt.

She sipped her tea, slowly. “I spent a long time thinking I’d never fit. In motorsport. In paddocks. In team dynamics. I always needed systems. Predictability. People who got it. And then somehow, I walked into the most unpredictable environment on earth… and found a place.”

Lando glanced at her, soft-eyed. “And won two titles doing it.”

“That too,” she said, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “It’s a really good ending. Two championships, two years. Clean. Satisfying. Feels like closing a chapter exactly right.”

He nodded. “Feels like legacy.”

Amelia looked down at her hand, twisting her wedding ring absently, the metal still unfamiliar against her skin. “I don’t think I realised until today how proud I am of the work I’ve done with him. With the team.” She turned her head toward him, eyes soft. “But I’m ready to go home now.”

Lando bumped her knee with his. “You’re already home, baby.”

She didn’t say anything — just leaned her head against his shoulder, warm and safe in the silence. The rain held off. The night held steady.

She was going to miss it, when it was over. She’d miss Max and the rest of the crew.

But she wouldn’t want it any other way.

—

Going back to America felt strange.

She hadn’t lived there in years, not since childhood, but for some reason coming back felt different this year. Maybe because she was married now.

She caught herself counting syllables in conversations just to anchor herself. In the Red Bull garage, she switched between helping Max prep for quali and taking quiet photos of COTA’s chaos for her memory folder.

Everyone kept talking about next year. About the car Adrian was sketching out. About updates. About the title that was already in the bag. Amelia nodded along, took notes, logged data — but it felt like pressing flowers into a book she was about to close.

That night, back at the hotel, Lando lay across the bed in a robe, flipping through room service channels.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low.

She nodded, crawling into his lap. “I think I’m ready to be yours full-time.”

He blinked once, then smiled. “You always have been. Mine. In my head, at least.”

—

The altitude always got to her.

Her noise-cancelling ear defenders helped. So did the crew giving her a five-second warning before starting the engines. She didn’t say much all weekend, but Max didn’t need her to. He trusted her notes. Trusted the small nods she gave after each run. It was unspoken now — refined, like music.

During the team dinner, Christian toasted Max’s title, Checo’s podiums, and Amelia’s departure.

She bit he tongue and clinked a glass. Lando, seated just behind her, squeezed her thigh under the table.

Later, in the hotel, they argued for eleven minutes about whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza. She told him no — scientifically. He told her yes — spiritually.

They made up in the shower.

—

Sprint weekends were chaos, but Brazil was electric. Lando had been sick early in the week, and Amelia kept sneaking across the paddock with electrolytes and salt crackers in her jacket pocket.

“You’re like a little fairy wife,” he mumbled, holding a tissue to his nose.

“And you’re lucky I love you,” she shot back.

She stood in the McLaren pit for sprint quali, tucked between engineers, and saw how Oscar was already being factored into next year’s numbers. She liked that. Liked that she’d helped build this future. Liked that it didn’t have to be loud or obvious. Just… real.

Max won the sprint. George won the race. It was bittersweet, but she was tired, and it felt okay to let someone else take the spotlight for the first time in what felt like an entire season.

Back in the hotel room, Lando rested his head in her lap and mumbled, “What do you think about getting a dog?”

She carded her fingers through his curls. “I don’t want a dog.”

“A cat?”

Amelia smiled. “Maybe a goldfish.”

—

The Red Bull garage was tense, even with both championships sealed. Everyone wanted to finish the year on a high-note. No drama. No breakdowns. Just one more Sunday.

Amelia sat at her desk longer than usual, hands stilled over the keyboard. She didn’t want to pack up her workstation yet. Not this one.

Max came by quietly, nudged a coffee toward her elbow. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

He hesitated. “It’s going to be weird without you.”

She looked up. “I’ll still be around. Just… not so close.”

He frowned. “I’ll miss you, kleine zusje.”

They hugged and when he walked away, she blinked fast to clear the water in her eyes.

Race day passed in a blur of tyre temps and perfect comms. Red Bull locked out the podium. The champagne burned her eyes. She didn’t mind.

Back at the hotel, Lando wrapped her in a warm fluffy towel and whispered, “We made it out alive.”

Amelia nodded, resting her head against his shoulder. “Yeah. We did.”

NEXT CHAPTER

594 notes · View notes

lilhughesy · 1 month ago

Text

Maple Lattes and Cheese Croissants. | Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

warnings! none!

summary: it’s hard to not fall in love with your friend when he treats you so well and does little things like paying for your coffee.

a/n: sorry super rushed and not my best work!

It came out of the blue, you and Quinn’s friendship. He was new to Vancouver and you’ve grown up on the island but had visited the popular city multiple times before. After high school, you decided to move to the mainland to experience real city living and he was drafted to the Vancouver Canucks.

He had ran straight into you on the sidewalk, causing a movie-like collision with your purse, phone, and keys going flying up in the air and you nearly falling — before his hands caught your waist. You had apologized multiple times, as did he. Before the two of you laughed it off and quickly became friends.

The two do you were miraculously the same age and still getting to know the city — so why not do it with a friend?

And within the past few years, the two of you had grown quite fond of each other. His schedule was packed with practices, training, and meetings while yours was busy with work. Nonetheless, the two of you allocated time for one another; whether it be trying a new restaurant for lunch, a new coffee shop, or a hidden bookstore for you two to pick up a new read. The two of you cherished your time spent with one another as it was like an escape from your realities.

Time together was comfortable and easygoing. You two seemed to understand each other like the back of your hands. He felt like home away from home. He was your shoulder to cry on, a person you could rant to when work got stressful, and he would always come pick you up after your night out with your girls. Quinn never failed to make you smile and he always knew how to bring up your mood — often bringing you takeout on nights you were too exhausted to cook, or buying you your favourite flowers because he knew how much you loved a pop of colour in your kitchen.

Some may think that you two were a couple, which you always had to deny. Although at times you wished that you were something more with the Canucks captain. You found it harder and harder to find a man to be with, as they never treated you as well as Quinn did. At some point you seriously wondered if it was even possible to find a man who would treat you better than Quinn.

“Hey! How was practice?” You greeted the hockey player as he approached you. He pulled you into an embrace the second he reached you,

“Tiring as always,” He chuckled, before the two of you started walking together, “How was your day?”

You shrugged, adjusting your jacket slightly, “I called my mom earlier about plans for Thanksgiving and just went to work… You know, the usual.”

“How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s good, she seems to be doing well!” You beamed as you guided him towards your destination, “So my coworker told me about this cafe, she says that the croissants and the cinnamon sugar donuts are really good.”

He nodded before opening the door for you, “After you.”

You smiled at the boy before entering the cafe. The warm smell of coffee and buttery-sweetness of the baked goods surrounded you like a blanket. There was quiet chatter amongst the other people sitting in the cafe alongside the hum of the coffee machines.

Quinn stuffed his hands into the pocket of his joggers, standing right behind you as the both of you took time to read the menu.

“What are you thinking of getting?” You asked him, turning your head slightly to look at his face.

He hummed, “Probably just a coffee and maybe a ham and cheese croissant, that sounds pretty good.”

“Yeah that does sound good,” You replied before approaching the cashier, “Hi, how are you?”

“Good afternoon! I’m good, thanks! What can I get for you?”

“That’s good to hear! I’ll get the maple latte and a cinnamon sugar donut please.”

She nodded while typing your order into the tablet, “For sure! Anything else?”

“No, that’ll-”

“Yeah a medium coffee and a ham cheese croissant too.” Quinn objected before tapping his card on the machine.

“They’ll be ready for you just over there by the window!”

“Quinn, you know you didn’t have to pay for my food.” You sighed, leaning a shoulder against the wall as the two of you waited for your order.

He chuckled, adjusting his Yankees cap on his head, “Yeah, but I wanted to.”

“Thank you,” You offered him a smile which he returned before nudging you with his shoulder lightly.

When your order was called, Quinn went to retrieve the bag of food and the cardboard drink holder and motioned towards the door. The two of you walked at a comfortable pace in the direction of his apartment, making easy conversations as always. Whether it be his ongoing hockey season or drama at your work, it always flowed with ease.

You two settled into his living room, Quinn at one end of the couch whilst you on the opposite side. You cradled your coffee near your chest as you giggled at whatever joke Quinn had cracked.

He looked peaceful, comfortably lounging into the corner. His navy hoodie hugged him perfectly in a slightly oversized fit which made Quinn seem so cozy. He had one arm relaxed on the back of the couch while his other held his own coffee. His legs were in their typical manspread position as his neck extended back as he laughed.

“Luke said that?” You repeated, eyes still slightly widened while you tucked your knees towards your chest.

He nodded, “Yeah, Mom had to correct him super fast after that one. He’s lucky he didn’t say that in front of any other woman.”

“That’s so funny,” You laughed before taking another sip, “I hope I can meet your family one day, they sound amazing.”

Quinn smiled softly, his eyes glancing between your cuddles up figure and his drink, “Yeah, I hope you can meet them too. ‘Though, you’d probably be the first woman I introduce them too.”

“Oh really?” You questioned, your hands getting slightly clammy, “You’ve never introduced your girlfriends to your family?”

He only shrugged, “Never had a serious relationship before. Just a few flings or hook ups here and there.”

You hesitated before saying your next words, cautious of what may come next, “Have you ever fallen in love before?”

Quinn caught your eye, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob and the air in his throat hitch slightly, “Yeah, every time I look at you.” He breathed out.

Your stomach flipped, “Really?”

“How can I not?” He chuckled as the rosy colour spread across his facial features, “You’re everything I could ever ask for in a woman. You’re smart, strong, kind, beautiful, and yo- you’re breathtaking.”

A smile crawled up onto your face as you watched Quinn rub his jaw with his free hand. You placed your drink on his coffee table before moving closer to sit right next to him. Your legs curled underneath you as your hand played with the sleeve of his hoodie, “I think I fall in love with you more every time I see you too.”

His eyes softened more at your words, as he put down his own drink — not looking away from you. One of Quinn’s hands cupped your shoulder gently, “Yeah?”

You nodded, “Yeah.”

His focus bounced between your eyes and your glossy lips, “Can I kiss you then?”

Your hands moved to cup his face as you brought him closer to yours. Your lips melted with his as he eagerly kissed you back. His hands pulling your body to be pressed against his. Quinn’s strong arms wrapped around your waist as your hands danced in his soft hair.

You pulled away slightly, your foreheads touching, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you, Quinn Hughes.”

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” He chuckled before kissing you again, “Now that I’ve kissed you, I don’t know if I ever want to stop.”

You beamed at his words, “Good. I feel the exact same way.”

His hands softly ran up and down your sides, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Of course, Q.”

Quinn grinned before pressing a kiss to your neck. You giggled as the feeling of his hair tickling your skin and you hugged him close. You didn’t have to worry about finding someone who would treat you better than Quinn, because he was finally yours. Your chest swelled with love and adoration for the man as he adjusted your bodies to be cuddled up in the couch, where the two of you would spend the rest of the afternoon together. The light patter of the Vancouver rain on the window and whatever movie the two of you chose to watch playing on his TV. You were so content to be wrapped up in his arms, even though the maple latte and cheese croissant were forgotten on the table.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fanfiction #hughes brothers x reader #quinn hughes fluff #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction

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velaenam · 2 months ago

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𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – college au. you go to his frat boy party. 𝐭��𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 ; NSFW (18+)!! RAW. NASTY. smut!!, possessiveness/obsessiveness!!, rough, threatening, angst, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; this ones a lil long. i had sm fun writing this. caleb is on 10. im not sorry girlie. enjoy! not proofread.

you weren’t too keen on parties. in fact, you weren’t in the right headspace to be attending any events. you wanted to be home, wrapped up in your bed, watching on your tablet. instead, you’re about to knock on the doors of alpha sigma phi– or whatever theyre called. the only reason why you were here was on the behalf of your best friend, caleb. he had just been so damn busy with finals, and he finally had time to throw a party for the campus to celebrate everyones (hopeful) success. everybody was invited. b.y.o.b. you were 1st on the list, as always, but you were too socially exhausted to even indulge. you don’t even remember why you said yes, and when.

truth to be told, if he had it his way, he wouldve just been celebrating his winnings with you, but he’d promise his frat brothers that they’d do something, since a lot of his time was spent with you.

were you two dating? ‘no! she’s just my best friend!’ he would retort, and some how these one track boys would just agree. they werent like your friends. they didnt relent when he denied it. yours would hawk you down, try and interrogate you (lovingly). maybe its because many women in the campus had the hots for him. you’d occasionally play wingwoman, give their numbers to him, just to be kind. he’d deny them all, no real reason, more playing to the ‘i have to put 100% of my focus on my future’ as if he isn’t organizing a glorified booze off.

as you stand there quietly, the music drowning everything out, the vibrations moving you ever so slightly, your attention shoots upwards, as the door swings open with no care. the sound of laughing and pop music tackle your eardrums. “hey! you’re here!” your best friend exclaimed, not missing a beat, and pulling you inside. you gave him a smile, “hey. its lively in here!” you shout over the music. hes leaning down, a beer in his hand, “WHAT–WAS–THAT PIPSQUEAK?” he shouts back, and you couldnt help but burst out laughing. his gorgeous purple eyes scanning you before he chuckles, “cmon! lemme show you’round!” he drags you around the house, showing you where their poorly but charming attempted dance floor, and the kitchen, where all the snacks and booze were. you could definitely tell there was not an ounce of female gaze in their planning, but regardless, every square inch of this house was bumpin’ with many alike.

you decided to follow his lead, denying the beer he had offered you. he’d lead you to the dance floor, his goofy dancing catching the eyes of the others, especially his flock of fans, men women and the like. you were all smiles, dancing just as silly as he was.

as you spin, your eyes land on her . the girl who hated you with a burning passion. the girl who was jealous of your relationship with caleb. oh she loved this man since she met him in orientation and she hated you the moment you showed up for yours, treating him as your pack mule for all your bags. she just so happens to be running the fan club as its president. how lovely. you wonder what is her deal. you’d never personally spoken to her, and the only times you’ve had were in passing, and she was kind!

it was only for a split second, your gaze immediately disattached hers, and you return to calebs attention. he spins you one more time before the music ends, and everyone disperses to get more drinks or mingle some more. you and caleb laugh in sync, as you both step into the kitchen, and you grab a bag of chips.

“hey, pips.” he starts. “i didn’t wanna mention it but thanks for coming. it means a lot.” he admits, handing you a bottle of water. you nod, supportive, smile widening, “anything for you, caleb.” you crack the bottle open, and as you take a swig, you see her coming into view.

“hey caleb.” she muses, her sweet tone sticking to you like molasses. caleb turns, his smile not faltering once, “hey, jen!” he goes to put his arm around her. something you picked up on. you felt your heart tug, but you ignored it, excusing the fact that you have a slight heart problem.

“i had something i need your help with” a hint of mirth appears across her face, and you couldnt help but let a giggle escape your lips. you wave ‘em off hinting at caleb to go ahead, and he flashes a look of need. to be assured. you gave him a gentle nod, a gentle smile, letting him be sent off with her.

“hey you.”

it’d be 30 minutes by the time you look up from your phone. you notice one of caleb’s frat brother called out to you, and you wave at him, “hey what’s up?” you’d inquire, before he motions you to come with him, “we’re about to play 7 minutes in heaven. c’mon!”

you werent too privy to what 7 minutes in heaven was, but you oblige, a tad bit confused. as he directs you to the upstairs, you could hear a multitude of voices, screaming over each other, ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahhhs’. he opens the door for you, and you step in. caleb and many others sit in a circle, a bottle in the middle.

“pipsqueak!” caleb embarrassingly shouts to you. this causes eyes to fixate on you, and you couldn’t help but fall to a blushing victim. you swore you heard jen whisper something to her lackey, but again, one ear out the other for you.

you take a seat across caleb as he flashes you a sweet little smile. there were many others coming in to join, so you didn’t feel too singled out, “spin the bottle, whoever it lands on, you and that person go in that closet for 7 minutes. questions? no? LETS GO!!” frat boys voice booms, causing everybody to hollar with excitement. you laugh, deciding to join in on the fun. ya only live once!

you see the bottle spinning, two people get up and go into the closet. you don’t really hear much, and they come out, both perplexed.

another spin, and another pair go in, their giggles were heard. followed by wet noises. your eyes wide, what the hell were they doing!? the crowd was eating this up. people can do that in 7 minutes? you were both intrigued, and astonished. you really tried not to enjoy how fun this kinda became, but fuck it, you laughed with them.

it was jen’s turn! she flashes a big grin, particularly at you, before spinning. your smile still evident, as it …. lands on you!

you blinked, panic slightly pouring into your internal organs. you gulped, before making your way up, “cmon girl.” she says, a bit invitingly. you really didn’t see any issue so you oblige, guard down, playing into it, but as she shuts the door and the two of you sit down her smile no longer lingers.

you were a bit confused. smile there, and frown here. did you do something bad? as you go to speak up, she cuts into your voice, “stop hogging him, bitch.” she starts. you stare puzzled. nobody has ever spoken to you like this, especially not towards regarding caleb. you were more than confused, you were starting to get irritated.

“what’s your problem?” you spoke. if it wasn’t the music blasting loud, everybody would have front seats to a drama right now. “you heard me. every girl who tries with caleb keeps getting rejected. its probably your fault. you’re his fucking priority, and you don’t even like him.” she says, coolly, before retracting herself from you, “back away from him, and we won’t have any problems, okay? stop being so selfish. girl to girl. ”

you really were taken aback. girl to girl? she was delusional to even blame you for caleb’s disinterest. “first off-” you start, brows furrowed, “him not being interested, isn’t my fault. i’ll give him your number if you want me to, what he does with that is up to him.” you’d attempt to explain, but she wasn’t having it. she raises her hand in front of her face, towards you, and with an exasperated sigh she cuts you off again, “girl i don’t care. we’ve been talking for EVER now. but every time i try to have him do ANYTHING with me, he has an excuse.” she rolls her eyes, mocking caleb, “i cant she has a game today, oh i can’t do that, i’m picking her up after her class, blah blah.”

as she speaks, you felt a pang of guilt. were you really that selfish? you really didn’t think so. hes your childhood friend. you’ve been glued to the hip. is his misfortune with women your fault? of course not, and you weren't going to let this girl gaslight you into believing it. still. you did feel a bit pained upon hearing that. you shake your head, and as you retort, the door swings wide open, revealing caleb, “hey! you guys are taking forever!” he had a neutral look to him, and he notices your upset, but as if a seamless transition, it was covered with a smile. the two of you look up at him, laughing, and jen gets up, kissing his cheek.

he couldn’t help but wonder what that was about. your slightest mood change was all he thought about. he was confused.

you’d continue to play the game, until it was your turn. you hadn’t even noticed it was your turn to spin until they urged you to. a bit reluctant, you do so, meekly shoving the bottle.

of course it had to land on caleb.

a gasp from the ladies, and a hoot from the guys. caleb chuckles before nodding towards the closet. you could feel jen seething from the side. you thought long and hard whether or not you want to come in that closet with him or feign tiredness. it was too late, and maybe the group will call you a chicken if you back out, but you rather face the momentary wrath of a bunch of drunk college kids than be scrutinized by jen an her posse for as long as you both went to class together.

begrudgingly, you walk towards the closet, and sit down immediately. caleb goes to ruffle your hair, “hey, pips, are you okay?” you could sense the urgency in his tone, care practically gushing out. “yeah. i’m okay.” you lie, and very badly too. “what did jen tell you?” he inquires. he wasn’t stupid. he knew that the moment you went into this closet with her she was going to act catty, but to what degree?

you shake your head, blocking the memory, and changing the subject, “you never said. did the aviation school in skyhaven get back with you?” his face contorts to confusion, why you want to ask that question at this time was beyond him, he was trying to be serious, alas he nods, “yeah.. they want me.. next semester.” he mumbles.

all the joy you could possibly have in your body jumps out, the feeling of dread by jen is removed, and you jump into his arms. holding him tight. this was his dream from the beginning, and him sharing it with you meant the world. you pull away before the door can open, so you wouldn’t be incriminated. “we’ll talk more about this later! annnd we’ll celebrate!” you clasp your hands together, giggling like a school girl, before you back away from him, and opening the door.

as much as her conversation ruined your evening, you couldn’t help but be happy for him. he got accepted into his dream school. you were already conjuring plans to make a party for him.

as you walk out of the closet, the group was nowhere to be found. confusion etched into your face, you and caleb walk out towards the railing where everybody was dancing. the music was loud, everybody was going crazy. you check the time. 1am . you figured it was time for you to leave. you were excited for him, but jen was in the back of your mind, and you would rather just retain the good news rather than pander about her.

as you turn to go down the stairs you felt caleb put his hand on your shoulder, and you look up at him, waiting for him to speak, “where are you going?”

“i’m going to head home. i’m gettin’ tired caleb.” you confess

“let me walk you home?”

you laugh dryly, and shake your head, “i appreciate it, but no. i got it. hosts arent supposed to leave the party, sir… and what would your girlfriend think?” you make your way towards the door before waving at him from below.

girlfriend ? what the hell did she say to you?

you finish your skincare routine. you were a bit bummed out by the party. you really were interested in kissing someone for funsies. instead you got bitched at for something you didn’t even do.

you groan in frustration. it was damn near 2:30 by the time you finish your night routine, when you hear a knock on your door. weary, you look through the camera and notice it was caleb. you scramble to unlock the door, and there he was

“hey pipsqueak. sorry took me s’long. was kickin’ everybody out.”

your brows raise, letting him in, “no you’re fine. i didn’t even anticipate you coming by. what’s up?”

he makes himself at home, crashing on your couch after he slips his shoes off. the warmth of your dorm causes him to take his hoodie off, but he must’ve forgotten to wear a shirt under it, as he sits shirtless now. you’d seen this man damn near naked for a good part of your life, so seeing those washboard abs, and toned arms were normal for you.

“so. what’re you doing here again?” you inquire, sitting next to him. his face had a mixture of annoyance and regret. he looked at you, with those doe eyes as if he felt bad.

“i didn’t know she was so rude to you. i’m so sorry pipsqueak.”

ah. jen.

you genuinely did not want to make a big deal out of it, so you attempt to shake your head, “n-no! it’s okay! i swear!”

“no. what she said was awful. i cut things off with her.”

caleb finishes grabbing all the trash and shoving it in the basket. as soon as you’d left he told his friends to shut the party down. ‘was time to call it a night anyways. jen stayed to help, along with her friends, so cleaning was quick as it went.

as everybody started to disperse, jen stayed behind, a cute childlike gleam in her face. “thanks for helping, jen. i really appreciate it.” caleb sheepishly smiles down at her. he was drunk, but still coherent. they sat on the step together. alone. under the beautiful stars.

“do .. i…. get a kiss?” she piques, giggling, quite obviously drunk.

his eyes darken, and he looks at her, a bit more serious now, “jen. what did you tell her?” he asks, straight to the point. her smile falters, and she tilts her head, as if unaware, “what do you mean?” .. “cut the bullshit. you upset her. what dumb shit did you tell her.” a whole new side of him that jen’s never seen in her whole life. hell, she’d never ever heard him cuss. and that wasn’t even a question. that was a demand. “w-wha-” .. “stop playing stupid. why’d she look so upset in the closet?”

there was an intense silence in the air, before she sighs, defeated, “fine. i told her to leave you the hell alone. i want you all to myself, and i’d be damned if that bitch got in my way.”

in a swift movement he was on top of her, and if it were not the scary interaction she just had moments ago, she’d be all for this. jen sobers quickly, yelping quietly.

“don’t go near her, or talk to her ever again. and if i hear you’re around her or interact with her...” he stops and composes himself, before getting up.

“obviously, we’re done. just.. don’t come near us again.” he says with such sinister mirth, that could freeze hell itself.

“you really didn’t have to do that caleb. but thank you anyways.” you go to hug him. your warmth spreading to his soft cold skin. you pull away right after, as the hug had you in an awkward position. after some more small talk you notice the change of demeanor.

“caleb.. she.. said other things.. things that she.. probably didn’t tell you..” you confess, biting your lip. “whats up?” he motions you to continue.

“well.. she said i was the reason why you never get with anybody. you kept doing things for me and dodging her plans. is that true?” his eyes are wide open, and you could tell his breath ran ragged. “you… you’re my number one, pipsqueak..” he mumbles.

your heart flooded with a warm feeling, a sweet feeling, even. but you needed to get this out of the way, before more issues arose.

“do … you.. have..feelings for me?” you’d never been damn direct in your life. you felt like exploding as you asked that question. what if you just made a mockery of yourself? ah fuck.

you purse your lips, and you were about to go back on that sentence, when he grips your wrist.

“i do.”

thump. thump. “i am in love with you.” thump! your ears burn with this sudden confession. your breath hitched.

you don’t know what type of gravity it was, but you lurched forward, locking your lips with caleb.

he wastes 0 time, his arm wraps around you. your fingers wrap around his hair, pulling him closer. you were so in love with this man. he was the key to your feelings. you love him. Bad.

“i love y’too– caleb” you say in between kisses. you kept kissing, hands tangled in his brown locks. you just needed this. you needed this kiss. and he did too. he pushes you down on the couch, and pulls away, staring at you.

he was so enamored by you, that he didn’t even mind that you were naked under that robe, your perky beautiful tits presenting itself to him. his ragged breathing, as he scans you, looking for an answer, “do you.. want…” you just nod, and that was all it took.

caleb dips down, removing the robe from your frame. a calloused hand cupping your perfect tits. his big tongue gliding down to your nipples. your breath hitched, and you moan, earning the approval of. his other hand gently rubs your inner thigh, taking its sweet, haphazard time. it reaches your clit. you were radiating such heat, that he could feel it in his fingertips. your slutty and delicious body was just aching for this man. he loved it. so so much.

his fingers run soft soft circles on your swollen clit. your body twitches at the surge of pleasure. he bits down gently on your nipple, and you mewl, like a sweet little whore.

“baby.. you.. sound.. so..good.. just like– that”

he gently coos, in between his kisses on your tits. fingers gliding up and down between your clit and entrance. he could feel your pussy getting more wet on his hands. he was cherishing every single moment.

you were so helpless. a mewling slut, for her master, and this sent him to the moon. his dick rock hard in his sweats. it was getting so so hard for him to not just fuck you senseless then and there.

“it feels so good.. oh my ggg..” your fingers grip his hair, eyes close, bucking into his fingers.

you felt his fingers slip inside you, and your eyes shoot open. moans eliciting left and right. you had to be quiet, due to the fact you were in a dorm, and walls were just a tad bit thin.

caleb caught onto that and smirked, as he pulls his fingers out of you. making sure you were watching him, he takes his fingers and licks it, eye contact on 10 as he cleaned your juices off his fingers. you were warm beyond compared. the things this man is doing to you right now.

he gets up and pulls you up, bridal style, and walks you over to your bed, gently laying you down, before he grabs the hem of his sweater and boxer. you peeked, and silently thanked the gods you bought him that grey sweatpants.

in one swift movement he was in front of you, naked, well hung. the sight of his cock made you see stars. it almost terrified you.

he straddles on top of you, his tip grazing your leg. you shuddered at how hot it felt. fuck . you wanted to pass out right now.

“whats the matter pips?” you open your eyes at him, his damned smirk as he looked down at you.

“mm.. nothing..:”

he dips down and captures your lips. you wrap your arm around his shoulder, before he pulls away. “do you want this rough or sweet?”

he fully fully intended on being the sweetest boy to you on your first time. but right now. he wanted to fuck the absolute shit out of you. you seem to be on the same wavelength, as you giggle, he smiles wider, ah.. music to his ears. “rough. you said you love me right?” something about the way you had said that causes ringing to flood his ears.

in a swift motion he flips you on your knees. he dips you downward, face down, ass up. and lays a smack on your ass. you grip the bedsheet, face in pillow. caleb slams his dick on your asscheek, before he wastes not a single second. his big cock buries inside you. your walls mold to his thick length. you groan in your pillow. ‘fuck’ you mewl. he almost comes, at how tight you fucking were. you instinctively push back, earning a low moan from him.

caleb leans down, his hand grabbing you by your hair, and pulling you to meet his eyes, “you’re gonna regret that.” he mumbles as he kisses your neck sloppily. slow stroking you. his other hand making its way to your clit, rubbing those slow soft circular motions. he was going slow, but he was hitting your sweet tight walls from the tip to his base. your pretty and gorgeous pussy taking him like a good girl. you were moaning as quiet as you can, but the restraint was driving him nuts. you sounded so helpless. it almost made him cum again. his pace quickens. your breath hitches, your ass slapping against his skin. you felt his balls hitting you, his sweat hitting your back, you felt him hitting your fucking wall. it hurt so goddamn bad, but your eyes were rolled back, you were drooling, you were seeing the fucking stars above you. he kept going so hard. you were losing yourself, squirting all over his hands. you cry out as stops rubbing your clit.

“oh my fuuucking god baby… you sound soo- so good when you’re coming for me.. mm.. ill make you cum all over my dick.. is that what you want baby?” you nod, helpless. a shriveling mess.

as you nod, he presses his hand against your stomach, and your pleasure multiplies. youre going to fucking explode. he was fucking you like a sex toy, and you were going to succumb to him. this wasn’t the same caleb you knew to be a gentle giant. that sweet sweet boy. a handsome sweetheart, pounding your pussy like life depended on it. raw dogging you like it was his last day on earth.

“c-calebcalebcaleb…pleaseple..” you moan into the pillow, but he keeps your head up. “nnoo pipsqueak.. let me hear you moaning for me.. i want to hear your sexy voice.. i want you to call my name while you cum… mm– i want to hear you scream my name while i fill you up with my kids..”

fuck.

you bite your lip, you are literally there, hes going to make you orgasm. hes so fucking unfair. you cry out his name, loudly. his words turns you into a mess.

you’d probably hear about it in the next coming days, but who fucking cares. you were getting dicked down by caleb for fuck sakes.

“caleb! i’m going to cum!” you exclaim, pleasure surging through your pussy, as your walls tighten around him. calebs eyes roll back as well, this sudden tightness milking his cock. he turns your face to meet his, as your lips collide. blowing his load inside you, thick rope twitch into your insides, rushing out, his thrusts get lazier and lazier. your pussy squeezes every ounce of nut out of him, sending him in a spiral.

a few minutes pass. both of your breathing, raggedly in sync, as he finally pulls out of you, your perfect pussy dripping his sticky load out, and you lay on your stomach, before turning on your back, to face him.

the sight of your beautiful face in tattered ruins sends his neurons scrambling. he looks down at his twitching cock.

he was rock hard again.

#lads x reader #love and deepspace #lads smut #lads caleb #lads #lads mc #loveanddeepspace #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #lnds #calebmc #caleb lads #love and deepspace caleb

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aajjks · 2 months ago

Text

Mommy Issues (V)

Synopsis. They wanted you, they needed you.

Pairing. Yandere single dad jungkook x fem reader

Warnings. Yändërë bëhàvìøür, ëmøtìøñàl mánìpùlàtìøñ, pøssëssìvënëss, dëlùsìøñàl thìñkìñg, gùìlt-trìppìñg, jùñgkøøk bëìñg wëìrdly søft ànd scàrÿ àt thë sàmë tìmë, ùnhéàlthÿ àttàchmënt, sèdúctìón, lónlínèss.

note. OH MY GOD I KNOW YOU GUYS HAVE PROBABLY FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS BUT LIKE SERIOUSLY I MISS THIS SO MUCH SO I HOPE YOU GUYS WILL LIKE THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE SHARE YOUR FEEDBACK AND LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED REPLY UNDER THIS POST!

series masterlist.

•••

The house is too quiet.

That’s the first thing jungkook notices when they get home.

Seol runs inside ahead of him, dropping his little backpack by the door like always, shoes half-kicked off, already calling for his tablet.

Jungkook doesn’t move.

He stands in the hallway with the door still cracked open behind him, hand on the knob, heart way too loud in his ears.

He can’t stop thinking about you.

Your face.

The way you looked at him when he said it. Like he’d shattered something between you with that one sentence.

You’re not his mother. You’re just his teacher.

God.

He didn’t mean it. Or maybe he did. He’s not even sure anymore.

He just wanted to hurt you the way you hurt him. The way you made his son feel like he wasn’t normal.

Like he loved too hard. Like needing you was a problem.

But it’s not.

It’s not.

Jungkook locks the door, finally, and shrugs off his jacket. He can hear seol’s little voice somewhere in the house, but he can’t make out the words.

Probably talking to his tablet again.

Or talking to you. He’s been doing that lately. Pretending to FaceTime you.

It’s cute. It’s scary.

Jungkook walks to the kitchen and grabs a beer, doesn’t bother with a glass. His hand is still shaking a little when he takes the first sip.

Why did you look so… disappointed?

Why did you make him feel like some broken thing?

You smiled at him just days ago. You tucked his son’s scarf under his chin. You touched his shoulder when you laughed at that dumb joke he made.

You wanted them.

He saw it.

So why are you backing away now?

What changed?

“Daddy,” a small voice says from the hallway. Seol’s peeking around the corner, thumb in his mouth. His eyes are wide. Wet. “Are you mad?”

Jungkook blinks. “No, baby. I’m not mad.”

Seol shuffles into the room and wraps his little arms around jungkook’s leg. “Miss yn didn’t say bye to me.”

And just like that, jungkook wants to punch a wall.

He crouches down slowly and cups seol’s face in his hands. “She still loves you. Okay? She’s just confused. Grown-ups get confused sometimes.”

Seol sniffs. “But I didn’t mean to be bad…”

“You weren’t bad.” Jungkook kisses his forehead. “You were perfect. You were just trying to protect what’s yours.”

He means it.

He means every word.

Jungkook tucks his son into bed a little early that night. Reads him his favorite story twice.

Holds him until his breathing slows.

Then sits beside him for a long time, staring at the glowing nightlight and the picture on the wall.

The one seol drew.

Stick figures. Him. Daddy. And you.

Under a rainbow.

Labeled “our family.”

Jungkook stares at it until his throat hurts.

You don’t get to walk away.

You made them need you.

So now you have to stay.

•••

The morning starts soft.

Sunlight spills, Jungkook wakes up before his alarm, which never happens, but something about the quiet feels right today.

He stretches and slips out of bed without waking seol, who somehow ended up tangled in the covers beside him again. Tiny limbs everywhere.

Drool on his pillow.

God, he’s perfect.

Jungkook stares for a moment, just watches his son’s chest rise and fall, messy hair sticking up in every direction.

He’s all he has.

He’s all he needs.

And now… they have a mission.

•••

“Come here, baby.” Jungkook kneels in front of seol, zipping up his puffy little coat. “Let me fix your hair.”

Seol groans dramatically, already eating a rice cracker in one hand while holding a toy car in the other. “You always make it look weird.”

“It’s called handsome.” Jungkook grins, ruffling the front until it doesn’t look like a bird nest. “Miss yn likes it like this, remember?”

Seol perks up at that.

Jungkook sees it. Sees the glow in his face whenever you’re mentioned. It stings.

He ties seol’s shoelaces slowly.

“You know what?” Jungkook says softly. “I think… maybe we don’t talk to miss yn too much today.”

Seol frowns. “Why?”

“She’s a little… busy lately.” He keeps his tone gentle. Like it’s nothing serious. Like he isn’t burning inside. “And sometimes when people are busy, they don’t like being bothered.”

“But… she likes when I talk to her…”

Jungkook nods, brushing seol’s cheek. “I know. I know you love her.”

He swallows.

“But today… maybe just wave. Be polite. But not too much. Let’s give her space, okay? If she wants to talk, she’ll come to us.”

Seol is quiet for a second, then nods. “Okay…”

Jungkook kisses the top of his head. “That’s my boy.”

He zips up his own jacket, picks up seol’s little lunchbox, and heads for the door with his son’s tiny hand tucked in his.

They’re the perfect picture.

A young father. A devoted son. Matching shoes.

But inside?

Inside jungkook is ice.

He’s still angry. Still hurt. You made him feel small yesterday. Like he wasn’t doing enough. Like his love wasn’t enough.

So fine.

If you think you can turn away from them, he’ll show you what that feels like.

You want to act like you’re just the teacher?

Then that’s all you’ll be.

For now.

•••

The classroom is already buzzing when you look up and see them walk in.

Jungkook with his hand on seol’s back, guiding him through the little sea of cubbies and jackets. He doesn’t even glance at you.

Not even once.

Your heart dips. But it’s fine. You’re used to parents being distant after difficult conversations. You can handle this. You’re professional.

But then seol walks past you too.

No bright “miss yn!”

No little hug around your waist like he usually does.

Not even eye contact.

He just walks straight to his seat and sits down, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

You feel it like a slap.

You blink. Smile. Try not to let it show on your face. “Good morning, seol.”

Nothing.

He doesn’t respond.

Jungkook is standing at the door, arms crossed, silent. He meets your eyes now, just briefly. His expression is unreadable.

Cold.

“Thank you for yesterday,” you manage to say, keeping your voice soft. “I hope—;”

He cuts you off. “We’re good.”

That’s all.

Then he’s gone.

And you’re standing there like a ghost.

•••

You make it through the first hour of class on autopilot.

Your voice is gentle. Your instructions are clear. But your eyes keep flicking to the corner where seol is sitting, shoulders small, lips pressed together, refusing to look at you.

Your chest aches.

You want to walk over and crouch beside him. Ask him what’s wrong. Run your hand through his hair the way he used to love.

But you don’t.

Because you know what this is.

You’ve seen it before.

You’ve felt it before.

A man with power. Pulling the strings. Turning love into a punishment.

You press your hand to your stomach for a second, right where the pain used to be. The pain that never really left.

You remember the hospital. The pale blue gowns. The way your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The nurse who asked, “Was this your first?”

You nodded.

You lied.

That baby was already real to you.

You already loved them.

And now? now you’re losing another one.

Even if seol’s not yours, he was something close.

Something sacred.

And you don’t know how to stop the tears welling in your eyes as you turn away from the class, just for a second. Just long enough to breathe through it.

You’re just his teacher.

That’s what jungkook said.

That’s what he wants you to be.

But he doesn’t know what it cost you to love his son the way you did.

And he doesn’t know what it’s doing to you to let go.

•••

You wait until story time. The kids are all sitting on the carpet, half-listening, half-daydreaming.

Seol is sitting cross-legged at the very edge, back straighter than usual, like he’s trying not to look comfortable.

You pretend it’s nothing.

You keep your voice steady as you read, but your eyes flick to him again and again.

He doesn’t raise his hand like he used to. Doesn’t giggle when you do silly voices. Doesn’t lean against your leg, even though he’s sitting right there.

You close the book and say, “Okay, let’s go get ready for snack time.”

As the kids scramble up, you place a gentle hand on seol’s shoulder, just like you always used to.

He flinches.

It’s small. Barely there. But he flinches.

And then he stands up without looking at you. Walks away without saying a word.

You follow him.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Seol…”

He stops at the sink, washing his hands.

You kneel beside him, slow and careful, like he’s something fragile.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just nods.

It shatters you.

Because seol is never like this. He always has something to say. Always wants to show you something, tell you something, ask for something.

You try again.

“You’re being really quiet today,” you murmur. “Did something happen?”

He dries his hands. Doesn’t meet your eyes.

“No,” he says.

Just that. No.

It’s not angry. It’s not rude. It’s just…

Empty.

You’re still kneeling there as he walks away to join the other kids, and you feel like the floor could split open beneath you and you’d just disappear into it.

You sit on your knees for a few more seconds before you slowly get up, your legs numb, your hands trembling.

This isn’t just about him being tired.

This is deliberate.

And now you know exactly who taught him how to do it.

•••

You find a moment alone in the staff bathroom. You close the door. You sit on the closed toilet lid and press your hands to your face.

You don’t cry.

Not yet.

But you feel it creeping up your throat like nausea.

You were a mother once.

Not for long. Not even long enough to hear a heartbeat. But you felt it. Felt them.

And when they left, you thought that maybe that part of your heart would just stay empty forever.

And then there was seol.

Seol who clung to your leg the first week of school. Seol who drew you pictures of his “family” and put you right in the middle.

Seol who looked up at you with love like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t try to take his mother’s place.

You didn’t mean to.

But he gave you that role.

And now. now he’s being taught to unlove you. To unneed you.

To keep you out.

And it hurts in a way you can’t even explain. It’s a grief that has no name.

Because how do you mourn a child that was never really yours?

How do you mourn a second time?

•••

The day ends slow.

Painfully slow.

Every smile you force feels like peeling a band-aid off skin that’s still bleeding underneath.

Seol doesn’t come to show you his crayon drawing.

Seol doesn’t ask for help opening his snack.

Seol doesn’t even flinch when you help another student zip their backpack.

You keep checking. Watching. Hoping.

But he’s gone. Still right there. but emotionally, he’s already been walked away.

The final bell rings and your chest squeezes like it always does when it’s time for dismissal.

Usually, you’re crouched down with open arms when seol runs into them, squealing about something that happened at lunch.

Usually, he makes you promise to come watch him draw chalk outside before his dad gets there.

Today, he stands by the door like a stranger.

You call each name one by one as the kids are picked up, and you pretend your eyes aren’t glancing to the street every five seconds.

And then you see him.

Jungkook.

Standing tall in that all-black outfit like he’s about to bury you.

His hair’s still a little messy, and his hand is tucked into his pocket, but his face?

Blank.

Cold.

You call seol’s name and the little boy lights up. It’s instinctive. Like a switch was flipped.

He runs.

Straight into his father’s arms.

“Appa!” he squeals.

You watch jungkook drop to one knee to scoop him up. Seol throws his arms around his neck, burying his nose against his cheek.

“I missed you!” he says.

You feel your heart rip a little more.

Because he used to say that to you.

You see jungkook’s mouth twitch with the faintest smile as he lifts his son, holding him close like a trophy.

You try to look away. You try to breathe through it.

But then jungkook looks straight at you.

And that’s when he twists the knife.

“Did you have a good day?” he asks seol, loud enough that you can hear.

The boy nods quickly. “Uh huh! I didn’t talk to miss yn just like you said!”

Your stomach drops.

Jungkook doesn’t flinch.

He just brushes his son’s hair back gently and murmurs, “Good boy.”

You nearly stumble.

There’s this heavy silence pressing against your ribs and you’re trying not to show how fast your pulse is racing. You’re trying not to cry.

He meets your eyes again, gaze calm—almost amused.

Like this is what you asked for.

Like this is what you deserve.

“You ready to go, bud?” he says, and seol nods again, still clinging tight.

And then jungkook turns.

Walks away without a word to you.

Not even a glance back.

You’re left standing there, arms empty, watching the boy you loved be carried away like you were never anything at all.

This is the consequence of your concern.

•••

The ride home is quiet at first.

Jungkook adjusts the mirror. Checks the street. Buckles seol in, tight and gentle.

He doesn’t speak.

Not until he knows you’re watching.

He saw your face at pickup. Saw the pain, the guilt, the confusion spinning like a storm behind your eyes. You looked so lost. So broken.

It made him hard.

He pulls out from the school lot slow and smooth, his voice low but firm.

“You did good today, seol-ah.”

The little boy beams in his car seat. “I did what you said! I didn’t talk to miss yn!”

Jungkook hums.

His hand rests on the steering wheel but his knuckles are white from how tightly he’s gripping it.

“That’s right,” he says softly. “Because she’s not your mommy. You remember that now, right?”

Seol nods, a little slower this time. His voice drops, quieter. “Yeah… she’s just my teacher.”

“That’s right, baby,” jungkook murmurs. “She’s just a teacher. And teachers don’t get to love you like I do.”

He glances in the rearview mirror. Seol is kicking his legs gently, humming to himself now.

It’s almost too easy.

He knows it hurt you. The silence. The rejection. He knows how tender you are.

he’s watched it grow.

The way you used to touch seol’s hair like it was sacred. The way you bent down to his level and told him he was brave. The way you always said our boy during conferences.

And yet, you had the nerve to stand there and say he had a problem for loving you too much.

No, baby. You just didn’t understand. You still don’t.

But you will.

Jungkook reaches into the console and pulls out a small pack of gummies. He hands it back to his son.

“Good boys get treats,” he says, and seol lights up.

You should be here to see this.

But you’re not.

That’s the point.

“You know…” jungkook starts again, voice dripping low, almost wistful. “If she was your mommy…”

He trails off.

Lets it hang.

Seol tilts his head, curious. “What?”

Jungkook smiles, slow and secretive.

“If she was your mommy, she’d be here in the car with us. She’d sit next to you, maybe even hold your hand. She’d help you pick what to eat for dinner. She’d tuck you in and kiss your forehead.”

Seol goes quiet.

Jungkook watches his son blink up at the ceiling, his little mind drawing pictures he can’t fully understand yet.

“She’d love you forever,” jungkook finishes softly.

And in his head— he sees it.

You.

In the passenger seat.

Hair messy, eyes soft. Your hand resting on the center console, close enough to touch. Seol in the back, giggling. A little family. His family.

But you ruined it.

You said things you shouldn’t have.

So now?

Now he’ll make you want it so badly you’ll beg to be part of it.

You’ll beg to be his.

“Appa,” seol says quietly, “do you think miss yn is sad?”

Jungkook’s smile grows.

That twisted, beautiful smile.

“Maybe,” he says.

And he drives the rest of the way home with that ache in his chest slowly fading into satisfaction.

Because you’re hurting.

Because you miss something that was never yours.

And because he knows—

It won’t be long until you come crawling back.

Begging to be her again.

Begging to be theirs.

•••

Later that night, the silence is too loud.

You’re still in your work clothes.

Sitting at the edge of your bed. Staring at the folded drawings seol made you two weeks ago.

Crayon hearts. Stick figures with messy smiles. One of them had you holding his hand and saying “I’m proud of you.”

He used to shove them into your hands every day like they were treasure.

You trace the wobbly letters with your finger and your throat tightens.

God, you miss him.

It’s been one day and you miss him like you lost a limb.

And it hurts even more because you know that detachment wasn’t his idea. Seol’s just five.

A soft, clingy little thing who loves big and easy.

He doesn’t understand emotional punishment. He doesn’t understand passive rejection.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.

Someone told him to do it.

But you don’t blame jungkook.

Because maybe… maybe he’s right.

Maybe you were too harsh in that meeting.

Maybe you shouldn’t have said it like that. Called his son possessive. Said “he’s not your mother” out loud.

It sounded so clinical. So cold. You didn’t mean it to be. You just wanted to help.

But now?

Now that warm, sweet little boy is looking right through you.

And the worst part?

You can’t even be mad at him. You get it.

You press your hand to your chest, eyes blurring.

You’ve always been maternal. Even when you tried to pretend you weren’t anymore.

But no one knows what you’ve lost. No one knows the way your arms still ache when you wake up some nights.

No one knows how your heart cracked in half when you lost your baby in that apartment with the thin walls and the screaming man who never loved you.

You never got to hold her.

But seol…

He made you feel like a mother again.

For just a moment. He gave you the thing you were so sure you’d never have.

And now he’s gone.

You blink back tears, but they come anyway. Hot and heavy. You curl in on yourself and try to swallow the sobs.

Maybe this is your punishment.

You tried to set boundaries. You tried to do the right thing. But it feels like you’ve only made it worse.

And the image that haunts you the most?

Seol’s face as he ran into his father’s arms. That tiny, bunny smile.

The soft brown hair, those Bambi eyes. He looks just like jungkook.

You can’t stop seeing it.

The way he clung to him. The way he laughed. The way he didn’t even look back.

You lost two people in that parking lot today.

And you don’t know how to get them back.

Maybe you shouldn’t.

Maybe you can’t.

You don’t even notice your phone vibrating at first. You wipe your face and blink at the screen.

Mr Jeon:

[9:52 PM]

I hope your day was peaceful, Miss yn. Seol had a wonderful one. Thank you for everything you’ve done for him. Truly.

You stare.

No name. No heart emoji. Just that cold politeness that stabs like a knife.

You type a reply. Then delete it.

Then cry harder.

Because you miss them.

And the worst part?

You’re starting to believe you don’t deserve them.

•••

The house is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that’s peaceful. No, this is curated. Designed. Controlled.

The lamp in the living room hums softly. The wine glass on the table is half full. The screen of his phone glows against his skin, illuminating the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He reads the message again.

I hope your day was peaceful, Miss yn. Seol had a wonderful one. Thank you for everything you’ve done for him. Truly.

Polite. Distant. Perfect.

It sounds just fake enough to stab.

He takes a slow sip of wine, eyes flicking to the couch across from him.

Seol is fast asleep there, curled up with his favorite blanket. Lips parted. Cheek smushed against the pillow.

One arm clinging to the stuffed rabbit you gave him on his birthday.

It’s kind of cruel, really. How easily seol trusts.

But that’s what makes this so easy.

So beautiful.

Jungkook reaches for his phone again. Opens his camera. Snaps a quiet photo of the boy, soft and small and vulnerable.

The bunny toy in frame. That’s the detail that makes his smile widen.

He hovers his thumb over your contact. The urge to send it pulses in his fingertips.

You’d break down if you saw it.

He knows you would.

You’d take one look at that little boy with his matching smile and think about everything you’ll never have.

Not unless he gives it to you.

Not unless he lets you have them again. But he doesn’t send the photo. Not yet.

He wants to wait.

Let you sweat. Let your guilt simmer until it burns. Until you’re begging to be let back in. Until you think you’re the one who left.

That’s the thing about good manipulation. It’s never rushed.

He’s been alone a long time. He’s gotten good at waiting. And now that he has something worth fighting for worth keeping? he’s not about to let it go.

You were too good at loving seol.

Too gentle.

Too warm.

And when you looked at him with those soft eyes, when you smiled and asked if he’d been eating properly, if he was sleeping okay.

jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about it for days.

Not because he wanted your care.

Because he wanted it forever.

From the same person.

Over and over. On his terms.

His.

He leans back, phone resting on his chest. Wine glass in his other hand. His gaze drifts to the side table where a folded paper rests.

One of seol’s drawings.

Stick figures. You, him, and seol. All holding hands. Big red heart in the middle.

He keeps it close. Like a promise. Like a prophecy.

You’ll come back.

You have to.

Because you were made to be theirs.

And the longer he keeps you out, the harder you’ll try to claw your way in.

•••

You read the message five times.

Then a sixth.

You sit on the edge of your bed, the silence of your apartment suddenly heavy. Your phone is still in your hand, thumb trembling slightly over the screen.

The glow of it makes your eyes sting, but you can’t look away.

I hope your day was peaceful, Miss yn. Seol had a wonderful one. Thank you for everything you’ve done for him. Truly.

Miss yn.

Truly.

Your chest tightens.

You almost laugh. He used to call you “yn” like it was a delicate, precious thing. And now you’re back to Miss yn.Like a stranger.

Like the woman across the hall who used to matter.

You set the phone down, face down on the comforter, like it’s infected.

But it doesn’t stop the ache.

Because all you can think about is seol.

Sweet, clingy seol. The boy who used to throw his arms around you and bury his little nose in your neck when he didn’t want to say goodbye.

The boy who used to smile like you were the sun.

And today? He didn’t even meet your eyes.

He clutched his backpack straps too tightly and gave a quiet, polite “bye.” And that was it. No hug. No smile. Nothing.

And the worst part is— he looked just like his father.

The same bunny smile. The same soft, dark lashes and wide, unblinking eyes. The same ability to gut you without saying a word.

You press your hand to your stomach, not because it hurts—but because there’s a ghost of something that used to live there. Something you lost.

A baby that never made it.

Maybe you’re too soft.

Too maternal.

Maybe that’s why this hurts so much. Because somewhere in the back of your mind, you let yourself feel like a mother again.

And now it’s gone.

Stripped.

Ripped away with a smile and a formal text from the man who lives just across the hall.

You stand up too fast. You don’t know where you’re going, but you end up by the window.

Your building complex is quiet. The lights in jungkook’s apartment are still on.

You can’t see much from here—but it makes your chest ache anyway.

You press your fingers to the glass.

It’s pathetic, maybe.

But you just miss him.

Both of them.

You miss the boy who called you mama in his sleep, even though you told him not to.

You miss the father who used to watch you like you hung the stars, even when you pretended not to notice.

You pick up your phone.

You start to type a reply. Just something simple. Something soft.

I’m glad he had a good day. I’ve been thinking about him.

Delete.

Too much.

You try again.

Thank you for the update. Please let me know if he needs anything.

Too formal.

You delete it again.

In the end, you don’t send anything at all.

You just curl up on your side of the bed. The side that’s always cold. And you wonder— just for a second. what it would be like to live in the warmth of their home instead.

Even if it’s built on a lie.

Even if it hurts.

Because love always hurts. And you?

You already know what it’s like to lose a child.

You don’t think you can survive losing another—even if he was never yours to begin with.

•••

You feel weird.

Attached. Too attached.

You’ve been thinking about Seol all night. The way he brushed you off. The way he used to cling to you like you were his lifeline. Now he barely acknowledges you.

You never meant to get this close to a student.

But here you are. Sitting in your apartment, heart heavy. You’re too deep in this, too involved.

You need to clear your head.

You decide to go outside. Maybe the cold will help.

The wind hits you hard as you step out onto the balcony. It cuts through you. Makes your chest tighten.

You don’t expect it, but it hits you all at once.

You feel the tears.

You try to hold them back, but they fall anyway.

I have to make it up to him, you think.

Seol. The sweet boy who doesn’t even know what happened. He doesn’t understand why he’s being distant.

You should apologize. Maybe that’ll fix it.

Maybe if you talk to Jungkook tomorrow, maybe you can fix it.

But there’s a lump in your throat.

You know you’re being manipulated. You know this is more than just a mistake.

You’re already in too deep.

And as the wind whips around you, you don’t know how to stop yourself from falling even deeper.

•••

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide.

You’ll bring cookies. Just a small gesture. Something to say “I’m sorry” without using words.

It’s Saturday tomorrow—no school. You know they’ll be home. And maybe if Seol sees you outside of the classroom, it’ll soften him. Maybe he’ll remember how much you care.

You bake them yourself.

Sleep-deprived, face still puffy from crying, but your hands move like they know what to do.

Like they’re aching for something warm, something gentle, something motherly.

Chocolate chip. The kind he once said was his favorite.

You go to bed feeling a little calmer. A little bit stupid. But hopeful.

The next morning, you’re at their door by ten.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell.

Then— press.

A few seconds pass.

And then the door swings open.

Jungkook stands there.

He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a fitted black tee, like he didn’t expect company but somehow still looks devastating. His tattoos peek from the sleeves.

His hair is messy. He looks… domestic.

You almost forget why you’re there.

Then his eyes drop to the cookies in your hand.

You smile, nervously. “Um… I brought something for Seol. Just thought maybe— uhh I know it seems a little inappropriate that I’m here, but you know I’m here as a neighbor..”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

Not rude. But not welcoming, either.

Still, he opens the door wider.

“Come in.”

You step inside.

The apartment smells like detergent and lemon and something soft. You don’t know why that makes your chest ache.

You spot Seol curled up on the couch, a little blanket over his lap, cartoons playing softly on the TV.

But he doesn’t jump up when he sees you.

He just blinks.

“Hi sweetheart,” you say gently. He waves. A small, half-hearted wave.

And it punches the breath out of you.

You turn to Jungkook, trying to stay composed.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I just… wanted to see him. I felt bad.”

“Why?” he asks. His tone is innocent. Too innocent.

You blink. “After the meeting. I think maybe I… overstepped.”

He doesn’t reply.

You place the cookies on the counter.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I hope he likes them.”

Jungkook nods slowly. Then he steps a little closer.

“You didn’t have to bring anything.”

His voice is low. Soft. He looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes.

“But you did.”

You feel your stomach twist.

He walks past you, picks up one of the cookies, bites into it. Chews, thoughtful. Then…

“These are really good.”

You smile, a little. “I’m glad.”

He takes another bite. Still watching you.

“He missed you yesterday,” he says suddenly.

Your heart jumps. “He did?”

Jungkook nods, licking a bit of chocolate from his thumb.

“He told me after we got home. Said he missed your hugs. Your voice.”

You feel your eyes sting.

“I think he was just… confused,” you whisper.

“Maybe,” Jungkook says. “Or maybe he just needs someone who won’t leave.”

You stare at him.

His words are so simple.

But they feel like a blade.

“I never meant to—;”

“I know.”

Silence.

The TV buzzes softly in the background. You hear Seol’s soft humming from the couch.

The warmth of their home is thick around you, pulling you in.

And yet— why does it feel so lonely?

Why does it feel like you’re on the outside, looking in?

Like you’re being allowed in for just a moment. Just enough to crave it. Just enough to never forget what it felt like.

Jungkook looks at you for a long, long second.

Then he smiles.

Small. Gentle.

“You can stay for coffee if you want.”

•••

You sit on the edge of their couch with your hands curled around the warm coffee mug, trying to stop the ache in your chest from spreading.

The apartment is quiet, except for the sound of Seol’s cartoon.

Spider-Man zips across the screen in bright flashes of red and blue, his little voice chiming in every now and then.

But he doesn’t look at you.

Not once.

You thought maybe. just maybe he’d come over.

You baked. You apologized. You tried.

And now you’re sitting here feeling like an extra.

Like someone on the outside of a picture-perfect family.

You sip your coffee, throat tight.

Jungkook is across from you at the kitchen counter, leaning against it like he lives in a magazine.

His arms are crossed, tattoos on full display, the shirt hugging his chest in a way that’s way too intentional for a Saturday morning.

You try not to look.

But of course you do.

Because he’s beautiful. And soft in all the places you miss having. And strong in all the ways you don’t.

“Seol,” he calls softly. “Aren’t you gonna say thank you for the cookies?”

The little boy turns, mouth full of juice pouch, and gives you the same small wave from earlier. “Thank you, Ms. Yn.

“Yn,” Jungkook corrects, voice smooth. “She’s not at school.”

You blink.

Seol repeats, “Thank you, Yn.”

You smile, aching. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

But the ache doesn’t go away.

He turns back to the TV, curling deeper into his blanket. Like that’s all he needs. A cartoon. A blanket. His dad.

You watch the scene in front of you and feel something raw bubble in your chest.

This is what you wanted.

This is what you used to have. Before it was taken.

Before it was crushed.

You blink fast. Sip your coffee again. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“You alright?” Jungkook asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He tilts his head, a little smile playing on his lips.

“You don’t look alright.”

He moves closer.

Stands behind the couch. Behind you.

You feel the warmth of him. The weight of his gaze. The quiet power in the way he doesn’t speak unless he wantssomething.

“I just haven’t been sleeping,” you say.

“You should,” he murmurs. “You look like you need rest.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean it.”

He walks around the couch now. Closer. You feel the heat of him as he leans against the armrest near you.

“I think you need to let yourself be taken care of for once.”

You look up.

His eyes are so dark. So steady.

“You’re always taking care of other people. Of kids. Of their parents. Who takes care of you?”

The words drop into your chest like heavy stones.

“I’m fine,” you say. Too quick.

He doesn’t reply. Just sips his coffee, slow. His jaw tightens with every swallow.

And for some reason, watching him do something so simpleit wrecks you.

You wonder what it would feel like to sit like this every morning.

In silence. With coffee. With someone beside you.

Not alone in your apartment, holding your own body through another long night.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he says, voice low. “I see through it.”

You glance at him.

He’s watching Seol. But his words are for you.

“You’re lonely.”

You freeze.

“You don’t need to say it,” he adds. “It’s just written all over you.”

Your breath hitches.

You open your mouth. Close it.

The silence between you hums.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t move. Just sits there.

Radiating heat.

Smelling like woodsy cologne and dryer sheets and safety.

But the kind that’s too close to danger. Too close to falling.

“You can stay for lunch,” he says.

Not a question.

Just a line. A trap.

And something in you… something soft and broken wants to walk right into it.

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1u11ablues · 3 months ago

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“Who were you with?” (John Price x reader)

Price pulls the ribbon off the flowers he got for you, the half-filled vase standing on your kitchen counter, ready for its arrangement.

A video played on his tablet. Ten minutes of someone giving a quick-class on how to make sure flowers stay fresher longer.

Just one of those things one does when they really, really like someone.

Your laughter seeps through the thin walls. He'd hoped to surprise you with the arrangement while you head out to pick up the freshly done laundry from the flat laundromat, until-

A much deeper laughter followed yours soon after.

He rushed to the front door and waited for you to enter before peering his eyes out onto the hallway outside.

"Who were you with?" He asked, immediately taking the laundry basket off your arms to put away later.

Curious, he was merely curious. Nothing more than that.

"Our neighbour," you answered casually. "The compulsive baker I told you about?"

"The lad fed you and made you laugh?"

You burst out in a fit of laughter as you walked into the kitchen. The little gasp at the end letting him know that he picked well.

"Don't worry, I still like you best."

#fanfic #call of duty #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #lullatriesprompts #double drabble

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corkinavoid · 1 year ago

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DPxDC Danny's Strange Gifts to the Bats

So you know how it's common knowledge to not accept any gifts from the Fae? Well, even if the batfam knows about it - I mean, they've dealt with a lot of otherworldly stuff, besides, you shouldn't take things from strangers no matter if they are Fae or not - they might not always abide by it. Unknowingly.

The trick is that you never know if it's a gift or not when you're dealing with the fair folk.

So things start appearing in the Wayne manor. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. A book left on the table in the library, a vintage teacup in the kitchen drawer, a cat toy with some real bird feathers. No one pays them much attention. After all, when you live in a family this big, you don't really keep track of who brings home what.

The book was probably left by Jason. The teacup is most likely Alfred's new addition. The cat toy is totally Damian's. It's not the first time and surely not the last when one or another member of the flock brought something to the manor. The book is put on the shelf, the teacup is now Steph's favorite, and Alfred the cat really likes those feathers.

And then, one day, they all get down for breakfast. Damian is the first to appear, with Alfred the cat in his hands, then comes Dick, who stayed in the manor for the weekends, and Steph, who was here for the movie night and decided going home was too much work. Tim comes to the table with a tablet that is quickly put away the moment Alfred starts serving food. Bruce and Duke come the last, taking their seats, and it is almost like a signal for everyone to start eating. After all, everyone is here now. It is peaceful and quiet, a rare but not unwelcome occurrence that Bruce greatly appreciates.

That is, until a few minutes later, Damian appears in the doorway.

"Good morning," he greets, and everyone at the table freezes.

And then does a double take.

Damian is in the doorway.

Damian is also sitting in his seat, eating waffles, the only one who did not stop when the other Damian appeared.

There are two of them.

Damian-sitting-at-the-table looks up to Damian-standing-in-the-doorway and smiles. His face is stuffed with waffles.

"Goov movning, bvothev," he greets back, and before anyone else can react, Damian-in-the-doorway clicks his tongue.

"You are in my seat. Move."

"I don't see your name on it, therefore it is not yours," argues the other one, not moving from his place. Yet now, when everyone can see his eyes, they finally notice the difference. The one sitting at the table has blue eyes.

Tim all but jumps up from his seat, slamming his hands on the tabletop:

"You-" he nearly chokes on his words, when blie-eyed Damian looks at him, and then at everyone at the table with a confused frown.

"But I thought you liked the vintage films for your camera that I got you? And those four-leaved clovers?" He asks, looking almost hurt. The normal, green-eyed Damian looks thoroughly disappointed:

"Have you been accepting my brother's gifts, Drake? You're lucky they were not courtship gifts."

"Court-" Tim sputters in the middle of the word, looking between the two.

Bruce lets out a long, absolutely resigned sigh. Was it too much to ask for just one, single normal morning?..

Long story short, Danny, being a fae and also just generally a little shit, kept leaving gifts for Bats all over the manor, and they all unknowingly accepted them one way or another, so now Danny has the power to ask for something in return. He chooses to just come to the manor and dump the fact that he is going to live here on them at breakfast. Technically, he just ended the long line of gifts by giving the last one, himself.

| <-prev | next-> |

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kisses4themissus · 5 months ago

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Private Eye || Hwang In-Ho x Reader

wc : 2.6k a/n : and the crowd is...not surprised that Its gonna be a series.. !! warning; not proof-read so possible misspelling ahead !!

masterlist

Beep Beep Beep.

You groaned as your alarm went off, without looking you had stopped the annoying alarm; Your boyfriend also stirring at the sound. “You have to leave already?” He sighed turning to lay on his back, wiping sleep from his eyes. You smiled at him and sleepily nodded. “Duty calls..” You sighed, swing your legs that touched the cold floor.

As you went to stand a warm embrace wrapped around you.

“Jun-ho, i need to get up!” You chuckled, rubbing his hands that rested on your waist. “Meet me for lunch?” He asked, smiling up at you.

A moment passed, “Ok, but just this time!” You teasingly pointed your finger at him. Jun-ho nodded and released you from his grasp.

Once freed you had ran to the connected bathroom to get ready for the day. It had been a few months since you’d been anonymously hired to watch, seong gi-hun a fifty one year old man; he had gone from being severely in debt to having billions of dollars in his account. You had grown tired of the case, he had rarely left a motel he had bought out.

You groaned internally, it’d be another day of sitting in an alleyway that had a good view of the motel. Occasionally getting to an abandoned building, watching as he’d park on the roof and sit their for the day; at first you thought he was contemplating killing himself but after a few visits you grew used to his routine.

As you passed through the kitchen to grab your coffee, jun-ho handed you a small paper bag, he handed it over with a small smile. “Breakfast for you!”

You leaned closer and kissed his cheeks before kissing his lips. “Thank you, honey!” You both smiled into your kiss, not wanting to leave you parted away first, chuckling as he leaned forward as you parted. “I’ll see you for lunch.” You said, holding two fingers to his lips before grabbing you coffee and breakfast and ran to your car.

- - - - - - - - - - -

It had been months of the same routine, you had watched as gi-hun looked over his several tablets and phones he had in his car.

You quickly grabbed your camera as he answered a phone call, his eyes widened at whatever the other person had said, he quickly started up his car and backed out of the roof and began to drive off.

You raised your eyebrows at his action, you quickly placed your camera down and began to follow behind him

You had kept yourself from pushing the gas, slowing down as he got pulled over. You cursed as you recognized one of the traffic cops; You had been told to keep quiet about the case, you had been lucky enough for jun-ho to understand since he was a detective and tried his best to keep you away from his own work back then.

Once back on the road, you followed behind as he parked his car in front of a shady alleyway. You groaned as you parked further away and got out, camera in hand. Before walking to the alley, you pulled out a tracker from your jacket and stuck it on gi-hun’s car.

You watched from the shadows as gi-hun looked frantically around the alleyway, you pulled out your camera and began snapping photos, you had froze as you noticed a man on top of a building, staring down at gi-hun with a smirk, had there been another P.I working on gi-hun’s case?

You quickly snapped a photo of him before hiding away further as gi-hun ran back to his car.

The other man walked away, back into the building, once you knew it was clear you walked further and began to take photos, there had been blood splatter all over. As you went to leave, you stumbled.

You looked down at your foot and tiled your head at the small brown card, it had three different shapes on the front. You turned it over to see a number, with a confused mindset you tucked it away into your pocket and walked to your car to follow gi-hun again, what was he really involved with…

You had gotten back to the motel before gi-hun. You watched and took photos as the man from before walked into the motel and turned on the sign’s light. You slouched into your seat, waiting for the next movement.

As you waited, the rain fell on top of the car, it had soothed you, unlike the events you had encountered earlier. As you sat in your car you quickly pulled out the brown card from earlier and picked up your phone to call it, you quickly began recording the call.

As you dialed the number, it clicked, someone had picked up. “Hello, who’s calling?” A stern voice answered. “I was given this card earlier today.” You lied, the other person shifted. “Do you wish to participate in the games?” They asked, you furrowed your brows. “Yes.” You shifted in your seat.

“Name and birthday.” They requested.

You gave them your information and waited. He gave you a location to be picked up, it’d be on halloween night, you nodded to yourself, now trying to find an excuse to tell jun-ho. “Thank you.” You hung up and sighed shakily. You perked up as gi-hun walked back into the motel.

An hour had gone by, you had left, there had been no activity.

Once you had gotten home, you paced around your living room; trying to think of things to tell jun-ho. It had been a surprise once you walked through the doors to see he hadn’t gotten home yet. Luckily it was the weekend tomorrow, the employer had given you the weekends off from gi-hun’s case, which you were lucky to have.

You had gotten ready for bed, the cool covers over your body. You had managed to dose off but was woken up when jun-ho had gotten into the bed. You turned over and stared at your boyfriend. “Busy day?” You questioned, making jun-ho tiredly laugh and nodded. “Me too.” You smiled and snuggled into his arms.

As he began to rub your arm in comfort he sighed, looking at the ceiling of the room. “Tomorrow we’re going to the memorial site then my mom asked if we could go over for dinner..” He hesitated, you knew his half brother’s family and himself in general was a harsh subject.

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time.” You reassured, smiling tiredly at him.

The next day you both had strolled through the memorial site, other families bringing gifts, you held a small bouquet of flowers for jun-ho’s sister in law’s grave. You tuned out what his mom had been saying as you walked to the wall.

You sighed as jun-ho walked ahead and hung up with his mother, he grabbed a photo and painfully sighed. You carefully approached, noticing the very wilted flowers, you quickly switched it out for the new ones you both a had bought. You both stayed silent, stopping to give your respects to her.

You looked to the side and smiled sadly at all the graves without flowers, jun-ho bit his lip as he placed the photo of in-ho and his ex-wife back on the wall.

Jun-ho cleared his throat and turned to you, reaching out his hand. You gave him a soft smile and took it as you both walked back to the car.

“She’s very pretty!” You exclaimed as you both got in. “She’s was very kindhearted too.” Jun-ho smiled, thinking about his sister-in-law. As you both got in the car and began to drive to the store, your happy mood was brought down as your phone buzzed. You pulled it out from your bag, your smile had dropped as you read the text.

“I need the update on seong gi-hun by tonight.”

You scoffed, jun-ho turned to you concerned, holding two fruit trays in his hands. “No to the pears?” He questioned, chuckling softly. You sighed and shook your head. “I have to skip out on dinner with your mother, the new employer wants an update tonight.” You explained.

“It’s alright, my mom will understand, you work very hard!” He reassured, placing one of the fruit into the small basket. “Thank you.” You smiled at him before leading him down the snack aisle.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You groaned as you send another file to a strange unknown email. It had been all the updates from the past month. Tired you walked to your closet to change into your pajamas.

As you moved through your closet you accidentally knocked down a box of things jun-ho kept on his side. You groaned and knelt down to pick up the small knick knacks and stray photos. You stopped at one, it had been jun-ho when he was younger with a bit older guy, you turned the photo around, looking for a date.

Jun-ho’s highschool graduation, you stopped as you furrowed your brows at the photo, who was the other man then? His half brother? You and jun-ho had begun dating after your college program had ended, you had never met his brother but alway heard of his mother’s guilt. As you stared at the picture, the sound of the door opening made you jump, quickly swiping everything into the box and back on the top shelf of the closet.

“How was dinner?” You questioned, walking out of the closet to see jun-ho taking off his jacket. “It was alright, she sent leftovers for you…” He said, distracted. You sighed walking over to him. “The anniversary gotten to her?” You questioned, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Jun-ho nodded sadly, tossing his jacket on the bed.

“She feels guilty for no reason, he choose to leave..” Jun-ho ranted, you nodded at his words, letting him get it out.

- - - - - - - - - - -

In-ho sighed as he took off his mask, it had been rough preparing for the upcoming games, it didn’t help gi-hun was trying to worm back, his own brother was now attempting to find the island.

He sighed, pouring himself whiskey before opening a burner email he had created for the private investigator he had hired to keep watch on gi-hun. He drank as he went through photo after photo, it had been the same routine, til he saw a photo of the recruiter, in-ho stopped and looked once more at the photos.

Gi-hun was getting too close for comfort again.

You sighed as you watched jun-ho collect his things, he said he had begin to investigate the islands where he has washed up on once again and had now even more info thanks to someone else.

You chuckled as he sighed to himself before walking over to you. “How long will you be gone?” He questioned, sitting down beside you on the bed, “Don’t know…” You shrugged sadly; you had come up with the excuse you had been requested to go to another country to investigate someone badly.

“I’ll miss you!” Jun-ho leaned in and kissed you tenderly on your lips, you smiled into the kiss. “I’ll miss you too..” You both pulled away, looking into each others eyes lovingly. “I actually got you a gift!” Jun-ho smiled and popped up and walked to the dresser and pulled out a small velvet box.

“For me?” You questioned, smiling as he placed it in your palm. “For you to have a piece of me with you.” he explained, you smiled at his words and opened to see a heart shaped necklace. With a gasp you jumped up and hugged your boyfriend, smothering him with kisses. “Thank you, this is so beautiful!” You squealed, taking it out of the box.

“I’ll put it on you..” Jun-ho took the necklace and moved your hair to the side as he clasped the necklace. You smiled as the heart sat perfectly. “You’re the perfect boyfriend!” You smiled and brought him into another kiss, you both pulled away after you had begun to loose oxygen.

“Alright now go see your evidence!” You smiled as jun-ho nodded and kissed you bye once more before leaving the apartment.

You sighed and stood up from the bed, you looked around, you had cleaned everything up. You were ready to see what gi-hun had gotten himself into with that man.

You nervously looked at your phone again, you’re pick up was at twelve, it quickly approached hte time and you hadn’t seen any sign of a car.

As you went to walk back to your complex, the sound of brakes came from behind you, slowly turning you saw a van, the window rolled down to see someone in a pink suit with a circle on their mask; you brushed it off and assumed it was a costume.

“Ms y/l/n?” You nodded, the back door opened itself. You quickly got in and looked around to see other people fast asleep in their chairs.

As the car began to move you heard a soft hiss and gaz filled the car, it had smelt of lavender; you moved your head back as you got lulled to a soft deep sleep.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Classical music filled your ears as you woke up to see bunks all around you.

With wide eyes you got up and looked around, your clothes had been changed too; you wore a green tracksuit with a numbers over the right side and the shirt; player 455.

You stopped looking around as you spotted gi-hun getting up from his own bunk. A loud buzz came from the center of the room. You looked over and saw more pink suited people walk out. You quickly follow gi-hun and listened as the pink suits explained everything and answer some questions from people.

As you all lined up to sign the contact you stopped, the strange man, the money gi-hun randomly earned. You quickly searched for him in the crowd and walked over to the line he stood in. You watched as he signed his name. Once you walked up, you quickly filled out the form before running to where gi-hun began walking through all the confusing stairs.

You kept your eye on his as you all passed through the photos and were led to an open field, a weird animatronic doll sat on the other end of the field. The first game was announced to be red light, green light.

You watched gi-hun with furrowed brows as he told you all explained what to do. Most had brushed it off as him being paranoid or high off drugs. You could see the fear in his eyes as he spotted the animatronic. You listened to his instructions. You closed your eyes as gunshots rang out around you.

Once you opened your eyes, you quickly moved behind player 230. Your eyes widened as the doll turned once more and he pushed the players in front of him. Once clear you stood up and followed him.

“Who’s shuffling behind me like a rat?” He grumbled out, you quickly grabbed the back of his jacket collar with a tight grasp. “A rat.” You smiled; once in the clear you used your strength and threw him to th ground and ran ahead.

- - - - - - - - - - -

In-ho quietly sipped on his whiskey as he watched players drop dead. He sighed, growing bored of the same reaction, he stopped sipping as a familiar looking player held thanos by his collar.

He quickly, leaned over to his side table and went through the player files. He stopped as he found player 455; Y/n Y/l/n. The name had looked familiar. He walked over to the latest photos he had gotten of his family, he shuffled through them and finally stopped at one, jun-ho and his girlfriend at a friend’s party, both hangoff each other smiling.

Jun-ho’s girlfriend.

hwang in-ho taglist: @snowtargaryen @menabuser16 @azusdump @jspidey5 @annasnape7 @macnbriee @ookybatt @sasha-swftie @moonxnite

#frontman x reader #hwang inho x reader #squid game x reader #player 001 x reader #frontman x you #young il x reader #in ho x reader #squid game x you #hwang inho #jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho x reader #jun-ho hwang x reader

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