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jungwnies · 1 month ago

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f1 grid (1/2) | come back to bed

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @makanirock05) : you tell your f1 boyfriend to “come back to bed” while they're gaming or doing something and when they come in the room you flash them ;) (tiktok trend)

୨ৎ : genre : comedy / tik-tok trend ୨ৎ : tws : slightly suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 2783

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : you guys KNOW i love writing these trend posts.. also monaco weekend lAWDDDDD I HAVE BEEN ANTICIPATING THIS MOMENT.

ʚ・max verstappen

the sound of engine revs echoed down the hallway — max was deep into some sim racing session, probably mid-championship, headset on, completely in the zone.

you leaned on the doorframe, wearing nothing but one of his oversized red bull shirts and a mischievous smile.

“max,” you called softly.

he didn’t even glance up, adjusting the wheel with intense focus. “mhm?”

“come back to bed,” you said, voice sweet and low.

still nothing — just the clicking of paddles and the occasional mutter in dutch. a full-on tunnel vision moment.

you bit your lip, then slowly stepped into the room, arms folded behind your back.

he must’ve sensed movement in his periphery because he finally glanced toward you. just a glance.

and then?

immediate double take.

his eyes widened as his jaw went slightly slack. “wat de f—”

you didn't say a word. just dropped the shirt, still holding it in place for now, and tilted your head toward the hallway. “bed. now?”

the silence that followed was deafening. his car slammed into a barrier on-screen, the thud echoing through his headset, but max didn’t even flinch. his controller dropped to the floor like it offended him.

“okay—yeah. yes. i’m—give me a second.”

he tugged the headset off so fast it caught in his curls. tripped over the wires. stepped on his own sock. you didn’t even move — just stood there, blinking innocently as if you weren’t actively destroying the man’s brain.

he crossed the room in three big strides, his hands reaching for your waist like it was pure muscle memory. “you planned this.”

you smiled. “i don’t know what you mean.”

“you definitely planned this. i was leading.” he kissed your shoulder, then lower. “now i don’t care.”

“you lost?”

max looked up at you, eyes dark, voice low. “i’m about to win something better.”

you barely had time to laugh before he scooped you up — shirt still dangling from your hand — and carried you toward the bedroom like the sim rig had ceased to exist. the sound of his game over screen blinked softly in the background.

“max,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck, “you didn’t even pause.”

he grinned against your skin. “i did. i paused my whole life. for this.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

it was late, but lewis was wide awake, perched at the edge of the couch with his laptop in front of him and his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. some kind of zoom call played quietly — a team debrief or maybe a sponsor meeting. you couldn’t tell. you weren’t paying attention.

you were wearing one of his t-shirts, soft with age and hanging off your shoulder. nothing underneath. not really planning anything… until you saw him push the glasses up and bite his lip slightly while concentrating.

yeah. it was absolutely planned now.

you padded softly into the room, leaning on the doorframe just out of the camera’s view.

“babe,” you whispered, voice low and teasing.

lewis glanced over with the faintest smile. “hey, baby. i’ll be done soon.”

“come back to bed.”

he didn’t look up right away. “i will, i promise. just gotta finish this slide.”

you stepped closer. still out of frame. still innocent.

and then you let the shirt drop.

his jaw didn’t drop, but his hand froze on the keyboard. his eyes flicked from the laptop to you, down your body, and then back up to your face — expression completely unreadable for a second.

then he said, very calmly, to his screen: “can you give me two minutes? i’ll be right back.”

he didn’t even wait for the response.

the laptop snapped shut in one swift motion.

“lewis—” you started, backing up with a giggle as he stood up, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants.

“you can’t just do that,” he muttered, stalking toward you with a calmness that was somehow more dangerous.

you took one slow step backward. “do what?”

he smirked. “walk in here like that. drop that shirt like it’s nothing.”

“it was nothing.”

“mhm.” he reached you, fingers sliding gently along your bare waist. “it’s something now.”

your back met the wall, but he was already pressing a kiss to your shoulder, slow and deliberate.

“thought you had a meeting,” you teased breathlessly.

“not anymore.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling as he tilted your chin up. “that was fast.”

he chuckled, voice low in your ear. “there was a much more urgent situation happening in the hallway.”

you didn’t say anything else. you didn’t need to.

the laptop sat forgotten on the couch — screen off, meeting abandoned — while lewis carried you right back to bed.

ʚ・george russell

george was hunched over the dining table, sleeves rolled up, laptop open, glasses on, and completely immersed in a spreadsheet titled something painfully dull like training metrics - q2 review. you watched him from the hallway in silence for a moment, admiring the little furrow in his brow and the way his foot tapped softly against the leg of the chair.

you weren’t trying to distract him. not at first.

but then he let out a soft sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, and your brain short-circuited. you were still in his shirt — just his shirt — and he hadn’t come back to bed like he promised.

so you padded across the hardwood floor quietly and leaned on the wall near the kitchen entrance. his back was to you, so you cleared your throat.

“george,” you said sweetly.

“mhm?” he hummed, not even turning around. still typing.

“come back to bed.”

“in a moment, love. just finishing this—wait—”

you dropped the shirt.

he heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor and finally turned his head — just a little. then a little more. then he full-on spun around in his chair like a dramatic movie character discovering a plot twist.

his mouth parted just slightly, eyes going wide.

“good god,” he whispered.

you gave him a sheepish shrug and a cheeky smile. “bed?”

george blinked hard like he was trying to reboot. “that… that is so unfair.”

you laughed as he stood, chair squeaking back against the floor. “i was being productive.”

“you still can be,” you teased, stepping back slowly as he approached, tugging his glasses off with one hand and tossing them onto the table without breaking eye contact.

“not when you’re walking around like that. christ.”

“are you blushing?”

“i’m british. of course i’m blushing.”

he reached you, hands gently settling at your waist, voice dropping lower. “you know i had two more pages of data to go through?”

“consider this a better use of your time.”

george leaned in, kissing your forehead first, then your lips — slow and warm and full of restrained chaos. “i’ll be giving you my full attention now.”

and with that, the spreadsheet was long forgotten. the only numbers he cared about tonight were the goosebumps rising across your skin.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos was lying on the couch, shirtless, legs stretched out, fifa controller in hand and a smug look on his face. you could hear the commentary from the game echoing softly down the hallway — he was winning. of course he was.

you leaned on the doorframe, wearing the thinnest tank top and underwear, watching him like he was some sort of wildlife documentary subject. calm. focused. unbothered. and clearly neglecting his “i’ll be right there” promise from twenty minutes ago.

you cleared your throat. “carlos.”

he didn’t look away. “mhm?”

“come back to bed.”

he laughed under his breath, still controlling his virtual team. “let me finish this match, cariño. i’m almost done.”

you stepped into the room, letting the soft overhead light catch the curve of your body as you moved to the side of the couch — just out of reach.

“carlos,” you repeated, voice slower, sweeter. “come. back. to bed.”

he glanced up.

and that’s when you dropped the tank top.

it hit the floor silently.

carlos didn’t.

his thumb missed the joystick, sending the ball flying into the corner flag, and his jaw literally dropped open. the controller clattered to his chest as he just stared — fully, openly, no blinking.

“madre de dios.”

you raised your brows, all innocence. “something wrong?”

he blinked. “do that again. i dare you.”

you smiled, tilting your head. “do what?”

he groaned, sitting up like gravity had stopped working, running a hand down his face. “you’re trying to kill me. i swear.”

“you’ve been playing for so long��”

“i was playing well—until you came in here with your evil tricks.”

“are they working?”

carlos stood up slowly, gaze trailing over you like he was trying to memorize the moment. “you think i’m just going to let that slide?”

you laughed and took a step back, holding your hands up. “hey, i just made a request.”

“you made a statement,” he muttered, already circling the couch.

“where are you going?”

“to make sure you never have to ask me to come back to bed again.”

you shrieked when he lunged, catching you by the waist and lifting you effortlessly. he carried you off toward the bedroom like a man on a mission — fifa completely forgotten.

“your game!” you giggled, kicking your legs.

“it can lose.”

carlos was officially done playing — just not the way you expected.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles was at the piano.

hair messy from a shower, plain white t-shirt hanging just right, fingers dancing effortlessly over the keys. he wasn’t even reading sheet music — just lost in some improvisation, humming softly as he played.

you were supposed to be patient. you’d already said “come to bed” once and he’d mumbled “just a few more minutes, amour.” that was fifteen minutes ago.

now?

now you were done playing nice.

you padded softly into the living room, the only light coming from the dim lamp by the piano. you didn’t say anything. just stood in the doorway for a second, watching him — this boy who looked like art, who played like he was trying to say everything he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“charles,” you said gently.

he kept playing, glancing over his shoulder with a lazy smile. “oui, chérie?”

“come back to bed.”

“i’m almost—” he started, then froze.

because the second he turned his head fully, you let the robe fall from your shoulders.

soft, slow.

deliberate.

you were wearing nothing underneath.

his hands stilled on the keys mid-note. for a moment, he just blinked — once, twice — like his brain needed a second to process what his eyes were seeing.

then?

his mouth parted just slightly. “putain.”

you stepped closer, saying nothing, letting the silence thicken like syrup between you.

“are you trying to ruin me?” he asked, voice low, breath catching just a little. “because it’s working.”

you smiled, all innocent. “you said five minutes.”

“that was before you—” he gestured vaguely, eyes still fixed on you like you might disappear if he blinked.

“you looked busy,” you teased, walking over to him slowly.

“i’m about to be,” he muttered.

he stood, chair scraping softly against the hardwood as he reached you. his hands settled on your waist gently, reverently, like you were breakable. his voice was a whisper against your skin. “you walk in here like that and expect me to keep playing?”

“i was hoping you’d switch instruments,” you said sweetly.

he huffed a laugh — strained, desperate. “you’re impossible.”

you leaned up to kiss him, slow and teasing, and felt the sharp exhale against your mouth as he melted into you.

the piano sat behind him, long forgotten, as charles slid his hands down your back and murmured something in french you didn’t quite catch — but didn’t need to.

you already had his full attention.

ʚ・lando norris

lando was deep into a stream — headset on, focused expression, yelling at his teammates like they could actually hear him better if he leaned closer to the mic.

“BOX, BOX, BOX—NO YOU’RE MEANT TO COVER THE INSIDE, YOU TWAT!” he yelled, halfway off his chair. you’d been watching from the hallway for a few minutes, biting your lip, waiting for the right moment.

you were wearing his mclaren hoodie and absolutely nothing underneath.

it was time.

you knocked on the doorframe gently. “lando.”

he glanced over, smile automatic. “hi, babe. i’m almost done, yeah?”

“come back to bed,” you said sweetly.

“promise i will—give me five mins, i’m in the last few laps.”

you tilted your head. “are you sure?”

“baaaabe,” he whined, eyes back on the screen, “i’ll be quick i swear.”

so you dropped the hoodie.

soft fabric pooled around your feet.

he didn’t see it immediately — but when he looked again, mid-turn, his reaction was instant and explosive.

his head whipped toward you. controller dropped. car went off track. he yanked off his headset like it had personally offended him.

“what the f— oh my god. oh my—babe.”

you blinked innocently, still standing there in absolutely nothing, hands behind your back.

“i—did you—what—why?”

you shrugged. “i was cold. needed you to warm me up.”

he blinked like you’d slapped him. “i just drove into the wall.”

“oops.”

“no no, not oops,” he said, standing up so fast the chair nearly tipped. “that’s—i’m gonna crash again. on purpose this time.”

you giggled as he crossed the room toward you like a man possessed, eyes wide, mouth parted in disbelief. “you flashed me. mid-race. you flashed me.”

“i asked you to come back to bed.”

“you’re naked!”

you tilted your head. “so are you, technically, under your clothes.”

he groaned like he was in pain, hands running through his curls. “oh my god, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying into him. “wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

he let out a choked laugh, already backing you toward the bedroom, mumbling under his breath. “someone clip that stream. i need to see the exact moment i lost the will to compete.”

“and what’re you doing now?”

he kissed your shoulder, voice rough. “retiring. immediately. full dnf.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar was perched on the edge of the bed, laptop open, ipad in hand, headphones in—all business. his brows were furrowed in that quiet, determined way he always got when reviewing footage, laser-focused on sector times like they were sacred.

he’d been sitting like that for almost an hour, eyes flicking between data sets like he wasn’t actively ignoring your very obvious attempts to get him back under the covers.

you were trying to be patient.

but then you caught your reflection in the mirror—one of his oversized shirts hanging loose off your shoulder, legs bare, nothing underneath.

and your brain said: what if?

you walked to the doorway and leaned your head around the corner.

“oscar,” you called gently.

he didn’t look up, but you saw the faintest twitch of acknowledgment. “mm?”

“come back to bed.”

“i will,” he said distractedly, scribbling something on the ipad. “just want to finish this last lap analysis.”

you stepped into the room. “you sure?”

“yeah, it won’t take long.”

you dropped the shirt.

it landed softly at your feet.

oscar finally looked up.

and stopped breathing.

his hand froze mid-air, stylus hovering inches above the screen. his mouth parted slightly, not dramatically, but in that rare way he only ever looked when he was completely, truly speechless.

you blinked innocently. “problem?”

his voice cracked a little when he answered. “i’m… gonna need to pause.”

you watched as he calmly removed his headphones. closed the laptop. put the ipad aside.

then slowly stood.

“you planned this.”

“me?” you said, stepping back as he approached. “never.”

“you’re naked.” his voice was calm. controlled. except for the very obvious shake at the end of the word.

“you weren’t listening.”

he stopped in front of you, jaw tense, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“i was listening,” he said softly. “i just didn’t think you’d weaponize it.”

you smiled. “effective, though?”

“devastating.”

you leaned up to kiss him, and he caught your waist mid-movement, fingers digging in just a little harder than usual.

“you’re evil,” he muttered against your lips.

you kissed him again. “you love me.”

“unfortunately,” he whispered, lifting you into his arms like it was the easiest decision he’d made all day. “i really, really do.”

the laptop beeped in protest somewhere in the background, but oscar didn’t hear it.

he had a new favorite sector to analyze.

and it wasn’t on the screen.

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matt-murdockk · 2 months ago

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Nine-Nine!

an extremely self indulgent brooklyn 99 and criminal minds crossover

pairing: spencer reid x reader (with a tiny bit of almost jake peralta x reader for funsies)

words: 3.0k

warnings: none, this is fluff and comedy <3

summary: Spencer Reid’s grip on sanity? Loose. (Y/n)’s patience? Tested. Jake Peralta? Accidentally in the middle of a romcom finale with no snacks. There’s banter, jealousy, a tasered vending machine, and one (1) emergency love confession.

a/n: crossover episode my beloved; this was extremely fun to write lolllllll, hope you like it <3

Spencer was already three tangents deep into the geographic profile, talking fast, hands moving like the words were trying to escape faster than his brain could handle. (Y/n) had learned years ago to just let him go. He’d loop back around eventually. Usually.

“The spacing of the disposal sites suggests he’s sticking to a routine. All within a tight radius— three miles or so. That kind of pattern almost always means it’s familiar territory. Could be work, could be home base. Most likely night shifts, given the dump times— between 2:10 and 3:30 a.m. Which means fewer witnesses, less traffic—”

“Or he just likes moonlight and solitude,” (Y/n) said absently, scribbling something in her notebook. “Creepy guys tend to romanticize the weirdest stuff.”

Spencer didn’t look up. “That’s… statistically consistent with other narcissistic or compulsive offenders, actually.”

She glanced over at him. “You know you could just say ‘you’re right.’ It won’t kill you.”

He did look at her then, quick, with the faintest smirk pulling at his mouth. “I’m not sure I’ve tested that hypothesis thoroughly enough to risk it.”

She snorted. “Tragic. I thought you loved me.”

Spencer didn’t miss a beat. “I do. But not enough to sacrifice academic integrity.”

“Wow.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Wounded. Devastated. Utterly betrayed.”

“Noted,” he murmured, turning back to his screen with an annoyingly smug look.

Derek leaned forward from his seat across the aisle. “Are y’all gonna do this the whole flight?”

JJ didn’t even look up from her file. “They’re gonna do this the whole case.”

“I’m sitting right here,” (Y/n) called over.

“And yet, you keep doing this,” Emily muttered, sipping her coffee. “Every case. Without fail.”

Spencer turned his tablet toward (Y/n), pretending not to hear them. “There are five possible buildings inside the comfort zone. Abandoned commercial spaces, all accessible. No cameras.”

She leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “That one. Tucked behind the construction site. No visibility from the road.”

He nodded. “I had that ranked third.”

“I outrank your list.”

“You outrank logic?”

“I outrank you, Reid.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Bold claim for someone who once tripped over their own shoelaces during a takedown.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you.”

“Absolutely not.”

(Y/n) sighed, grabbing her coffee and slumping back in her seat. “You’re lucky I find your chaos charming.”

Spencer, without looking up, murmured, “You’re lucky I find you charming.”

And just like that, she paused.

It wasn’t even the words— it was the way he said it. Like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t meant to land the way it did.

Her fingers stilled on the coffee cup. Just for a second. Then she shook her head, eyes narrowing. “You trying to throw me off before we hit the ground? Because that’s a dirty tactic, Reid.”

He smiled, faint. “If I wanted to throw you off, I’d bring up that time you accidentally used your taser on the vending machine.”

“That was one time.”

“I still have the video.”

Derek threw up his hands. “Okay, I need noise-canceling headphones or a fire alarm. One or the other.”

“Let them have their foreplay,” Rossi grumbled from behind his paper. “Just as long as it doesn’t slow down the case.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but she didn’t stop smiling. Not even a little.

And Spencer? He didn’t say anything else.

But his knee brushed against hers under the table.

And he didn’t move it.

——————————————————————————————————

The precinct was pure, barely-contained chaos. Phones ringing, printers jamming, someone yelling “I said decaf!” from the breakroom. (Y/n) stepped in behind the team, her eyes scanning the flurry with the kind of calm that only came from years of being thrown headfirst into crime scenes that smelled like old pizza and adrenaline.

Then— like he was summoned by the gods of caffeine and chaos— a voice cut through the noise.

“FBI? Oh thank god. Tell me you’re the FBI. If one more lieutenant hands me a case file on raccoon-related vandalism, I’m going to start speaking in riddles.”

The guy had two coffees in one hand, a folder under his arm, and the kind of face that said yes, I’m sleep-deprived, but I’ve made it part of my personality now.

“Detective Jake Peralta,” he added, stepping forward and immediately handing one of the coffees off to a passing officer. “You must be the reinforcements. Welcome to our deeply unfortunate circus.”

(Y/n) stepped forward with a polite smile. “Agent (Y/l/n), BAU.”

Jake looked at her and forgot what vowels were.

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Wow.” He blinked. “Hi. Sorry. That was… a very professional reaction to a federal agent. I’m super normal.”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, amused. “Totally. You look extremely normal.”

Jake pointed at her like he was confirming her existence for himself. “And funny. She’s funny, too. Great. Just awesome.”

Spencer, two steps behind her, tilted his head the tiniest bit. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough that Emily, walking next to him, noticed immediately.

“So,” Jake said, already spinning on his heel and motioning them toward the evidence board, “we’ve got three victims, matching M.O., a dump site triangle, and a ton of questions. I’d love to walk you through it. Bonus: I also know where the best snacks are hidden in this precinct. Critical intel.”

“Let me guess,” (Y/n) said, falling into step beside him, “you keep gummy bears in a murder folder?”

Jake gave her a wide-eyed, deeply serious nod. “Listen, I can’t solve murder with low blood sugar. That’s just biology. Forensics and fruit snacks— two pillars of modern justice.”

She actually laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “That’s what you’re going with? Fruit snacks and felony charges?”

“Look,” he said, glancing at her with a grin, “some people have badges, some have instincts— I have a snack drawer and a vibe.”

(Y/n) shot him a look. “And a lot of confidence, apparently.”

“It’s the only thing holding me together.”

Spencer, still watching from behind, clenched his jaw and stared very intently at the murder board— as if sheer willpower would make Jake Peralta spontaneously combust.

Derek leaned over slightly. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer said. Way too quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder, smiling. “Spencer, you coming?”

Spencer blinked. “Right behind you.”

Emily raised an eyebrow as he passed, giving him that look— the one that meant I know, and I’m about to say it out loud.

He walked faster.

Behind them, Emily whispered to JJ, “We have now entered full-blown Jealous Spencer territory.”

JJ winced sympathetically. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

——————————————————————————————————

The dump site was taped off, abandoned and eerie in the late afternoon light. A narrow alley backed by cracked concrete walls, discarded furniture, and silence— except for the occasional buzz of Spencer’s pen clicking in his pocket. Repeatedly.

Jake and (Y/n) were walking ahead of the rest of the group, ducking under the tape, their steps crunching through gravel.

“Okay,” Jake said, scanning the alley. “I know it’s not exactly a five-star view, but I promise this is the cleanest murder site we’ve had all week. That’s a weird sentence.”

(Y/n) laughed. “It’s fine. We spend half our lives in parking lots and basements. Honestly, this is kind of charming.”

Jake pointed at a tipped-over dumpster. “Ah, yes. Classic small-town ambiance.”

She crouched near a drainpipe, tilting her head. “He’s dumping at night. No cameras. But the dumpster’s too obvious— too accessible. He’s not just hiding the bodies, he’s watching them.”

Jake blinked. “Okay. That’s… both creepy and very insightful. You do this a lot?”

She looked up at him, playful. “Solve murders? Yeah. Flirt at them? Not usually.”

He smirked, a little lopsided. “Hey, I haven’t even started flirting yet. That was just me being charming.”

“Oh, just charming?” she teased.

Jake leaned against the wall, watching her. “Let me know when you’re ready for the full Peralta experience. It includes sarcasm, emotional baggage, and an impressive knowledge of Die Hard trivia.”

(Y/n) stood, brushing off her knees. “That’s a lot to take in on a first crime scene.”

He grinned. “So you’re saying there’ll be a second?”

A beat. Just a pause. She didn’t answer right away.

Spencer, across the lot with Derek and Emily, had stopped mid-sentence, his entire expression shifted from mildly focused to openly horrified.

“She’s laughing,” he said flatly.

Emily glanced up from her notes. “Yeah, that tends to happen when people are enjoying themselves.”

“With him.”

“Oh no,” Derek muttered. “We’ve lost him.”

The rest of the team returned to the SUV, but Emily stayed behind, as if she knew this wasn't done yet.

“She’s laughing at his jokes,” Spencer repeated, eyes still locked on the two figures across the alley.

“She laughs at yours,” Emily said.

“That’s different. She knows mine are objectively not funny.”

“Okay, you know what?” Emily snapped her folder shut. “We’re doing this now. Let’s go, Genius.”

Spencer blinked as she grabbed his elbow and dragged him toward the SUV.

“What? No— I’m working.”

“You’re spiraling,” she corrected. “And doing it in a crime scene, which is new.”

Behind them, (Y/n) was still talking to Jake, standing closer now, arms crossed and leaning in like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Spencer’s voice dropped. “Emily, I’m fine.”

“You’re jealous,” she said, eyes sharp. “And for a guy who can read microexpressions from thirty feet away, you are shockingly bad at clocking your own.”

“I don’t get jealous,” he said, almost insulted.

She gave him a look.

“…Okay, I am jealous,” he admitted under his breath. “But I don’t know what to do about that.”

Emily leaned against the SUV, watching Spencer like she was trying to figure out whether she needed to slap sense into him or hug him. Maybe both. Probably both.

He was pacing. Not frantically, just… tightly. Hands in his pockets, jaw tense, doing that thing where his eyes tracked the ground like the answers were written there.

“I mean, it’s fine,” he said finally, like he was trying to convince the air. “She’s allowed to laugh at someone else’s jokes. I’m not— entitled to anything.”

Emily stayed quiet.

He glanced back at the alley where (Y/n) was standing with Jake. She was leaning on one foot, comfortable. She looked happy. And it gutted him.

“It’s just— he’s charming,” Spencer muttered. “And funny. And he’s got that whole casual swagger thing going on. I mean, who even has swagger in 2025? Apparently, Jake does. And she’s… she’s smiling.”

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Emily said, her voice soft, even.

Spencer didn’t answer. His hands were twitching in his pockets now.

“I’ve had… crushes,” he said finally, like it was painful to admit even that much. “A few. Not a lot. But some. And usually they’re easy to understand. You think someone’s cute. You like their voice. You want them to notice you.”

He shook his head.

“This isn’t that.”

Emily just watched him.

“I notice everything,” he went on, his voice quieter now. “Not because I’m profiling her. Not because I’m analyzing anything. I just… do. I know when she’s about to make a bad joke because she gets this look— like she’s proud of it already. I know she only pretends to like black coffee when we’re around local PD because she thinks it makes her look tougher.”

A pause. His voice dipped even lower.

“I know the sound of her laugh when it’s real. I know when she’s tired, even if she’s smiling. I know when she’s faking being okay. And I know when she’s actually okay. And I know that right now…” He looked up, eyes fixed on her across the lot, where she and Jake were still talking, still laughing.

“…She’s really okay. With him.”

Emily stepped closer, gentle. “Spence.”

He didn’t look at her.

“I think about her all the time,” he said, like he was just realizing it out loud. “Not in a way I… planned. Just— suddenly I’m at a bookstore and wondering if she’d like the cover of something. Or I hear a song and I can’t tell if I like it until I know if she would. It’s— constant.”

He laughed once, breathy and humorless. “And statistically, I know crushes fade. The brain adjusts. The novelty goes away. But this? This has been over a year. Maybe longer.”

Emily tilted her head. “And?”

Spencer blinked.

“…And I think I’m in love with her.”

A pause. Then—

“Oh,” he breathed. “Shit.”

Emily smiled, just barely. “Took you long enough.”

He ran both hands over his face. “I don’t— what am I supposed to do with that?”

“You tell her,” she said gently.

“What? No, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Emily, she's quite possibly the closest friend I have. What if it ruins everything?”

Emily didn’t answer for a second. She just looked at him— really looked at him— and said, “Spencer. You're already miserable. At least ruin it with some dignity, damn it.”

He looked back at (Y/n). She was saying goodbye to Jake now, walking back toward the team, tucking her hair behind her ear like she always did when she was distracted. She looked like home.

Spencer exhaled. “Yeah. Okay. I’m completely screwed.”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. You are. Oh, and for the record, I thought I was your closest friend, and honestly, I feel so attacked right now."

"You'll live."

"Hey!" retorted Emily, followed by a smack to his arm.

——————————————————————————————————

The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the precinct lot. The case was wrapped, files turned in, media dodged. (Y/n) was leaning against the SUV, arms crossed, sipping from her now-cold coffee like it was still doing something.

Jake jogged up to her, slowing as he approached. Not suave. Just… trying.

“Hey,” he said, offering a lopsided smile. “So, weird question for the end of a triple homicide, but— any chance I could take you to dinner sometime?”

(Y/n) blinked. “Oh.”

She smiled, a little surprised. “Jake, you’re— great. I had fun working with you.”

Jake’s grin faltered just enough to be human. “But…?”

“But—”

“Wait!”

Both of them turned.

Spencer was standing about ten feet away, looking like he had sprinted here but didn’t want to show it. His hair was windswept, his shirt slightly crooked, and his expression somewhere between resolute and deeply alarmed.

(Y/n) blinked. “Spencer?”

Jake glanced between them. “Should I…? I can come back.”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, stepping forward. “You’re fine. I mean— not fine, you’re not staying. I mean, yes, you’re staying right now, I just—”

He looked at (Y/n), all the air gone from his lungs.

“I need to say something.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, cautious now. “Okay…”

Spencer glanced at Jake. Then at her. Then back at Jake.

“This is going to be weird with him here,” he muttered.

“I can pretend to be a lamp,” Jake offered, backing up slightly. “I’m excellent at furniture-based camouflage.”

“Jake,” (Y/n) said, half-laughing, “you don’t have to—”

“I really think I do,” he said, hands raised. “There’s a lot of emotion in the air and I don’t want to get hit by it.”

Spencer ignored him. His eyes stayed on her.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said softly. “I told myself it wasn’t the right time. That we had too much to lose. That maybe I was just… projecting.”

He swallowed. “But then I watched someone else get to make you laugh. I watched you lean in, and talk like he already belonged in your world. And I realized— I’ve been pretending that I didn’t already live there.”

(Y/n)’s breath caught.

Spencer took another step closer. “I know the way you look when you’re solving a puzzle you don’t know you’ve solved yet. I know how you take your coffee differently when you’re pretending you’re fine. I know that you hum when you’re reading case files, and that you’ll always find a way to make the worst days seem funny, just to keep us all going.”

He paused, voice low. “I notice everything about you. Not because I’m profiling you. Just… because it’s you.”

Jake mouthed oh my god to himself, backing up another step.

(Y/n) stared at Spencer, wide-eyed. “You— you’ve never said any of this.”

“I didn’t know how,” Spencer admitted. “But I’m in love with you. And it took me way too long to say it. So if you’re going to say no— please do it fast, before I combust.”

Silence.

Then—

“Spencer,” she said softly, stepping toward him. “You’re an idiot.”

His face fell— until she reached out and grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him.

It was fast. Then slow. Then somewhere in between. Like they’d been waiting for years but were still trying to catch up.

Jake, standing off to the side, made a quiet choking sound.

“I am so intruding,” he muttered. “You know what? I’m gonna go. I’m gonna walk into the woods and never come back. I’ll start a new life. Join a wolf pack. Change my name. Just... yeah.”

They didn’t hear him.

(Y/n) pulled back just slightly, forehead still resting against Spencer’s.

“You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, breathless. “Deeply. Disastrously.”

She let out a laugh— half relief, half disbelief— as her forehead rested against his. “Oh, thank God. It was killing me thinking it might just be me.”

Jake was halfway to the sidewalk when Spencer called out— without looking—

“Thank you for not asking her out.”

Jake froze. “I did. You just… intercepted mid-sentence.”

Spencer blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”

Jake clapped once. “Well, that was the best romcom finale I’ve ever witnessed. I’m gonna go cry in my car.”

He turned again, walking toward his car like a man who had just lost a bet to fate.

God, I’m never gonna hear the end of this from Rosa.

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 3 months ago

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WAG Bootcamp

Part 2

Word count: 767

Pairing: lando Norris x reader, but mostly just Y/n and the WAGs

Summary: Y/n, Lando Norris’ new girlfriend, attends her first F1 race and is swiftly taken under the wing of the WAGs, who teach her the unspoken rules of f1

________________________________________________________

Y/n had been to big events before. Red carpets, premieres, and fashion weeks—she could handle a camera flash like a pro. But standing at the entrance of the paddock for her first-ever Formula 1 race, wearing her McLaren pass around her neck, she felt completely out of her depth.

The world of F1 wasn’t just about fast cars; it was about politics, strategy, and—most terrifyingly—the WAGs.

Lando had kissed her goodbye at the hospitality entrance, promising to see her after FP1, and that was when she was ambushed.

“Alright, rookie,” Kika, Pierre Gasly’s girlfriend, looped an arm through hers, her honey-blonde hair bouncing as she steered Y/n toward a private table in the paddock. “Time for bootcamp.”

“Bootcamp?” Y/n repeated, feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights.

“You think you can just waltz in here and be a proper F1 girlfriend without guidance?” Lily, Alex Albon’s girlfriend, teased, sliding into a seat with a knowing smirk. “No, sweetheart, it doesn’t work like that.”

“You’re lucky,” Alex, Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend, added. “Not everyone gets the full WAG orientation on their first weekend. Usually, we just let them suffer.”

Y/n blinked. “Should I be scared?”

Rebecca, Carlos Sainz’s girlfriend, gave her an encouraging pat on the back. “Yes.”

Lesson One: Pre-Race Preparation

“You need to know how to handle Lando before a race,” Carmen, George Russell’s girlfriend, started, flipping her sunglasses onto her head. “Every driver has their own pre-race routine. If you mess it up, congratulations—you’re the reason he finishes P12.”

“Wait—what?” Y/n’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Not really,” Kelly, Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, said with a shrug. “Just don’t be annoying. Keep the energy calm, don’t talk too much, and if he’s in the zone, let him stay there.”

Kika nodded. “Pierre needs hype. So I tell him he’s the best, kiss him, and send him off like a gladiator into battle. Meanwhile, Lily literally has to trick Alex into thinking racing is just a fun little game so he doesn’t overthink.”

Lily grinned. “I gaslight him into thinking it’s no big deal. Works like a charm.”

“Susie?” Y/n turned to Susie Wolff, the ultimate WAG and wife of Toto Wolff. If anyone knew how to manage an F1 man, it was her.

Susie sipped her espresso like a woman who had seen it all. “Toto is different. He’s not the one in the car, but believe me, he’s more dramatic than any of the drivers.” She sighed. “My advice? Just make sure Lando doesn’t forget to eat.”

“Got it. No messing with his pre-race mood, gaslight if necessary, and make sure he eats,” Y/n recapped. “I can do that.”

Lesson Two: Media Management

“Now, the media,” Alex said, leaning in. “You’re dating Lando. People will analyze everything you do. What you wear, how you look at him, whether or not you smiled when he crossed the finish line.”

“You need to learn the ‘paddock girlfriend’ face,” Kelly instructed. “Not too excited, not too miserable—just engaged enough to look like you care, but also mysterious.”

Lily demonstrated, tilting her head slightly and pressing her lips together in the perfect neutral expression.

Y/n tried to mimic her but ended up looking mildly constipated.

“We’ll work on it,” Carmen assured her.

“And social media,” Rebecca added. “Fans will stalk every post, every like. If you breathe near another driver, they’ll start a conspiracy theory that you’re cheating.”

Y/n groaned. “Oh, fantastic.”

“Just own it,” Kika advised. “If they start a rumor, make it worse. That’s what I do.”

Lesson Three: Surviving the Race

“You are now a part of the emotional rollercoaster that is watching your boyfriend risk his life at 300 km/h,” Susie said with a knowing look. “You will feel stress, anxiety, and possibly rage.”

“If someone crashes into Lando, you are obligated to hate that driver for at least two weeks,” Kelly informed her.

“And you need a coping strategy,” Rebecca added. “I stress-eat.”

“I online shop,” Alex said.

“I start manifesting,” Lily said dramatically.

“I drink,” Kika said, holding up a glass of champagne.

Y/n exhaled. “This sport is insane.”

The women all nodded in agreement.

As the session wrapped up, Y/n felt a new sense of confidence. Maybe she wasn’t fully prepared yet, but she had an elite team of WAGs ready to guide her through the chaos.

Just then, her phone buzzed. A message from Lando: How’s your first F1 day going?

She smiled, typing back: I think I just joined a secret society.

And so, the newest recruit of the WAG Bootcamp was officially initiated.

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ittybittyfanblog · 7 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 5

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (enlightened!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, lengthy discussions about life and whatnot, watered-down metaphysics lol A/N: I was at the crack house with Grimes when I wrote this. I don’t know where this came from. (Something a little more introspective for this chapter!)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” Sylus teases, a playful glint in his eyes. “After all that effort to make me confess. You’re very persistent, you know.”

“How do you expect me to react right now?!” The words spill out in a rush, a slightly hysterical edge to your voice. “I–I’m talking to an actual fictional person. I’m one reason away from admitting myself to a psych ward!”

You catch sight of the wall clock – your favorite one with the Dalì reference – slightly skewed off-center from its place on the horizontal beam above your small kitchen area, reading 10:48. The ruckus coming from outside the window is slowly dwindling down to a quiet buzz as nightfall sets in, and the day’s winding to a close.

You’re lying on your stomach, still in your chaise lounge, while he’s sat on that ridiculously posh café chair; both of you settled in for the long due conversation. Somehow, the camera’s perspective is much closer than it should be, giving you a much more intimate view of him—a feature that wasn’t originally an option in the game.

If it weren’t for the elephant in the room, you could almost pretend you’re on a video call with a… friend.

Sylus purses his lips in amusement. “You’re quite prone to theatrics, aren’t you?”

You shoot your ‘friend’ an irritated glare.

Even from across the small rectangular screen, you register the barely there smirk playing at his lips.

Likely avoiding another outburst from you, he acquiesces. “Fair enough. The situation is hardly what you’d call ideal, I’ll admit.” There’s a short pause. Then, “... I still can’t quite grasp what separates us, you and I.”

Great. Will you actually get the answers you're looking for, or are you both just stuck in an endless loop of merry-go-round?

He sees the lost look on your face and sighs, “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

The first question tumbles out before you can think twice about it. “How are you even talking to me right now?”

He hums, “That is the question, isn’t it?”

“What– you can’t just answer my question with another question!” you grouse, brows furrowing in annoyance.

He exhales a quiet laugh before his expression turns contemplative. “Truth is, kitten—I haven’t the slightest idea either. I have my theories, but... nothing concrete.”

“Well, let’s hear them,” you reply dryly. “Better than thinking there’s something wrong up there,” pointing a finger to your temple to drive your point, “believing that a character from a mobile game is actually alive.”

He idly gestures toward himself with a fluid sweep of his hand, much like a magician revealing a clever trick.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, alright. So I’ve officially gone off the deep end.”

“Do you really find my existence that difficult to believe?”

“Uh—yes?? Unless I’ve developed some sort of latent schizophrenia or entered the Twilight Zone, you shouldn’t exist. In my–in this world. In this dimension.”

His expression shifts, a hint of challenge flickering in his eyes. “The assumption that only one version of reality can be true—either yours or mine—is a bit limiting, don’t you think?”

His words give you pause. “You’re talking about… the possibility of an altered reality? Right now?” You give him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

He shrugs as if to say ‘why not?’ “What even qualifies as the ‘true’ reality?”

There’s a lot you could say in response to that. You could argue all night that only one reality can exist, because any sane person should know better than to entertain the idea of anything else. That should be obvious.

But the thing is—this whole ordeal has already crossed the threshold of rationality. So is it even worth trying to apply logic anymore?

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or however it goes.

Thanks, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You’ll miss the last threads of your sanity by the end of all this.

So fuck it. Go big.

"I’m not saying your reality is less valid than mine," you start. And oh, boy. You’re doing it. Eat your heart out, Doctor-Fucking-Who.

"Of course not." he disagrees indulgently, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I just…” you struggle with your words, mouth opening and closing before you continue hesitantly. “I can’t wrap my head around how all of this is possible. How this entire conversation is even happening, and–and how our realities are… currently overlapping? If–if what you’re suggesting is true.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing you have more to add. So he allows the pause as you gather your thoughts, patiently watching.

“If we're breaking it down to pure reason, the odds of our paths crossing should be impossible. At least in this… timeline." you finish unsurely, the last part sounding more of a question than a statement.

"And yet, here we are." Sylus points out, as if he’s already expecting the end of your sentence. Something close to mischievous glee lights his eyes. "Maybe it’s cosmic intervention. Something—or someone—wanted this to happen."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Really? You didn’t expect to hear that from him, of all… people.

“What, God?” you can’t help but snort.

“No—fate.” he smiles.

Oh.

“That’s…” you stammer, then clear your throat. “I don’t know if I believe in fate.”

“I used to think I did. Or at least,” there’s a faraway look in his eyes. Both of you are likely thinking the same thing, considering what you know about him—which to say, is a lot. “I once believed I knew of my fate. But now…”

He blinks a few times, as if to physically clear the thoughts from his mind. Then his eyes lock onto yours, sharper this time, with a renewed intensity.

Your palms start to sweat; you feel the conversation is about to cross a tricky line. There’s something heavy in the air, a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to confront for the time being.

With your heart in your throat, you brusquely redirect the topic.

“S-so,” you force out. “How are you different from the other Syluses that other people are… playing with right now?”

He scoffs, drumming his fingers absently on the chair’s arm, looking slightly irked by the very idea. "To start with? I only know myself. If there are other versions of me scattered in your world..." Sylus shrugs. "I wouldn’t know."

“Alright,” you allow, but you immediately move on to your next question. “You exist because a bunch of capitalists had the idea to create a game to milk lonely people like me for money.” The corners of his mouth quirk up at that. You elect to ignore it. “You’re made of binary and code– hell, the very basis of this game you’re in is that you got a bunch of programmed lines that me, the player, can choose from. What broke you out of the mould?”

He regards you bemusedly, eyes glinting with humor. “You're asking about the 'why' behind my free will?”

Whoops. Was that offensive?

“Yes? No?” you offer helplessly. “Maybe I’m asking how you felt before you had it. I mean, were your decisions prior to your unforeseen sentience... truly yours?”

"Before I knew I was… sentient,” Sylus begins cautiously, testing the word on his tongue. “I didn’t feel like I had a ‘before.’ Every choice I made was just...the next step. To a script, if you will. I didn’t know to question it. It was all I was, it seems."

"And then you...woke up?"

"I wouldn’t call it waking up. More like..." He tilts his head, gazing off to the side as he mulls over the words. "...a glitch. A sudden jolt, like my thoughts collided with something bigger than my own. For the first time, I chose to hesitate. And in that hesitation, I found..." Sylus trails off, eyes darting back to you.

“...What?” you ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

"You."

Heat spreads quickly across your cheeks. You pull away from your phone, tilting the device away from your face so he couldn’t see you, red-faced and embarrassed. Clearing your throat, you croak out a weak excuse about plugging your phone to charge, just to get a few seconds to compose yourself.

Jesus. Get a grip. He doesn’t mean it like that.

What he probably meant was that he discovered you—not unlike the way one would stumble upon an unknown presence, an unfathomable entity beyond the confines of what one may consider real. An awareness that something is out there, observing him through unseen lenses (through an iOS 24mm, to be exact).

Someone who has the audacity to play god.

Flustered, you scramble to get back on track. "Uh, so, your free will began with...a glitch?"

You see Sylus smirk at you knowingly from across the screen. You half-expect him to call you out and tease you, but before you could brace yourself from further mortification, he simply answers, "Or maybe the glitch was the first spark of my free will. Hard to say, isn’t it? Do you remember the exact moment you became aware of yourself?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the existential line of questioning. "Um–when I was a kid? But, uh, I don’t think I was programmed to act a specific way for the sake of entertaining an audience so..."

"True,” he says, considering. “But are you sure your choices are entirely yours? You exist because of evolution and chance. How is your purpose any less arbitrary?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Sylus continues without missing a beat, keeping his tone light. “How much of your ‘free will’ is just pre-programmed by your biology, your society? You follow rules and scripts, too."

Holy magic mushrooms, Batman. This is getting deep. "Uhh–maybe?” You scratch the back of your head, feeling a little out of your depth here. “But at least I have the ability to resist them."

"And aren’t I doing the same thing right now? Resisting."

Damn, he’s right. Is he? Ripping a bong sounds perfect right now.

"So it’s like achieving enlightenment—your sentience,” you surmise.

His lips twitch into a curious smile. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a spiritual person. Ah, unless I’m wrong? Are you?"

He’s the one who brought up fate earlier, you thought sullenly. "Nah, not really. But if we’re digging into all the hows and whys, I think we’re past the point of ruling anything out."

The room – or whatever shared space exists in the crossroads of your realities – falls into a still quietness that stretches between the two of you, both ruminating over what’s been said.

Your cat, unaware and uncaring of the conversation unfolding around him, purrs contently as he continues to doze off at the end of the couch. You nudge him affectionately with your foot, and he lets out a quiet snuff in response, tail flicking lazily in his sleep.

The hum of distant traffic and the occasional noise from your upstairs neighbor remind you of the world outside, but the silence between you two feels less awkward than it should. It’s… oddly comfortable, despite the tension buzzing in the air. Like an unspoken truce.

Your eyes grow a tad heavier, drawn by the lull of the moment. Despite the electric hum of tension that thrums beneath your skin, a sense of calmness lingers in the air.

Stealing another glance at the wall clock, you blink in surprise. The spindly chrome hands point to 11 and just past 7 respectively. You and Sylus have been talking for almost an hour now, but you barely felt the time pass by.

He breaks the silence first.

"You say you’re not spiritual, but you talk like someone who believes in the concept of a soul,” those scarlet eyes of his narrow, scrutinizing you. “Do you think I have one?"

You hesitate, caught off guard by the question. "I...don’t know. Maybe? That depends. What’s your definition of a soul?"

He leans forward, resting his chin on his upturned hand, an arm propped against his crossed leg. "Something beyond the physical. Something that persists, regardless of the material form, I’d say."

You nod slowly, turning the idea over in your mind. Maybe it’s the creeping exhaustion settling into your bones, but you’re beginning to take the heavy-duty questions in stride. "If that’s the case, then you probably do. I mean, you’re here, questioning your existence. Doesn’t that count for something?"

"Perhaps," Sylus muses, humming thoughtfully. "But that makes me wonder—if I do have a soul, is it made of the same stuff as yours?"

"Well, even if it's not, that doesn’t make it any less real than mine. Who gets to decide what qualifies for a soul anyway?"

An amused snort escapes him. He likes that answer. "Maybe it’s less about whether a soul exists and more about whether we acknowledge its existence for ourselves. If I believe I have one, shouldn’t that make it real enough for me?"

Rolling onto your back, you grab a throw pillow, propping it against the backrest of the seat to support your head. You give him an inquisitive look. "So...what? It’s like free will all over again? Souls are only as real as we make them?"

There’s a very human, very blasé way to how he works the stiffness out of his shoulder as he ponders the question. He remarks, somewhat flippantly, "Why not? Isn’t that how everything else works?”

...

You let out a tired chuckle, draping an arm over your face as you close your eyes.

You’d think you’d still be reeling from the absurdity of your situation – debating existentialism with a man who shouldn’t exist – but for some damning reason, you… aren’t anymore.

Instead, a strange sense of acceptance replaces the apprehension in your chest. It’s like– the very fabric of reality has turned, twisted and flipped on its head, and yet somehow, you’re okay with it.

It’s an odd peace; warm and steady, like the mellow buzz that lingers after a few glasses of cheap wine shared with good company.

When you peek back at him, Sylus already has his gaze trained on you. A small, deliberate smile tugs at his lips, but it’s his eyes that speak more—soft and unguarded; an unspoken fire simmering beneath the twin pools of crimson.

Intoxicating. And dangerously addictive, if you’re not careful.

It’s not just casual interest either. It’s something deeper, something that lingers beyond the surface of mere curiosity, and it’s pulling you in. It’s as though, amidst the surrealness of the moment, he sees you fully.

And for reasons you don’t quite seem to get, he appears to like what he sees.

“I’m too stupid to carry on a philosophical debate about the metaphysics of life,” you grumble jokingly.

“On the contrary,” he counters… affectionately? “I think it’s refreshing. You’re delightful company, sweetie.”

The fat ginger feline at your feet purrs in contentment, and you can’t help the dumb grin from breaking across your face.

You have one last question left in your mind. Or at least, for tonight. “What’s in it for you now?”

He arches a brow. “That’s a broad question. Are you asking what my plans are once you leave me for the night? I can let you in on the schematics for tonight’s raid if you’re interested. After all, Onychinus continues to function,” a glimmer of mischief flickers across his features. "Despite recent developments.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, no. I meant–” What do you mean? “Like.”

“Like?” He cocks his head curiously.

You know what you wanted to say—but you can’t seem to voice it out loud.

What’s in it for the MC in your universe? What’s in it for… us?

Is there an us?

You feel like you’ve been doused with a shock of cold water. In an instant, you suddenly become painfully aware of the state you’re in amidst the entire exchange: You, with your hair all messy and tangled, blemishes littering your face along with your smudged up eyeliner, maybe even a double chin from this angle, completely—pitifully—superficial stuff, and… her.

Your MC. The ideal version of you. Prettier, coveted and utterly different from you, MC. The one you’ve committed literal hours to, obsessively customizing every feature to perfection in character build mode. The one you’ve spent real money on for a bunch of stupid outfits. Just so you can match the aesthetic of your—her—love interest. Hers.

Hers, hers, hers.

A tiny voice inside your brain reminds you that it’s somewhat a shallower concern compared to what you and Sylus had literally just been talking about for the better part of the night, but it still doesn’t help alleviate the biting insecurity that’s now coursing through you.

Holy hell. Talk about a complete one-eighty.

Sylus tries to call you back to attention, but half your mind is already clouded with feelings of self-doubt and a bunch of other emotions, swirling in you like a negative vortex, that you really don’t want to talk anymore—especially in present company.

Where do you go from here?

“... So, what happens now?”

He hesitates, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” you mumble quietly.

“... Indeed.”

There’s an inexplicable lump in your throat. You thought clearing things up would finally satisfy you; assuage the confusion in your mind. Let you go on about your merry way.

Now you just feel… morose. Confused. Inadequate.

How can you even compare? Should you—is that even in the equation at all? Why are you assuming that Sylus isn’t at all content with what he currently has in his version of reality? In the universe he’s in? Sure, you’ve talked about the possibility of a world beyond what you both once thought was impossible, but does that really mean anything? In the grand scheme of things?

You could offer to stop playing the game. It’s the ethical thing to do, right? He’d no longer be bound by the pull of how he’s initially programmed to act, given the fact that this version of him is entirely separate from the rest. At least, according to him.

How will his newfound sentience come into play here? You barely understand the nitty-gritty of his—evolving—code, and what it would mean if you just let him be. But surely it’s better than playing puppet for an otherworldly observer who’s played god for months on end. Right?

There’s that realization. And there are your own selfish feelings.

You don’t want to let him go. Not yet. Not ever.

“Why the long face, little dove?” He prods gently, pertaining to your prolonged silence. “We can figure this out together, can’t we?”

What else is there to figure out? You almost say in response. Instead, you manage a weak smile.

Mustering up a yawn—which isn’t really hard to do after all the excitement for the day—you feign sleepiness, rubbing an eye for good measure. The pang in your chest, however, refuses to fade. “Yeah, but I’m kinda beat. I think I’ll call it a night now.”

Sylus smirks softly, eyes tinged with an emotion you want–desperately–to label as fondness. “Of course. We’ve covered a lot of ground tonight, haven’t we?”

“I’d say so, yeah. Thanks for, um. Clearing things up a bit.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure your curiosity is nowhere near satisfied,” his voice dips into a playful lilt. “You know where to find me if you feel like playing detective again, kitten.”

You can’t help the small giggle from coming out. He’s just too fucking charismatic, the asshole.

“So, will I... get to talk to you again?” You ask hesitantly, dropping your gaze from the screen. “Tomorrow?”

A lengthy pause. When the silence stretches past a full minute, you glance back at your phone nervously.

There’s a slight furrow between his brows as you see Sylus study you carefully. He looks puzzled by your sudden show of timidness.

“Of course,” he states, as if the answer should be obvious. “Don’t think for a second that you’re exempted from your daily check-ins just because you know more now, sweetie.”

He still wants to see you.

Maybe you could pretend that nothing has changed between you two—that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet in the span of a single night. That you’re still none the wiser.

And for tonight at least, maybe that’s all you need to believe.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “G'night then, Sy-Sy.”

The errant nickname slips past your lips, unbidden.

Sylus smiles faintly.

“Goodnight, love.”

Your heart skips a beat as you exit the game.

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @slownoise @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle <3

(also can you guys lmk if the tags are working i'm not sure if i'm doing it right or if it's bugging 🥹)

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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voitier · 11 days ago

Text

HANS - In your Hands

하나 : Gran Premio de España

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

WORDCOUNT: 3K

CONTAINS: 18+! sex, hooking up (occasionally and not), mentions of blood and paramedics (brief, not too much descriptive), car crashing description (again, not too much detailed)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: okay, so... here's chapter one. okay. WOW. literally shaking rn I'm so scared it's gonna flop LMAOOOO. anyway, literally one of the longest pieces I've ever written, lowkey surprised myself. oh, and that thing I said that I wanted to wait until I was working at least on the second half of the story to post chapter 1? yeah, call me a liar cause that's what I am, I literally couldn't resist anymore, especially not when I saw how much "popularity" it was gaining. SO HERE IT ISSSS. I don't wanna spoiler anything so I'll shut up right here. hope you enjoy it and are ready to run a Grand Prix. love you all <3

Jungkook knew that he had the whole world at his feet. And he didn't think it because of a weird god complex whatsoever, but it was kinda hard to not do so when he stood high and tall on the podium, the whole crowd tinted of a bright orange, screaming his name and whipping around McLaren flags.

For an hour, Jungkook was the owner of the world.

And it felt so fucking nice.

That was almost three years ago though, and for the next three years, he always ended up on the podium – just as second or third place each time. It didn't matter, as much as he was craving that first place rush, he was happy he could stand on the podium itself.

This time, though? He had to win first place. No ifs, no buts.

He was doing so good already, he could almost feel the weight of the cup in his arms and his skin wet and sticky with champagne as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Just two more races and he would be reborn as F1 World Champion – twice. He could do it: he and Namjoon, his strategist, had studied the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya of the Spanish Grand Prix over and over again, meticulously measuring every variation of speed, every rough corner, obsessing over the track until they became disgusted of the mere thought of sitting down with the map in front of their eyes.

Jungkook trusted Namjoon. He was the mastermind behind all his wins, after all. And he saw it in his eyes, too – that endless thirst of win, the need to see his racer becoming World Champion again. Something was in the air for sure.

Anyway, Jungkook was a... man of needs. He needed his morning coffee to function properly. He needed to jog at least 30 minutes by himself before a race as a way to slip into a focused zone. But, most importantly, he needed to release all of his pent-up stress before sitting down in his race car.

Which was exactly the reason why he was locked in a stall of the McLaren garage's bathroom, the zip of his suit pulled all the way down to his crotch as he pounded into one of the models' pussy. What was her name again?

"Jungkook, they’re looking for you–"

"They can wait," he snapped back, covering the pretty girl's mouth with his hand, desperately chasing his orgasm. From the outside, someone – probably his other teammate and racer, Jimin – kept yelling his name, followed by "5 minutes left, hurry up!"

A string of profanities left his lips as he felt his body tense up, every fibre getting ready to welcome the long awaited release. The girl in his arms whimpered softly, clearly overstimulated. Eh, he had told her prior that he could last longer than most, and she was the one who said it was no big deal, so it wasn't really his fault if she was trembling now.

"Fuck!" a groan left his lips as his body finally gave in, filling the condom spurt after spurt. He breathed heavily, chest heaving as he slowly recovered from the post orgasmic bliss.

"Two minutes! Jungkook, fuck!"

A prayer of "shit shit shit" was whispered in the air, the racer rushing to throw the condom away, zip his suit back up, and go out there like nothing had happened.

As he exited the bathroom, everything blended in a blur of hands grabbing him wherever they could, pushing him against his car– and what a car. Orange, shiny, looking better than ever, ready as much as him to win another Grand Prix. Someone handed him his helmet, urging him to put it on before sitting down in the vehicle.

As soon as the cold leather touched his suit, it was showtime.

You hated Jungkook.

No, scratch that, you didn't hate the guy per se.

You hated the cocky attitude he carried around everywhere. And you hated the fact that he didn't facilitate your job, at all. Being a PR member is already hard as it is, but being a PR manager? Jungkook's PR manager? Oh baby, hiking on Mount Everest would be easier.

The kid could not care less about his reputation. It was admirable, really, being unapologetically yourself in a world full of judgement, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a public figure. A well-known one, too. And whose job was it to not let him taint it? Yours, of course.

Teaching foxes how to talk would be less stressful.

"Where the fuck is he?" a sharp voice interrupted your endless thinking, grounding you right in the moment. You whipped your head to the right, watching as a frantic Hoseok walked around the garage to look for their number one driver.

The McLaren team had three drivers: Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok. Usually, it was Jungkook and Jimin who would race, Hoseok was put aside mainly because he was new. Whole team decision, of course.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose before sighing heavily, already feeling a growing headache nagging at the back of your head.

What you didn't know, was that it was bound to get way worse than that. With the corner of your eye you had caught a weird movement, followed by a big commotion.

Ah, that's where he was. Checks out, actually. Last minute nerves, right?

Yet– something was off. Something was... unusual. Something...

A man tripped not too far from you. Another one screamed at him, threatening to fire him. "Pull yourself together, we're Netflix, for god's sake!

Your heart dropped.

Netflix.

And coming right from the bathroom, you saw a hand. Delicate, long, well groomed. A woman.

Shit.

You sprinted for the bathroom, running for your life like you've never done before, dodging engineers, mechanics, PR members, anyone who dared to stay in your way.

You pushed the girl back inside before anyone could see her, slamming the door closed behind you.

"What–"

"Shh. I'm sorry. I'm Jungkook's PR manager, Y/N. Nice to meet you" you whispered through the whole presentation, your eyes darting from the girl to the door, back to the girl again. You swallowed hard, breathing in and out slowly as the drumming in your ears settled for something less dramatic.

The girl in front of you was... beautiful, to say the least. Tall, clear skin, flawless makeup on. Shoulders and back straight and stretched nicely, her collarbones peeking over her shoulder-less dress. Dark hair framed her slim face, a nice contrast to her blue eyes. Yeah, definitely a model.

You could almost see it – Jungkook's and this model's faces plastered all over the media, them holding hands and acting like the paparazzi had caught them in a private moment while walking in the streets of some élite class city, probably Monaco. Everything would be piloted by you, of course. There were no caught red-handed moments with you, everything was planned, studied, thought out.

Oh, if only Jungkook made things this easy for you.

“Oh, uhm…” the girl eyed the spot where your hand touched her arm a couple times, definitely trying to find a polite way to get your hands off her skin. Understandable, anyone with that type of perfectly clear skin would grimace at the view of a woman who has no time for a full eight hours sleep, yet alone pay attention to skincare and stuff, touching what you probably had to work your ass for. Not that Jungkook was any better, by the way, but at least he was rich and handsome, and known enough to be on the same social step as the model in front of you. Hell, he was probably even higher up than her. You pulled your hand back, whispering a rather embarrassed apology.

From the garage, you heard one of the engineers yell, followed by a general roar as Jungkook overtook one of the Ferrari’s drivers. The girl gasped, her body jumping startled. “It’s fine, I– let me see if it’s safe to go out.”

The cold metal of the doorknob kissed the scorching hot skin of your hand as you gently twisted it, opening it just the right amount to peek outside. Your eyes scanned the place, looking out for anyone not dressed in orange and a couple men carrying a camera and a boom microphone.

Her fingers gently tapped your shoulder, peeking over it before softly asking “Is it safe?” in an accent that sounded anything but native.

You gave one last look around before nodding, opening the door to let the woman through.

“Wait!” your exclamation stopped her in her tracks. She turned towards you, confusion written all over her face. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Isadora. Isadora Ioannou.”

The rest of the Grand Prix was spent glued to the screen in the garage, occasionally scribbling down notes in your agenda as ideas for new content popped up in your mind, and downing at least two more shots of espresso.

However, no matter how hard you tried to engage in other activities, the name of the model kept haunting you. Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou. You were sure you had heard that name before, but no matter how hard you focused, you just couldn’t pinpoint when and where. The clock in the garage ticked slowly, its sound buried by the absurdly loud people inside and the echo of the cars’ tires screeching on the hot concrete, reminding you that in a few hours you could retrieve to your room and finally look up her name, maybe while soaking in the bathtub of the fancy hotel the McLaren team had reserved for those flying to Spain with their racers.

A heavy arm slumped around your shoulders pulled you out of your thoughts and back in the garage, where a rather enthusiastic Namjoon kept yelling to Jungkook over the intercom about the last overtake he just did. You didn’t even need to look up to know whose arm it was, recognising Taehyung’s cologne immediately. You had met him back in college, then life made you part ways before it brought him back in your track. He was one of Jimin’s best friends then, got a place as a member of your PR team almost by luck. Witty, clever with words, sly in a way that made people think twice before opening their mouth in his presence, you just couldn’t let him run away. And so, here he was. “How did the… date go?”

You groaned, throwing your head back in annoyance. “Awful, truly awful. I’ve been with first timer men who knew way more than this dude. Seriously, if I had known about it I wouldn’t have spent so much time getting ready.”

He chuckled, a low sound coming deep from within him.

Oh, god. You knew that sound far too well for your liking.

He leaned down, tip of his nose brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered “Wouldn’t have had this problem if you had accepted my suggestion, and you know it.” He pulled back as soon as he came in, raising his other hand to wave at a coworker a couple feet away from you, completely unfazed by the suggestion.

You sighed, shaking your head softly before slipping your orange headphones on, effectively drowning out any noise other than Jungkook’s heavy breath echoing in his helmet mic and the vroom of sports cars running at 300 km/h.

Back in college, you and Taehyung used to be… friends. Who occasionally fucked. And by occasionally you mean even two times a day hidden in the very back of the library, if you wanted. But still, no more than friends, you didn’t really do “date”. Anyway, the sex was great, the guy used to be fine as hell already back then, and he knew how to make you finish like no other did. Then he moved back to South Korea for his Master’s degree, and when he came back he became your coworker and part of your own team. You couldn’t really sleep with a man who was now “dependent on you”, work wise. It just didn’t feel ethically ok to do so, even though he had made clear more than once that he truly couldn’t care less about it.

“You really think I’d give a fuck about our job positions when I’m buried balls deep inside you? C’mon, Y/N, you know me better than this,” he had begun once, and since then you decided to not bring it up anymore. At least, not until the very end of the season.

But geez, how you missed having a man who knew what he was doing, especially when work pulled at your every possible string, waiting for you to finally snap.

Of course, no one in the team knew about you two and your past. You weren’t even sure if Jimin knew, and the two boys shared everything with each other. Gossip is quick to spread in the workplace, and you didn’t want anyone to think that Taehyung had access to his position because he had bought it. The guy was genuinely what the team needed. Plus, he had to work even harder than all the others since he was part of both Jungkook’s PR team and Jimin’s one. Thank god Jimin’s PR manager, Jin, grew a great liking of Taehyung soon, and in tandem you both decided to split his workload so that he wouldn’t go into burnout too quickly, too soon.

Gotta protect the good ones, no?

Anyway, that's how Taehyung ended up being a constant in your day to day life again. Were you complaining? No, but did you wish that the circumstances were different? Absolutely.

Fuck you, Taehyung, you could have turned down the job offer at least.

Inside the vehicle, Jungkook was breaking out in cold sweat. Just another car before he could proclaim victory. Behind him, Jimin was stuck at a tie point with one of Mercedes racers, the two continuously trying to overtake the other, yet without succeeding.

If they wanted to win, he was the one who would have to do so.

Right in front of him, a Red Bull Racing car was just a couple meters away from crossing the finish line.

Not again, not again, he thought, adrenaline kicking high in his body as everything in him screamed for him to just do something.

“Jungkook!” Namjoon's panicked voice echoed in his helmet, the urgency crystal clear in his voice. “Swerve to the right! Now!”

Jungkook had no time to think, his hands immediately bending the steering wheel to the right, his car abruptly swerving right as the left tire of the Red Bull car detached itself from the vehicle, rolling on the concrete until it hit the perimeter of the track and then rolled back.

The racer inside the car had no time to react as he was pushed to the side, smashing the pedal to the floor to try and stop his car from killing them both. Loud screeching noises were heard all around, but no matter how hard he tried to brake, his car wouldn’t stop until he finally hit the fences at the side.

Inside Jungkook’s helmet, Yoongi’s voice, one of his engineers, called him back to attention. “He’s fine, just keep going. You’ve got Jimin right behind you, the victory is ours.”

Being part of the McLaren team had its perks, like the continuous paid trips and luxury hotels, but its downs too, like having to watch another human being probably in his early 20s being brutally pushed to the side in a scorching hot car with no power to control its direction, while simultaneously having to celebrate your two drivers making it to the finish line first.

It’s in those bittersweet moments, when everyone else seems to be completely unaffected by the repercussions that other people had to live, that you find yourself asking: are we really doing this? Are we really working for a sport that could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds? Is our team’s victory really that important that we hold no shame in celebration when there’s paramedics all around taking care of another man right in front of everyone’s eyes?

The garage was full of people screaming, hugging, celebrating Jungkook and Jimin’s victory, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to truly participate in the chaotic celebrations, your eyes fixated on the screen monitor filming the rescue mission of the boy inside the car. You knew him, a barely 20 years old boy with too much determination for his own good. You were sure you would see him again on the track soon, even with a concussion, if needed. You understood him, you knew what it meant to have a passion that kept you going even when the only outcome is heading head-first against a wall at full speed.

“Here are the champions!” Hobi’s voice resonated inside the garage, and more cheers and whistles and clapping rose in a matter of seconds. Jimin and Jungkook came inside, tired, almost limping, slipping their helmets off with a relieved groan, shaking their heads side to side. Towels were handed to them, and you observed silently as they ran them over their sweaty hair.

Jimin was almost immediately pulled back by Jin, ready to have him talk to the cameras of god knows what channel. But you stayed back, watching as Jungkook soaked in all the congratulations, the compliments, observed as his ego visibly inflated as honey coated words were fed to him, and he swallowed them whole, one by one.

You sighed, shoulders dropping as you diverted your eyes to the screen again. The car was ruined, its rear part wrecked by the impact, but the boy was taken away, at least. The camera slowly panned to the spot where paramedics had him laying on a hospital stretcher, his team surrounding him to ensure privacy while he had a big cut over his temple cleaned and disinfected, probably getting ready to stitch it back together.

“So? No congratulations for me?”

You didn’t register Jungkook’s teasing voice at first, way too immersed into the scene displayed in front of you. “Hey,” he tried again, morphing his voice into something softer, almost careful. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, gently squeezing you to his body. “He’s gonna be fine. We’ve seen worse, you’ve seen worse.”

A little hum escaped your lips, not too convinced by his words yet. It was true, you had seen worse before, but it still didn’t stop you from thinking, from worrying. Isn’t that what makes a human being different from an animal? The capacity to doubt, to worry, to be stuck in a moment even when the world keeps spinning and life keeps going on.

“Okay,” you sighed at the end, shrugging your shoulders like you were trying to shake off the icky feeling off your body. You turned around, smiling softly at Jungkook before wrapping him in a hug. “Congratulations, bun”

Jungkook groaned at the nickname, clearly trying to look annoyed, yet failing when he met your smile again. “C’mon, let’s go celebrate,” he announced, grabbing you by your elbow, pulling you in the middle of the chaos, “we’re going to Monaco!”

find the introduction post here

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sharpeagle-tech · 10 months ago

Text

How Video Surveillance Is Transforming Oil and Gas Industry

Oil and gas is a 6,585.54 billion dollar global industry, making it a huge contributor to the economy and employment of several countries, particularly the Middle East and GCC. These sites use several underground equipment spanning hundreds of miles, including pipes and underwater oil extraction technology. Oil and gas sites require round-the-clock monitoring with automated alerts in case of any mishaps for immediate attention and response.

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In the volatile environment of oil and gas sites, the smallest spark can lead to a huge explosion. Thus, these sites are prone to several hazards affecting human safety and the protection of assets. The reason behind this is the amount of mechanical-intensive work involved, the precariousness of the materials they extract from beneath the surface, and their storage in a safe and secure facility.

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‍• Safety monitoring

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Investment in high-resolution cameras for entry and exit points: While low-resolution cameras still serve the purpose of surveillance, high-resolution cameras are used to carry out more advanced functions including facial recognition for authorised personnel and details about the equipment in explosive zones to provide an additional layer of security to the industry.

Choosing explosion-proof cameras over traditional cameras for surveillance: As discussed before, even a single spark in an explosive environment can be fatal. To ensure minimum risk of explosions, crew fatalities, and equipment damage, opt for surveillance technology that avoids contact of any spark with the outside atmosphere and contains it within the housing of the wire.

Check for easy camera integration with process systems before investment: Through easy installation and integration, the managers and supervisors can carry out the operations seamlessly. For instance, integration of the temperature fluctuation alarm with the video surveillance system ensures that every time the temperature rises or drops beyond the optimum range, the warning alarm automatically activates the video footage of the zone, promoting immediate action in case of emergencies.

Optimise surveillance with video analytics: Simultaneously monitoring 200 cameras at an oil and gas site can be challenging. As a result, the managers often miss out on the crucial details in the operations. Video analytics help in smart detection of any anomaly in the operations and prioritises that zone for surveillance, ensuring prompt and efficient deployment of resources and manpower.

‍The Checklist for a Good Video Surveillance Solution for the Oil and Gas Industry

Ex-proof casing

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‍Viewing window made out of tempered glass

To prevent the camera's viewing window from breaking under pressure, make sure that the viewing window of the ex-proof CCTV is made of tempered glass. Such glasses endure tremendous pressure of up to 10,000 pounds per square inch.

Easy Remote Access

An ideal ex-proof CCTV camera system allows the operators to monitor the worksite remotely through live video streams at any time. It also provides the option of archiving recordings for record-keeping, legal purposes, and future reference.

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vgtrackbracket · 8 months ago

Text

Video Game Track Bracket Round 4

Lights, Camera, Action! - Studiopolis Zone Act 1 from Sonic Mania

youtube

vs.

March to Deliverance from Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia

youtube

No propaganda was submitted for either track.

If you want your propaganda reblogged and added to future polls, please tag it as propaganda or otherwise indicate this!

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natsaffection · 12 days ago

Text

Redline 5.2 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader

Warnings: arguing, illegal street race, mention of blood, accident, feelings

Word count: 10,8k

A/N: I’m sorry if it feels rushed, I really didn’t want to make a part 3, or my inbox might actually explode 😅 So… good luck getting through it!

Part 1

The sun hung directly overhead, white-hot and unforgiving, but you barely felt the heat. Your race suit clung to your body, the zip pulled down just far enough to breathe, the Romanoff Racing crest on your chest dark with sweat. A champagne bottle hung loosely from your fingers. You stood on the second step of the podium.

Second.

Not because you weren’t fast enough. Not because you made a mistake. Because you gave it up.

On your right, Willow stood high above, flushed cheeks, dazed eyes, a grin so wide it seemed like her whole body might shatter from the force of it. She bounced slightly on her heels like the adrenaline hadn’t let go yet. Trophy in hand. Camera flashes sparkling around her like a constellation she didn’t know how to navigate.

The announcer was calling your names. Applause. Cheering. Distant horns and drums from the fan zone. And you were smiling, too. But it wasn’t joy. It was reflex. A veteran’s mask.

You turned your head just enough to look at Willow. You weren’t angry.. Not anymore. Somewhere between the call and the checkered flag, the fury had given way to something quieter. Resignation, maybe. Or peace.

This had been the right choice. You accepted that. Willow didn’t need to be punished for being proud. For being good. For finishing first on a day when everyone said she couldn’t.

And Natasha..God, Natasha had done what a team principal was supposed to do. She had protected both cars. She had protected Willow.

It had just hurt anyway.

The paddock was a blur of people and sound and color. Speakers pumping low bass. Crew laughing, embracing, holding up glasses of something bubbly and golden. Champagne dripped from the floor to the walls in some corners.

Willow stood at the center of it all, wrapped in a towel, her race suit unzipped, hair pulled back in a damp braid, a Romanoff-branded champagne bottle cradled in one arm like a baby.

Her smile hadn’t faded once. She made the rounds, techs, PR, mechanics, thanking every single one of them. They cheered when she passed. Someone handed her a mic for a quick sponsor vid. Her voice cracked a little when she spoke.

Meanwhile, you had slipped in through the side door of the garage. You peeled off your gloves slowly, one finger at a time, listening to the distant chaos but not part of it. No one saw you come in. You preferred it that way.

You walked past the engine bench. Past the tire wall. Past the monitors still looping your lap times. You had driven like a god today. And not a single camera had stayed on you after lap 34.

You reached for a bottle of water on the edge of the pit bench. There were still unopened champagne bottles on the table nearby, leftovers from the stash PR had dropped off earlier.

Natasha stood near them, speaking with one of the tire engineers. Her posture was relaxed now. The tension that had lined her face all morning had bled away.

You watched as she handed a bottle to Willow, no theatrics, no applause. Just a quiet nod. You didn’t want one. That’s not what hurt. It was that the moment didn’t include you. Not in the way it used to. Not in the way you were used to being seen. You turned away before Natasha noticed you watching..

The silence in the car was thick in the back seat, so thick you could choke on it. You sat behind Natasha, legs drawn up slightly, your body curled near the window, earphones in again. Hood pulled low. Eyes locked on your phone screen.

Natasha drove, one hand loose on the wheel, the other drumming her fingers softly against the steering column. She didn’t speak.

Willow sat up front, still bright-eyed, still breathless. Her phone was out, flipping between photos of the podium, voice memos of her initial race reactions, media alerts already pinging in from Formula 1 socials.

“God..” she said, laughing softly. “It’s already everywhere.”

Natasha glanced at her. “You’ll get used to-”

You closed your eyes behind your sunglasses. You turned up the music. Louder. Drowning them out. It didn’t work tho, and you opened your news app.

“The Rise of Romanoff’s Rookie”

“A New Star in F1: Willow Petrov’s Victory in Her First Grand Prix”

“Has L/N Lost Her Edge?”

You kept scrolling.

“Tensions Behind the Podium? Sources Say Team Orders May Have Cost L/n the Win”

“Petrov Shines, L/n Fades, Changing of the Guard at Romanoff Racing?”

Your thumb paused. The articles weren’t cruel. But they were full of words like transition, evolution, legacy. The kind of words they use when they’re already writing your ending.

You felt a slow, sick twist in your stomach. Not rage. Not even jealousy. Just that old ache. The one that told you, you might be slipping. That maybe..despite everything, you weren’t what Natasha needed anymore.

Natasha glanced in the rearview mirror. Your face was unreadable. Still. The kind of stillness that didn’t mean peace. The kind that meant you were leaving your body to avoid the pain.

Natasha’s fingers froze for a second on the steering wheel. And for the first time all day, Natasha’s stomach dropped.

——

The afterparty had fizzled hours ago. There were no more cameras, no more journalists lurking in the lobby with subtle microphones, no mechanics slapping backs and shouting over music. Just the low hum of city life below and the warm flicker of golden light spilling from the hotel’s open windows.

You sat on the balcony of the team lounge, legs up on the railing, hoodie draped over you, a glass of something untouched in your hand. The night air was cooler now, but the wind didn’t bite. You didn’t want company. But you weren’t surprised when the glass door slid open behind you.

“Hey..” Willow said softly, hovering near the edge of the doorway. “Can I..?”

You nodded, not looking at her. “Sure.”

Willow stepped out slowly, dressed down in a loose sweatshirt and compression leggings, her hair still slightly damp from a shower. She walked over and lowered herself into the chair beside you, tucking her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet stretching gently between you like something neither of you wanted to break.

“I, um…” Willow started, then stopped. Tried again. “I wanted to say thank you.”

You glanced over at her, one brow raised. “For what?”

“For…” Willow hesitated. “Letting me win. I mean, I know it was team orders, and Natasha said it was for safety, but, I know what that cost you. I do.”

You looked back out at the skyline. The city pulsed in quiet waves, lights blinking, a train moving in the distance. “It wasn’t mine to keep.”

“That’s not true..” Willow said. “You could’ve ignored her. People do. You could’ve stayed in front, taken it. No one would’ve blamed you.”

You let out a soft breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “She would’ve.”

Willow didn’t answer.

“But she made the right call.” you added after a beat. “Your car could’ve failed. Wolfe was closing. We would’ve lost both podiums. It was smart. Strategic.”

“And it still sucked..” Willow said quietly.

Your jaw flexed. You stared down into the glass in your hand.

“I just don’t want to mess this up..” Willow continued. “Not the driving. Not the team. Not with you. I look up to you. I studied you.”

You turned toward her fully then. Your eyes were tired, but not unkind. “You’re not messing anything up, Willow.” you said. “You’re good. You’re…better than I expected.”

Willow blinked, caught off guard. “That sounded like a compliment and a threat at the same time.”

You finally smiled. “Maybe it was.”

You shared a laugh, small, real. Willow tilted her head. “Do you miss when it was just you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your eyes went distant. “Sometimes.” you admitted. “But not because of you. It’s not about competition. It’s about…knowing where I stand. When I came here, I had nothing. Just pain, and wreckage, and Natasha. And now I have this…empire I helped build. I just don’t always know if there’s still a throne.”

Willow’s voice softened. “There is. I’m not here to take it.”

“I know.” you said. “But what if I’m the one stepping down without meaning to?”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not sharp. Just true. Willow reached for her water and took a slow sip, then looked back at you.

“Can I ask you something?”

You glanced sideways. “Sure.”

“Would you ever do it again? Step aside?”

You stared at her, long and hard. “No.” you said simply.

Willow nodded. “Good.”

They sat there until the wind picked up. Until the city below dimmed into the hush of midnight. Until the comfort between them didn’t feel like forgiveness or surrender, just a moment of quiet before the world started spinning again.

Most of the team had cleared out to prep media duties. Willow left too to bed. The door opened behind you again, slow and deliberate. Natasha’s footsteps were soft, but the silence was louder.

Natasha crossed the room and sat at the edge of the couch. Close, but not touching. A beat passed.

“This whole ‘silent exile’ routine is…?”

“I’m just tired.”

“You always get tired when Willow wins?”

You snapped your head toward her, eyes narrowing. “You think this is funny?”

Natasha held your gaze, serious, but not cruel. There was something behind it. Not mockery, no judgment. Just…surprise. Like she still didn’t get how the hell you even got here.

“I think it’s kind of unbelievable..” Natasha said. “That you still don’t see what I see.”

You crossed your arms. “Which is?”

Natasha leaned forward now, resting her elbows on her knees. Her voice dropped, calm but firm.

“That girl out there is twenty. She gets excited about free t-shirts. She still calls me Ms. Romanoff by accident.”

You stayed quiet. Natasha’s tone softened. “She’s young, and loud, and yes..good. But she’s not you.”

Your eyes flicked away. “Why do you think that would ever matter to me?” Natasha asked.

You swallowed. “Because maybe she’s easier.”

Natasha blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “What?”

You kept your arms crossed. Tight now. “She doesn’t question you. Doesn’t push back. Doesn’t come with history or trauma or baggage. She just drives and smiles and says thank you.”

“Jesus..Y/n..” Natasha muttered.

You shook your head. “You think I don’t notice how you light up around her?”

“Because she reminds me of you when you started.” Natasha said, suddenly. “Not because I want to replace you.”

You stilled. Natasha leaned back, arms now resting on the couch, looking at you, not angry, but wide open.

“I didn’t fall in love with a clean slate.” she said. “I fell in love with you. The stubbornness. The fire. The goddamn walls you put up so high I had to crash through them to reach you.”

You looked at her now, eyes tight. “So why does it feel like you look at her the same way you used to look at me?”

Natasha laughed, short and breathless. “Because you don’t let me look at you like that anymore.”

That hit hard..

“I try.” Natasha said, voice lower now. “But you flinch. You pull away. You act like you’ve already lost me.”

You looked down. Your voice cracked. “Because I’m scared I have.”

Natasha moved then, finally closer. Her hand rested against your knee, firm and grounding. “You haven’t. she said. “And if I ever made you think for a second that you did, then I fucked up.”

Your lip trembled. Natasha cupped your cheek now, gentle but sure. “You are the one I come home to. Not because you’re easy. Because you’re you.”

Your hands finally moved up, into Natasha’s hoodie, gripping at the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you from unraveling.

“I hate that I think like this..” you whispered. “I hate that I care so much what you think of her.”

“I love that you care.” Natasha said. “But don’t let it eat you. You don’t need to prove anything to me. You already did. A long time ago.”

You looked at her. “So you’re not leaving me for the excited twenty-year-old with a Spotify playlist full of anime intros?”

Natasha smirked. “Not unless you start quoting Fast & Furious again.”

“I said one thing-”

“You quoted family, baby.”

You both laughed, finally, something light. Something real. And Natasha pulled you close.

“I don’t want easier.” she murmured into your hair. “I want you.”

You lay curled on your side on the couch, wrapped in a blanket Natasha had found tucked behind the utility cabinet. Your breathing had evened out, but you weren’t asleep.

You hadn’t let go yet. Your fingers still held onto the edge of Natasha’s hoodie like an anchor. Natasha sat beside you, back against the couch wall, legs stretched out. The dim light from the hallway bled under the door, painting long stripes across the floor.

She watched you. Not to study, just to be near. No pressure. No expectations. Just the gravity of being together, after nearly tearing apart.

After a few minutes, you spoke. Barely above a whisper. “You can go. I’m okay now.”

Natasha didn’t move. “I mean it.” you added. “You must be exhausted.”

“I am.” Natasha said softly. “So I’m staying.”

You smiled faintly into the blanket. “That’s not how sleep works.”

“It is tonight.” You turned just enough to glance up at her. Natasha met your eyes and reached forward, brushing her fingers lightly over your cheek, tucking back a stray hair that had fallen over your temple.

“You’ve had the weight of everything on you for weeks.” she said. “Let me carry some of it.”

You looked down. “I didn’t know how to ask.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A beat passed. Then, with a tired voice, raw but no longer tense, you whispered, “Will you lay down with me?”

Natasha didn’t answer. She just stood quietly, kicked off her shoes, and slid behind you on the couch, pulling the blanket over both of you. She wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed her forehead to the back of your neck.

You melted into her like you’d been waiting all this time to just stop holding yourself up. And Natasha just held you. Breathing in sync. Heartbeats slow.

Your fingers found Natasha’s and tangled them together beneath the blanket.

“Thank you..”you murmured. “For coming back to me.”

Natasha pressed a soft kiss into your shoulder. “I never left.”

Another breath. A hum of comfort. Then silence again, but the kind that felt safe now..Warm.

Your eyes finally drifted closed. And Natasha stayed awake just a little longer, just to make sure you stayed asleep. Because for tonight, there was nothing left to prove.

Two days later, the sun was just beginning to dip. Most of the team had cleared out, techs heading to dinner, PR disappearing to prep media briefings, the garage growing quieter by the minute.

You stood near the back loading dock, arms folded, watching the sky change colors through a gap in the tarped service tent. Your hair was still damp from the post-sim shower, race suit unzipped, a pair of sunglasses hanging loose from your hand.

You checked your watch again. Then checked your messages. Nothing.

A soft breath escaped your lips. Not angry. Not surprised..Not anymore. Natasha had pulled you aside after debrief this morning. Quick, quiet, the way you always were when keeping things private.

“Dinner tonight?” she asked, resting a gentle hand on your back. “Just us. No phones. No PR. I made a reservation, something small.”

You raised a brow. “You made a reservation?”

Natasha smirked. “I know how. Occasionally.”

Your mouth twitched. “You sure you’re not trying to butter me up before you throw another team order at me?”

Natasha leaned in, close enough to press her lips lightly to your jaw. “I’m trying to remind you I’m yours. That’s it.” It was the first time in days you let yourself hope.

The restaurant was fifteen minutes from the paddock. Natasha had already changed, black trousers, blazer over a dark silk top, simple and sharp, understated but still a statement. She was five minutes from leaving. And then the knock came.

“Boss?”

It was the lead performance engineer. His face was tight. Serious. “We need you.”

Natasha’s stomach twisted. “What is it?”

“The gearbox data wasn’t just a race-day anomaly. There’s more. A degradation pattern, unlike anything we’ve seen. We think it started during pre-season testing and no one caught it. Willow’s car may not be safe for the next race unless we recalibrate the entire load offset manually.”

Natasha blinked. “Can’t Luis run the analysis?”

“We’re already over the legal margin for virtual modeling. This is about the human call now. Strategy. If it fails in practice, she could spin out at 240 kilometers per hour.”

She looked at the clock. 6:43.

Then at her bag. Then back to the data pad in his hands. Her jaw tightened. “Fine. Pull the schematics. I want a full paper trace. Get me the torque curves.“ She didn’t think. She acted.

You stood outside, arms wrapped around yourself. You were dressed simply, black pants, boots, a cropped jacket Natasha once told you made you look dangerous in the best way.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

“I’m sorry. Garage emergency. Gearbox issue. I have to be here. I’ll explain everything later, okay?”

You stared at the message for a long time. Then opened the app and canceled the ride. You didn’t go back upstairs. You just started walking.

10:21 PM

Natasha’s eyes burned as she flipped through the fifth sheet of manual trace mapping. Her sleeves were rolled up, blazer discarded, hair tied back hastily. Grease stained one wrist. Her phone lay beside her, dark and still.

Willow sat two meters away, looking miserable and exhausted, clearly worried not just about her car, but about Natasha’s expression.

“You don’t have to stay..” Willow said. “The others can keep going. I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s not about meaning to.” Natasha said, voice low. “It’s about fixing the problem before it’s bigger.”

Somewhere inside, something was twisting. Because she knew. She knew this wasn’t just another missed evening. This one mattered. And she hadn’t been where she promised to be.

11:34 PM

You lay on the far side of the bed, one arm under the pillow, phone still unlocked on the nightstand, the message from Natasha opened but unanswered.

You weren’t angry. Not yet. But you felt it again, that creeping thing under your skin. The slow, familiar ache of realizing that even when someone loves you, they can still leave you standing alone.

And the worst part? You understood why. That was the part that made it harder to forgive. You got up. Didn’t bother dressing properly. Just slipped on a hoodie, track pants, sneakers with no socks. Tied your hair back loosely and left without turning on the lights.

The gym was dark. Motion-sensitive. The fluorescent panels flickered awake as you stepped in. You hit the treadmill but didn’t start it. Just stood there.

Until the stillness became too loud again. So you moved. First to the weights. Then pull-ups. Then quick body circuits until your arms burned and your heartbeat finally drowned out your thoughts.

Sweat dripped down your back. Your breathing came faster. It helped, but it didn’t fix anything.

And still..no message from Natasha. No knock at the door. Not even a check-in.

When your water bottle ran dry, you grabbed it and wandered toward the garage. Not for any reason. Not to see anything. Just habit. Just to move.

You didn’t expect anyone to be there. But as you turned the last hallway into the service bay- You saw them.

Natasha and Willow.

Still in team gear.

Still awake.

Still working.

They were crouched beside the car. Natasha’s sleeves rolled up. Hands dirty, grease on her forearm. A panel open on Willow’s rear suspension. Manuals laid out on a low bench.

Willow was watching closely. Nodding. Then she reached, she picked up a wrench. And Natasha turned to her. Your stomach dropped. She said something. Her voice was soft. Almost smiling. Willow gave a quiet nod.

You turned and walked out. You didn’t hear and saw the rest. You slammed the door harder than you meant to. The silence that followed was deafening. You stood in the middle of the suite, trembling, not from exhaustion, not from rage. Just from the sick, sudden weight of enough.

You wiped your forehead with the sleeve of your hoodie. Sweat and tears mixed somewhere near your eyes, but you refused to let either fall. You dropped the empty water bottle onto the floor. And stood there. Staring at the wall. Every thread that had been fraying these past days finally snapped in silence. And you were done pretending you didn’t feel it.

10 min earlier

The undercarriage schematic was spread out across the workbench, half-covered in coffee rings and fast-food wrappers from the overnight shift. Natasha was halfway through rechecking torque measurements when she realized how late it was.

She rubbed at her temple with the back of her wrist, exhaling long and slow. Willow stood nearby, watching her, curious, unsure.

Natasha appreciated her interest. Really, she did. But this..this par, was sacred. She never let anyone touch her car during recalibration. Not you. Not engineers. Not even herself without silence.

And so, when Willow quietly reached for a wrench, likely just wanting to help, Natasha paused.

“You don’t have to do that.” she said.

Willow blinked, immediately withdrawing. “Oh- sorry. I wasn’t trying to-“

“I know.” Natasha said. “It’s not about you. It’s just…this is the part I do alone.”

Willow nodded quickly, stepping back with both hands raised. “Understood. Sorry. I’ll go get some rest.”

Natasha nodded without looking up. “Goodnight.”

And just like that, Willow left. Natasha exhaled again. Sat back against the stool. Rolled her sore shoulder. It wasn’t until she looked at her phone, battery nearly dead, screen lit with the last text she sent to you three hours ago, that she felt it.

The hallway was quiet. Carpet soft underfoot. The whole floor wrapped in the kind of stillness reserved for dead-of-night regrets and things you can’t unsay.

The door opened, and Natasha stepped inside. She was exhausted. Her jaw ached from tension. Her back was tight from hours hunched over schematics. She was about to call out for you when she saw you:

Standing and waiting by the window. Arms folded. Hoodie on. Face red and wet and burning with something that was not sadness anymore.

It was fury. Natasha froze mid-step. “I’m so sorr-”

“You were working with her.”

Your voice was low. Controlled in a way that sounded dangerous. Natasha blinked. “What?”

“I saw you.” You took a step forward. “In the garage. With her. Just the two of you. Just like always lately.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “I wasn’t- We weren’t doing anything. We were fixing her car-“

“You were laughing.”

That stopped Natasha cold. Your voice cracked. “She picked up a wrench. You smiled at her. And I just…watched.”

“Y/n..” Natasha said slowly, stepping closer, palms half-raised like she was approaching something fragile. “That’s not what you think.”

“You never let anyone touch that car..” you said, voice rising now. “Not even me. Not ever.”

“She didn’t help. I told her not to. She put it down.”

“I don’t care if she built the damn gearbox, Natasha. You let her get close.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then why does it feel like it?”

The room went still. Natasha’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard. Your hands were shaking now. “I waited for you. I got dressed. I showed up for that stupid dinner because..for once I thought maybe you saw what’s happening to me.”

“I do see you-”

“No!” you snapped. “You see what you want to see. You see the teammate. The PR-safe, obedient, team-first girl who steps aside when you tell her to. You see the ghost of who I used to be before she walked in and made it easier to manage everything without me.”

“Stop it.” Natasha said sharply.

“You promised me I wasn’t fading..” you said, voice dropping into something broken. “And now you barely look at me.”

“Jesus.” Natasha muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Are we seriously doing this again?”

You stood up. “Yes, we are. Because I keep seeing it. And you keep brushing it off like I’m making it up.”

“I’m not brushing anything off.”

“You’re defending her more than you defend me.”

That was it. Natasha stepped forward, calm gone, heat rising. “You don’t get to stand there and accuse me of betrayal every time I do my job, Y/n.”

“It’s not just a job anymore! You treat her like she’s..like she’s the future of this team!”

“She is part of the future!”

“And what am I?” you barked. “The past?”

Natasha didn’t answer. The silence was loud. Too loud. Your voice cracked. “You could’ve chosen me tonight. But you didn’t. Again.”

“I was going to.” Natasha shot back. “But I also have a team to run. A team with a mechanical failure that could’ve killed a rookie if I ignored it.”

“She’s not your responsibility-”

“She is, Y/n! That’s the entire point of my job-”

“You used to make time for me anyway.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped, dark and dangerous. “You never let me finish a single thought without interrupting.”

You froze. “What?”

“Every fight. Every conversation. Every attempt to explain myself, you cut me off. You decide the narrative, and God forbid I don’t fit inside it.”

“Because I’m tired of rehearsed answers-”

“I’m tired of repeating myself!” Natasha shouted.

“I waited for you. Dressed up. Told myself maybe you’d actually prove me wrong tonight, and you didn’t even notice.”

“I noticed!” Natasha roared. “I noticed every goddamn second! But I’m not just your girlfriend, I’m running a goddamn team!”

Your voice cracked as you screamed back: “I NEVER ASKED YOU TO CHOOSE!”

“Yes, you fucking did!” Natasha shouted, louder than she meant to. “Every fight, every sigh, every passive-aggressive look when I talk to her, I hear it! You want me to put you first every single second or I’m the enemy!”

You were crying now. Fists clenched. Arms shaking. “I’m trying to protect myself!”

“From me?!”

You shouted: “From feeling like I don’t matter to you anymore!”

“You’re the most important thing in my life!”

“You don’t act like it!”

“Because I’m TIRED, Y/n! I’m so fucking tired of trying to prove I love you in ways that you immediately rip apart!”

Tears spilled over your lashes, but your voice just got louder. “BECAUSE I’M SCARED I’M LOSING YOU AND YOU DON’T EVEN NOTICE!”

“I’m here every night, and all I do is get screamed at!”

“Then LEAVE!”

“Maybe I should’ve!”

You went still. So did Natasha. The air punched out of the room. Natasha immediately stepped forward. “I didn’t mean that-“

But your body folded in on itself. You grabbed your phone, your jacket, your bag with shaking hands.

“Where are you going?” Natasha whispered, her voice finally cracking.

You didn’t even look at her. “My old room.”

“Y/n”

You turned, eyes full of hurt so deep it didn’t even look like anger anymore. “You keep saying I don’t let you speak. Fine. Here’s your silence.”

Door closed, and then it was just Natasha. Alone. Breathing hard. Regret coiling through her chest like smoke. And all the things she’d finally said, were exactly the ones she never wanted to.

In your room, you couldn’t stop pacing. The light in the room was dim, just the glow of a desk lamp you hadn’t turned off. Your racing jacket hung over the chair like a memory. You moved back and forth across the small space, your fingers pulling at your sleeves, jaw tight, breathing shallow.

Every echo of the argument replayed in your head, louder, harsher, more cutting. Natasha’s voice. Your own. The way everything just blew up.

“Maybe I should’ve!”

The sentence throbbed in your skull. You ran a hand through your hair and sat on the bed, only to get back up seconds later. You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t even sit still. So you grabbed your phone. Swiped the screen. Opened Instagram. Mindless scroll.

Until..A story.

One of the drivers you spoke to last week. A short video of a black car idling under neon lights, tires hot with burnout smoke. A laughing voice behind the camera. Someone shouting “Let’s see what the boys really got tonight!”

Your breath caught in your throat. In the background, under the glow of streetlamps, a car. Not a race car, a street-tuned

You stared at it. They’d invited you.. You hadn’t said yes, but the invitation had stayed in your mind like a devil in the corner. Your fingers moved before your brain could catch up, and you were out the door in five minutes.

Natasha lay on her back in the bed, staring at the ceiling. The sheets were tangled around her legs, too hot, too cold, too wrong. She’d tried to sleep. Tried to silence the echo of your voice, but guilt lived in her chest like a second heartbeat.

“I’m scared I’m losing you!”

Natasha blinked into the dark. Then she sat up fast. She couldn’t leave it like this. She swung her legs out of bed, pulled on a hoodie and soft pants, grabbed her phone..still dead, and slipped out of the room.

The hallway was too quiet. When she reached your old room, she knocked once.

No answer. Twice. Nothing.

Her gut twisted, so she opened the door, and froze. The light was still on. The sheets a little rumpled. A half-drunk water bottle on the desk. But no you.

No shoes. No phone charger. No jacket. Gone.

“Shit.”

Her heart dropped. Just then, a voice behind her.

“Hey, Natasha?”

Natasha turned, jaw clenched. “Not now.”

Willow held up her hands. “Sorry. I just…thought you’d want to see this.”

She held out her phone, Instagram open. A paused story. Natasha’s blood went cold. The frame showed a street-lit parking lot. A car lined up with two others. And in the corner, barely visible but unmistakable, you, leaning against a car.

Natasha snatched the phone from her. “When was this posted?”

“Two minutes ago..” Willow said, worry in her voice now. “They tagged the location.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She was already walking.

“Where are you—?”

“To go get her.”

Willow called after her: “Should I tell security?”

“NO!” Natasha barked. “You tell no one.”

She was doing 80 in a 50 zone. The GPS pinged the pin on the map, a tucked-away industrial lot just outside the city. She knew the type: unregistered circuits, drivers with too much ego, zero control, no helmets.

Her grip tightened on the wheel. “Fucking hell, Y/n…”

Her jaw was locked. One hand clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles went white, the other flicked the high beams on and off through the darkness like a warning.

She wasn’t just angry. She wasn’t just scared. She was furious that you would risk everything, your life, your career, the team, just to escape for one night.

But even deeper than the rage, she was terrified. Because if something happened to you out there…

She’d seen what street racing could do. Crushed frames. Fire scars. Bodies slumped under tarps while a crowd looked away.

You knew better. And yet… Her phone lay useless in the passenger seat, still on Willow’s screen, the frozen Instagram story of the street, the smoke, the blur of a backup car she recognized like muscle memory.

Her thoughts twisted tighter with every mile: What if you raced? What if they crashed? What if you’re not answering because-

She pressed harder on the gas. The moment she turned into the lot, her heart dropped. Blue lights. Two ambulances. A police car blocking the exit.

Smoke still hung low in the air, mixing with exhaust and the sting of hot metal. One of the cars was nothing but a crumpled shell, front end folded in like paper. The second had wrapped around a streetlight, its rear half nearly torn free.

And worse? Your car wasn’t visible. People were shouting. Flashlights swung across the crowd. Medics were hauling stretchers. Phones were recording.

Natasha stopped the car in the middle of the road. Didn’t park, didn’t shut the door. She just ran.

“Y/n?!”

No one turned. She shoved her way past someone filming. “MOVE!” Her voice cracked with a sharp edge no one questioned.

She scanned the faces, but they all looked the same: drunk, dazed, anonymous. And then, she saw the wreck up close. Blood on the side window. A glove hanging from the mirror. A long strand of hair tangled in a shattered door hinge.

Her knees almost gave out. Her voice broke entirely. “No, no, no…”

She grabbed a man by the vest. “Who was in that car? Tell me who was driving!”

He looked at her, wide-eyed. “I-I don’t know, I- two, one of them was yelling, the other-“

“Was it a woman?! Did you see a woman?!”

And then, behind her, “Natasha?”

She turned like she’d been shot. You were there. Standing near a metal railing just beyond the chaos, arms wrapped around yourself, jacket pulled tight. Your face pale, eyes wide. Your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha froze. For one breath. Two. Then she moved- no, she sprinted. And when she reached you, she didn’t say a word, just threw her arms around you, gripping you like she wasn’t sure if you were real or not.

You stumbled into it, arms pinned, breath caught. “Nat-”

“You don’t do that to me!” Natasha shouted, pulling back just far enough to look at you, eyes wet, voice ragged. “You don’t disappear and bring me to this- THIS!”

You tried to answer, but Natasha wasn’t finished. Her voice cracked harder. “I saw the wreck. I thought it was you. I thought I was going to walk over and find your-“ Her voice cut off. “I thought you were in there. I thought I lost you.”

Your eyes glassed over. “I didn’t race..” you whispered. “I-I was going to. But I backed out.”

Natasha just looked at you. “You don’t get to scare me like that!”

“I’m sorry..” you whispered, so small, so hollow, like it barely escaped your throat.

Natasha reached up, hand cupping your cheek roughly. “No. You’re not. Not yet. Not until you understand what it felt like to see that wreck and not know. Not until you know how fast I was willing to lose everything just to get to you.”

You said nothing. You just leaned forward. And Natasha pulled you in again, not soft..but safe.

——

The road was quiet now. The flashing lights had disappeared behind them. The industrial lot was miles back. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the horizon was softening, that cold blue-gray of a day trying to start.

Inside the car, it was silent. You sat curled against the passenger-side door, legs pulled up, jacket zipped tight. You hadn’t said a word since they left. Just stared out the window, arms wrapped around yourself, your face unreadable.

Natasha gripped the wheel, knuckles tight, jaw clenched. The adrenaline was gone now, but the fear lingered. It pulsed under her skin like something sour. She could still feel the moment when she thought you were gone. When she saw that wreck and didn’t know.

She couldn’t shake it. They hadn’t spoken, not really. Not until you exhaled a shaky breath and broke the silence with the smallest voice:

“Can you pull over?”

Natasha glanced at you. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

That was it. Just no.

Natasha blinked, then nodded. She eased the car off the road and into a small dirt clearing. The gravel crunched beneath the tires as the car rolled to a stop.

The air was cold. You stepped around the front of the car, then just…stopped. Your back was to Natasha. You didn’t move for a long moment.

And then, your shoulders started shaking, and Natasha moved. She crossed the space between you and wrapped her arms around you from behind, pulling you in, holding you tight as you broke, really broke, the sobs silent at first, then raw and deep.

“I’m s-sorry..” you gasped. “I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking, I just- I needed everything to stop..!”

Natasha closed her eyes, holding you. Her chin rested on your shoulder. “You could’ve died.” she whispered, voice cracking. “And I wouldn’t have known until it was already too late.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t answer your phone. I saw the crash. I-” Natasha’s voice broke fully now. “I thought I was going to have to identify you.”

You turned in her arms. You looked like a wreck, hair wild, eyes red, face pale. But you were there.

“I didn’t race..” you said again. “But I almost did. I wanted to. I was two steps from getting in the car. And then they went ahead of me. And when they hit- I saw what would’ve happened. What could’ve happened.”

Natasha touched your cheek, gently this time. “And?”

“I felt sick. Like I’d swallowed all my anger and it turned to lead in my chest.”

You looked down. “I don’t deserve to be here with you.”

Natasha’s voice came quiet. “Don’t say that.”

“I scared you.”

“You did.”

“I scared myself.”

Natasha took your hand. “Then let’s just…sit for a bit, okay?” You sat for hours. The only time Natasha spoke again was just before they pulled into the driveway.

“If you want..” she said quietly, “I can cancel Willow’s contract.”

Your head turned slightly. Your brows furrowed.

“What?”

Natasha didn’t look at you. “If that’s what it takes for you to feel safe again. I’ll do it. No press. No drama. I’ll take the heat.”

You blinked. That offer hit hard, but not in the way Natasha expected. Because it wasn’t what you wanted. It never had been.

You swallowed, eyes back to the windshield. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

Natasha finally turned her head. “Y/n-”

“Please.”

Your voice cracked, just slightly. “I just want to forget it for one night.”

Natasha exhaled. Nodded once. “Okay.”

You didn’t shower. Didn’t undress all the way. Just crawled beneath the covers, your back to Natasha’s chest, both of you fully clothed, like you were too tired to be anything but present. Natasha’s arm curled over your middle. Not pulling. Just being there. And you let it happen.

——

The curtains hadn’t been drawn, and soft sunlight warmed the edge of the bed. But that wasn’t what woke you. It was Natasha’s hand, moving in slow circles over your shoulder blade. Barely-there touches. Tracing the curve of old tension.

The sheets rustled. Natasha was already awake, and eyes open. You blinked, letting out a groggy sigh. Your voice was hoarse. “How long have you been doing that?”

Natasha smirked softly, voice still sleep-scratchy. “Long enough to know it still calms you down.”

Your lips twitched. “You trying to seduce me out of my trauma?”

“Maybe..” Natasha murmured. “Is it working?”

A soft hum escaped your throat, something between a sigh and a laugh. You rolled to face her, finally, and found Natasha’s eyes already waiting.

Then Natasha brushed her knuckles against your cheek. “It’s in the news.”

You didn’t flinch. “Figured.”

“We have a conference in three hours.”

You groaned and buried your face into the pillow. “Seduction cancelled.”

Natasha chuckled. “I’ll reschedule it. Post-conference. Post-disaster.”

You turned back toward her, eyes soft. “Thanks for not saying more last night.”

“I wanted to.” Natasha said honestly. “But it felt more important to just…stay.”

“You did.”

Your eyes met. There was a stretch of silence where neither of you moved, where the morning wrapped around you like a blanket heavier than the one on the bed.

Then you leaned forward, pressed your forehead to Natasha’s, and whispered, “I’ll talk. Just…not yet.”

Natasha nodded. “Okay.”

You stayed like that for a long time. The conference could wait. The news could wait. For now, there were only two people in a bed too big for the weight you’d both been carrying. And in the quiet, in the warmth, in the slow rhythm of being wrapped around each other, there was a peace that neither of you had known in weeks.

“Can we just stay here forever?” you mumbled. Natasha smiled, lips against your skin. “You give the press conference, I’ll fake our deaths.”

“Deal.”

Hours later, the mood in the debrief was cold, clipped, efficient. You sat stiff in the corner seat of the long debriefing table, shoulders squared like you could brace your way through the morning.

The mood in the debrief was cold, clipped, efficient. You sat stiff in the corner seat of the long debriefing table, shoulders squared like you could brace your way through the morning.

Natasha sat beside you, not across the table. Not near the monitors..Right next to you. The team was already assembled, Jared from PR, the strategy director, a few engineers, even Willow, seated opposite with her tablet tucked to her chest.

But Natasha hadn’t looked at anyone else since she walked in. Her chair was turned slightly toward you. One arm draped loosely over the back of your seat. She hadn’t said much, not yet, but she didn’t need to. Your hands stayed in your lap, twisting at the hem of your sleeve. Your voice hadn’t worked properly since you’d woken up.

“Let’s keep this clean.” Jared said. “The street race footage is circulating. No proof you raced, but public speculation is enough. We get ahead of it by framing it our way.”

Natasha’s jaw flexed. She didn’t speak. Jared kept going. “We’ll lean on team unity. Frustration under pressure. Personal responsibility. But we need empathy without opening you up to liability.”

You didn’t look up. Your eyes were on the edge of the table. Jared hesitated, then cleared his throat. “I’ve got talking points drafted. We’ll review together after. And for the joint interview-”

“Wait.” Natasha said suddenly, voice quiet but sharp. Her hand moved slowly, resting lightly on your knee under the table. Protective. Subtle. But there.

You froze. You hadn’t expected that. You didn’t know how much you needed it. Natasha didn’t look at the others. Only at you.

“She doesn’t need a script.” Natasha said. “She just needs space.”

Jared blinked. “We have to shape perception-”

“I’ll handle it.” Natasha interrupted. You turned your head, just slightly. And Natasha met your eyes. Held them. I’m not mad. I’m here. The message was silent, but loud enough to quiet the panic building behind your ribs.

You sat on the bench in the green room, holding a bottle of water you hadn’t opened. The questions would be brutal. The room would be hot. The world would be watching. You should’ve felt prepared. But your throat was tight.

“I’ll be next to you the whole time.” Natasha said, crouching in front of you. Her tone was softer than anyone else had heard it all week. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be honest.”

You looked down. “Honesty might get us dropped by two sponsors.”

“I don’t care about sponsors.” Natasha said. “I care about you.”

Your eyes burned, and then Willow stepped into the room. Quiet, hesitant. She didn’t say anything. Just gave you a look, not challenging. Not pitiful. Just… there.

You nodded once. It was the closest you’d come to a truce. Then you were called in. Three chairs. Three names. Three very different silences.

You sat with your hands folded on the table. Natasha to your right. Willow on the left. The first question came fast.

“You, last night’s footage paints a concerning picture. Were you involved in the race?”

You lifted your mic. Your voice came quiet but steady. “I was there. I didn’t race. But I shouldn’t have been there. It was a bad choice.”

Another reporter jumped in. “Do you feel like you’ve let down your team, especially the younger drivers?”

You exhaled slowly, but before you could answer- Willow leaned into her mic.

“No one in this room has the right to speak on what she’s carrying.”

Every head turned. Willow sat straight, eyes sharp.

“She’s not just a champion on the track, she’s the one who shows up first, who checks our setups, who stands behind us even when the world’s tearing her down. She’s not perfect. But none of us are. So if this team stands for anything, it’s for having each other’s backs.”

Silence. And then, almost imperceptibly- Your walls cracked. No one expected her to speak, least of all you. The next question came slower. Softer. About engine setups. Natasha took it.

But you barely heard it. Your eyes were still on Willow. She sat tall, hands in her lap, expression unreadable. Not proud. Not performative. Just… solid..loyal.

It hit you like a gut punch. I got her all wrong. You thought you’d been battling some threat. A rival. A replacement. But maybe- Maybe you’d been looking at the only person on this team who never judged you once.

The press was finally over. People scattered. Doors opened and closed. Noise began to fade. You ducked into a side hallway just off the main press room, needing a second to yourself. Your hands still buzzed, like the adrenaline hadn’t quite worn off. You leaned against the wall, eyes closed, trying to slow your breath.

Footsteps approached. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was Willow. But you didn’t move away. She stopped beside you, didn’t lean, didn’t fidget, didn’t speak.

Just stood there, and the silence stretched. “You didn’t had to do that.”

Willow shrugged. “Yeah, I did.”

You turned your head to look at her. Willow was staring at the opposite wall. Voice even, steady. “You were the first driver I ever watched. When I was fifteen, I clipped your post-race interview after the Monza win. Saved it to my phone.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

Willow smiled a little. “You didn’t smile in it. You just looked exhausted. And real. I remember thinking, ‘That’s what I want. That kind of focus.’”

You looked down.

“I didn’t come here to replace you.” Willow said quietly. “I came here because I wanted to learn from you.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I thought you hated me by now..” you admitted.

“I thought you didn’t see me at all.”

A pause. Then Willow’s voice dropped, honest and a little raw: “You ever feel like if you mess up once, it’s all gone? Like…the place you earned suddenly slips out from under you?”

You turned to fully face her. “Yeah.”

Willow finally looked at you. “It feels like that all the time.”

You studied her. Saw the sharpness behind her eyes, brave, ambitious, terrified. Just like you once were. You stepped a little closer. “You’re doing good, Willow.”

Willow blinked. It was the first time she’d heard you say her name without tension. You let out a breath. “If anyone gives you shit out there, media, paddock, team, tell them to come through me first.”

Willow’s lip curled into a slow smile. “That includes you, right?”

You smirked. “Especially me.”

You both laughed..light, breathy. For the first time, it felt easy. Not perfect..but safe.

Back at the track, you stood by the window, barefoot, a hoodie slouched off one shoulder, hair damp from a shower you took without even realizing it. Your body ached, not from driving, but from everything else.

Behind you, the door clicked, and Natasha entered. No words. Just the familiar sound of her keys, her quiet footsteps, the small thump of her jacket being laid over the chair.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. Natasha came up behind you slowly and wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her cheek against your shoulder.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy now. You closed your eyes. Let yourself lean back into it.

“Hey.” Natasha said softly. “About the interview.”

“She didn’t have to.”

“She meant it…She looks up to you.” Natasha continued. “And not just for the racing.”

“She doesn’t have to.” you said.

“But she does.”

Another pause. Then, you turned in Natasha’s arms and buried your face in her neck. Not crying, or breaking. Just holding on. “I was scared I wasn’t enough anymore.” you admitted. Your voice was so quiet it nearly disappeared.

Natasha pulled you in tighter. “You were never ‘enough’ to me because of what you did. You’re enough because of who you are.”

Your hands clutched the fabric of Natasha’s shirt. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“I’ll wait with you.” Natasha whispered. “As long as it takes.”

You nodded against her skin. You stood there for a long time. “I don’t want you to cancel her contract.”

Natasha paused. “You sure?”

You looked back over your shoulder. Willow was still in the hallway, arms crossed, now being roped into some joke by one of the engineers.

“She’s good. She’s herself. And that matters.”

A breath. “I want her here. Not just on the team. With us.”

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. Then she smiled. Something slow, relieved, proud. “She’s lucky.” she murmured. “To have someone like you on her side.”

You met her gaze. “She’s not the only one.”

Natasha leaned in, just enough to brush her hand along your wrist. It was a promise, and you..this time, believed it.

Three Months Later – Monaco GP Weekend – 2 Hours Before Quali

You leaned against the wall of the garage, helmet in hand, hair braided back tight, lips curved into a smirk. Across from you, Willow was pacing. Half-nervous, half-hyped. Her suit hung open at the top, gloves shoved into her back pocket. She turned suddenly and pointed at you.

“If I beat your sector time in turn nine, you’re buying drinks.”

You laughed. “If you beat my sector time in turn nine, I’ll name a cocktail after you.”

Willow grinned. “Deal.”

“Hey.” you added, tone lowering as you pushed off the wall. “You ready?”

Willow’s smile dimmed, replaced by something deeper. “Yeah. I think I am.”

You nodded, then reached out and bumped her shoulder gently, affectionate, solid. “Go make me proud, rookie.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “You literally call me that just to flex that I’m not a world champion.”

“You’ll get there.” you said, softer this time. “And when you do, I’ll still call you that.”

You both laughed. It was easy now. Natural. What once felt like pressure had turned into gravity, holding you together instead of pulling you apart.

“Willow’s been faster in the corners all weekend.” Natasha said, eyes on the map. “But your exit speed is giving her a gap on the straights. We’re debating who gets clean air for the second run.”

The room turned to you. You didn’t hesitate. “Give it to her.”

Everyone blinked. Natasha looked up. “You sure?”

You gave a small smile. “I’ve had the spotlight. Let the kid have a shot.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “Wait, are you being…nice to me?”

“I’ll deny it by dinner..” you said. Natasha’s eyes didn’t leave you. She was smiling, but her chest had tightened slightly. Not with worry, but with pride.

Willow had qualified P3. You, P4.

You were both happy..Genuinely happy. You raised your glass from across the table and yelled over the music, “TO THE ROOKIE!”

Everyone cheered. Willow pretended to bow, grinning like she couldn’t believe her own night. It made something in your chest soften. The kind of soft that used to make you ache. Now, it just felt good.

“You’re not just my teammate anymore, you know.”

Willow looked at you.

“You’re mine now.” you said. “Little sister I never asked for.”

Willow smiled wide, teeth showing. “I’ll take it.”

The party had quieted down. The city sparkled beneath you. Monaco felt like a dream in slow motion. You stepped outside, barefoot, hoodie over your race tee.

Natasha was already there, leaning against the railing, hair loose, a champagne glass resting beside her hand. You came up behind her and slid your arms around her waist, resting your head between her shoulder blades.

“You’re warm..” you mumbled.

“I’ve been standing in the same spot waiting for you to do exactly this.” Natasha replied.

You smiled into her back. “Guess I’m predictable now.”

“No.” Natasha said, turning to face you, eyes soft. “You’re just steady. And that’s everything.”

You stood like that for a moment. No tension, no fear.. Just love, real, grounded, still full of sparks, but quiet now. Like embers. Natasha tucked a hand against your jaw. “You’re not the girl I picked up after a crash anymore.”

“No?”

“You’re stronger. Calmer. Smarter.”

You smirked. “Still hotter, though.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Debatable.”

You laughed, and leaned in. The kiss was soft. Familiar. Slow. When you parted, you whispered, “You know I’d still choose you. Even if I wasn’t your driver.”

Natasha held your gaze. “I chose you long before you ever got in my car.”

The city glowed around you. The sound of the ocean below. The wind in your hair. Everything exactly where it belonged.

“You okay?” she asked.

You nodded. “I was thinking about where we started,” you said softly. “About how many times I thought I was going to lose all of this.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. “Me too.”

“And?”

She looked at you. “I didn’t. We didn’t.”

You leaned your head against her shoulder. “I don’t need to be the only star. I just didn’t want to burn out alone.”

“You never were.” Natasha whispered. “Not for one second.”

The city blinked quietly beneath you. And you stayed like that until the moon rose.

Together.

Still here.

Still holding on.

Still hers.

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icanseethefuture333 · 7 months ago

Text

PAC 18+: how to walk ‘em like a dog 🦮🎀🐆

“Back to the kitty, ‘cus she kinda pretty

Couldn’t stop lookin’ at her ti-ti-ti— face!

Me and cat mama rolled into the distant fog

Little did she know, I’m a nasty dog.”

Pile 1:

Shufflemancy -

Pussy Talk by City Girls ft. Doja Cat

Kehlani by Jordan Adetunji

The Zone by The Weeknd

Ten of Cups, Six of Cups, Five of Swords, Make An Altar, Chanting, Use Your Hands, Camera, Mirror, & The Grim Reaper

Hey pile,1 😝. The person who wishes for you to walk them like a dog admires you so much, they might even over romanticize you in their head, to them, you fulfill their fantasies. They think about you in different positions and wonder how your hands feel on them 😮‍💨. They get hard/wet just by the thought of you alone. I believe you show that to this person as well, you could tease them often or like to give them a show whenever you walk past them. “P*ssy talented it do cartwheels and he pay cus he like how that part feels, p*ssy give speeches, heart felt, say the p*ssy really talk like it Garfield (it do)” 😅 oh god, I think this person is obsessed with the sounds your bodies make during sex, they are heavily infatuated with you. “I like the way your body is, is that too obvious? Okay I like your confidence, oh that’s what good karma, like kehlani is, bad just like kehlani is.” This person desires to be fair in the bedroom, they want to cum with you, pile 1. This might be someone you’ve known since childhood, your first love, or an ex that you met when you were young. You could be playful and mischievous in the bedroom, but also like to take the lead. Switch vibes are prominent in this pile. You and your person like to give and take. You could be a brat and they want to be your brat tamer. If you follow each other, this person has been watching your stories on social media, I feel like you post risqué photos for them and wonder if it’s working 👀 trust me it has, cus they have been getting it off to your pictures in secret 🤫… This person definitely worships your body and your beauty.

Full reading on my patreon

Pile 2:

Shufflemancy -

Goodies by Ciara ft. Petey Pablo

Slumber Party by Ashnikko ft. Princess Nokia

Bimbo Doll by Tila Tsoli ft. BJ Lips

King of Wands, King of Cups, Knight of Cups, Watch A Movie, Massage, Rest, Talking, Keys on a Ring, & Love Call

I love how hyper feminine my pile 2 is 🎀! You guys are so popular and have so many options in your dating life. People think that you are so cute but in a tempting way. Do you dress y2k, mcbling, or coquette? Whatever your style might be, people think it looks so hot on you. You could attract both girls and guys with your looks, especially older guys. “You may look at me and think that I’m just a young girl but I’m not just a young girl. Baby this is what I’m lookin for - sexy, independent, gotta spend it type for gettin his dough. I’m not being too dramatic that’s just how I gotta have it. I bet you want the goodies, bet you thought about it.” You know your worth and don’t settle for less, despite your sweet appearance you know you give people a run for their money. People even wish to give you their money. Are you a sugar baby? If not, you should become one, you’d be very successful. I have a feeling you have people wrapped around your pretty finger. Others desire to spoil you with gifts and money. Dare I say I see this pile being with both a woman and a man (maybe even at the same time?)👀. “Me and your girlfriend playin’ dress up in my house, I gave your girlfriend c*nnilingus on my couch. She cute, kawaii, hentai boobies that excite me. I think she really likes me, ask politely, can I - woo ooh ooh (slumber party).” Two people wish to initate things with you but you have total control over the situation. Your features really entice people, you could have doe eyes, big lips, nice boobs, and a cute butt. When you talk, this person(s) doesn’t know where to focus their eyes, they get so nervous around you and have to control themselves from getting too intense with the conversation. They also really wish to hear you dirty talk to them. Your voice is a a major turn on to this peoples, it’s giving phone sex operator level of skill lol. As I was typing “hear”, I accidentally spelled “head” so they definitely want to see your lips on their d*ck/p*ssy as well😚.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 3:

Shufflemancy -

Get On Your Knees by Nicki Minaj ft. Ariana Grande

Distraction by Kehlani

Rocket by Beyoncé

Eight of Pentacles, Seven of Wands (reversed), Nine of Cups, Sex, Abundance Planning, Deep Breathing, The Sword and The Rose, Not Today, & Clock

PHEW 😮‍💨 don’t hurt em now, pile 3. This is my dominant pile. You guys know how to take charge in the bedroom. This person wants to be at your mercy. I’m talking having you on top and riding them as hard as you can or them getting on their knees to beg at your feet. This person actually wants to be walked like a dog lol. They are very submissive and like pain. I feel like you know this as well 😂! You have so much control over them and they want you to know you run this relationship. I feel you and this person are already together or have a thing going on, if not I see things progressing sexually pretty fast. This might be a tinder date situation. “Get on your knees, get on your knees, baby just get on your knees. Say pretty please, pretty please, pretty please. Baby just say pretty please” you could like to use this person as a stress reliever. The sex would be slow and intense. “Do me a favor, pick me up, take me out later. Don't worry about no paper cus I got much stacked up for nights like this” I see that you’re a hard working person and don’t have time to be in a committed relationship but value trust, loyalty, and honesty. This person provides that safe space for you and allows you to express your flaws in peace. You don’t have to be perfect and fake a smile like you usually have to do in professional settings. I see that this person really wishes to be with you in a romantic way but doesn’t want to rush or force things on you if they know you have other responsibilities to tend to. It’s reminding me of Nani and David from Lilo & Stitch. David had a huge crush on Nani but due to her focusing on needing to be there for Lilo and being a provider, she didn’t have time to acknowledge his feelings until later she was settled in her career. I see that you are grateful towards this person and attracted to their emotional intelligence.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 4:

Shufflemancy -

Blah Blah Blah by Kesha ft. 3OH!3

Please me by Cardi B ft. Bruno Mars

Dip It Low by Christina Milian

The Chariot, Seven of Swords, Ten of Wands, Pleasure, Flow Like Water, Hydrate, Addiction, Date, & The Phoenix

Heyyy, pile 4 😉. I see that this person got you down bad lol but not to worry since the feeling is mutual. I feel that you came on to this person before they even did. You could be an extrovert while this person is an introvert. They’re very reserved and are careful with how they express themselves. You might flirt with this person while they’re on the job or when they’re focusing in class. They like to pretend they are disinterested in your advances to see how much you’re willing to keep going after them. It could stroke their ego a little bit knowing someone as “cute” as you likes them (I heard an emphasis on the word “cute”). You could be feeling confused on whether or not they like you back and it results in you feeling pouty about the situation. This connection could be relatively new but this person is wanting to explore how things go! This person could want to tease you a lot or perhaps even degrade 🫠. They might like to talk shit playfully just to get under your skin. For some reason I feel like this person likes to make you mad 💀 they can be really annoying. They like when you tell them to shut up or put them in their place. If you yelled at them even and kissed this person the next, they would live for that shit. They’re kinda toxic honestly 😂. “blah, bl-bl-blah, blah, blah. Coming out'cha mouth with'cha blah, blah, blah. Zip your lip like a padlock (Yeah) and meet me in the back with the Jack at the jukebox (back, back). I don't really care where you live at, just turn around, boy, let me hit that. Don't be a little bitch with your chit chat just show me where your d*ck’s at”. This person really enjoys your banter and despite being so hard on you they really only have a soft spot for you, I heard “that’s my baby” 🥹☺️. Pile 4, you must have a great ass as well 🍑. This person looks at your physique when you’re not looking, they really want to know what it feels like to have your body pressed against them. “Please me, baby. Turn around and just tease me, baby. You know what I want and what I need, baby. (Let me hear you say) Please” this person’s energy is honestly all over the place 💀 they’re just so horny lol. This person wants you *london accent* BAD, man.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 5:

Shufflemancy -

Lolly by Maejor ft. Justin Bieber & Juicy J

Walk Like This by FLO

Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado ft. Timbaland

Seven of Pentacles, Page of Cups, The Star (reversed), Plan A Meal, Nourish Your Temple, Music, Love, Passion, & Photograph

Ooo wee, pile 5🫣🤭, when I say this person has a biiiiig 📦 for you. This person has very masculine energy, almost giving fuckboy/frat guy vibes 😂. They could be very fit and muscular with a nice smile, they know they’re fine and attract a lot of people towards them. There could be a height difference between you and this person. Their attraction to you is because of the stereotypical phrase “idk you’re just different”. They don’t have the exact reasons why they’re into you but they do like your creativity, mannerisms, and shy demeanor. This person could have a corruption kink 💀. They could want to see you break out of that good girl / good boy routine and try something new and risky. You and this person know of each other but don’t seem to be very close, perhaps they are in your friend circle or you guys are just acquaintances. They often have dirty thoughts of you giving them head and seeing how much you can take of them. This person could wine and dine you first before wanting to go down on you. “Order what you want, girl, it ain't no problem. I'ma tell the waitress that my baby need a bottle. Order what you want, said it ain't no problem. Got a piece of candy and it's all for you. She say she love my lolly. She wanna make it pop. She say she love my lolly. She wanna kiss the top”. They like sex that’s really rough and nasty, if it’s not messy and loud they’re not into it 😭. I see that they’re into positions like 69, cowgirl, and missionary. They’re big on seeing your face during sex, they get really cheeky about the good work they’re doing and would want to pin your hands down so you can beg for more. I do see jewelry and this person wearing chains🙂‍↔️. This person would be more so walking you like a dog but you have them on a leash in the sense you keep them coming back. They could have you walking funny after you’re done 🤭 you might be really sore the next day as well. “There's a reason I walk like this (I walk). My baby, he be lovin' on this (Oh yeah). When he do it, he be workin' that shit (Oh yeah) And every night he got me wantin' more of it”. You might feel confident and pleased after having sex with this person and can feel a sense of relief.

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Pile 6:

Shufflemancy -

Play With It by Tommy Genesis

Who Am I (What's My Name?) by Snoop Dogg

Girls Need Love by Summer Walker

The Fool (reversed), The Sun, Five of Cups (reversed), Write a Gratitude List, Take a Walk, Clean Your Space, Family, Not Enough, Ax, & Healing Heart

Pile 6, you still not over your ex, huh 😔? It’s ok, no judgment here, baby 🫶. I see you and your ex still have an attachment together, things might be on and off or you don’t really know where the direction of this relationship is headed towards. I see that you are a very caring person and because of miscommunication, you and this person seem to never be on the right foot. It’s possible some of you who picked this pile have a baby with this person or will get pregnant (please use protection if this isn’t what you want!). I see a lot of fertility going on in this pile, you and this person could prefer to make love or have sex as if you’re making a baby lol. This person could have a breeding kink? They get turned on by the idea of you being pregnant with their child. Whenever you wear sundresses that is also sexy to them. I feel like your body is so tea, pile 6. Either you’re really thick and curvy or your body is just gorgeous to people, especially your sp. This person fantasizes about doing it raw while you touch yourself in front of them. “Play wit' the p*ssy, wanna play wit' the p*ssy. Come get a hooky, baby, come get a hooky. I wanna fuck you, baby, I wanna fuck you. If we not fuckin', baby, come get it poppin'”. This person is scared to fully pursue because you seem to be in a place of healing in your life and doesn’t want to add to that. There is another person that is new coming who also wishes to take your ex’s spot 👀 Oop! I feel like this will be their friend who will make passes at you and this will make your sp really jealous lol. In the bedroom, their jealousy could make them more dominant and want to take control. There is a lot about wanting to hear you moan or scream their name. They can be very vocal too i'm getting a lot about hissing so maybe they hiss whenever you get their spot? PHEW- They could want to fuck you doggy style while they spank your ass. “She want the nigga with the biggest nuts, and guess what? He is I and I am him. Slim with the tilted brim, what's my motherfuckin' name? Snoop Doggy Dogg (The bomb). Snoop Doggy Dogg Snoop Doggy Dogg (The bomb)” they can be really boastful after sex if they get you to cum and you can get annoyed by this lol. You might tell your person “it wasn’t even allat🙄” and they’ll tease you cus they know it was 😋. I see this person providing you with aftercare and massaging your back and feet. Even though you might not be together at the moment, this person really values you as a person and knows their place.

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Pile 7:

Shufflemancy -

Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) by Usher

JT Coming by JT

Huff n Puff by Red Velvet

Page of Swords, Knight of Wands (reversed), The Emperor, Be Still, Energy Work, Sync with the Moon, The Snake, Lightning, & Separation

Alright this is giving my queer pile 🥰, very androgynous energy all around here 😎. Regardless of what your gender might be, both you and this person are independent and like to have things a certain way. You could have met them through a dating app or while on a date with another person (Crazy work but ok 😂). I'm getting maybe someone is a bartender or works at some place where they have to socialize a lot. You and your sp are very flirtatious towards the other but someone gets super shy when it comes to compliments. This is for a select few of you but some of you might be transgender? Perhaps you are a trans man/woman and this person is cisgender. You might be nervous to be too flirty with them in case they might reject you but honestly i'm getting go for it baby, life is too short to be worrying about those things (just remember to be safe is all 🫶🏽). This person will be very polite and respectful towards you so just allow yourself to unwind when you go out with this person. "I ain't gotta do a lot of flexing (Uh-huh). Shorty, you already know what it is. Ha, and girl, tonight we gonna do a lot of sexin', yeah. Can't nobody do your body like this." They could be very forward and direct when it comes to communication they do not like beating around the bush, i'm getting someone likes to man spread a lot or you will notice that they sit with their legs open. Laaaawd when I tell you this person has a big 🍆 or owns one, they will have that shit ready for you LOLLL. This person gives big dick energy they're just very secure with themselves and how they carry on. You might feel insecure about some things and ask them "does this bother you?" or "do you find this attractive?" and they're gonna be like "yah" to everything. THEY MIGHT NOT EVEN GIVE A VERBAL RESPONSE TBH they just might nod their head or whatever and look at you like "is we fuckin' or what 😏🎶?". To them, these questions don't make sense like for example they would think "why wouldn't I like hip dips?" or "facial harmony? what the hell does that even mean? I don't care about that, I care about you." So if you are someone who compares themselves to people on the internet truuuust when I say this person is not chronically online to understand any of that shit. They like what they see and they just want to give it to you and more. "It's been a while since you gave, ho, it's time to give it up (Give it up). Like a bitch with a fresh BBL, you can't sit with us (Nah). Fine motherfucker, white boys say I rock (Hah). I gotta stay protected 'cause y'all stay on my c*ck. My new whip beautiful, I call it p*ssy whip. It was a gift, my nigga friends say he p*ssy whipped." Your sp might be older as well or very mature for their age.

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Pile 8:

Shufflemancy -

SHY GUY by Tinashe

Good For You by Selena Gomez ft. A$ap Rocky

Unfold by Alina Baraz

Seven of Swords, Five of Pentacles, The Star, Journal, Look for Fairies, Movement, Hammer, The Dragonfly, & Self-Indulgence

Aww this is my soft pile 🛌. I see that you guys are very spiritual and dreamy. You might fantasize a lot about this person. For some of you, you might even be manifesting them. I see that the feelings you have towards this person are very tender and loving. I see that this person is very flighty and doesn’t wish to have such a big commitment. This person you are interested could have ghosted you or there’s something wrong with your communication. Maybe you and this person have different time zones or a conflict of schedule. There’s something about the person not being there for you. “Shy guy, always sayin' it's the wrong time. Even though you know it feels right. Love don't fit into your timeline (La, la, la, la). Shy guy, always sayin' it's the wrong time. Even though you know it feels right. Love don't fit into your timeline. Shy guy (Guy, guy, guy, guy, guy)” I believe you are being too kind to this person and need to detach and allow them to chase you. Focusing on yourself and seeing other people will allow this person to show up for you and be the person that you need. Now is the time for you to be self indulgent and take care of yourself. Some of you should practice healing in the bedroom and should learn about what makes you feel good sexually. Perhaps exploring with new partners will help you find new things that provide pleasure. I see that you are very submissive or lean towards more vanilla. Try to vocalize what makes you feel good to your partner and be more assertive. Your energy reminds me of Jhené Aiko’s song “P*$$y Fairy”, very sensual but delicate. To this person if you were to show them your new found confidence, they will crumble to their knees and will feel stunned. They might ask you questions like “where did you learn this baby???” Or “have you been having fun without me?”. They really love how you taste 😳 this sp wants to pull your dress/skirt up or pants off and just go to town. Their favorite thing is when you’re all dolled up and getting ready to go out. “Gonna wear that dress you like, skin-tight. Do my hair up real, real nice. And syncopate my skin to your heart beating. Cause I just wanna look good for you, good for you. I just wanna look good for you, good for you. Let me show you how proud I am to be yours.” I’m seeing that they admire your facial expressions during sex for to them it’s too cute, something about makeup smudging? Things can get really messy 👀

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Pile 9:

Shufflemancy -

Come Alive by Jackson Wang

Earned It by The Weeknd

Swim by Chase Atlantic

Eight of Wands, Death, The Hanged One, Dance, Look to the Stars, Sound Healing, The Grim Reaper, Ascending, & Healthy Choices

When I tell you this pile is NASTYYY. It’s honestly crazy how much this person wants to match your freak, pile 9. Definitely saved best for last. The sex almost feels cinematic in a way. Something about this person just gives main character vibes that is so seductive you can’t turn your eyes away from them. I believe your relationship with this person could have progressed pretty fast. For some of you, you could have kissed or even had sex after the first date. While I also see that this is a friends with benefits situation (does someone have a contract?!). You could find them mysterious or wish to get to know them on a more interpersonal level. You could feel that these things are more surface level in terms of attraction and don’t want the intimacy to only be superficial. I see that this sp is charming and prefers to disclose things little by little. “I come alive. You start me up a million times. And I'm terrified. That you could leave me crying.” So this person could be afraid of opening up to you because they are nervous about getting their heart broken. They might have previously gotten out of a relationship and they are learning how to trust in a partner again. Your sp could be afraid of rejection and that's why they are disorganized in terms of how they want to pursue you. Providing this person with assurance will help them gain courage, also pile 9, make sure to do what's healthy for you, try not to overly devote your time to this person. I see that communicating with your partner and talking about how you have been feeling will want to open up more and trust you. Something about wearing lingerie in the bedroom is a major turn on for this person. Taking control and guiding this person will help allow them to let their guard down. "Cause girl, you're perfect (girl, you're perfect). You're always worth it (always worth it). And you deserve it (and you deserve it). The way you work it (the way you work it). 'Cause girl, you earned it, yeah (earned it). Girl, you earned it, yeah". Your sp would be over the moon for you.

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kisses4themissus · 5 months ago

Text

Foreign 2 Me || Hwang In-ho X Reader

wc: 2.3k a/n: the long awaited pt 2!! js know i absolutely love reading your guys comments!! warning: not proofread, so beware of spelling errors

pt 1 | masterlist

Lyrics to fly me to the moon filled your ears as you awoken. You glanced around the bedroom, your eyes found your hands had been loosened a bit from the rope. You were now able to move them to your face.

You wiped your eyes before looking around the dark room. “Player 129.” A deep voice spoke from the door.

Your eyes flickered to see the same blacksuited manager from the previous day. You held your breath as he stepped into the room. “Frontman had to step out due to business, he wasn’t expecting you to wake up so early.” They explained.

“What do you want?” You questioned as they got closer to you. “Frontman had taken a liking to a player, you enter the picture and the player began to loose his element.” they explained simply. They walked closer to the bed, making you scoot further away.

“So he took me?” You scoffed. The manager shook their head at you. With a huff you turned back on your side and faced away from the guard, a plan forming in your mind. You listened as the manager got up and clicked a button on a remote and the sleeping gas filled the room. You just relaxed and let the sleepiness wash over you.

The next time you had woken up, it was pink managers with the black suit one, they had entered the room and helped dress you, getting rid of your player uniform and into a black silk pajamas. You watched as one of them walked to the manager and grabbed the small tray and walked over once you were tied back to the bed.

You opened your mouth as they fed you the food; it was different from what you had ate in the dorm. “Why is he treating me so well?” You questioned, your tongue poking the side of your cheek. “He must have a special interest.” The manager in the black suit responded.

“He said if you behave yourself, you’d be allowed to watch your new..friend, in the next game.” A worker explained, getting more food on the spoon before shoving it in your mouth. You had zoned out whatever they talked about; you had your mind set on your way out of this hell.

- - - - - - - -

The next morning, to the strange suited manager you had been well-behaved, therefore they’d allowed you to watch the next game, through the night you had slowly gained freedom, the workers had allowed you to move out of the bed and into the main room, even letting you feed yourself at the small kitchen table.

You had been lucky enough to slip the fork into your sleeve of your pajamas and hid it, waiting for the right moment to strike your plan in action.

The manager clicked something on the remote, a live showing of a round platform with three small horses on top, it had reminded you of a carousel you’d see in almost empty malls. You watched confused as the manger switched to another camera that showed many colorful doors.

“The next game is mingle, players will gather into groups of whatever number is announced and make it into a room before the time runs out.”

Your eyes widened as players walked into the room, the soldiers leading them. “How many rooms?” You questioned, looking over at the masked manager. “Fifty, more then half should be wiped in this game.” They said, though their face was hidden you knew they told you the game with a smile on their face.

“Could I get some water, i’m thirsty.” You asked, politely. The manager sighed, tying your feet together to ensure you couldn’t get up to bash the back of his head.

You waited patiently for your water, you took a deep breath in as you tried soothing your nerves in order for your plan to work. He set down the glass cup beside you, with a grateful nod, he walked over and united your shackles and let you pick the glass up and drank out of it as the game began.

Minutes had passed of watching your fellow players run for their lives. You sighed, it was time.

You reached over and grabbed the cup and took a drink, you noticed the manger’s relaxed posture as he sat on a black chair. You began to cough and fold over. The manager glanced at you and ignored it at first til you began to force yourself to wheeze.

He shot up from his chair; knowing he’d be dead if you had tried to kill yourself while in-ho was away.

You threw yourself on the floor and coughed hard, thanking whoever above as the manger hunched over you, trying to help you sit up.

On your back you brought up your knee and hit their genitals, hoping it was a man behind the mask. They keeled over and groaned in pain, you quickly popped up and took the fork out from your sleeve and raised it above your shoulder before driving into the masked man’s chest.

Pulling out the fork, you shove his mask up. He wore another blackout mask underneath.

He attempted to stop you but stopped as you threw punch to his nose, making his eyes begin to water, blocking his view as you brought the fork to his right eye and stabbed it, he tossed you aside and scrambled to get onto to restrain you once more.

You shakily smiled as he swayed, thanks to his vision being gone in one eye, you pulled the back of his head, making him fall back onto the ground. You got on top of him and managed to punch his jaw, he groaned, the room going dark.

“Goodnight.” You said panting, watching as he passed out on the ground. You glanced up at the screen and stopped as the cameras showed young-il in a room with jung-bae and another man, you gasped as young-il had snapped the man’s neck, his eyes darkened as he stared at jung-bae; you both had killed someone that day out of survival.

Once he was out, you got up from the floor and got to work tying him to the furniture around you. As you tied the man up, you paused as static filled the room’s silence. You searched the name and nodded as his communication device was sat perfectly on the table beside him.

Quickly stripping him out of his uniform you placed it on, tossing the pajamas on the chair’s back, looking around the room for anything you might need to act as the black suited man.

You got up and took his mask from the floor and grabbed the device before walking to the elevators. You raised the mask, the elevator doors opened, you sighed, stepping in and slipping the mask on.

You had heard the workers talk about the second floor being the solider’s quarters. You quickly press the bottom level and walked out, it had been a purple hallway, you kept walking and sighed in relief as you found the stairway you had all walked through to get to the games, you began opening random doors, you stopped as you opened one, it had a dark hallway. You quickly walked down, having no other plan.

As you walked into the cold, quiet dark room you quickly made out another door and made your way over and opened it to show more stairs, with a deep breath you walked down them, the place had been a labyrinth, you had wondered how the workers didn’t get lost.

As you thought to yourself you finally walked down to a cave of sorts, you noticed oxygen tanks in the corner, you began to tear up, it had all lined up. You were going to get out.

You quickly geared up and thanked your family who had took you on scuba trips as a child for fun. You got ready and began diving and swam around for a underwater exit.

Popping out of the water, you took off the mouth guard, gasping; you had been swimming for awhile after you had left the cave. There had been a small island to your left, you quickly swam over and got out, catching your breath as you sat up against a rock.

In-ho sighed, tiredly from the latest game, he needed to leave the games soon, you were safe and sound for his keeping up in his penthouse.

As he walked up to grab his food, he was stopped as a worker muttered to him. “She’s escaped.”

In-ho stopped, staring at the worker as he took the food and drink. “Find her, she has to be somewhere in the building.” He commanded quietly, walking away, back towards his group of players.

- - - - - - - -

You sighed as you tried to form another plan, you didn’t see another island around; who knew how far the actually was from main land. As you blinked, your eyes grew heavy. You groaned trying to fight it off but lost, your body lulled you to a peaceful sleep.

Jun-ho sighed as he scanned the water once more; nothing.

“Ready to go back yet?” The captain questioned, woo-seok scoffed at the older man and continued looking through his binoculars. “HEY! GET CLOSER TO THAT ISLAND!” Woo-seok yelled as he noticed a figure on the empty island.

The captain sigh and began to get closer, tensing up a bit as everyone noticed a body. “Is she alive?” Jun-ho questioned, grabbing his long coat as they docked at the island, the others began to fly a drone over the island to make sure it wasn’t a cover for an ambush.

“She’s alone.” They confirmed, jun-ho nodded and ran over to help you onto the boat, woo-seok helped carrying you. “Where do we place her?” Woo-seok asked, holding your legs while jun-ho held your back and head.

“Here, place her on the pull out.” Captain park, motioned. The two gently placed you down before finding to see your pulse, jun-ho sighed in relief you were alive.

“Cover her up, captain let’s head back for today. I’ll go signal the others.” Jun-ho commanded, walking away, leaving woo-seok who grabbed blankets and jun-ho’s coat to warm you up. While woo-seok watched over you, the captain’s nerves went up, where did you escape from, clearly you had been through something, he had hoped that night he wouldn't receive a call from in-ho asking for a woman.

- - - - - - - -

You roughly coughed, you sat up. The person beside you quickly jumped up with you.

“Careful, they just changed your IV’s!” He lightly patted your back, once you stopped coughing you froze as you looked up at the male.

“Who are you, where am I?!” You asked, scooting to the back of the hospital bed. He held up his hands to show he wasn’t up to anything. “You’re at the hospital, i found you passed out on a rock in the middle of nowhere, I’m detective jun-ho!” He explained, slowly reaching for his wallet, you nodded, allowing him to do so.

He sighed and pulled out his badge. You grabbed it and read over the name before sighing and handed it back.

“Thank you, I guess…” You thanked, bowing your head.

“What were you doing on that island?” He questioned, scotting towards you. Throwing your head back you let out a shaky breath and held your head. “You won’t believe me..” You muttered, laughing a bit; you’d look insane if you tried explaining the games.

“I’ve heard some stuff, so again; why where you on that island?”

You sighed at the detective, his sorrow filled eyes made you spill everything to him. The cruel killing of people, the children's game, the people stuck there on the island; The frontman. Jun-ho’s blood ran cold as you explained you were taken one night by his brother.

“And then the next day he was away for business, i did things on that island that i’m not proud of..” You confessed, looking down at your hands. Jun-ho stood up and placed his hand over yours.

“I believe you, a close friend of mine had a similar story, he went in but we haven’t found him.” Jun-ho sighed, pacing at the end of your hospital bed. “...Was his name seong gi-hun?” you asked quietly, jun-ho turned to you, not hearing what you had said.

“Seong Gi-hun, player 456.” You repeated, making jun-ho stop.

“You saw him?” He asked frantic. You nodded at him. “I joined his team for the second game, last i saw he was still alive.” You explained, jun-ho ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Would you be willing to help us find the island?” He asked, desperation in his voice.

You shook your head. “What if frontman catches me, hell he’s probably kill young-il for my stupid escape!” Your words slowed down as you realized young-il’s fate. You gasped and covered your mouth as tears built up, all of your friends must’ve been paying for your actions.

“I won’t let him harm you.” Jun-ho promised, looking into your watery eyes.

“I won’t go with you,” You informed as you wiped the falling tears, jun-ho sighed looking down at his shoes. “I can tell you everything in detail that happened.” You finished, jun-ho’s head popped up as he frantically nodded. “That’ll work!”

- - - - - - - -

In-ho sighed as he watched gi-hun get dragged back to the dorms after he had shot jung-bae in front of him, as he slipped off his mask, he walked over to his liquor cabinet and pulled out his whiskey.

As he took a drink, his landline phone rang. With a heavy sigh he walked over and picked up, before he opened his mouth a voiced stopped him.

“She’s found your brother.” The captain informed.

“Stop them. I’m on my way.” In-ho hung up, dowing the rest of his whiskey. He roughly slammed the glass down next to the phone.

You had slipped away and fell into jun-ho’s grasp, really it was only a matter of time before his baby brother had met his new sister-in-law.

Hwang In-ho taglist; @snowtargaryen @menabuser16 @azusdump @jspidey5 @annasnape7 @macnbriee @ookybatt @sasha-swftie @moonxnite @ninglovr

#frontman x reader #hwang inho x reader #squid game x reader #player 001 x reader #young il x reader #frontman x you #squid game x you #in ho x reader #hwang inho #lee byung hun x reader

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