#it's so thick in the air it's unreal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heeluvv · 2 months ago

Note

i have been loving everything you're writing :D can i request sunghoon who secretly records himself fucking Y/N and sending it to heeseung after he found out heeseung tried to hit on her?

so i’ve seen this alr in a fic, very similar to the way you described it so i did it differently, hope you still like it tho :))

THE CALL.ᐟ

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ park sunghoon x reader ft. heeseung

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ unprotected sex, rough hoon, etc.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

you never expected to find yourself in this situation—not like this.

it caught you completely off guard, leaving a sinking feeling in your stomach as you processed what had just happened. of all people, heeseung. the one who had always been there, the one who knew exactly where your heart belonged. yet here he was, toeing a line he had no business crossing, his words dripping with something that made your skin prickle with unease.

your pulse quickened, tension settling heavy in the air between you. his gaze was steady, unwavering, as if he was waiting for you to give in, to entertain whatever this was.

but you wouldn’t. you couldn’t.

your breath came out slow and measured as you straightened your shoulders, voice firm despite the slight tremor of disbelief still lingering within you.

“i’m not interested, heeseung.”

the words felt heavy, final.

his lips curled at the edges, an unreadable expression flickering across his face, but he didn’t move, didn’t step back.

you took a step instead, creating space between you, a silent boundary drawn in the tension-filled room.

“i think it’s best if you just leave it at that.”

your voice was softer now, but no less certain.

because this—whatever this was—couldn’t happen. wouldn’t happen.

not when your heart already belonged to someone else.

he left after that.

no further words, no last attempt to push the boundaries—just a lingering look before he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your mind in turmoil.

but just because he was gone didn’t mean the weight of what had happened left with him.

your thoughts were racing, looping the moment over and over in your head, dissecting every detail.

should you tell sunghoon?

the question gnawed at you, settling deep in your chest.

you didn’t know how he’d react. would he be upset? angry? would he confront heeseung, or would it create unnecessary tension between them? between all of you?

the uncertainty made your stomach twist.

so you decided to stay silent.

the day stretched on, but you were too caught up in your thoughts to fully process it. the hours blurred together, your mind distant, replaying everything until it all felt unreal, like maybe it had never even happened in the first place.

but the moment sunghoon walked through the door, reality snapped back into place.

he wasn’t as talkative today, but that wasn’t unusual. you were both naturally quiet, better at speaking through gestures and touches rather than words.

you watched as he set his things down, his posture relaxed, but something about him seemed… off.

still, you smiled, pushing aside the lingering unease as you made your way toward him.

“hoonie…”

your voice was soft, affectionate, as you reached for him, your fingers brushing against his.

but as his dark eyes met yours, something about his gaze made your heart stutter.

he knew.

you bit your lip, the weight of his stare pressing down on you like a storm about to break. your hands felt clammy, a nervous sweat forming at your palms, but still—he didn’t speak.

his dark gaze burned into you, unreadable, suffocating.

your breath hitched as tension crackled between you, thick and suffocating. you wanted to say something—anything—but before you could part your lips, he moved.

his hands were on you in an instant, gripping your face with a force that sent a shiver through your spine.

and then, he kissed you.

aggressive. hungry. possessive.

his lips devoured yours, his movements unrelenting as he pushed you back, his grip firm as he guided you toward your shared bedroom.

you stumbled slightly, but he didn’t let up.

his body pressed against yours, heat radiating from him, his breath heavy as his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling, tilting your head just right so he could deepen the kiss.

his tongue slipped past your parted lips, claiming every inch, swallowing every soft whimper that escaped you.

your mind spun, the air growing hotter, your body burning under his touch.

his hands moved fast—too fast—fumbling with the fabric of your clothes, dragging them away from your body, his touch rough, desperate.

your shirt was the first to go, discarded carelessly onto the floor.

then your pants—his fingers making quick work of the waistband, yanking them down in one swift motion.

your breath came out in short, uneven gasps as his lips trailed down, kissing, biting, marking as he went.

“hoon—”

your voice broke between gasps, your fingers clutching at his hoodie, grasping for something—anything—to ground yourself.

but he wasn’t stopping.

he wasn’t slowing down.

whatever had settled behind those dark eyes of his—it was consuming him.

and tonight, he was going to make sure you knew exactly who you belonged to.

he pushed you down onto the bed, the sudden force of it knocking the breath from your lungs. his hands moved fast, desperate, yanking at his hoodie, his shirt—any barrier that separated his skin from yours.

but even as he fumbled with his clothes, his lips never left you.

hot, open-mouthed kisses trailed down your body, his teeth grazing, his tongue soothing over the marks he was claiming as his.

the bruises he was leaving behind burned against your skin, each one searing, possessive.

he was never like this. never this rough, never this desperate, never this ravenous.

but you couldn’t stop him.

you didn’t want to stop him.

it was intoxicating—the way he handled you, the way his breath came out ragged, the way his fingers gripped your hips so tightly it made your head spin.

a shudder ran through you as his lips moved lower, ghosting over your stomach, his hands gripping the waistband of your panties.

before you could even process it, he ripped them down, tossing them somewhere behind him without care.

your breath hitched, your thighs instinctively trying to close, but his hands were already there, spreading you apart, holding you open for him.

his gaze flickered up to meet yours, his dark eyes burning.

and then—he dove in.

his mouth was on you in an instant, his tongue licking a bold, deliberate stripe through your folds before latching onto your clit, sucking with a hunger that made your entire body jerk.

a strangled moan tore from your throat, your back arching off the bed.

“fuck, sunghoon!”

but he didn’t stop.

he groaned against your heat, the vibrations shooting through you, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.

his fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you pinned, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as his tongue worked you over, relentless, unforgiving.

his nose brushed against your swollen clit as he licked deeper, tasting, savoring every inch of you like a man starved.

your fingers shot down, tangling in his hair, pulling—pushing.

you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or if you needed more.

he couldn’t wait any longer.

he had been holding back, barely reining himself in, but his patience had snapped.

tonight wasn’t just about taking you—it was about proving a point. and he was going to do it fast, hard, and without a single fucking ounce of hesitation.

his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping himself with rough, desperate strokes. the slick sounds of his precum-coated length filled the air, mixing with his ragged breathing, soft groans slipping from his lips as he worked himself up.

but his other hand was already moving—reaching for his phone.

his fingers moved quickly, unlocking it in an instant, scrolling through his contacts until he found the one.

his grip tightened around his cock, his hips jerking slightly into his own touch as he pressed the call button.

his free hand dropped, the phone held steady at just the right angle—high enough that whoever was on the other end would get a perfect view of you.

your body, laid out beneath him.

your legs spread.

your soaked folds glistening, waiting for him.

he needed them to see this.

to watch.

to understand.

he lined himself up, his cock tracing a slow, teasing path along your folds, dragging against your wetness, coating himself in you.

your body tensed, a soft whimper escaping your lips, but you were too lost in the moment, too consumed by the overwhelming anticipation to even notice what he was doing.

but then—the call picked up.

a soft, almost confused, “hello?” crackled through the speaker.

and at that very second—he slammed into you.

your gasp turned into a cry, your body arching, your nails digging into the sheets as he bottomed out in one deep, punishing thrust.

his grip on his phone never wavered, his dark eyes flickering between the screen and the way your body clenched around him.

and then—his lips curled into a smirk, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he finally spoke.

“watch this.”

heeseung stood there, frozen, his breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold before him.

his eyes were wide, his jaw locked tight, but he didn’t move. he couldn’t.

because sunghoon wasn’t stopping.

wasn’t slowing down.

if anything, he was only getting rougher.

his grip on your waist was bruising, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slammed into you, his thrusts hard, relentless, punishing.

his free hand left your hip, trailing downward with purpose, with intent.

then—a sharp, stinging slap landed against your soaked pussy, making your body jolt, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through your spine.

“you thought i wouldn’t fucking find out?” sunghoon growled, his voice thick with something dark—something possessive, something deadly.

heeseung sucked in a sharp breath, his fists clenching at his sides, his face unreadable as he kept his gaze locked onto yours.

but sunghoon wasn’t done.

his grip on your jaw was sudden, forcing you to turn your head, forcing you to look at him, his dark eyes burning into yours.

his lips curled into something dangerous as his pace snapped, his hips rolling into you harder, deeper, making you sob, your nails clawing at the sheets beneath you.

“you’re a fucking bitch tryna hit on my girl,” he spat, his words laced with venom, his hand coming down on your pussy again, making you jerk, making you feel every single inch of him.

heeseung’s jaw twitched, his breathing uneven, but he didn’t dare move.

not when sunghoon was looking at him like that.

not when he was making a fucking statement.

because this? this wasn’t just about fucking you. this was about claiming you. and sunghoon was making sure heeseung understood—you belonged to him.

“who owns this pussy, baby?” sunghoon growled, his voice rough, breath ragged as he drove himself into you over and over, each thrust harder, deeper, making your body jolt with every brutal snap of his hips.

his fingers never stopped—never slowed—as they worked furiously against your swollen clit, circling it with aggressive, relentless strokes.

you could barely breathe.

your body was on fire, the heat of his touch sending violent shudders through you, your walls clenching around him so tightly he let out a guttural moan.

his free hand gripped your waist with bruising force, anchoring you in place, keeping you exactly where he wanted you—helpless, ruined, completely at his mercy.

the pleasure was too much.

your thighs trembled, your body tightening, the familiar heat in your stomach coiling so tight you thought you might snap at any second.

“sunghoon—fuck, i—”

your words were broken, slurred between desperate moans, your nails digging into his arms, clinging onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

but he wasn’t stopping.

he wasn’t letting you catch your breath.

his pace only snapped, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls with each unforgiving thrust, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

“tell me,” he growled, his hand suddenly slapping your clit, making you scream, your back arching, pleasure shooting through you like lightning.

“who. owns. this. pussy?”

his words were punctuated by sharp, punishing thrusts, each one knocking the air from your lungs, forcing the answer from your lips before you even had time to think.

“you!” you sobbed, your body convulsing beneath him, tears spilling from the intensity of it all. “fuck—sunghoon!”

his grip on your thigh tightened, his fingers grinding against your overstimulated clit as he drove himself into you, chasing your orgasm, pushing you to the very edge.

“that’s right, baby,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice thick with possession.

“this pussy belongs to me.”

and with one final, devastating thrust—he sent you crashing over the edge.

your orgasm tore through you with an intensity that left you completely shattered.

your body convulsed beneath him, your thighs trembling violently as your back arched off the bed, your vision blurring with the overwhelming pleasure that surged through your veins.

your walls clenched down hard around nothing, the emptiness almost unbearable as your entire body pulsed with aftershocks, your breath coming out in ragged, broken gasps.

you felt lightheaded, floating, completely lost in the lingering haze of euphoria—your mind too clouded to focus, your body too weak to move.

sunghoon pulled out abruptly, leaving you dripping, ruined, your slick coating your inner thighs as he fisted his cock, stroking himself at a ruthless pace.

his breath was heavy, uneven, his grip tight as he worked himself closer, his eyes fixed on you—your wrecked state, your flushed skin, the way your body still twitched from the overstimulation.

“fuck—” he groaned, his brows furrowing, his abs tightening as the heat in his stomach snapped.

his cock twitched violently in his hand, hot ropes of cum shot out, splattering across your face, coating your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, marking you completely.

the warmth of it, the sheer filthiness of it made your thighs clench instinctively, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you tried to catch your breath.

sunghoon let out a shuddered exhale, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he came down from his high.

his dark gaze flickered toward his phone, his grip tightening around the device as he angled it lower, making sure every inch of your cum-covered face was perfectly captured on the screen.

he shifted slightly, tilting his head, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as his eyes flickered up to the screen—to heeseung.

frozen.

silent.

his expression unreadable, his lips slightly parted, his breathing barely noticeable as he stared at the image before him.

sunghoon smirked.

he lifted the phone higher, angling it just right so heeseung had no choice but to take in all of it—your wrecked body, your heaving chest, your face completely painted in him.

his voice was low, dripping with possession as he spoke, his words slow, deliberate, final.

“she’s mine, fucker.” his smirk widened as heeseung’s jaw tensed, his fingers twitching at his sides.

sunghoon chuckled darkly, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“you’ll never have her like this.”

and with that, he ended the call.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ hoped you enjoyed!!

#enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha #enhypen smut #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #lee heeseung #heeseung #enha fics #enha imagines

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joelswhcre · 26 days ago

Note

will Joel live up to this promise from my last ask about thigh-riding?

“next time, you’re gonna ride my cock instead”

your writing is just so YUM! I fear I need reader taking what she needs from Joel ;)

────۶ৎ you promised

joel finally makes good on his promise

warnings: smut, cock riding, dirty talk, soft dom/sub vibes, overstimulation, mutual desperation.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: “next time, you’re gonna ride my cock instead.” well… he does. and you take it. thank you for the delicious inspo and the sweet words—your ask had me feral. hope you enjoy

ᖭ༏ᖫ

you’re already naked when you crawl into his lap.

joel’s shirt’s off, jeans pushed down just enough, cock heavy against his stomach—and he’s looking at you like you’ve knocked the fuckin’ wind out of him. hands twitching like he wants to grab you, but he’s waiting. letting you have it.

“shit,” he mutters when you wrap a hand round the base, dragging the tip through your soaked folds, tapping it against your clit just to tease. “you’re really—fuckin’ hell—gonna ride me, yeah?”

you nod, already breathless.

“you promised,” you say, quiet, but firm. “said next time i’d ride your cock. i’m takin’ it now.”

he groans, deep and wrecked, hands coming up to grip your hips—but not guiding, just there. you sink down slow, whining at the stretch, at how full he is, cock thick and hot inside you, and joel’s cursing under his breath like a man possessed.

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he breathes, eyes flicking down to where you’re stuffed full. “you’re so bloody tight—feels unreal, baby.”

you move in slow, grinding circles, your pace lazy, like you’ve got all the time in the world to ruin him. slick sounds fill the room, your cunt dripping down his cock, making a mess of his lap—and joel looks ruined already, head tipped back, chest rising and falling like he’s trying not to lose it.

“that’s it,” he pants. “take it—take what you need. fuckin’ starvin’ for it, aren’t you?”

you moan, thighs shaking, clit catching just right every time you roll your hips. your hands are braced on his chest, fingers digging in for balance, but you’re still the one in control, using him, chasing your high.

“joel,” you gasp, “gonna—fuck, m’gonna cum—”

he bucks his hips once, hard and deep, and that’s all it takes—your orgasm crashes over you, sharp and hot, cunt clenching tight round him, body twitching as you grind through it. joel groans like you’ve knocked the air out of his lungs, grabs your arse and thrusts up once more before he’s spilling inside you, warm and thick.

you slump against him, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat.

joel’s arms wrap round you, voice rough in your ear.

“you did so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth pressed to your temple. “need a minute… then i’m flippin’ you over and fuckin’ you proper.”

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

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mihanisms · 26 days ago

Text

are you hearing things? certainly, an intruder didn’t break into your house just to clean up the mess you’d left behind this morning and cook your favorite dish, did they? no…unless this intruder was really, really nice and somehow knew you inside out.

but then it hits you.

caleb.

that's the only thought in your head as you rush over to the kitchen, stopping in the middle as you see your husband in a fucking apron, cutting up vegetables on the kitchen counter.

he looks up as soon as he hears your footsteps stop, a big, satisfied smirk on his face. yet despite the smugness, his expression is tender, displaying a love that makes your chest tighten with familiarity. before either of you can say a word, you rush over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and immediately melt into his touch.

he's warm, and most of all, real. in your arms. no words are said—they're not even needed as he returns your embrace, nuzzling his face into your hair and pressing you to him like a long-lost piece of himself finally returned. you sink into the quiet gravity of his hold, the space between you dissolving as you breathe in each other's presence. time feels like it's folding in on itself—only the steady rise and fall of his breath tethering you to the moment, to him, to home.

you decide to break the silence, your hands gripping tighter on his clothes, voice muffled by your face in the crook of his neck. "caleb. you’re early. you’re- you're here." the words are slightly cracked, tinted with a quiet desperation and disbelief that has your heart pounding in your chest, still processing what was happening.

caleb only holds you closer, his voice thick with similar emotions. "'course i am, honey. wouldn't trade this for the world." he presses a soft kiss to your head, his hands gently running down your sides and stopping at your waist. he pulls away to look you in the eyes, his gaze filled with something so soft you could almost feel it in your hands. "the expedition ended early. i got home as soon as i could to surprise you."

your eyes drift up and down his face, his neck, any piece of him available to you—you drink it in, relishing in the man before you like a traveler would an oasis in the desert. you swallow, throat thick with longing as you struggle to say another full sentence.

but it doesn't matter, not when he knows exactly what you want to say. your emotions are written on your face, woven into every action, and even without words, caleb can feel it in the space between you, his heart long since in tune with yours.

taking a deep breath, you manage to speak, sniffling. "i was- i was counting down the days. i thought you wouldn't be home for at least a few more weeks-"

caleb only grins softly, tenderly slipping his hand beneath your shirt to feel your skin on his. "you know me, honey. i can't just stay away from you." he punctuates his words with a soft caress up your back, tracing your spine and sending a shiver through your body. it grounds you, his actions and affections so familiar and yet so unreal in the moment.

a small laugh manages to bubble from your lips, relieved and stupefied. you pull him in again, feeling his heartbeat against yours. he's here. all of him.

and suddenly, the exhaustion of the past few weeks, the impatience, the longing, the loneliness—it all fades away, and you're left with something that is so unmistakably home, because you're in his arms.

he lets out a relieved sigh of his own, chuckling slightly and shifting his body to better accommodate yours. in doing so, you're pulled away from him just slightly, the glint of something floating in the air catching your eye. your brows furrow together as the object catches your interest, peeking out at it from above caleb's arms.

a knife.

a floating knife.

you blink. your mind is still catching up with everything, but the sight of a knife hovering a few steps away from you—completely still, suspended in midair—pulls you out of your processing period. your brows furrow even further, your head stiffly moving to look up at your husband.

"caleb...?" as of that moment, his tender gaze had turned into a suppressed grin, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint you knew so well. his hands squeeze your sides, voice teasing and lilted. "'sup, honeybunch? still need proof it's really me?"

your eyes flick between the knife and him, your voice slow and hesitant. "caleb, why is there a knife next to us right now?"

he laughs, and it's a warm sound that dissipates any tension in your body, a small smile pulling up at your lips despite the confusion. he leans in with a smirk, shrugging and ruffling your hair as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. "i don't know baby, you were pretty eager to get me in your arms. didn't stop to think twice that i was cutting up some veggies."

your face flushes as you process that he had only used his evol to move the knife he was holding away from the both of you. "...oh," is all you manage to squeak out as he laughs again, gently tugging on your hair to tilt your head upwards and to land a kiss on your forehead.

caleb smirks, his own gaze flickering between the knife and you, "someone had to make sure you didn’t end up with a gash on your hand while trying to tackle me."

you shake your head, still smiling and now slightly flushed due to his actions. "sorry, it was all just..." he cuts you off with a finger to your lips, grinning at the cute sight of your face. "there's no need for an apology, honey. i'm just doing my job as your husband."

he steps forward, the knife gently floating back down onto the counter with a soft clink as he places his hand beneath your chin. "our kitchen is quite the dangerous place, you know."

the playful edge in his voice and the cheeky grin on his face make you laugh, a soft, breathless sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. you shake your head, amusement dancing in your eyes as you finally take in your surroundings—the seasoned chicken resting in the bowl, the steam curling from the bubbling pot of your favorite broth on the stove, and most of all, the warm, inviting scent of home.

it isn't just the food or the careful way he’s prepared everything for you. it’s him, standing there, grounding you in a moment that feels almost too good to be real. the weight of missing him lingers faintly in your chest, but it’s lightened by the fact that, for the first time in weeks, he’s here.

caleb's eyes wash over you with amusement, his head tilting as his thumb caresses your cheek before gently pressing into your skin, affectionately squeezing your face. "you okay there, pips? looks like you're about to start crying over dinner."

his teasing lingers for only a second before something shifts. his touch, once playful, turns softer—more deliberate. his hands come up to cradle your face fully, his warmth seeping into your skin. it's only then that you realize why his expression has changed.

you were crying.

warm, salty tears are trickling down your face as you try to deny your current state, your lips trembling as you let out a shaky laugh. "ah, i’m-," you start off, but the crack in your voice betrays you. you sniffle, swiping at your face, affection and frustration mixing in your expression. "it’s not-”

but caleb just smiles, thumbs brushing away the tears before they can fall any further. "i know," he murmurs, voice as warm as his touch. "i know, baby."

caleb doesn’t say anything else—he doesn’t need to. instead, he pulls you in, pressing his lips gently to your forehead, letting them linger there for a few precious moments. his touch is grounding, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself lean into it completely.

his fingers stroke along your back in soothing circles, a silent reassurance that he’s real, that he’s with you. and you believe it. because how could you not, when his presence feels like the most tangible thing in the world?

after a few quiet breaths, he pulls away just enough to meet your gaze again, studying your face with something soft and knowing. “feeling a little better?”

you sniffle, nodding as you wipe at your eyes again. “yeah. just… didn’t expect this.”

he grins, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone one last time before he finally steps back, hands slipping down to rest at your waist. “well, i was hoping for a ‘wow, my incredibly handsome husband is the best for surprising me like this!’ but i guess tears of joy work too.”

you roll your eyes, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. “if you wanted me to swoon, you should’ve walked in with flowers, colonel.”

caleb lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “damn, should’ve known i was dealing with high standards.”

“very high,” you confirm, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips.

he huffs out a laugh before squeezing your waist one last time and turning back to the counter. “cmon, pips. go set the table before you start crying again.”

you mumble sarcastically but oblige, pulling out the plates and utensils while he goes back to cooking. the kitchen is quiet save for the soft sounds of bubbling broth and the rhythmic chop of his knife against the cutting board.

it’s a comfortable kind of quiet—the kind that settles lovingly in your ribs, wrapping around your heart like the warmest embrace.

and when you finally sit down for dinner, across from the man who makes your world feel so much brighter just by being in it, you realize that no matter how long he’s gone, no matter how much you miss him, this moment will always come back to you.

because caleb always comes back to you.

#౨ৎ m's fics! ₊˚ෆ #I genuinely cant stop thinking about him calling us “honey"#like its so sweet and playful and ughhhh where is my ring #caleb is a mirror of me and i am a mirror of him LET ME FUSE WITH THIS MAN PLEAAAASE #caleb x reader #caleb x you #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #caleb fluff #caleb lads #my first non-nsfw piece ;DD though i maybe have a pt2 with reunion sex in mind LOL #guys calebmc marriage is my second dream marriage #first is zayne. okay sorry caleb i love you but you cant take that spot.....

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uncuredturkeybacon · 11 days ago

Text

𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which the next chapter begins

new york city hums like it knows what’s about to happen. there’s a kind of electricity in the air, thick with promise and nerves, and as your driver weaves through the busy streets, you watch paige take it all in from the backseat—her face turned to the window, hood pulled over her head, hand clasped tightly in yours.

“this doesn’t feel real,” she murmurs, eyes wide as they track the towering buildings, the people, the energy. “like, i’m actually here.”

you squeeze her hand. “you’re not dreaming, bueckers.”

she smirks, still dazed. “you sure? 'cause being in new york with you, about to get drafted number one… i must’ve done something right.”

you look at her—at the soft awe in her voice, the nerves she’s trying to hide—and smile. “you earned all of this.”

she leans over and kisses the back of your hand. “wouldn’t be here without you.”

the hotel lobby smells like roses and money. a few of the other top picks are checking in, media reps scattered around, coaches from various teams exchanging polite nods. paige walks in with her backpack slung over one shoulder like she’s still in college, but she’s greeted like a queen.

people look at you too—curious, trying to place you. her plus one, but not a public one. not yet.

upstairs, the suite is stunning. floor-to-ceiling windows, champagne already chilling in a silver bucket on the table, and a view of manhattan that would knock the breath out of anyone.

paige walks straight to the window. “god,” she whispers. “how am i supposed to sleep tonight?”

you wrap your arms around her from behind. “you won’t. and that’s okay.”

the next few days are a whirlwind of cameras and flashing lights, pre-draft interviews, and moments stolen in between where paige clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping her grounded.

you walk with her to early press calls, watch her shake hands with executives and talk to reporters with the perfect balance of humility and fire. she rides up the empire state building in an elevator full of pr staff, but she only holds your hand. at the top, she stands by the glass and whispers, “feels like the whole world’s watching.”

“they are,” you say, brushing your fingers against hers. “and they’re about to see what happens when a star rises.”

the suite becomes a glam studio before the sun even rises. stylists, makeup artists, wardrobe specialists—all bustling around paige while she sits in the middle of it all, cross-legged in a robe, sipping coffee like she isn’t about to have her life change forever.

her stylist calls you over as you’re about to change into the outfit you packed.

“actually,” she says, holding up a garment bag. “this is for you.”

you blink. “that’s not mine.”

“it is now. paige picked it out. said it had to be perfect.”

your chest tightens as you unzip the bag, revealing a dress so perfectly you, it feels unreal. the fabric is soft, expensive, and the color—something muted and romantic—brings out your features in a way you didn’t even know was possible.

“she did this?” you whisper.

“she wanted you to feel special today too.”

you change in the bathroom, hands shaking slightly. when you finally step out, paige is standing near the window, fully dressed in a glittery-dark colored custom suit that has her shimmering with every step, her curls falling effortlessly over her shoulders.

she turns—and everything slows.

her mouth parts. “holy... you look…”

you laugh, flushed. “you too. you clean up alright, bueckers.”

she walks up to you, cups your jaw gently. “you’re unreal. thank you for being here today.”

“there’s nowhere else i’d be.”

the red carpet outside the venue is chaos—reporters, photographers, wnba legends, fans with signs, people shouting paige’s name like it’s already etched into history.

you try to stay a step behind her, to let her soak in her spotlight, but she won’t have it. her hand wraps around your waist and stays there. through the cameras, the chaos, the interviews—she keeps you close.

you’re standing just off to the side when the espn interviewer waves paige over for a quick one-on-one. the camera is rolling, and you make a move to step back, but paige pulls you forward by the hand.

the interviewer smiles knowingly. “paige bueckers! big night. how are we feeling?”

paige smiles back, calm and radiant. “excited. grateful. nervous. all of it.”

“you’re projected to go number one overall—does that add pressure?”

“a little,” she admits. “but i try to block it out. i’m here to soak it in and be present.”

the interviewer nods, glancing at you briefly. “and you’ve got some company tonight. can we ask who your date is?”

paige glances your way, and you feel her fingers squeeze yours.

“she’s someone very special to me,” paige says, voice even but warm. “we’re here to celebrate the moment. that’s what tonight’s about.”

“so… are you confirming you’re in a relationship?”

she chuckles, not flustered at all. “i’m confirming that i’m not doing tonight alone. that’s all you get.”

“alright, alright,” the interviewer laughs. “we’ll take it.”

twitter explodes five seconds later.

inside the venue, the lights dim and the countdown begins. you sit beside paige, her hand still wrapped in yours like a lifeline. her leg bounces. her breath hitches every time someone coughs into a mic.

“paige,” you whisper, turning to her. “hey. breathe.”

she nods, but doesn’t look at you. her eyes are on the stage.

“whether you go first or fifth,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to hers, “you’re still the most incredible person in this room. and i’ll be just as proud no matter what.”

her eyes flutter closed. she exhales.

“promise?” she whispers.

“promise.”

then the lights shift. the wnba commissioner walks to the podium. the music swells.

“with the first pick in the 2024 wnba draft, the dallas wings select… paige bueckers, university of connecticut.”

the room erupts.

paige turns to you—eyes wide, heart on her sleeve—and she kisses you.

right there. full, gentle, and certain.

the room falls silent for a heartbeat, and then explodes again.

@/espnw: she’s the number one pick. she also just kissed her girl on live tv. paige bueckers is here.

@/wnba: #1 pick. #1 moment. paige bueckers delivers the most unforgettable draft night kiss of all time.

@/bleacherreport: paige bueckers. first pick. first public kiss. iconic.

@/gaysportsnerd: so like… when do we get the engagement photos?

@/dallaswings: welcome to dallas, @/paigebueckers!

@/overtime: not just #1 on the court. paige bueckers just dropped the most iconic draft night moment of all time.

@/chennedyfan99: paige bueckers said “i’m number one and i’m in love, what about it?”

later, after the cheers settles and the cameras stop flashing, paige wraps her arms around you on the balcony of the hotel suite. new york glows behind you, and she leans her head on your shoulder.

“i didn’t plan the kiss,” she says softly.

“i know.”

“but i meant it.”

“i know.”

she turns her face to yours, brushing your cheek with her nose. “i want to be number one in everything. including with you.”

“you already are,” you whisper. “you always have been.”

she smiles, soft and golden. “forever, huh?”

“hell yeah.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn women’s basketball #lesbian #wlw #uconn wbb #ucon wbb #paige buckets #paige x reader #wuh luh wuh #wnba x reader #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #dallas wings

724 notes · View notes

writesvani · 29 days ago

Text

Dear Me | 04

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS (for this chapter): anxiety, guilt, discomfort, emotional distress, self-sabotage, past trauma, relationship tension, self-doubt, jealousy, awkwardness, manipulation, abandonment, social anxiety

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 6,4k // date: 28th of March 2025

CHAPTER FOUR — The House; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey hey hey!!! okay, so, like, i am OBSESSED with this chapter. like, truly. i love it SO MUCH and i really hope you all love it too because i’m freaking out over here!!

now, listen up, i’m setting a NOTE GOAL for this chapter—250 notes because YOU GUYS LITERALLY SMASHED THE LAST ONE IN 2 DAYS and that’s just like... UNREAL! i'm over here losing my mind. i can’t even. you guys are LEGENDS. so, yeah, let’s hit that 250 and guess what? I’LL BE POSTING CHAPTER 5 ASAP once we get there. i HAVE to make the note goal higher because if i keep it at 200—i'll literally post everyday and i DO NOT have the strength to do that. i am sorry (not sorry at all).

—love, vani

To be quite honest, you’d rather switch places with Sisyphus right now.

Yeah, you’d probably be drenched in sweat, rolling that massive boulder up a hill over and over again, failing endlessly, panting like a feral raccoon on the verge of collapse.

And yet? You’d take it. Gladly.

You’d throw yourself into the depths of the underworld’s worst punishments if it meant being anywhere else but here. If it meant doing anything else but sitting through this.

If it meant not having to hear, for the hundredth time, just how great Jungkook’s proposal to Nina was. How wholesome and romantic and perfect it had been. How your childhood best friend—the one you once knew like the back of your hand—is, apparently, the most lovable, charming, sweet, and overall best boyfriend-turned-fiancé in existence.

You grit your teeth as Nina’s voice pulls you back to the present, each of her words like a tiny, invisible shock to your system. Her joy is undeniable, written all over her face in bright, delicate excitement. Her hands move animatedly through the air, cutting through the thick atmosphere of the coffee shop, mimicking the way Jungkook had taken her hand in his, the way he had slipped that ring onto her finger.

And you?

You just sit there, nodding along, pretending that every detail doesn’t feel like a stone being added to the weight already crushing your chest.

Yoongi is nodding along, gasping at all the right moments—but you see through him. His fingers tap lightly against his cup, and his lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a grimace every time Nina gets a little too animated. He loves her, adores her even, but Yoongi—despite being a massive book nerd with an unspoken love for romance in fiction—is allergic to real-life romance talk.

So the fact that he’s enduring this? Says a lot.

You, on the other hand, sit stiffly, your fingers curled around the handle of your cup, the ceramic warm against your skin. You don’t tense. You don’t flinch. You just… exist in the moment, pretending this conversation isn’t making you want to pour your espresso straight into your eyes. Your smiles are perfectly timed, your little laughs polite—just enough to make it seem like you’re engaged. But inside, every word feels like an iron weight pressing on your chest.

“And I swear, I was shocked,” Nina exclaims, eyes wide, hands flying through the air as if she’s physically reliving the moment.

Yoongi leans back slightly, expression unreadable. “No way you didn’t see it coming at all.”

Nina scoffs, placing a hand over her heart as if personally offended. “I didn’t! Look!”

Before anyone can react, she shoves her phone into Yoongi’s face so fast he physically jerks back, blinking like she just hit him with a flashlight. You don’t even need to look at the screen to know what it is.

“My friends and YOU, my sweet brother, knew and didn’t even tell me to get my nails done,” she groans dramatically, shaking her head.

Across the table, Jungkook, who’s been suspiciously quiet during this entire reenactment of his own damn proposal, finally speaks.

“They didn’t wanna ruin the surprise for you, baby.”

His voice is soft, steady, but there’s something in the way his hand lightly rubs Nina’s back that makes your stomach churn.

You tilt your head, forcing out a light laugh. “Wow. Talk about friendly sabotage.”

It’s an attempt at humor—something, anything—but your fingers twitch against your cup, and when Jungkook glances at you, just for a second, his expression unreadable, you feel it.

The weight of it.

Of everything.

Jungkook looks away first.

The moment is fleeting—just a quick glance, a second of hesitation—but it lingers in the air like a truth neither of you dares to acknowledge. The weight of years apart, of missed conversations and things left unsaid, sits between you, thick and unmovable.

And then, Nina speaks again, blissfully unaware of the silent war happening right in front of her.

“But they could’ve at least hinted at it,” she whines, but her eyes shine, a soft glow of happiness radiating from her features. “Like, I dunno—‘Oh, your nails are getting long, maybe book an appointment?’” She sighs, shaking her head. “Now my engagement pics are lowkey ugly.”

You let out a small, amused scoff. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad. Let me see.”

She doesn’t hesitate to show you her phone, flipping the screen toward you. You lean in slightly, eyes scanning the image. And yeah, okay—you get it. Her nails are a bit grown out, the perfect white tips slightly out of place, but it’s nothing dramatic. Still, if it were your hands in that picture, with a ring that big and nails that unpolished, you’d probably throw a tiny fit too.

You tilt your head, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. You kinda do have a point, girl.”

“Right?” Nina huffs, crossing her arms, but there’s laughter laced in her voice now.

Your gaze flickers to her hand, fingers curled around her coffee cup, the diamond on her finger catching the light just right. “At least your nails are on point now,” you remark, nodding toward them.

She grins, wiggling her fingers in front of you. “Duh. No way I was letting that happen again.”

Yoongi snorts. “I swear, you’re the only person who could turn a proposal into a nail horror story.”

“Hey! It’s a valid concern,” Nina shoots back, tossing a sugar packet at him. “A girl’s gotta have her priorities straight.”

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Babe, you literally cried when I got down on one knee. You didn’t even notice your nails until, like, an hour later.”

“Yeah, because I was overwhelmed!” She points an accusing finger at him before turning to you. “Do you know how rude it is to just casually propose out of nowhere? No warning, no heads-up—just ‘boom, life-changing moment, now deal with it.’”

You press your lips together, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Damn, how dare he propose to you without a PowerPoint presentation and a six-week prep course?”

“Thank you!” Nina exclaims, dramatically placing a hand over her chest. “Finally, someone who understands my suffering.”

Jungkook groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “Next time, I’ll send out a calendar invite first.”

“Yeah, maybe you could even send it to us too—so we can all prepare for the big day.”

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Sharp-edged, bitter. You’re an adult. You know better than to let something so petty slip out. It’s not like you. It’s childish. Spiteful. But restraint is impossible when the truth is gnawing at you from the inside out—when the person who once felt like an extension of yourself didn’t even tell you he was getting married.

Didn’t give you the chance to be there. To help pick the perfect ring. To witness his excitement, his nerves, the way he used to come to you with every major life decision. You were robbed. Of a moment. Of a friendship. Of him.

Nina, oblivious, just laughs at your remark, too caught up in the glow of her engagement to notice the venom laced in your voice. She keeps swiping through her phone, showing video after video of the proposal—footage taken by the friends who did know, who were there, because Jungkook, ever the romantic, wanted to pop the question in front of the people she loved.

Yoongi wasn’t there. He had been overseas for a project. That’s the only reason. But it’s funny, isn’t it? How he never even mentioned the proposal to you until the invites were sent out. How that makes you question so many things.

Funnier still is the way he reacts.

Jungkook blinks. Slowly. His expression barely shifts, but you see it. The subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his tongue darts out to press against his cheek. His brows furrow, just slightly, like your words bother him. Like they’re an itch he can’t quite scratch.

And Yoongi—he catches it too. His shoulders flinch, his breath stutters for just a fraction of a second, but his gaze never leaves Nina’s phone. Like he’s pretending he didn’t hear. Like he doesn’t want to hear.

“Mhm.” Jungkook hums, tapping his fingers against his cup. “Didn’t wanna tell too many people. Didn’t want it getting out too soon.” His lips pull into a smirk, eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something unreadable. Something close to a challenge. “You know how it is—I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise.”

You force a nod, shifting in your seat. “Yeah,” you say, voice a little too smooth, a little too controlled. “Good thing you only told the people you trust.”

His smirk falters—just for a second. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but you catch it. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s choosing his next words carefully.

“Well, you know me,” he finally says, leaning back with a casual shrug. “Always thinking ahead.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Genius.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s something tight in the way his jaw moves, something lingering in the air between you that neither of you dares to name.

“Sooo,” Nina drawls, turning to you with a sly look, her eyebrow raised like she’s putting you on trial. “What’s going on with that boyfriend of yours?”

You blink at her, momentarily lost. “Which boyfriend?”

She scoffs. “Come on, you know—the guy you were talking about last time I saw you.”

You tilt your head, giving her a flat look. “Nina, that was two years ago.”

“So what?” She shrugs, taking a sip of her drink like that’s not a ridiculous amount of time to be out of the loop.

You exhale sharply, pressing your lips together. “We broke up over a year ago.”

Her brows furrow. “Why?”

You pause, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your cup. “Ehh… We just—drifted apart, I guess. Fell out of love.”

Nina hums, eyes flickering over you like she’s assessing if that’s the whole truth. You hold her gaze, daring her to dig deeper. She doesn’t—but the air still feels a little heavier.

You don’t notice the way Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly around his coffee cup, how his grip falters just enough for the ceramic to shift in his hands. You don’t catch the subtle squint of his eyes when you mutter “drifted apart.”

But Yoongi does.

His gaze flickers to Jungkook, studying him like he’s reading between the lines of an unfinished story. Their eyes meet for the briefest second—silent, heavy. Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, clears his throat, like the moment never happened. Like Yoongi hadn’t just told him something without saying a single word.

But the message is loud and clear.

Dude, you’re an asshole.

But Jungkook—he doesn’t feel like an asshole. He doesn’t feel like he did something wrong.

Because he was the one who tried.

He was the one sending Facebook messages every damn day that summer while you were in Europe, just so you could reply—maybe three times a week, at best—because you were just so busy.

He was the one staying up all night, his textbooks blurred at the edges from exhaustion, only to set his alarm too early just so he could call you before your day started.

He was the one skipping lectures, missing out on life around him, just to sit in his tiny dorm room and listen to you talk—because that’s how much he wanted to hold onto you.

And when he finally stopped—when he silenced his alarm, when he went to class, when he decided to just wait and see if you’d reach out first—there was nothing.

No new calls.

No desperate messages.

Just silence.

And that silence? It was deafening. It was humiliating. It rang louder than any ‘I don’t love you anymore’ ever could.

So, no. Jungkook doesn’t feel like an asshole. He just feels like someone who learned the hard way that loving someone more than they love you is its own kind of heartbreak. He’s the one who learned when to stop trying.

When to stop holding onto the ties already cut.

“So, what are you guys up to tonight?” Nina asks, her gaze flicking between you and Yoongi as she swirls the last of her coffee in her cup. There’s a glint in her eye—curious, maybe even a little mischievous.

Yoongi leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Nothing much. Gotta finish a chapter I’m reviewing for that author I told you about,” he says, voice casual, though you can tell he’s already dreading it.

You glance at him before taking a slow sip of your coffee, the bitterness settling on your tongue. “Same. Just… getting mentally prepared for work tomorrow.”

Technically, it’s not a lie. You do have work tomorrow. But beneath the surface, there’s a flicker of something else, something you try to ignore—a spark of unease picking at your subconscious.

Because it’s Wednesday.

And that means an email is coming.

An email you don’t want to read. An email you’ll tell yourself to ignore. An email you know you’ll end up opening anyway, your fingers hovering over words that feel like ghosts of your past self, haunting you in black and white.

Yoongi, oblivious to the shift in your mind, tilts his head toward Nina. “Why?” he asks, tone easy but laced with mild suspicion.

Nina taps her fingers against the table, her lips twitching as if she’s debating something. Then, she shrugs, but it’s far too casual to be genuine.

“I was just thinking…” she starts, letting the words linger, dangling in the air like bait.

You're hooked, despite yourself. Nina’s dramatic pause stretches, her fingers absently twirling a lock of her black hair as she builds the suspense.

"Since Kook and I took a few days off..." she starts, her tone almost too careful. Then, before either of you can react, she holds up a hand. "Look—before you call me crazy, I know it’s the middle of the week," she adds quickly, eyes locking onto Yoongi like she already expects his disapproval.

Yoongi exhales sharply, his patience wearing thin. "Just spit it out, for fuck’s sake."

Nina grins, as if this is exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

"Okay, so—I saw there’s a gig at The House tonight, and I thought, maybe we could all go. Check it out. You know, like we used to in high school."

Her words land heavy in the air. Nostalgia. A double-edged sword. You feel it settle into your chest, an old, familiar ache.

The House is a relic of your teen years, a place that holds too much history to ever feel neutral. By day, it was a quiet coffee shop, hidden from the general crowd—only those who truly knew TH even realized it was open before sunset.

But at night? It transformed. Gigs, live music, bands clawing their way into existence, hoping to be something more than just a name on a dimly lit flyer. The House wasn’t just a venue; it was a second home. A place where dreams felt tangible, where friendships were solidified over cheap drinks and lyrics screamed into the air.

And if you go tonight, you already know exactly how it’ll go. The moment you step through those doors, Alex will spot you. His signature flirty smirk will stretch across his lips, the same one he’s been sending your way since you were a teenager. He’s only two years older, but he’s been working at The House since your very first time there—and somehow, he never left. A fixture. A piece of that place, just like the worn-out stage and the dim, flickering neon sign above the entrance.

Alex was always a walking contradiction. Despite his shameless attempts to charm anything with two legs and a vagina, he was also something else to you. To all of you. Like an older brother who saw too much, who knew more than he let on. Who watched you fall in love—watched you get hurt—and never said a damn thing.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? If you go tonight, it won’t just be a night out. It’ll be a collision with your past, a forced confrontation with the version of yourself that once walked those same floors, heart bare and reckless.

So, no. Thank you, but no. You’d rather spend the night wallowing in your misery, drowning in thar email, than risk stepping back into a place that remembers too much.

“Ugh, I don’t know…” Yoongi scratches the back of his head, clearly torn between his usual routine and Nina’s relentless pleading.

You lean back in your chair, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “I have work tomorrow, girl,” you remind her, hoping she’ll get the hint.

Nina’s eyes widen, and she immediately pouts, sticking out her bottom lip like she’s trying to win a contest for the most dramatic face. “Please,” she begs, “we haven’t gone out since high school. Just one night. Please?”

You roll your eyes, feeling the weight of her stare. “One night? Yeah, right. You’ll be the first to tell me how much I regret it tomorrow.”

“Not if you’re with us!” Nina says, flipping her hair dramatically. “It’ll be fun! You, Kook, Yoongi and me—same old crew, just like the good old days.”

Yoongi scoffs, giving her a side-eye. “You act like we were some wild party animals back then.”

Nina grins mischievously. “Whatever, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You stare at her, arms crossed. “Fine. But this is the last time, you hear me? Next time you pull this stunt, I’m throwing you in a broom closet with Alex from The House.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Wait, so you're going just to avoid the broom closet?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoy torturing myself.”

Jungkook, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally speaks up, his voice a little hesitant but teasing. “You know,” he says, leaning in slightly, “if you really want to make it interesting, we could all take shots and make it a competition. Who can go the longest without regretting it?”

You glance at him, your eyebrow raised. “Oh, you think you’re some kind of expert on not regretting things?”

Jungkook smirks, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, I did just propose, didn’t I? That takes a lot of confidence... and the ability to ignore some regrets.”

You laugh dryly, rolling your eyes. “Good one, Kook. Real subtle.”

Nina claps her hands excitedly. “Yes! That’s exactly the spirit we need! It’s settled. We’re going!”

You lean back in your chair, pretending to contemplate. “Fine. But if I hate it, I’m blaming all of you. And I’ll make sure you pay for the coffee tomorrow.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair with a smirk. “If I end up with a hangover tomorrow, I’m blaming you. And I’ll make sure you’re the one buying that coffee.”

Jungkook grins, chiming in, “I think I will need another coffee after Nina’s ‘party planning.’”

Nina gives him a playful glare. “You’re all just jealous you don’t have the same enthusiasm for drinking.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But if I end up regretting this, I’m haunting every single one of you.”

Nina winks. “Deal!”

The weight of reality hits you the moment you step through the door of your apartment. The familiar scent of home isn’t as comforting as it used to be; instead, it hangs in the air like an unwelcome reminder. Why? Why did you agree to this reunion, knowing exactly what it would stir up? Going to The House feels like self-sabotage—it feels like clawing at open wounds that never really healed, just scabbed over. It's a mistake. You know it’s a mistake.

You stare blankly at your surroundings, the space that once felt so much like yours, and now it feels... wrong. The corner of your table catches your eye. Your laptop sits there, silently screaming at you. It’s the email. That email. It’s been sitting there all day, mocking you. “Take me. Read me. You know you want to,” it seems to whisper. But you won’t. Not today. No. You won’t let yourself fall back into that mess—not today, not when you're already feeling like this.

You push the thought away, willing yourself to breathe through the tightness building in your chest. There’s a limit to how much you can take, and you’ve reached it. You will not engage with that stupid email today, no matter how much it calls to you like some kind of irresistible siren. No. Not when you have exactly three hours before you have to face everyone.

Before you have to see Jungkook again.

It’s been so long since you’ve had to look him in the eye. Seeing him earlier today was one thing, but now, after everything, having to face him again—two times in one day—feels like too much. You’re not sure what you expected from today, but you know it wasn’t this.

Not this weight.

You stand there, frozen in the middle of your apartment, knowing you should get ready. But it feels impossible. Every part of you is screaming to run away, to hide from the past that keeps trying to drag you back. But you can’t. You won’t. You have to face it—face them. Even if it feels like you’re suffocating under the pressure of it all.

Your mind drifts back to The House, the one place you’ve avoided for so long. The memories are already flooding back. The laughter, the music, the people you used to know so well. But most of all, it’s the feeling of him—Jungkook. His presence is still a shadow over everything. And you know, deep down, this reunion, this thing Nina’s dragging you into, is just going to make everything worse. You're not ready.

You never will be.

Your phone lights up, the soft ping of a new message breaking the silence of your apartment. You glance down—Yoongi.

Yoon 🤍: ya home?

You: yea, just arrived. u?

Yoon 🤍: same. you sure you wanna go out tonight?

You: no, haha. wby?

Yoon 🤍: same man. but she’s my sis and the bride, gotta make her happy.

You: yeaa

Yoon 🤍: and i guess it would be nice to chill there, like before yk? see alex.

You: yeah, i miss alex, lowkey feel gulity for not visiting him there.

Yoon 🤍: yea me too.

Yoon 🤍: go get ready, we’ll be picking you up later.

Your phone pings again, Yoongi’s name lighting up the screen.

Yoon 🤍: you okay tho?

You: yeah, just... weird.

Yoon 🤍: i get that. but it’ll be fine. i’ll be there.

You: thanks. i guess it’s just… i dunno, feels like a lot of things are gonna come back up.

Yoon 🤍: yeah, i hear you. but sometimes it’s good to face the past, yk?

You: idk if i’m ready for that.

Yoon 🤍: i’ll be there to distract you if it gets too much.

You: appreciate it.

Yoon 🤍: of course. just get ready, we’ll be leaving soon.

You: alright, give me like 20 minutes.

Yoon 🤍: sounds good. see you soon.

You set your phone down, trying to take a deep breath, but then the realization hits. You quickly grab your phone again.

You: wtf dude, aren’t u supposed to pick me up in 3 hrs, not this soon?

Yoon 🤍: 😂 i’m messing with you. we won’t be there for a while. but hurry up, time’s ticking!

You: you’re an asshole, but i’m getting ready.

You roll your eyes, setting the phone down again.

As soon as you slide into the car, a sense of discomfort washes over you. It’s like stepping into a memory you’d rather not revisit, yet here you are. The seating arrangement is completely different from what you expected. Yoongi is at the wheel, his hands lazily draped over the steering wheel, fingers splayed wide. He’s laughing at something Nina’s saying—some ridiculous piece of friendship drama she’s telling him, no doubt embellished for dramatic effect. Nina, as usual, is sitting in the passenger seat, her voice louder than the rest of the car’s noise.

Then there's the seating beside you: Jungkook. It feels strange. Just like before. Yoongi and Nina are up front, gossiping, while you and Jungkook are squeezed into the backseat like it’s high school all over again. You’d imagined Nina and Jungkook sitting next to each other, given the whole engagement thing, but no—Nina missed her brother so much, she had to hog him for herself.

You sit next to Jungkook, trying to ignore the growing awkwardness. The car is small—Yoongi’s car is cramped, and the backseat feels even smaller. Jungkook is practically taking up half of it, his body large and solid, pushing you against the door like a pancake. You can sense the heat radiating off him, and every time he shifts, it’s like you feel it. His leg brushes against yours, making the space feel even more suffocating.

“Sorry,” Jungkook mumbles, trying to adjust, but his leg doesn’t budge much.

You chuckle dryly, trying to mask the tension in your chest. “It’s fine. Not like you can really do anything about it,” you say, motioning vaguely at how small the car is with your hand.

He nods, his eyes drifting to the window, as if he’s looking for some kind of escape in the passing scenery. The silence stretches between you, the weight of old, unspoken words hanging in the air.

You clear your throat, breaking the silence, whispering, even though your voice sounds too loud in your head. “I’m glad, you know.”

“Huh?” Jungkook looks at you, confusion flickering in his gaze.

“About your engagement,” you clarify, glancing at him. “How your life turned out. It’s... good to see.”

He softens at that, nodding in appreciation. “Thank you. Same goes for you. I’m glad all your dreams came true.”

You offer a small, forced smile. “Yeah, thank you.” The words are polite, but they feel like they belong to someone else.

The words hang in the air for a moment, soft but heavy. Jungkook’s voice barely breaks through the hum of the car, but you catch it, feeling the weight of it settle between you.

“Did you ever regret it?” His words are a whisper, but there's a tremor in his tone, something vulnerable hiding beneath the surface. You glance at him, catching the shift in his expression—there’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, like he's waiting for something, anything, from you.

You feel your chest tighten. Regret? The question cuts deeper than you expected. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the cramped space suddenly feeling even smaller.

“Regret what?” You ask, your voice quieter than you intended, your breath catching slightly as you look over at him.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the passing streetlights outside, as if the answer is too difficult to voice. “Following your dreams,” he says again, slower this time, as if testing the words on his tongue.

You breathe in sharply, trying to shake off the heaviness that threatens to settle in your chest. You let the silence stretch for a beat too long before you respond, trying to sound more certain than you feel.

“Never thought about it,” you reply, the words leaving your mouth easily enough. You glance away from him, fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve as you add, “But no, I don’t think so.”

And yet, even as the words leave your lips, there’s a flicker of doubt. A small part of you wonders if you really don’t regret it—if you don’t regret all the things you left behind in the process, the pieces of yourself that never quite fit after chasing everything else.

The rest of the ride passes in silence between you and Jungkook, the quiet tension almost suffocating. The only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional shift of his leg pressing against yours, the warmth of it seeping through your jeans, but neither of you speak. The space between you feels like a canyon, and you’re unsure if you’re even capable of bridging it anymore.

Instead, you let Nina's voice fill the car, a steady stream of gossip, her words a distracting, almost absurd relief from the heavy quiet. You listen absently as she recounts her latest drama, her tone increasingly animated.

“So, like,” Nina starts, her voice brimming with excitement, “Ana, you know Ana, right?” Yoongi nods. “Well, apparently, she’s been sleeping with her best friend’s husband. And get this—she’s been doing it right under her nose, for months.”

You blink, glancing at Nina through the rearview mirror, raising your eyebrows. The shock registers slowly. What the hell?

“I mean, what kind of shit is that? You should’ve seen Ana’s face when I called her out on it. She was like, ‘It’s just a fling, Nina. I don’t owe anyone an explanation.’” Nina lets out a loud, disbelieving laugh, “A fling?! With a married man? How do you even get to that point?”

You can feel the tension in the car rise, your stomach sinking as Nina’s story spirals.

"And guess what? The wife knows—she just hasn’t said anything yet. She's playing it cool, waiting to catch them in the act. She’s just letting Ana keep digging her own grave.”

Nina’s eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, a grin playing at the corner of her mouth as she leans in closer to Yoongi, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Wait,” you interject, not sure if you want to hear any more, “So, what—Ana's sleeping with the guy while his wife is just letting her?”

Nina nods, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Exactly! And the best part?” She leans forward, her voice dropping dramatically. “She caught them at a party the other night. The husband literally walked right past her, gave Ana this huge kiss on the cheek, and then turned to his wife and said, ‘Babe, I’m going to grab another drink.’ As if nothing was going on!”

You stare at her, blinking in disbelief. “What the hell?”

Nina throws her hands up in mock frustration, her eyes wide as if she's about to lose her mind. “I know! It’s like a fucking soap opera. I swear to God, I can’t keep up with these people anymore.” She shakes her head, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Like, if you’re gonna cheat, at least have the decency to be subtle about it.”

You glance over at Jungkook, who still hasn’t spoken, his eyes focused outside the window, though you can tell he's listening. His profile is unreadable, but you wonder if all lf this is more of a distraction for him than it is for you.

As soon as you step into The House, everything is blurry. The chaos of the night engulfs you—laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the booming bass from the speakers that makes the floor beneath your feet vibrate. There are a lot of faces, some familiar, some new. Thank God for the new ones. For a moment, you let yourself breathe in the energy of the place, the music blaring, the cigarette smoke curling around you, invading your senses.

Then you hear the familiar sound of a voice you didn’t realize you missed.

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

Behind the bar, a wide grin spreads across Alex’s face, his eyes lighting up as soon as he sees the four of you. Without hesitation, he’s moving—practically running—towards Jungkook. The scene is a little bizarre, sure. Alex, a full head shorter than Jungkook, wraps his arms around him like a long-lost mother finally reunited with her child.

“My boy!” Alex beams, patting Jungkook’s back like he’s proud of him for some hidden accomplishment. Jungkook laughs, actually laughs, his shoulders shaking a little with the sound.

“You’ve gotten so big. You’re huge now,” Alex adds, since the last time he saw Jungkook was… Well… Years ago.

Jungkook smirks, chuckling under his breath. “You forgot how to use a razor or something,” Jungkook says, pointing at Alex’s beard.

The comment makes Alex pull back just enough to give him a playful shove. “Hey, don’t start with me. I’m just getting better with age, alright?”

Nina, with a sly grin, steps forward as Alex turns to her. "Pretty girl," Alex motions toward her with a wink, “Look at you. Thinking about giving me a chance already?”

Nina laughs, rolling her eyes but giving him the affectionate hug he’s so eager to receive. “You’re still so lame.”

"You know I’m just being nice,” Alex says, patting her on the back as she pulls away. “But I’ll take the hug. You look good, girl.”

Yoongi, already standing off to the side with his arms crossed, lets out a small sigh. "The nerdy," Alex singsongs, eyes narrowing with the teasing tone. He gives Yoongi a respectful dap, fully aware how Yoongi’s personal space is sacred.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow but doesn’t pull away, muttering a quiet, “You’re lucky I don’t have to be nice to you,” but his voice holds no real bite.

And then Alex’s gaze falls on you. His eyes soften immediately, like everything around him just slows down. He leans over the counter, his arms outstretched toward you. “And my lil monster,” he murmurs, his body melting into yours as you wrap your arms around him.

You breathe in, the scent of him enveloping you—cologne, wood smoke, and something you swear smells like the old leather of the barstools. He smells like home. A safe place you didn’t know you needed.

“I missed you too,” you say, your voice surprisingly soft as you bury your face in his shoulder.

Alex chuckles, pulling back just a bit to give you a knowing look. “You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?”

You smirk, rolling your eyes playfully. “Don’t start, Alex.”

“Can’t help it,” he grins widely, the energy between you two palpable. “You all still owe me drinks. I’m running a tab tonight. Just like old times, yeah?”

Nina glances at Yoongi with a raised brow. “You know, I don’t think I ever told him no,” she says, half-teasing, half-serious.

Yoongi snorts, his arms still crossed. “We’re still not paying for you. Last time you drank enough for all of us.”

Alex throws his head back, laughing loudly, clearly unbothered by their teasing. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m the one who knows the best drinks, so you’re all stuck with me.”

You settle into the bar stools, the hard, cool surface pressing into your legs, yet it feels oddly comforting. The familiar buzz of The House surrounds you—dim lights, low murmurs of conversation, and the steady hum of the music—but all you can focus on is the figure behind the bar. Alex. His face practically glows as he crosses his arms, his sharp gaze flicking between the four of you with an intensity that feels almost... predatory. It’s like he’s studying you, looking for something, anything, that betrays the carefully constructed walls each of you put up. You can almost feel the weight of his eyes on you, dissecting every movement, every shift.

“So, what’s new?” Alex asks, his voice casual, but his eyes betray an underlying curiosity that you’re not sure you want to indulge.

Surprisingly, it’s Jungkook who answers first. He was always the one who could talk to Alex without hesitation, like the two of them shared some sacred bond. You can almost hear the warmth in his voice when he speaks. “I’m getting married, bro.”

Alex freezes for a moment, and for the briefest second, time seems to halt in its tracks. His brows furrow, and a flicker of recognition crosses his face as he processes Jungkook’s words. Then, his eyes dart to you, and it feels like the world slows down, all noise fading into a dull hum.

“Dang, dude,” Alex says, the words lingering in the air. “So I didn’t only miss you making it official, I missed the whole proposal?”

And just like that, everything shifts. The air in the room turns thick, suffocating. Your breath catches in your chest, and for a second, you think you might choke on your own thoughts. What? The? Fuck? Why would he say something like that? Why would he imply something so... loaded?

Jungkook gulps, his hand instinctively reaching for his drink, but it’s not served yet. There’s nothing to steady the trembling in his fingers. You see the tension in his jaw, the way he clenches his teeth, as if holding himself back from saying something. Yoongi’s eyes shut for a fraction of a second, like he’s trying to block out the uncomfortable atmosphere. Nina just stares, her expression unreadable, caught somewhere between confusion and shock.

And you? You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to feel. All you can hear is the sound of your own pulse thudding in your ears, louder than any of the chatter around you. You want to say something—anything—to break the tension, but your words get stuck in your throat.

But then, like a cruel punchline, Alex bursts into laughter. It’s not just a chuckle. It’s manic, almost cackling, like he’s just pulled off the best prank of his life.

“Ha!” he says, his voice ringing with amusement. “Should’ve seen your faces, I’m just kidding.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, but the relief doesn’t last. It doesn’t feel like a joke. Not really. The weight of his words hangs in the air, lingering in a way that makes you feel like you’re being suffocated by something you can’t shake. Because Alex is too good at reading people. He knows. He knows something shifted in the room, something unspoken that’s now hanging between you all. And even though he’s laughing, you can feel the subtle shift in his demeanor. You can feel his gaze flicker toward you, that apologetic look in his eyes—his way of trying to backpedal, to ease the tension he just created.

But it doesn’t feel like an apology. Not when you see how his eyes flick toward Jungkook with that look—a silent understanding passing between them. It’s the kind of look that speaks volumes, and you know exactly what it means: He saw it. He knows.

The air feels colder now, heavier. And no one says a word as Alex wipes the smile off his face, pretending like everything is fine, like nothing just happened. But you can’t shake the feeling that nothing good comes after this.

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wroetolando · 2 months ago

Text

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where Lando’s biggest win isn’t on the track—it’s marrying you

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: love of my life - harry styles

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The morning of the wedding was a blur of nervous excitement, stolen glances in the mirror, and the soft hum of music filling the bridal suite. Outside, the world was buzzing—the chatter of guests arriving, the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs of the coastal venue, the rustle of flower arrangements being set in place. It was everything you had ever dreamed of, and yet, in this moment, your heart pounded with an overwhelming mixture of love, nerves, and anticipation.

Lando was waiting at the altar.

Your fingers toyed with the lace along the edge of your veil as your bridesmaids made their final adjustments. Your dress—timeless, elegant—hugged you in all the right places, its intricate beading shimmering under the soft glow of the setting sun. The air smelled of roses and salt, a perfect blend of nature’s embrace and the carefully curated details you had spent months planning.

A knock at the door.

Your father stepped in, eyes glassy with emotion as he took you in. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, voice thick.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking rapidly. “I feel like I might pass out.”

He chuckled, offering his arm. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep you upright until you make it to him.”

Him.

Lando.

The man who had turned your world upside down with his laughter, his unrelenting kindness, his ability to make you feel like the most important person in any room. The one who had held your hand through every fear, every challenge, every late-night worry.

And now, he was about to be your husband.

The music shifted, the gentle strum of strings signaling your entrance. A hush fell over the guests as the doors opened, revealing the path lined with delicate white petals, the golden glow of the evening sun casting an ethereal light over everything.

And there, at the end of the aisle, stood Lando.

His breath visibly hitched the moment he saw you. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored black tuxedo, a single white rose pinned to his lapel. But it was his expression that made your heart stutter—his usual mischievous grin replaced with something softer, deeper. His eyes, filled with so much love and reverence, shimmered with unshed tears.

As you walked toward him, each step lighter than the last, it was as if the entire world faded away.

Lando wiped at his eyes the moment you reached him, letting out a breathy laugh. “You’re unreal,” he whispered, squeezing your hands the moment your father placed them in his.

You smiled, blinking back your own tears. “So are you.”

The officiant began speaking, but you barely heard the words. All you could focus on was Lando—his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, how his eyes never once left yours.

Then, the vows.

Lando exhaled shakily, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I wrote these down because I knew if I tried to say them from memory, I’d probably forget everything the moment I looked at you,” he admitted, chuckling as a few guests laughed softly.

Then, he looked up, his gaze locking onto yours.

“You are my greatest adventure,” he began, voice thick with emotion. “From the moment you walked into my life, you have been the calm to my chaos, the steady presence I never knew I needed. You have loved me through every win, every loss, every self-doubt. And somehow, through it all, you still look at me like I’m someone worth loving.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

Lando swallowed hard, eyes glassy. “I vow to love you in the quiet moments, not just the big ones. I vow to remind you every single day how incredible you are, how lucky I am to stand beside you. I vow to hold your hand through every storm, to be your home no matter where we are in the world.”

His voice broke slightly on the last sentence, and you instinctively squeezed his hands, grounding him.

“You are my checkered flag,” he whispered. “No matter what, I will always come home to you.”

Sniffles echoed through the crowd, and even the groomsmen were subtly dabbing at their eyes.

You took a shaky breath, unfolding your own vows. “I spent so long trying to find the perfect words for this moment,” you admitted. “But the truth is, nothing I say could ever fully capture how much I love you.”

Lando’s lips pressed together, his grip on your hands tightening.

“You have given me a love so big, so undeniable, that it fills every corner of my heart. You make me laugh when I want to cry, you see me when I feel invisible, and you remind me every day that love isn’t just about the good moments—it’s about showing up, even when things aren’t perfect.”

You blinked back tears, voice steady. “I vow to always stand beside you, to be your safe place, your biggest fan. I vow to love you through every lap, every finish line, every road that life takes us down.”

A single tear rolled down Lando’s cheek, and you instinctively reached up, brushing it away.

“You are my favorite story,” you whispered. “And I can’t wait to spend forever writing it with you.”

The moment the officiant announced you as husband and wife, Lando didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, cupping your face as he captured your lips in a kiss so deep, so filled with love, that the entire world seemed to stand still. The crowd erupted into cheers, but all you could hear was the rapid beat of his heart against yours.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The Reception

The venue was breathtaking—a canopy of fairy lights twinkling overhead, the tables adorned with white roses and flickering candles. Lando kept you close, his arm constantly around your waist, his lips pressing against your temple every few minutes as if he still couldn’t believe you were real.

The laughter and hum of conversation filled the beautifully lit reception hall, the warm glow of fairy lights casting a golden hue over the elegantly decorated tables. As the night settled into a comfortable rhythm, the clinking of silverware against glass signaled the next part of the evening—the speeches.

Lando squeezed your hand under the table, his thumb tracing soft circles against your skin. He leaned over, whispering, “Ready for some mild embarrassment?”

You giggled, nudging him. “I’m more worried about you.”

The first to stand was Max, Lando’s best man, who smirked as he picked up the microphone.

Max took a deep breath, giving Lando a teasing look before turning to the crowd.

“Well, I never thought I’d be standing here, giving a wedding speech for this guy,” he started, chuckling as Lando groaned. “Not because I didn’t think he’d find love, but because, let’s be honest, Lando has always been married to racing first.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Lando playfully threw his napkin at Max.

“But then she came along,” Max continued, turning toward you with a warm smile. “And suddenly, the Lando we knew—the one who spent more time sim racing than sleeping—started talking about something other than cars. Or should I say, someone.”

You felt your cheeks warm as Lando squeezed your hand tighter.

“You are patient, you put up with his terrible jokes, and you somehow manage to keep him in check—which, honestly, deserves a trophy of its own.”

The guests laughed, and Max took a quick sip of champagne before his expression turned sincere.

“Lando, mate, I’ve seen you at your highest and your lowest, but nothing compares to how you look at her. I’ve seen you win races, achieve milestones, but finding someone who loves you for you, beyond all of this…” He gestured to the lavish venue, the world of racing that had shaped them both. “That’s the real victory.”

Max lifted his glass. “To Lando and his amazing wife—may your love always be on pole position.”

A round of applause erupted as everyone raised their glasses, Lando laughing as he clinked his with Max’s before leaning over to kiss your temple.

Next, Lando’s mother, Cisca, stood, wiping at the corner of her eye as she picked up the microphone.

“First, I want to thank everyone for being here to celebrate such a beautiful day,” she began, smiling warmly at the crowd before turning toward the two of you. “As a mother, you always dream of seeing your child grow into someone kind, strong, and loving. Lando, from the moment you were born, you brought an energy into this world that was impossible to ignore.”

Lando grinned, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’ve always been fearless—on the track, in life—but what I admire most is the way you love. You love with all your heart, without hesitation, without holding back. And when she came into your life, I knew immediately that she was someone special.”

Cisca turned to you, her eyes filled with nothing but warmth. “You bring out the best in my son. You’ve given him a sense of peace I’ve never seen before, and for that, I will always be grateful.”

Lando swallowed hard, clearly trying to keep it together.

“With that,” Cisca smiled, raising her glass, “I wish you both a lifetime of laughter, adventure, and love that only grows stronger with time.”

The applause was deafening, and Lando wasted no time standing up to pull his mother into a hug.

Lando’s father, Adam, was next, standing with the calm confidence that clearly ran in the family.

“Now, I promise I won’t make this too long because, let’s be honest, my son’s attention span isn’t the greatest.”

Lando laughed, shaking his head as the room erupted with amusement.

“But in all seriousness, seeing your child find their person—it’s a feeling I can’t quite put into words,” Adam continued. “Lando, you’ve always been determined, always pushing for greatness, and I have no doubt that same determination will make you an incredible husband.”

His gaze softened as he looked between the two of you.

“Marriage isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up every day, choosing each other, even when it’s not easy. And if there’s one thing I know about both of you, it’s that you don’t back down from a challenge.”

He raised his glass. “To my son and my new daughter—may your love be the greatest victory of all.”

Lando’s brother, Oliver, and his sister, Cisca, stood together, sharing a knowing look before Oliver took the mic.

“So, growing up with Lando…” Oliver trailed off, shaking his head as the crowd chuckled. “Let’s just say, we’ve seen him in his prime. And by prime, I mean running around the house in his underwear, causing absolute chaos.”

Lando groaned, covering his face as everyone laughed.

“But through all of it, one thing has always been true—Lando has the biggest heart. He might be stubborn, he might be competitive, but when he loves, he loves.”

Cisca took over, smiling warmly at you. “And we see that love every time he looks at you.”

Oliver nodded. “We’ve never seen him happier, and that’s saying something because this guy literally lives for adrenaline. But you? You’re the real thrill.”

They raised their glasses together. “To Lando and his incredible wife—welcome to the family.”

Carlos stood, shaking his head with a smirk. “I feel like I should start this by saying—finally.”

Laughter filled the room, Lando groaning as Carlos winked at you.

“I’ve had the privilege of knowing Lando for years, and trust me, it’s been an experience.”

More laughter.

“But in all seriousness,” Carlos continued, his voice softening, “watching Lando grow, both on and off the track, has been incredible. And seeing him with you? It’s like he’s found his missing piece.”

Lando’s grip on your hand tightened.

“I wish you both a life filled with happiness, adventures, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of patience for Lando’s bad habits.”

The room laughed as Carlos raised his glass. “To a lifetime of love and laughter.”

Oscar took the mic last, pausing for dramatic effect.

“I was going to prepare a long speech, but then I remembered that Lando can barely sit still for five minutes, so I’ll keep it short.”

Lando snorted, nodding. “Fair enough.”

Oscar smiled, glancing at you. “You make him better. Not just as a driver, not just as a person, but in ways that are impossible to put into words.”

A beat of silence.

“That’s how you know it’s real.”

The room let out a collective aww, and Lando shook his head, clearly caught off guard by the sincerity.

“To the happy couple,” Oscar said, raising his glass. “And to making sure Lando never forgets how lucky he is.”

Lando laughed, clinking his glass with Oscar’s before turning to you. “I definitely won’t.”

As the applause and cheers filled the air, Lando leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Still think marrying me was a good idea?”

You turned, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “The best decision of my life.”

And with that, the night continued—filled with laughter, dancing, and love that would last a lifetime.

Later in the night, after the cake had been cut and the dance floor was filled with swaying couples, Lando pulled you away from the crowd.

“Come with me,” he whispered, lacing his fingers through yours.

He led you down a small path lined with lanterns, away from the noise, until you reached a quiet balcony overlooking the ocean. The waves crashed softly below, the scent of salt and jasmine filling the air.

Lando turned to you, eyes shining. “You know how they say life moves fast?”

You nodded, heart still racing.

“Well,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours, “for once, I don’t want to rush. I just want to stay in this moment, with you, forever.”

You smiled, brushing your lips against his. “Then let’s make forever ours.”

And with the stars as your witnesses, you did.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

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qinche-cvmslvt · 1 month ago

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CW: SMUT. Joyride, NSFW. 21+. Pussy eating, outdoor sex.

“When you’re sitting behind me, there are things more interesting than speed.”

Another free Sylus card 😩😩❤️❤️❤️❤️ I was just talking in my discord this morning how I wanted more motorbike Sylus cards. This is unreal. ❤️

Like the feel of your breasts pressing against his back as you hold onto him tightly.

His hand reaching behind him travelling up your thigh, squeezing, silently communicating that he can feel the heat of your body even through the motorcycle gear.

Your hands roaming his torso, slipping under his shirt, tracing the ridges and lines of his hard abs. Making him shudder beneath your touch. His groans lost in the wind but you can feel the vibrations through his back.

He picks up speed. The adrenaline of the motorbike, your touches getting too much. He needs you. Needs more. Needs to taste you.

The bike comes to halt. Neither of you care about the open setting anymore. You need him just as much as he needs you.

He uses his evol to keep his bike steady and up right as he bends you over the seat. His hands making quick work of your jeans yanking them down your thighs and exposing your dripping cunt to the cool night air.

As much as he wants to thrust into you, he doesn’t. Even with the thrill and the risk of outdoor sex he wants to take his time with you. Wants to make you cum at least twice. He drops to his knees behind you. His large hands firmly gripping your ass as he spreads you open. Groaning at the sight of your glistening sex.

“So fucking wet for me, Kitten.” Without further preamble he leans forward, his tongue delving between your folds. Expertly eating you out. He knows your pussy well after all. It’s his favourite place to be.

You grip onto the motorbike, knuckles turning white as your moans fill the night air and the obscene sounds of Sylus enjoying your juices. His fingers join in. Starting off nice and slow, relishing the feeling of your hot wet walls clenching around two of his long large fingers.

He knows just where to stroke and rub to get you over the edge. Your pussy flutters around his fingers, your release gushing out of you onto his hand and mouth. Sylus groans, “fuck yes.” His cock throbs painfully against his pants. The dual zippers seemingly ready to burst from the pressure but he doesn’t pull back yet. He’s gonna wring out every ounce of your pleasure. He loves sending you into overstimulation until you’re begging for relief.

“Sy… p-please!” You whimper. With a satisfied smirk, he licks between your folds a few more times before pulling away.

Sylus makes quick work of his pants. Freeing his large straining cock. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, Sweetie.”

He strokes himself a few times before easing himself inside your warm centre, groaning at the exquisite sensations. As much as he’d love to fuck into you hard and fast straight away he knows how big he is, that he needs to give you a chance to adjust.

You arch your back. Your sweet moans and gasps like music to his ears as he fills you.

“I could stay like this forever, Kitten.” he groans as he starts to move, the drag of his thick veiny cock against your walls is exquisite. As he feels you relaxing and getting used to his intrusion he grips your hips and starts fucking you faster.

“Ah..ah.. oh fuck.. Sylus!” You cry out in pleasure. He feels deep in any position but when he’s behind you like this… it’s so fucking intense. Your eyes water from the intense pleasure but you look at him over your shoulder. Your face flushed and you’re panting. “D-don’t stop.” You whimper to reassure him that you’re okay.

Sylus nearly cums right then and there. The sight of you, a whimpering, flustered mess. All because of him. “Perfection.” He grunts as he continues to pound into you. Sylus feels his orgasm building at the base of his spine. He reaches around you, finding your clit and massaging it. There was no way he was cumming before you had your second orgasm.

“F-fuck… Sylus!” You throw your head back in pleasure. The dual stimulation of his fingers on your clit and him fucking into you is too much. Your body trembles and shakes beneath him as you orgasm over his cock. Your pussy rippling along his pistoning shaft.

Sylus lets out a loud guttural moan at the feeling of your cunt clenching his cock. “That’s it, Sweetie. Fuck you’re amazing.” After a few more thrusts he hilts inside you. His release barreling down on him. Thick ropes of his cum paint your insides. Marking you as his in the most primal way.

Sylus collapsing against your back, you’re both panting. He nuzzles into your neck. Inhaling your scent as he places a few kisses onto your sweat slicked skin.

“You’re so beautiful. Sweetie. I love you.”

#love and deepspace smut #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus smut

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theobservatory · 27 days ago

Text

｡⁠☆Both Calloused Hands｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠

☆Jason x reader

☆Cw: body image issues, sex mention, birth control mention, slight possessiveness

You have a handful of the skin of your stomach in your hand, your shirt rolled up to expose your body to the unforgiving visage in the full length mirror. Your frown is tense, a hard crease between your brows as you pinch and rub your skin between your fingers.

Jason is behind you, just barely in view from the side of the mirror. He's doing something on his phone, not paying attention to what you're doing. You're supposed to be getting dressed, but you're clearly sidetracked.

"I think I'm gaining weight." You sound just as uncomfortable as you look.

"So?"

"My pants don't fit the same way they did a couple months ago."

Jason raises an eyebrow, tearing his gaze from his phone to lock eyes with yours through the mirror.

"I can take you shopping tomorrow then."

"No, Jason I don't want you to buy me new pants."

New pants is giving up. It's defeat. It's acceptance of your new body, your new size.

"I think it's cuz of my new birth control."

"I'm still not seeing the problem. You look as good as you always do."

Your frown deepens. You've seen Jason practically worship the ground you work on. You've felt his calloused hands drag along your waist, his lips bite and suck exactly where your hands are placed upon yourself. You know he's attracted to you, but there's this weird separation in your head that just doesn't seem to leave you.

Because how good is good? And what does he mean as you always do? Have you always been this weight, always looked this way and you're just noticing now? The thought makes you a little sick.

"Look..." Jason slides behind you, wrapping his hands around yours. "If it makes you that unhappy then just get off it. I still think you're gorgeous, for what it's worth."

"If I get off the pill then no sex at least until marriage." You love Jason, but you're not gonna end up anyone's baby mama, daddy, or nothing.

"Okay, then let's get married."

"Jason, be serious."

"I am." He shrugs.

Your breath leaves you in a huff of air. You're left staring at him through the reflection, the weight of him behind your back feels too heavy, and unreal, at the same time.

"D-Don't fuck with me, Jason."

He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. "'M not."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah."

You look down to where your hands are interlocked over your stomach, and the back up to your face in the mirror. Heart fluttering excitement gets squashed by a sudden feeling of utter inadequacy. Not enough of what you should be, and too much of what you are.

It's like you're covered in it. This drudge of grotesqueness that no one around you seems to have. It's on the meat of your arms and the fat of your thighs, it pulls to create the lines on your face, and the stretch marks on your chest. You're drowning in the pieces of you that separate you from others. The ugly parts that you know other people have, but you can't seem to find when you look at them.

"We should stay in."

"What?" You choke out.

"We should stay in. I don't wanna share you right now."

"... Share?"

"No. Keep every part of you to myself. No one else should look at you, but me."

Jason's eyes are burning into your reflection. His gaze is heavy, possessive. You don't know how long he's been staring.

"We can reschedule for another time." He placates, running kisses down your shoulder. "Come lay with me."

Your throat feels thick with tears. They came out of nowhere, really.

"Y-Yeah, okay."

"Okay."

Neither of you move for a moment, stuck eye-fucking each other in the mirror. Jason with a heat that makes you want to shy away, yourself with a soft and hesitant reverence. You make quite the sight.

He breaks the tension with another kiss, this one placed on your jaw, and begins to lead you away from the mirror. When your head turns to catch one last appraisal of your body Jason places a hand on your cheek, guiding your eyes back towards himself.

"Eyes on me, pretty."

"Okay."

Reader, having a slight breakdown: I'm gross, worthless, nobody should love me ever.

Jason, completely oblivious: Jesus fucking Christ they're so hot be normal be normal be normal be normal be normal

Posting this but it's almost 2am and it's not proofread, if it's ass uhhhhh that's none of my business. I have longer fics not too far behind this one, trust and believe

｡⁠☆Requests Open

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chrissssssmut · 1 month ago

Note

Can you do the seven half-sisters thing again? With him going into the army before college, changing his appearance (becoming more handsome and looking more like a grown man), height and posture, even his voice , which was no longer that voice of a teenager

Bad Brother, Worst Sisters

Yandere w/ Smut

Yandere Ryujin, Lisa, Jo Yuri, Kazuha, Choerry, Rei and Miyeon x Male Reader

AN: Last story for this week! I haven't slept if anyone's wondering hahaha, I was too busy trying to finish this. This story was done by me but i was helped by a dear friend of mine.

Enjoy this one! I will be sleeping now hahaha XD

(God this lineup is so goated tbh)

The announcement of your enlistment was met with indifference. Your step-sisters barely reacted.

Ryujin was slouched on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She barely spared you a glance. “Cool. Have fun in boot camp or whatever.”

Lisa chuckled, twirling a strand of her hair. “Gonna get all buff, huh? Maybe you’ll actually become useful.”

Jo Yuri shrugged. “It’s not like you had a choice. Every guy has to go.”

Kazuha tilted her head, expression blank. “When do you leave?”

You sighed. “Tomorrow morning.”

Choerry smiled, but there was no warmth. “Well, don’t die or anything.”

Rei simply nodded. Miyeon muttered a quick “Good luck.”

That was it. No tears, no sentimental goodbyes—just a few passive comments before they returned to whatever they were doing.

It wasn’t surprising. You had always been more of an outsider in the family. Your step-sisters never went out of their way to be cruel, but they weren’t exactly warm either. They lived in their own little world, and you were just... there.

You left without looking back.

Months of grueling training changed you. When you stepped through the front door, the air in the house felt different.

Silence.

Then—

Ryujin appeared first. She stopped in her tracks, eyes scanning you up and down. Her usual lazy smirk was gone. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

Lisa leaned against the kitchen counter, her fingers gripping a glass of water so tightly it might crack. “Holy shit.”

Jo Yuri tilted her head, brows furrowing. “No way… that’s you?”

Kazuha stepped forward cautiously. “Your voice…” she murmured, as if hearing it felt unreal.

Rei swallowed, her gaze locked onto your face. “You look so… different.”

Miyeon placed a hand on her chest, a slow smile spreading on her lips. “You’ve grown into such a fine man, haven’t you?”

Choerry bit her lip, her gaze dark and unreadable. “And we just let you leave looking like that?”

You laughed awkwardly, setting your duffel bag down. “Well, yeah. It’s still me.”

But their stares didn’t waver. They were studying you—absorbing every inch of the new you.

That first night back, you could feel their eyes on you. Whenever you moved around the house, they were there. Watching. Observing. If you passed by the living room, one of them would be lounging nearby, pretending to be on their phone. If you went into the kitchen, you’d suddenly feel a presence behind you, too close for comfort.

The air was thick with something unspoken. Their casual indifference was gone, replaced with something else entirely.

At first, their behavior seemed harmless.

Lisa, who used to tease you relentlessly, started making excuses to be close. “You work out now, huh?” she mused, hands gliding over your arms. “I wonder how strong you’ve gotten.”

Ryujin, usually distant, started dropping into your room unannounced. She’d sit on your bed, stretching, acting like she belonged there. “I’m just bored,” she’d say. But the way her eyes lingered on you said otherwise.

Jo Yuri was the worst. She had always been a little playful, but now? Her touches lingered too long. Her words were too sweet. “You missed us, didn’t you? I can tell.”

Kazuha started bringing you snacks, feeding you piece by piece with her fingers. “Eat up. You need to keep your strength.” She always insisted on watching you eat, her fingers grazing your lips whenever she fed you.

Rei always found ways to touch you. A hand on your wrist. A brush against your neck. “You’re warmer now.”

Miyeon and Choerry started arguing over who got to sit next to you at dinner. It was eerie, how quickly things shifted. Miyeon would pull your chair closer to hers, wrapping her arm around your shoulders, whispering things too soft for the others to hear. Choerry, on the other hand, had a more aggressive approach—cutting your food for you, feeding you like a child, her smile twitching whenever someone interrupted.

The nights were the worst. You started locking your door. It didn’t help. Some nights, you swore you heard the doorknob turning. Other nights, you could hear soft whispers right outside your room. Once, you woke up to find your window slightly open, even though you were certain you had locked it.

The suffocation became unbearable. You told your parents, but they dismissed it. “They’re just happy you’re home.”

So you made the decision. You moved out.

The day you left, their reactions were… unsettling.

Lisa stood by the door, arms crossed, but her nails dug into her skin. “You’re seriously leaving?”

Ryujin scoffed. “Tch. Whatever.” But her eyes burned with something dangerous.

Jo Yuri stepped close, whispering, “You’ll come back. You always will.”

Kazuha simply stared, her grip tightening on the edge of your shirt before she let go.

Rei smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.”

Miyeon kissed your cheek. “We’ll be waiting.”

Choerry didn’t say a word. She just watched you walk away.

Life in your apartment was peaceful. You could finally breathe. But something felt wrong. No messages, no calls. No sign of them at all.

Until one night.

You unlocked your door after a long day at college. The lights were on.

And Lisa was sitting on your couch, waiting.

She smiled. “Hey, baby bro. Long time no see.”

Your stomach twisted. “Lisa? How did you get in?”

She stretched, making herself comfortable. “What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t have a spare key?”

What the hell?

You exhaled. “Alright, you visited. Now leave.”

Lisa pouted. “That’s not how you treat family, is it?”

Still, you sighed and decided to make dinner. Maybe if you played along, she’d leave faster.

You were halfway through preparing food when—

A hand covered your mouth.

Darkness.

When you woke up, your wrists were tied to your steel desk. The dim glow of your bedside lamp cast eerie shadows on the walls.

Lisa sat across from you, smiling. “You really shouldn’t have left, baby brother.”

Anger flared through you. “Lisa, what the hell is this?! Let me go!”

The door creaked open.

Six figures stepped inside, their eyes gleaming.

Miyeon smiled sweetly. “You really thought you could leave your family behind?”

Ryujin scoffed. “Dumbass.”

Choerry giggled, tracing a finger along your wrist. “You’re ours. No matter what.”

The air felt thick, suffocating, as the seven of them closed in around you. Your breath hitched when fingers—soft, lingering, possessive—brushed against your skin. One by one, they reached for you, tracing slow patterns over your arms, your chest, your throat. Every touch was deliberate. Every gaze was heavy with something dark, something dangerous.

"You shouldn't have left," Miyeon whispered, her lips ghosting near your ear.

"Bad boys need to be punished," Ryujin added, nails lightly scraping down your forearm.

Lisa’s fingers trailed along your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her smirk. "You really thought we'd just let you go?"

Jo Yuri exhaled a soft laugh, her hands pressing against your shoulders, keeping you in place. "You belong to us, baby brother."

Kazuha was quiet, but her grip on your wrist tightened, her touch possessive, unyielding. Rei leaned in next, her breath warm against your cheek. "Even if we’re siblings… it doesn’t change a thing."

Choerry giggled, her fingers brushing down your chest, teasing. "And tonight, we’ll finally make sure you understand that.”

As they slowly had their way with you—fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt, lips brushing against your skin, teeth grazing your earlobe—you felt your body tense, heat crawling up your spine. Every touch was deliberate, every action meant to remind you that resistance was futile.

Lisa chuckled against your neck, pressing a kiss just below your jaw. “Look at you… pretending you don’t like this.”

Ryujin’s fingers lazily traced down your chest, her smirk dark. “Your body’s shaking. Is it fear… or excitement?”

Jo Yuri giggled, hands gliding over your shoulders, her grip tightening when you flinched. “You can’t run, baby brother. Not from us.”

Then, Kazuha moved in. Unlike the others, she didn’t tease or hesitate. Her hands slid up to your face, her touch firm, claiming. Before you could protest, she pulled you in—her lips crashing against yours in a deep, breath-stealing kiss.

You tried to recoil, tried to move away, but it was impossible. Your wrists were still bound to the table, leaving you trapped as she kissed you like she had all the time in the world. Her tongue parted your lips effortlessly, tasting you, owning you.

Rei sighed, watching with dark amusement. “So unfair, Kazuha… You got to him first.”

Choerry leaned in closer, her voice sickly sweet. “Don’t worry… We have all night.”

Kazuha’s hands were everywhere—trailing down your arms, gripping your waist, pressing into your skin like she wanted to memorize every inch of you. Yet, her lips never once left yours, moving with a slow, deliberate hunger that made your head spin.

Without breaking the kiss, her fingers deftly unbuttoned your shirt, parting the fabric with agonizing slowness. A shiver ran through you as cool air met your skin, but the warmth of her touch quickly followed, tracing along your torso. Then, her fingers drifted lower, playing with the belt of your jeans, teasing, testing.

The others didn’t move. They simply watched.

Ryujin leaned back with a smirk, arms crossed as her eyes drank in your struggle. “Getting shy now? That’s cute.”

Lisa tilted her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Don’t fight it. You knew this was coming.”

Miyeon exhaled softly, eyes dark with something unreadable. “He looks so perfect like this… vulnerable.”

Jo Yuri giggled, resting her chin on her palm. “I wonder how long he’ll last before he stops pretending to resist.”

You squirmed, wrists still bound, but Kazuha held you firm—lips pressing harder, fingers tightening. You were completely at their mercy.

And they knew it.

You tore your lips away from Kazuha’s, chest heaving as anger boiled inside you. “You sick freaks—let me go! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Your voice echoed through the room, raw with fury, but the only response was soft, amused laughter.

Lisa leaned back, smirking. “Aww, he’s mad. Isn’t that adorable?”

Jo Yuri tilted her head, lips curling into a grin. “So feisty. I love it when he tries to act tough.”

Ryujin rolled her eyes, arms crossed. “He still doesn’t get it, does he?”

Your wrists strained against the bindings, but it was useless. No matter how much you fought, you were trapped. And they knew it.

Kazuha wiped her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes gleaming. “That wasn’t very nice of you,” she murmured, disappointed.

Before you could snap back, a sharp pain exploded through your arm.

You gasped. One of them—Miyeon, you realized too late—had tightened her grip around your wrist, her nails digging in, deeper and deeper, until the skin broke. Blood welled up beneath her fingers, and you let out a sharp, involuntary yelp.

Miyeon’s expression didn’t change. She simply leaned in, her voice deceptively soft. “If you do that again, little brother…” Her nails pressed in even harder, making you wince. “…we’re going to make it so much worse for you.”

Lisa smirked as she pulled out a small knife, the dim light reflecting off the sharp edge. Without hesitation, she pressed the cool blade against your skin, dragging it slowly, tracing little patterns with deliberate care.

At first, it was just a faint sting. Then the pain deepened, sharp and burning. You gritted your teeth, a muffled groan escaping before a hand suddenly clamped over your mouth.

“Shhh, be good,” Rei whispered against your ear, her breath warm. “No screaming. We can’t have that, can we?”

Your body tensed as Kazuha returned, her lips crashing onto yours with a hunger that left no room for escape. She kissed you deeper this time, her fingers trailing down your bare chest, nails grazing over fresh wounds.

Meanwhile, the others moved with unsettling coordination. Hands tugged at your belt, unfastening it with ease. The rustling of fabric sent a chill down your spine.

Then, with one swift motion, your pants and boxers were yanked down, leaving you completely exposed.

Lisa chuckled, pressing the tip of the blade teasingly against your thigh. “Now, let’s see how much more fun we can have.”

Lisa and Jo Yuri, leaned in, their breaths warm against your exposed skin. Without hesitation, their tongues met at your length, gliding over it in slow, deliberate motions as they shared every inch between them. Lisa’s touch was playful, teasing, while Jo Yuri moved slower, savoring every reaction you gave.

Meanwhile, Kazuha kept her lips firmly pressed against yours, refusing to let you pull away. Her fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place as she deepened the kiss, her tongue claiming yours with dominance. Her eyes burned with something dangerous, something possessive.

"Don’t even think about running, baby brother," she whispered against your lips, her voice laced with amusement. "You were made for us—so just accept it."

Kazuha slowly pulled away, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she licked the taste of you off her mouth. "I shouldn’t be the only one having fun, right?" she murmured, her fingers trailing down your chest before stepping back, giving the others their turn.

Rei wasted no time. She grabbed your face and crashed her lips against yours, far rougher and more demanding than Kazuha had been. Her nails raked down your skin, leaving faint red marks in their wake, as if she wanted to carve her presence into you. Her tongue forced its way past your lips, claiming you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Meanwhile, from the corner of your eye, you saw Kazuha slipping off her undergarments. She settled onto the chair across from you, spreading her legs ever so slightly, her fingers disappearing between them. Her breathing grew heavier, her lips parting in pleasure, yet her gaze never left yours.

"Don’t look away," she purred, biting down on her lower lip as her movements became more deliberate. "I want to see what you and Rei are doing."

As Rei kept her lips locked onto yours, her tongue exploring with a hunger that matched Kazuha’s burning gaze, Lisa and Jo Yuri continued sharing your length, their mouths working in tandem. Desperation clawed at you as you tried once more to break free, but before you could even shift, Ryujin, Miyeon, and Choerry’s hands were on you—firm, unrelenting.

"Ah, ah… where do you think you're going?" Miyeon cooed, pressing down harder, her nails digging into your wrists.

Ryujin smirked, tightening her grip. "You’re staying right here, baby brother."

Choerry giggled, her eyes glinting with excitement. "Guess it’s our turn now."

With that, Lisa and Jo Yuri pulled away, leaving a wet trail along your skin as Choerry and Ryujin took their place. Their mouths were impossibly warmer, tongues needier, eager to devour you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, suffocating—and yet, their eyes told you the worst was still yet to come.

Ryujin let the tip rest against her tongue for a moment, eyes flickering up to meet yours before she gave a slow, deliberate slap against it, her smirk sending a shiver straight down your spine. "Sensitive, aren't you?" she teased, her voice laced with amusement.

Meanwhile, Choerry was far less patient, her lips sealing around you with a desperate kind of hunger, as if she couldn’t get enough—as if this was her last chance to have you. Every movement, every flick of her tongue, sent heat pooling in your stomach, your body betraying you no matter how much you tried to fight it.

Within seconds, Miyeon’s fingers wrapped around your length, her touch slow and deliberate, using the slickness left behind by Ryujin and Choerry’s mouths. A shiver ran through you as she stroked you with an almost practiced ease, her grip just tight enough to keep you on edge.

She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered, "You’ve always been ours. Since the very beginning. Fighting it won’t save you... it’ll only make things harder—for you." Her voice dripped with amusement, her pace never faltering, as if daring you to resist.

Your body tensed, every nerve on edge as Miyeon’s hand continued its merciless rhythm. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the inevitable, but the overwhelming sight before you made it impossible. Kazuha’s fingers worked between her thighs, her breathy moans mixing with the wet sounds of Miyeon’s strokes. Your other step-sisters were tangled in each other, their lips meeting in desperate, hungry kisses. The ones holding you down only tightened their grips, making sure you had nowhere to run, nowhere to escape.

"M-Mi… Miyeon, please—" your voice cracked, a mix of shame and desperation spilling from your lips.

Miyeon chuckled, her fingers never slowing, twisting just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. "Please, what?" she teased, her warm breath tickling your ear. Miyeon chuckled, her fingers never slowing, twisting just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. "Gonna cum?" she taunted, her warm breath tickling your ear. "Go on, don’t hold back. It’s not like you can stop it anyway."

As the pressure built deep inside you, your breath hitched, your body betraying you. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, Ryujin yanked Miyeon away. Before you could even react, Lisa seized your face, forcing your gaze to meet hers. "Go on, baby brother," Lisa purred, her grip tightening as her lips brushed against your ear. "Make a mess, and we’ll make you regret it. Be good for us—hold it in."

You bit down on your lip, forcing yourself to hold it in—not out of defiance, but because you were too weak to endure whatever punishment they had in store. The sting of your wounds still burned, fresh blood trickling down your skin. But despite your restraint, a small drop of release spilled from your length. Rei noticed instantly, her eyes gleaming with something dark. With a slow, deliberate motion, she swiped it up with her finger—then brought it to her lips, tasting you with a satisfied hum. Rei’s lips curled into a smirk as she sucked the remnants off her finger, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Hm… even when you're trying to behave, your body still betrays you,” she purred, tilting her head. “Didn’t Lisa tell you to hold it in, baby brother?”

Her eyes darkened with something wicked, something dangerous. “Looks like you need to be taught a little more discipline.”

"I won’t be a bad brother anymore… I swear," you pleaded, desperation lacing your voice. "I’ll go back to the house… just please, let me go."

Choerry cupped your face with both hands, her grip firm, her touch almost affectionate as she tilted your head forward. "Shh, don’t fight it," she whispered, guiding you closer to Kazuha’s glistening heat.

Kazuha’s breath hitched, her fingers digging into the table as she trembled on the edge of release. "Be good for us," she murmured, her eyes glazed with pleasure. "Take all of me… just like a good little brother should."

As Kazuha neared her release, she tangled her fingers in your hair, yanking you closer until your face was pressed against her soaked heat. A shuddering gasp escaped her lips before turning into a breathy, desperate moan.

“Fuckk—! T-Take it all… don’t you fucking dare pull away,” she whimpered, her thighs trembling as she rode out her high.

Her essence spilled over you, warm and relentless, coating your skin as the other sisters watched with dark delight. Laughter and whispers filled the air, their hungry gazes drinking in the sight of you—helpless, drenched, and completely theirs.

Kazuha’s grip was ruthless as she seized your face again, shoving you back onto the cold floor. Your wrists throbbed, skin raw from the restraints digging in, but none of them cared. Rei crouched beside you, her fingers trailing over the angry red marks with a mocking pout.

‘This is what happens to bad brothers,’ she murmured, voice dripping with sickly sweetness. ‘You should’ve known better.’

You tried to scream for help, but before the sound could escape, Jo Yuri was already pressing a strip of tape over your lips. She smiled, tilting her head as she traced a finger along your cheek.

‘Good boys stay quiet,’ she whispered, her voice dripping with amusement.

Jo Yuri, though reveling in the punishment they were putting you through, was growing impatient—eager to claim her reward. Wasting no time, she rushed toward you, lowering herself onto your length with a slow, deliberate motion. At first, she moved cautiously, savoring the sensation, but it didn’t take long before her pace quickened, her hunger becoming undeniable.

"Fuck, you feel so good,” Jo Yuri moaned, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Your mind and body were already betraying you, blurring the lines between resistance and surrender. No matter how much you wanted to fight it, the pleasure was overpowering—forcing you to forget, even for a moment, that these seven had turned your own apartment into a prison. And now, lost in the heat of the moment, you couldn’t ignore the way one of your sisters wrapped around you so perfectly.

Ryujin and Miyeon knelt beside you, their gazes dark with possession as they claimed ownership over you. Ryujin’s fingers traced along your jaw before gripping it tightly, forcing you to meet her eyes.

‘You’re ours now,’ she murmured, her voice laced with dangerous sweetness. ‘If you even think about disobeying, we’ll make your life a living hell.’

Miyeon leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, ‘And you won’t tell a single soul about what happened here. Not unless you want things to get even worse.’

All the while, Jo Yuri shifted her position, moving back in front of you without ever slowing her relentless pace, her eyes locked onto yours with a dangerous gleam.

Lisa scoffed, her grip tightening as she leaned in closer. ‘You’ll never have a girlfriend,’ she said, her voice dripping with possessiveness. ‘If you ever want to be with someone, it should be with us—your step-sisters. Only us. No one else.’

She smiled, but there was nothing sweet about it. ‘Any other woman who tries to take you away? She won’t live to see another day.’

Jo Yuri then quickened her pace, sensing just how close you were. This time, there was no holding back—it was inevitable. A wicked smile curled on her lips as she turned to the others.

‘He’s about to cum,’ she announced, her voice laced with excitement.

Without hesitation, she lifted herself off you, replacing the sensation with the warmth of her mouth. The rest of your sisters watched hungrily, biting their lips, tongues teasingly sticking out as they eagerly waited for your release.

It only took a few strokes before pleasure crashed over you. Your body tensed, and despite the tape sealing your lips, a desperate, muffled moan escaped—

‘Mmmph—! Haaah…!’

Your climax spilled onto their expectant faces, their delighted giggles filling the room as they licked away every drop, satisfied with their claimed prize.

The sisters, now satisfied with their work, slowly removed the restraints from your wrists and peeled the tape from your mouth. But it didn’t matter—you were too weak to move, your body completely drained.

As you lay there, trying to catch your breath, one of them leaned in with a smug smile.

‘We’ll be moving in tomorrow,’ Miyeon announced casually, as if it were already decided. ‘So make sure no one else comes here. This place belongs to us now—just like you do.

The sisters slipped back into their clothes, their satisfied smiles lingering as they slowly made their way out of your apartment. But Ryujin stayed behind, her eyes locked onto your exhausted form.

She crouched beside you, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before whispering, ‘There’ll be more moments like this… whether you like it or not.’

Pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her hand trailed downward, fingers wrapping around your sensitive length. She gave it a slow, teasing stroke, her smirk widening.

She watched you with a wicked glint in her eyes, savoring the way your body twitched under her touch.

‘Come on,’ she coaxed, her voice sultry and commanding. ‘Be a good boy and cum for me—right now.’

She pumped faster, her thumb teasing over your most sensitive spot, determined to wring out every last drop. ‘I don’t have all night,’ she whispered against your ear. ‘So give me everything before I go… unless you want the others to join in.’

With one last stroke, she pushed you over the edge, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she finally pulled away. Without another word, she stood up, adjusted her clothes, and walked out—leaving you panting, drained, and completely at their mercy.

As the last of your step-sisters walked out, the apartment fell silent, save for the lingering scent of them in the air. Your body was sore, your wrists still red from where they had bound you, yet the worst part wasn’t the pain—it was the realization that this wasn’t over.

They had made that clear.

Tomorrow, they would return. Tomorrow, they would move in. Tomorrow, your life would no longer be your own.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing. Could you escape? Call for help? But even as the thoughts formed, you knew the truth—there was no running from them. They had already decided. You belonged to them.

And deep down, despite everything, your body shivered at the thought.

416 notes · View notes

killerplink · 2 months ago

Text

FRACTURED

Characters: Dick Grayson x Female Reader, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson (bonding)

Words: 4,5k

Plot: When a casual night turns into a nightmare, you fight to stay alive, but all you can think about is the one you can't bear to lose.

CW: established relationship, angst, mention of blood, violence, injury, near-death experience, hurt/comfort

Part two here

It happens so fast.

One moment, you're walking to your car, lost in your own head, thinking about nothing important. What you're gonna make for dinner, whether Dick's already home, if you should stop for coffee on the way. Just the usual thoughts that fill the quiet in between moments, the kind that don't really matter but keep your mind occupied.

And then? Then everything changes.

The sound of footsteps echoes behind you, too close, too deliberate. At first, you don't think much of it, just another person walking to their car, heading home for the night. But then the steps don't slow, don't waver, and something shifts.

A bad feeling creeps up your spine, settling in your gut, a prickle of unease spreading over your skin. It happens so fast you barely have time to process it, barely have time to react before—

Impact.

Something slams into your side, hard, shoving you forward with brutal force. The air is knocked from your lungs in an instant, your body lurching forward as your balance tilts dangerously.

You stumble, hands flailing for something, anything to catch yourself on. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as your mind scrambles to catch up, to understand what's happening, to see who—what—where—

Pain.

Searing, hot, and sudden. It rips through your side with an intensity that steals the ground from beneath you, burrowing deep, tearing through muscle, sharp and wrong. Your nerves scream, your body jolting from the shock of it, and for a split second, it doesn't even feel real. It's too fast, too brutal, a kind of pain that doesn't belong in the quiet of a normal evening.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your brain stalls, takes a second too long to catch up, a second that stretches endlessly, feels like forever. It isn't until you feel the warmth spreading across your skin, wet and slick, that the reality of it finally sinks in. By the time your gaze drops, by the time you see the blade—gleaming, stained red, still buried in your side—it's already too late.

You're already falling.

Your knees hit the pavement first, jarring against the rough concrete, sending another sharp jolt of pain through you. Your hands follow, weak and trembling, barely catching you before your body fully collapses. Your palms scrape against the ground, but you hardly feel it over the white hot agony radiating from your side.

It's spreading too fast, a sickening pulse of heat that won't stop, that won't let you breathe. Beneath your fingers, something warm pools, thick and sticky, soaking into your skin.

Blood. Your blood.

The guy, whoever he is, mutters something under his breath, but the words are lost to you. Your ears are ringing too loud, drowning out everything else.

You can't move, can't react, can barely think, and for a terrifying moment, you can't even breathe. Your chest tightens, your lungs refusing to expand properly, and it's not just the pain now. It's fear.

You're bleeding. Fuck, you're bleeding.

And then? Then he's gone.

Vanished into the night like he was never even there. No hesitation, no second glance, just a shadow slipping away, leaving you behind, crumpled and gasping on the cold pavement.

And you? You're alone. Alone, bleeding out, the night stretching wide and empty around you, swallowing your shuddering breaths. The cold creeps in faster than it should, seeping through your clothes, through your skin, making everything feel distant, unreal.

No. No, you can't.

Your phone. You need your phone. Your fingers fumble weakly at your pocket, shaking too hard to get a proper grip. Everything feels sluggish, your body fighting you, but you force yourself to move, to breathe, to focus.

You can't stop, not now, not when the weight pressing against your ribs feels heavier by the second, when your vision is already starting to blur at the edges. You need to—

You need to call—

Dick.

It takes everything in you just to press the button. Your hand barely cooperates, slippery with blood, but you manage. You barely have the strength to hold the phone to your ear. And when he picks up? The second you hear his voice, warm and familiar, filled with that easy confidence that's always made you feel safe—

That's when you realize. You're not gonna make it home. Not without him. His phone buzzes once. Twice. And then he picks up immediately.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, voice warm and easy, like he's been waiting for you to call, like he's already smiling, ready to tease you for taking your time. There's a lightness to his tone, the kind that makes it sound like nothing in the world could be wrong, like this is just another night, another conversation. "You heading home?"

And then... Then he hears it.

The way your breath hitches, sharp and unsteady. The way the silence stretches just a second too long before a shaky inhale rattles through the receiver. The way you suck in a gasp—pained, uneven—before forcing out something so small, so fragile, it makes his stomach drop.

"Dick—"

And just like that? His heart stops.

"Baby?"

His voice is different now. The warmth is gone, replaced by something sharper, something tense. His whole body goes still, instincts kicking in, every nerve suddenly alert, his muscles locking as if bracing for impact.

A pause. A tiny, pained inhale. "I—"

Then a whimper. Soft, broken, like it barely made it out at all. And then, barely above a whisper, "I need you."

Fuck. That's all it takes. His body moves before his brain can catch up, muscle memory kicking in, pure instinct driving him forward. He's already grabbing his keys, already shoving his comm into his ear, barely registering the click as it connects.

His pulse slams against his ribs, loud and insistent, drowning out everything but the sound of your breathing—too shallow, too unsteady—on the other end of the line. He throws open the door to the garage, doesn't bother with the lights, just moves, grabbing his helmet, swinging his leg over his bike in one fluid motion.

"Where are you?" His voice is tight, controlled, the edge of panic barely restrained.

A sharp inhale. A weak, wobbly breath.

"I—fuck, I don't—" A choked noise, a shudder. And then, so fucking small, so fragile it makes his throat close up, "I think I got stabbed."

And everything inside him freezes. No. No, no, no—

His grip tightens on the handlebars, fingers pressing into the leather so hard they ache. He swallows back the immediate rush of panic threatening to claw its way up his throat, forces himself to move, to breathe, to act. His free hand fumbles for his comm, shoving it deeper into his ear before his fingers flick over his GPS, pulling up your location.

Thank fuck for the tracker on your keys. There. There you are. His blood runs cold when he sees how far.

"Stay on the line," he breathes, voice barely holding together, his other hand turning the key, the engine roaring to life beneath him. He doesn't even think, just goes, peeling out of the garage so fast his tires screech against the pavement. "I'm coming, baby. Just—just stay with me, okay?"

And then? Then he drives. Fast. Too fast.

Because Gotham is too fucking big. Because you're too far away. Because every second that passes is a second too long, a second where you're bleeding, where you're hurting, where you're alone, and he can't let that happen. His body is running on pure adrenaline now, hands gripping the handlebars so tight his knuckles go white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. He doesn't care.

All that matters is you. By the time he gets there, you're barely conscious. Sprawled on the pavement, one hand pressed weakly to your side, blood pooling beneath you, your phone discarded just inches away.

"Baby," he breathes, voice wrecked, raw, barely able to force the word out.

And for one, horrible second, he can't move. Because this... this is his worst fucking nightmare. But then he's off the bike, barely registering the way it skids as he drops it, his feet hitting the ground hard as he runs, closing the distance between you in a breath, a blink, a heartbeat. His knees hit the pavement beside you, hands shaking as he reaches for you, grabs your face, tilts it gently toward him.

His fingers brush over your cheek, warm despite the chill settling into your skin, desperate to find you through the haze of pain, to ground you in him.

Your eyelids flutter. Your lips part. And then, so soft, so fucking weak, "Dick."

And just... his heart shatters.

"I know, baby, I know," he whispers, voice tight, pained, barely holding on. His hands press firmly against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, to keep you here, to—

"Fuck," you whimper, body twitching, and just—

His throat closes. "I'm sorry, my love," he breathes, barely above a whisper, pressing his forehead against yours, his grip gentle despite the way his hands shake. "I know it hurts, baby, I know, but you have to stay awake, okay?"

A pause. A weak, trembling inhale. Your fingers curl into his sleeve, barely able to hold on. "So cold," you mumble, voice so quiet it nearly gets lost in the night air.

And just, fuck, his jaw clenches.

"I know," he whispers, voice cracking, slipping his jacket off in one swift motion. He tucks it firmly around you, making sure it covers every part of you, his arms wrapping around you like it'll be enough to keep you warm, to keep you here. He presses a kiss to your temple, soft and lingering, his breath unsteady, his chest aching. "Help's almost here, baby, just—just hold on."

A shaky, tiny breath. A ghost of a smile. "Knew you'd come."

And just like that, he breaks. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his breath shuddering as he buries his face in your hair, lips pressing against your forehead, against your temple, his grip desperate, aching, pleading.

"Shhh, I got you," he whispers, voice wrecked, breath shaking. "I got you, baby."

You barely nod. Just the faintest tilt of your head against him. And then... then your body slumps. And Dick? Dick falls apart.

He doesn't even realize he's shaking as he stares at your unconscious form, the life draining out of you too fast, too violently, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. His hands are slick with your blood, staining his gloves, seeping into the cracks of his fingers, and for the first time in a long time, he feels helpless. Utterly, terrifyingly helpless.

The entire ride to the hospital is a blur. He remembers shouting, pushing, running, people yelling at him to step back, but he doesn't, he can't, not when you're barely breathing in his arms. It's only when the ER doors swing shut, when you're wheeled away from him, disappearing behind sterile white curtains, that reality slams into him like a freight train.

And then he's left in the waiting room. Pacing. Restless. Agitated.

His boots echo against the linoleum as he stalks back and forth, jaw clenched so tight it aches. Every muscle in his body is coiled, wired with adrenaline and fear and something deeper, something primal that he can't shake. His hands are still stained, and no matter how many times he scrubs them against his suit, he still feels it—your blood, your warmth, fading, slipping, and he can't fucking breathe.

"She's been in surgery for hours," he mutters, voice raw, almost hoarse. He's barely stopped moving, his fingers threading through his hair, gripping at the roots, chest rising and falling too fast. "Why is it taking this long?"

Bruce is there. Silent at first. Watching.

"Dick," his voice is calm, measured, but firm, that same tone that used to keep him steady when he was a kid, when the world felt too big, too cruel. "She's going to be fine."

Dick laughs, but it's humorless, breathless, shaking. "You don't know that," he snaps, and immediately regrets it. He exhales hard, pressing his palms against his face, dragging them down like it'll somehow ground him. "Sorry. I just... she was right there, Bruce. Bleeding out. And I—I couldn't do anything."

Bruce doesn't flinch, doesn't let the words shake him. Instead, he steps forward, places a heavy hand on Dick's shoulder, the weight of it solid, grounding.

"You got her here."

Dick swallows hard, his throat burning. "What if it wasn't enough?"

Bruce squeezes his shoulder. "It was."

Dick shakes his head, jaw tightening. "You don't know that—"

"I do." Bruce's voice is unwavering, steady in a way that makes something inside Dick crack wide open. "She's in the best hospital in Gotham. The best surgeons. The best care. She will make it through this."

Dick wants to argue, to push back, to say but what if? But when he looks at Bruce, really looks at him, he sees it—an unshakable belief, the same certainty that carried them through years of impossible odds, of near death escapes. Bruce isn't just saying it to calm him down. He means it.

And that? That makes it a little easier to breathe.

Bruce exhales softly, a rare moment of warmth breaking through his usual stoicism. "I know what it's like to sit in these rooms. To feel powerless." His voice drops, quieter now, something heavier laced between the words. "I've done it too many times with you."

Dick's throat tightens, his breath catching.

"I know it's terrifying," Bruce continues. "But she's strong. And she's got you to fight for."

Dick's legs finally give out beneath him, and he drops onto the chair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He doesn't even realize he's shaking until Bruce sits beside him, a steady presence, and—God—before he can stop himself, Dick turns into it, leans against him just enough to feel something solid.

Bruce doesn't push him away. Doesn't lecture him. He just rests a firm hand against the back of Dick's head and stays there. Silent. Steady. There.

And when the doctor finally comes out, when they say you're stable, that you're out of surgery, that you're going to be okay, Dick breathes for the first time in hours.

When you wake up, it's to warmth. A steady weight, something solid, something real, wrapped around your hand, grounding you, keeping you from slipping back into the dark. It's the first thing you register, the soft press of fingers against yours, the way they tighten slightly, as if making sure you don't drift away again.

And then—

A voice. Soft. Shaky. A murmur of your name, so quiet, so hoarse, like it's been spoken a hundred times before you even heard it. Your eyelids flutter, heavy, sluggish, but you fight against it, pushing through the lingering haze of unconsciousness. And when your vision clears, the first thing you see is him.

Dick. Sitting beside your hospital bed, his fingers clinging to yours like a lifeline, like if he lets go, you'll slip right through his grasp again. His eyes are red rimmed, exhaustion painting dark circles beneath them, his face wrecked, jaw tight, like he hasn't slept, hasn't eaten, hasn't even breathed since you collapsed in his arms.

And when you stir, when your fingers twitch the tiniest bit in his grip—

His breath catches. "Baby?"

It's barely a whisper. Barely even a word. Just a breath of hope—raw, desperate, aching. You swallow, throat dry and sore, and part your lips. It takes a second. It takes effort. But then—

A pause. A shaky, slow smile. "Hi."

The way his breath shudders out of him, the way his entire body sags forward, forehead pressing to the back of your hand, his grip tightening like he's trying to memorize the feeling of your skin against his. He exhales hard, like he's been holding it in for hours.

And then, so soft, so fucking wrecked, "You scared me."

And just, fuck, your heart cracks. Because you've never seen him like this. Never seen him so wrecked, so raw, so utterly drained in a way that has nothing to do with sleepless nights and everything to do with you. With the fear of losing you.

So you squeeze his hand. Just the tiniest bit. Just enough for him to feel it, to know you're still here, that you're real, that you're alive. And when he looks up, his eyes are glassy. Red. Wrecked. So full of love, of relief, of something too heavy to carry alone.

And you whisper, small, so fucking gentle, "But you found me."

And just like that? He melts. A quiet, wrecked laugh escapes him, something wet and breathless, something that sounds like it's carrying the weight of every single fear he's ever had about losing you. His fingers tighten around yours, holding on, grounding himself in the fact that you're still here.

Then he leans forward again, pressing his forehead against your hand, against your knuckles, against anything he can reach.

His voice breaks. "Of course I did," he breathes, so soft, so full of something you don't even have a name for.

And in that moment, there's only one thing that makes sense to him. "You're my home."

Because you are. Because you're the one thing that always pulls him back. Because without you, he's lost.

Fuck. You don't even get the chance to say anything back, to let him know that he's yours, that he's the one thing you always come back to, because there's a soft cough from the corner of the room. And when you blink, when you manage to turn your head, you finally notice.

You're not alone. Bruce is here. Standing near the window, arms crossed, his entire posture so tense, so rigid, like he's holding something back. His eyes are sharp, serious, but gentler than you've ever seen them.

And when you meet his gaze, when he sees the way your breathing steadies, the way your eyes focus, the way your fingers are still wrapped so tightly around Dick's, his shoulders relax. Just a fraction. And then, finally, "You gave us quite the scare."

His voice is even. Neutral. But there's something underneath it, something warm, something grateful.

Something that tells you he was worried. That maybe, just maybe, he was scared too. And God. That's when it hits you. Bruce wasn't just here for you. He was here for Dick. Because Dick—

Dick is his son. And he almost lost you. And for Bruce? That's almost the same thing. Losing you would've been almost as bad as losing Dick himself.

Because you're not just someone to Dick, you're everything. His home. His safe place. The person who grounds him, who keeps him from feeling lost. And Bruce? He knows that. So when Dick almost lost you? It wasn't just your life on the line. It was his son's heart.

Bruce watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but his silence says more than words ever could. His shoulders are stiff, his stance unyielding, but there's something else beneath it now. Something hesitant, something restrained, like he's holding back more than just exhaustion.

And when he finally steps closer, it's not much, just a fraction of a movement, but it's deliberate. Intentional. Close enough that you can feel it, that you know he's here.

His eyes flick down to where your fingers are still tangled with Dick's, to the way his son is gripping you like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers again. And when he looks back up, there's something tight in his expression, something carved into the set of his jaw, the pull of his brows. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches, and you can't tell if he's searching for something in your face or just making sure you're really awake, really here.

And then—your voice. Quiet. Guilt ridden. An apology you don't even realize cuts deeper than any wound ever could.

"I'm sorry."

Bruce exhales, slow, measured, but something flickers in his eyes. Something sharp. Something that almost looks like anger, but not at you. No, never at you.

Because why the hell would you even think to say sorry? Why would that be the first thing out of your mouth after nearly dying? After everything?

He hates it. Hates that you feel like you have to carry that weight, hates that it even crossed your mind to apologize for surviving. Because it wasn't your fault.

Because you were the one bleeding out in Dick's arms, and yet here you are, looking at him, at Dick, like you need to make it up to them. Like they wouldn't burn the whole damn world down just to make sure you stayed.

His jaw tightens. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach out, to do something, but Bruce Wayne has never been good at this—at softness, at warmth, at saying what he actually means. So when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, steadier than before, but there's an edge to it. Something firm. Something final.

"There's no need to apologize." A slow exhale through his nose. And then, quieter, like it's the only thing that really matters, like maybe if he says it, you'll believe it, "I'm glad you're back with us."

It's not much. Not flowery, not emotional, not even close to the way Dick is looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, but for Bruce? It's everything. It's as much as he'll allow himself to say. And somehow, that makes it hit even harder.

Then, just like that, his entire demeanor shifts. The warmth, the hesitation, the careful softness—it's gone, replaced by something sharper, something colder, something that leaves no room for hesitation. His expression hardens, his jaw sets, and when he speaks again, his voice is steady, firm, like he's already made up his mind about what's coming next.

"I just want to know what the guy looks like. If you remember."

Dick stiffens beside you. And you—you do remember. Clear as day. So you swallow. And you tell him. Everything. Every detail. Every scar, every feature, every fucking thing you can recall.

And Dick doesn't move. Doesn't shift, doesn't loosen his grip, doesn't even blink as he stares at you, like if he looks away for even a second, you'll disappear again.

And Bruce? Bruce just nods. Once. Then turns and walks out the door. And just like that? You know. It's over for him. Whoever he is. The room feels quieter when Bruce leaves, like the air has settled, like the weight of everything that just happened is finally catching up to you. You breathe in. Slow.

And then, soft. A press of warmth against your forehead. A kiss. Gentle. Lingering. Just his lips, just his breath, just the quiet weight of it grounding you in a way nothing else could.

And when he pulls back, his thumb traces over your knuckles, slow, careful, like he's memorizing them. Like he needs to. You exhale, try to shift, but pain lances through your side, sharp, hot, and you flinch, sucking in a breath through your teeth. Dick reacts immediately.

"Hey, hey—"

His hands are on you in a second, firm but careful, steadying you, stopping you from moving too much.

"Baby, don't—just... stay still, okay? You need to rest."

And just, God. The worry in his voice. The way it wavers, the way he looks at you like you might break all over again. It makes your chest ache.

You swallow. Blink up at him, slow, tired, voice small, "I'm a little thirsty."

And Dick, God. The relief on his face, like he's so grateful that the only thing you're asking for is water and not a damn doctor—it's almost heartbreaking.

"Yeah," he breathes, voice lighter, steadier, "I've got you, baby."

But he doesn't let go. Not really. One hand stays wrapped around yours, tight, secure, while the other reaches for the water pitcher on the table beside you. He pours you a glass, careful not to spill a single drop, and then he shifts.

Braces an arm behind you, supporting your back, keeping you steady as he helps you upright, soft, softer, like you're the most fragile thing he's ever held.

You wince in pain, a sharp jolt shooting through your side, and his heart clenches at the sound. The way you flinch, the way your body tenses, it breaks something inside of him. He'd give anything, everything, to take that pain away from you. But all he can do is hold you, steady you, whisper words that feel too small for the weight of the moment.

"Easy, pretty girl," he murmurs, voice soothing, so full of something warm. "I've got you."

He brings the glass to you, cool against your fingers, the coldness of it a small comfort. He's right there. Watching you. Close. So close, his presence a steadying force as he tilts the glass toward your lips. You take a sip, your throat aching slightly as you swallow, but his careful hands keep the glass steady, guiding it just the right way.

When you lower the glass, his eyes are still locked onto you, taking in every little movement, every little shift, still taking in everything, still not letting a single thing slip past him. And you... you can't help it. Your lips twitch.

"You know," you say, voice still hoarse, still exhausted, but teasing all the same, "you can blink, baby. I'm not gonna disappear."

And Dick... his breath hitches. Then, a small, wrecked, quiet laugh.

"Yeah," he breathes, pressing another kiss to your knuckles, voice so fond, so full of relief, "I know."

But you pout, just a little, because even though you're tired, even though you're sore, you just want to curl up against him, feel his warmth, let it chase away the ache in your bones.

"Wanna snuggle with you."

Your voice is small, laced with exhaustion, barely above a whisper, but he hears it. He always hears you. His face crumbles. Just a little. Just enough that you see the way his jaw clenches, the way his throat works around something thick, something painful.

"My love," he murmurs, shifting, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, so soft, so careful, like you're something fragile, something precious. "You need to rest. I don't wanna hurt you."

But then, softer, like a promise, "Soon, okay? As soon as you're a little stronger. I'll hold you all night."

And then, like he can't help himself, like he needs you to believe it, he leans in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips. Just a soft, lingering peck, warm and tender, filled with everything he can't say yet. Then another, and another, the barest brush of his lips over yours, like he's trying to soothe something deep inside you.

And when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm against your skin.

"I'm right here," he whispers. "Not going anywhere."

And just like that? You believe him. Because he never has. And he never will.

@ellesthots, your man comforting my man is everything to me ✋🏻

#nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader #dc comics #dcu #bruce wayne #bruce wayne and dick grayson #hurt/comfort #angst #writers on tumblr #dick grayson #nightwing #cw blood #gotham is weird #angst with a happy ending #angsty #I'm sorry I couldn't help myself

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user38593843943 · 2 months ago

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Eren is cock drunk

pairing - Eren x fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+)

Content/Trigger Warnings: smut

The air in the room hung thick, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, a primal musk that clung to every breath. The two you have been going at it rabbits. Eren couldn't get enough of you. The way your cunt shaped his cock. The way your pussy swallowed his cock. He loved it. His green eyes burned with a feral hunger, locked onto you like you were the only thing tethering him to sanity.

"Eren please!" you whimpered. You were gripping Eren's bed for dear life. Your legs were shaking and your body was warm.

" C'mon baby you can take it." Eren's fingers dipped in the fat of your thighs as he held a tight grip on your legs to keep you from escaping his trap. Eren loomed over you, his broad shoulders glistening with a sheen of perspiration, dark brown hair plastered messily across his forehead.

His cock was constantly hitting your g spot making you feel shivers down your spine. '"Fuuuck- feel so good baby." A thick, creamy white ribbon coiled tightly around the base of his throbbing cock, glistening under the dim light. Eren watched the faces you made as he thrusted harder. Your fingers had become instruments of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"Fuck," he growled, voice rough and low, scraping against the silence like gravel. "You're unreal, you know that?" His calloused hands gripped your neck with his other dangerously close to your soaked pussy. His cock was digging into your soft walls as he spread you wider.

His movements were raw, needy, like a man possessed. He shifted his hips, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance again, slick with your juices and his own cum from the last round. "Look at you-taking me so fucking good. This cunt's mine, yeah?"

The bed creaked beneath his weight as he leaned in, one hand sliding up to brace himself against the headboard, wood groaning under his grip. His other hand stayed on you, tracing the curve of your hip before slipping down to rub slow, deliberate circles over your swollen clit. He watched your reaction with a smirk, lips curling as he drank in every twitch, every shudder. "Can't get enough of this," he muttered, almost to himself, his thumb pressing harder, coaxing out a fresh gush of wetness that made his cock twitch in response. "So fucking wet for me-shit, you're perfect."

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mingi-s-dimples · 2 months ago

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Sports Car - S.MG

“You feel so perfect.. need to feel you again. Need you to ride me, baby.” ~ inspired from one of his new post on Tate's song... + his fashion appearance for Off-White. enjoy ^^

pairing: mingi x fem!reader genre: 18+ summary: you're so eager to see mingi atap that you decided to wait for him in his car... and it gets steamy. wc: 3.7k warnings: needy desperate mingi, alcohol ingestion (slightly, he's just tipsy), car sex, semi public sex, neck grabbing, making out, biting, lots of touching, he's touchy af, fingering, he's loud, foreplay, lots of cum, one denied orgasm, multiple orgasms, overstim, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, might edit later. author's note: yes atap is inspired from bm's song atap ^^ (after the after party). this is gonna become a damn series, to always write sth about them after a fashion show/appearance- oops. seonghwa fic coming later today and... it's SPICY. it's steamy.. it's a niche thing happening there-

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The BMW is quiet except for the low hum of the engine, parked just far enough from the venue to stay hidden. The city is still alive in the distance, but here, wrapped in shadows, it's just you and the anticipation coiling in your stomach. You’ve been waiting, fingers tracing patterns on the leather seat, the faint scent of Mingi’s cologne still lingering from earlier. You knew he would come. He always does.

And then, you see him.

Mingi moves quickly, slipping out of the after-party unnoticed, his long strides purposeful. Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, he looks unreal—the Off-White jacket slightly open, his silver chain catching the light against the deep cleavage of his barely buttoned up jacket. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips a little red, and you can tell—he’s been drinking. Not enough to lose control, just enough to make his touches slower, his voice lower.

The car door opens, and the second he slides into the passenger seat, the air shifts. Heat replaces the cool night air, thick and heavy. He exhales, head resting against the seat for a moment before turning to you. His gaze is dark, locked onto you with something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“You’ve been waiting,” he murmurs, voice deep and rough around the edges.

You tilt your head, meeting his stare. “Knew you wouldn’t last long without me.”

His tongue swipes over his lower lip, and you catch the way his fingers flex against his thigh. He lets out a low chuckle, but there’s something restless in the way he looks at you—like he’s already lost the patience to talk.

“You have no idea.”

The space between you disappears in an instant. His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you into a kiss that’s all heat and desperation. The taste of whiskey lingers on his tongue, mixing with the groan that rumbles in his chest when you press closer. His other hand moves without hesitation, sliding up your thigh, rings cool against your burning skin.

The bass from the after-party still thrums faintly in the distance, but here, inside the car, there’s only the sound of your breaths mingling, the rustle of fabric, and the quiet, unspoken promise that you won’t be leaving this car anytime soon.

Mingi pulls back from the kiss, breath hot against your lips, his eyes clouded with something dark and heavy. For a moment, he just stares at you, chest rising and falling, before he suddenly moves—quick, impatient.

He pushes open the door and stumbles as he steps out, a quiet curse slipping from his lips as his legs struggle to keep up with his urgency. His balance wavers for a second, but he doesn’t stop. He rounds the car in long strides, fingers brushing through his already-messy hair, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face.

Then, the driver’s side door swings open.

Mingi barely gives you a second before his hand is reaching for you, fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls you out in one smooth, rather slow motion. The cool night air barely registers against your skin before he’s guiding you—toward the backseat, his grip firm but not rough.

The second your back hits the seat, he follows.

Mingi climbs in after you, body pressing close, his weight caging you in as he pulls the door shut behind him. His hands are everywhere—one braced against the seat beside your head, the other slipping down your waist, gripping, holding, grounding himself in you. The scent of him is overwhelming now, a mix of whiskey, expensive cologne, and something distinctly *him*.

He exhales sharply, forehead nearly pressing against yours as he hovers over you. “Been thinking about this all night,” he murmurs, voice thick, slurred at the edges, but steady.

His lips brush over yours, teasing, slow, his breath warm. His fingers tighten on your waist before sliding lower, fingertips dragging over your thigh, pushing fabric aside.

“Shouldn’t have kept me waiting,” you whisper, smirking against his mouth.

Mingi groans, low and deep, and then he’s kissing you again—harder this time, more desperate. The world outside the car fades, the city noise nothing but a distant hum. In here, there’s only him. Only the heat, the hunger, and the way his hands start to move with purpose.

And he’s just getting started.

Your breath comes out shaky as Mingi’s lips drag along your jaw, slow and deliberate, his body pressing you deeper into the backseat. His hands are warm, gripping your waist, fingertips digging in like he’s trying to hold himself together. But you can feel it—he’s barely hanging on.

“Mingi,” you murmur, voice softer than you intend. He hums against your skin, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“You’re drunk,” you say, a little firmer this time, fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly to pull him back.

He exhales a laugh, lifting his head, eyes dark and lidded as he looks at you. “Nuh-uh,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just tipsy, my love…” His lips curve, hands slipping lower, pressing against your thighs. “And I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His fingers trace slow, lazy circles against your skin, and his gaze flickers down—watching the way your chest rises and falls, how your lips part just slightly.

“I just…” He exhales, his thumb brushing over the hem of your blouse. “I want to make you feel good.” His voice is lower now, rougher, thick with want.

His hands move with purpose as he starts undoing the buttons of your blouse, each one slipping through his fingers with ease. His touch is slow, almost teasing, until the fabric falls open, exposing more of your skin to the cool air. His gaze darkens, lingering, drinking you in like he’s been starving for this moment.

His hands slide lower, pushing the fabric of your skirt up, bunching it at your hips. Then, with practiced ease, his fingers hook into your panties, tugging them to the side, baring you completely to him.

Mingi stills for a second, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes flick up to meet yours, his expression unreadable—somewhere between awe and hunger.

“Fuck,” he whispers, almost to himself. His fingers trail along your inner thigh, deliberate and slow, but he doesn’t push any further. Instead, he leans back slightly, his free hand moving to the waistband of his own pants.

You watch, heat pooling low in your stomach as he unbuttons them, shoving them down just enough to free himself. His breathing is heavier now, but he doesn’t move to take you—not yet.

Instead, he just watches you, his hands spreading your thighs a little wider, his touch slow, reverent.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice dripping with restraint. “I need a second to admire you.”

Mingi exhales sharply, his hands spreading you wider, his thumbs tracing slow, burning circles on your inner thighs. His gaze drops between your legs, and he groans, deep and low, when he sees just how ready you are for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, his fingers grazing over your slick heat but not pushing in. “You’ve been eagerly waiting for me, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, your hips instinctively shifting, searching for more. He smirks, dark and lazy, dragging his fingers through your wetness, spreading it, watching how you react.

“So wet,” he murmurs, his voice husky with admiration. “All this for me?”

You nod, barely able to form words, anticipation curling deep in your stomach. You needed this—you needed *him*. And he knew it.

Mingi leans in, his lips brushing over yours, teasing, before finally capturing you in a kiss that’s all-consuming. It’s slow but desperate, his tongue slipping past your lips, tasting, claiming. One of his hands grips your waist, holding you still, while the other wraps around his cock, stroking himself as he presses his body closer to yours.

He’s warm, hard, and aching against your thigh, his breaths turning uneven as he moves his hand up and down his length, slicking himself with his own arousal. His forehead presses against yours for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he exhales shakily.

“You have no idea how bad I need you right now,” he groans, his voice wrecked, full of raw want.

His hips roll slightly, the head of his cock brushing against your thigh, and he lets out a quiet curse under his breath. He’s holding back, fighting to pace himself, but you can feel it—the barely restrained desperation in the way his grip tightens on your waist, the way his kisses grow messier, more feverish.

Mingi looks down at you, pupils blown wide, lips slightly swollen from kissing you so hard. His fingers tighten their grip on your thigh, spreading you even more beneath him.

“I want to take my time,” he breathes, voice thick with need. “But I don’t know if I can.”

Mingi’s breathing is ragged, his forehead pressed against yours as he grips your thigh, fingers twitching against your skin like he’s barely holding himself together. His cock is hard and leaking against your thigh, his hips jerking slightly, desperate for relief.

He tilts his head, lips brushing over yours as he murmurs, “Baby… do you want me to take my time?”

His voice is low, almost strained, like he’s fighting every instinct in his body to slow down, to savor this. But you can feel the way he’s shaking, the way his body is screaming for more.

You swallow hard, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your legs spreading wider beneath him as you whisper, “N-no… I need you.”

That’s all it takes.

Mingi growls against your lips, his control snapping as he slides his hand down between your legs. Two fingers push into you without warning, sinking deep, and your body jolts from the sudden stretch. He groans at how easily you take him, at how wet you are for him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he mutters, pumping his fingers in and out of you, his pace relentless from the start. He curls them just right, dragging against that spot inside you that makes you whimper.

His lips crash onto yours, swallowing every moan, every gasp as he fucks you with his fingers, his palm pressing against your clit with every thrust. The wet sounds fill the car, mixing with the sharp breaths and the faint bass from the after-party still thumping outside.

You’re trembling beneath him, gripping his biceps, but then—your hand moves.

Boldly, you reach down, fingers wrapping around his cock, and the second you touch him, Mingi *breaks*.

His hips jerk forward into your palm, a deep, guttural moan slipping into your mouth. His cock twitches in your grip, hot and heavy, and you stroke him slowly at first, teasing, your thumb gliding over the tip, smearing his arousal.

“Shit,” he groans, kissing you harder, his tongue tangling with yours as his fingers fuck into you even faster. His hand is soaked, but he doesn’t slow down—if anything, it makes him move rougher, hungrier.

Your hand tightens around his cock, stroking him in time with the way he’s working you open, and the way he *whimpers* into your mouth sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“Gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he breathes, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he teeters on the edge of completely losing control.

Mingi is a mess above you, hips bucking into your hand as he groans against your lips, his fingers still working you open, still fucking into you with a pace that has you seeing stars. His cock twitches in your grip, hot and heavy, leaking against your fingers as you stroke him, your hand tightening just enough to make his breath stutter.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, his voice wrecked, his forehead pressing against yours. He’s trembling, trying to hold on, but you can feel how close he is, how desperate he’s getting.

Your thumb drags over the tip, smearing his arousal, and when you squeeze—just slightly—his whole body tenses.

“Shit—fuck” His moan is raw, needy, and then he’s gone, coming hard with a sharp gasp, his hips jerking into your grip. His cock pulses in your hand, thick ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, hot and messy, as his head falls into the crook of your neck.

But even as he’s coming undone, even as his body shudders from the force of his release, his fingers don’t stop.

He’s still pumping into you, still curling them deep, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. He moans against your skin, panting, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck as he fucks you through the pleasure, determined to drag you right over the edge with him.

His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper as he pants, “Not done with you yet, baby.”

Mingi is still panting against your skin, his breath hot, his body still trembling from his release—but his fingers don’t stop. If anything, he moves with more purpose now, his palm pressing against your clit, his fingers curling deep, dragging you closer and closer to your own high.

But then, he stills.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips slightly parted, his pupils blown wide, his expression caught between awe and raw desperation. His fingers slip from you, coated in your slick, and he groans at the sight, bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean without breaking eye contact.

“Baby,” he breathes, voice thick, shaking. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

His hands slide to your thighs, spreading you open beneath him as he settles between your legs. His cock is still hard, still aching, rubbing against your slick folds, teasing, torturing.

“I need you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers threading through yours as he pins your hands beside your head. “Need to feel you. Need to fill you up.”

You whimper, body arching into him, legs wrapping around his waist as you pull him closer. “Mingi, please…”

That’s all it takes.

Mingi exhales shakily, guiding himself to your entrance, and then he’s pushing in—slow, deep, inch by inch, stretching you open in a way that steals the breath from your lungs. He curses under his breath, burying his face in your neck, his body tensing as he finally, *finally* sinks all the way in.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice almost broken, like he’s never felt anything better than this.

He stays still for a moment, breathing you in, letting you adjust. His hands squeeze yours, grounding himself, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

And then, he moves.

His thrusts are slow, deep, deliberate—like he wants to feel every inch of you, like he wants you to feel every inch of him. He moans softly against your lips, swallowing your gasps, rolling his hips in a way that makes pleasure spark up your spine.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispers, kissing you between every word. “So warm. So tight. Fuck, I love you.”

His hands release yours, trailing down to your waist, gripping you, holding you close as he thrusts into you, his body pressing flush against yours. There’s nothing rough, nothing rushed—just slow, intoxicating pleasure, his lips never leaving yours, his body moving in perfect rhythm with yours.

His fingers slip between your bodies, finding your clit, circling it gently, making you gasp against his lips. “Gonna make you cum for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice full of love, of need. “Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna fill you up while you’re falling apart around me.”

And the way he’s moving, the way he’s touching you—it’s only a matter of time before you do exactly that.

Your body trembles beneath him, every slow, deliberate thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His fingers work your clit in lazy, teasing circles—just enough to make you whimper, just enough to keep you right there, dangling, desperate.

“Mingi,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He groans at the sound of his name, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot, uneven. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers, his hips rolling deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Cum for me. Wanna feel you. Wanna feel you soak me.”

You don’t stand a chance.

The pleasure crashes over you all at once, your body tensing, your back arching as you gasp his name. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him, milking him, and Mingi moans—low and wrecked—his movements stuttering as he fucks you through it, his pace still deep, still consuming.

“Fuck,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips, his body trembling against you. “Fuck, you feel—shit, you feel so good.”

His voice is ragged, desperate, full of nothing but pure need. His lips find yours in a messy kiss, all tongue and panting breaths, as his hips snap forward, faster now, sloppier, chasing his own release.

“I love you,” he murmurs between kisses, his words slurred with pleasure. “I love you so fucking much.”

And then he’s gone—his body tensing, his breath catching, his cock twitching inside you as he spills deep, his moans muffled against your lips. His hips jerk forward once, twice, his grip on you tightening as he groans your name like a prayer.

For a moment, he just stays there, buried deep, his body still shaking.

Then, with a soft chuckle, you run your fingers through his damp hair, watching the way his dazed eyes blink open to meet yours. “You’re always like this when you’re tipsy,” you tease, voice soft, amused.

Mingi grins, breathless, nuzzling into your neck. “Like what?”

“So needy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So in love.”

He groans, burying his face in your skin. “Because I *am* in love. And I *am* needy.” He exhales shakily, squeezing you closer.

And just like that, he’s kissing you again—slower now, sweeter. Like he’s trying to prove just how much he means it.

Your breathing is still uneven, your body still trembling from your last orgasm, but Mingi isn’t done with you. Not even close.

He shifts, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you with him as he moves and leans on the backseat. The leather squeaks under his weight as he sits down, legs spread, hands already guiding you onto his lap. His eyes are heavy with need, lips parted as he watches you settle above him.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something almost desperate.

You straddle him, your knees sinking into the seat on either side of his hips. His cock is still hard, still leaking, pressed between your bodies, smearing slick across your skin. His hands grip your waist, dragging you forward until your chest is flush against his, his forehead pressing to yours.

“You feel so perfect,” he breathes, his fingers digging into your skin. “Need to feel you again. Need you to ride me, baby.”

His hands slide down to your ass, helping you lift yourself just enough for him to position himself at your entrance. And then, with one slow, deliberate push, he’s inside you again—stretching you, filling you, making you feel completely, utterly his.

Mingi groans, his head falling back against the seat, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it almost burns. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice barely more than a whimper. “You take me so well, baby. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

You moan, rolling your hips experimentally, gasping at the way he presses so deep, the way he fills every inch of you. He hisses through his teeth, his hands guiding your movements, helping you find a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his fingers splaying across your lower back, his lips tracing lazy kisses along your jaw. “Just like that. Ride me nice and slow, baby. Wanna feel you.”

And fuck, you do.

You rock against him, every movement sending pleasure sparking through your veins. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and intense, his lips slightly parted as he watches you—watches the way you gasp for him, the way your brows furrow when he thrusts up to meet you.

His hands never stop moving—roaming your back, gripping your hips, dragging you closer. One slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles that make you tremble in his arms.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “So warm. So tight around me.” He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Love you so much, baby. Love you so fucking much.”

Your hands tangle in his hair, your lips finding his in a desperate kiss. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, swallowing your moans, his hips pressing up into you with every roll of your own. It’s slow, deep—less frantic than before but just as consuming, if not more.

You can feel yourself getting close again, the pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, your legs shaking as you cling to him. “Mingi—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft, reverent. “I know. Let go for me. Cum for me again.”

His thumb presses down just right, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, and then—

You break.

Your body tenses, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you moan his name. He groans at the feeling, at the way you squeeze him, his grip on you tightening as he fucks you through it.

And then he’s right behind you.

Mingi curses under his breath, his movements turning desperate, his hips stuttering as his own release overtakes him. He moans your name, his hands gripping your hips as he cums inside you, filling you up just like he said he would.

For a long moment, the only sound in the car is the sound of your breathing—heavy, uneven, tangled together like your bodies.

And with the way he’s still holding you—his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go—you know he means every word.

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒: @blossomnet ♡ @illusionnet ♡ @mirohs-aurora-society ♡

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @strawberry-mingi @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @memorabxlia @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @tahiraax1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou @lezleeferguson-120 @sopematesxx @joyfulcadence @puppytruther

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ bia's masterlist ࿐ྂ #ateez fanfic #illusionnet #blossomnet #mirohsaurorasociety #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez x y/n #fanfic #ateez #smut fic #ateez smut #smut #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #song mingi #ateez smut mingi #mingi

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quickestgold · 1 month ago

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Goodbye, My Lover | Part 1 | The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Dr. (Ex-Mil)!Reader x Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Chapter 1: I Love You

Synopsis: You and Jack survived the horrors of war together. But when the dust settled, you realised that coming home and going back to the way things used to be were two very different things. Though you and Jack parted ways romantically, the bond you shared remained, shaped by a past neither of you could forget. With Robby, it was different. Loving him was easy and he loved you deeply in return. But when Robby walked away, haunted by his own unresolved pain, your world shattered. Still, you continued to show up - for your patients, your colleagues and somehow for yourself. Until a patient presents with injuries that mirror your own past trauma and the unspoken tension between you, Jack and Robby resurfaces, threatening to unravel everything you’ve tried to move past.

Warnings: Age gap is around 18 years. This series will deal with some heavy themes around a physical attack, death, grief, ptsd, panic attacks, s*icidal tendencies and heartbreak >>> Girlies this will be super sad,,,with some comfort at the end, I promise

Word count: 1079

A/n: The Pitt and our saddest boys have literally pulled me out of tumblr retirement!! If love triangles aren't your thing, I apologize in advance... Couldn't decide between the two, now they're both the reader's exes... Bon appétit.

Next Chapter (2): Please Forgive Me

Your breaths are ragged, uneven. You try to steady yourself on the gurney, but everything feels unreal. Desperate, you search for something to anchor you in reality. You glance down at your hands. They look strange, pressing into the patient’s chest in a rhythm you know all too well.

A familiar voice cuts through the haze, but you don’t react.

The voice comes again, "Y/N?"

“Fuck, Robby! I’ve got it okay?!” You snap, your hands moving on autopilot.

Shit. You really didn’t mean that.

A few faint gasps from the staff break the silence. It’s like you’ve been ripped out of a nightmare. Robby used to do that, be your lifeline when the terrors threatened to pull you under.

You huff a shaky breath, searching his eyes for something, though you're not sure what. But you find it. He doesn’t say anything, yet somehow, comfort floods you. And guilt, so much guilt.

Robby steps closer, arms crossed, pressing his lips together before he tries again. Softer, like a whisper in the night, "Are we ready to call it?"

The question snaps you back to the present. "No. No!" You share a quick glance with Jack, who is working the patient with you.

"Okay. Hold compressions", Robby says gently, but firm.

You comply, everyone's eyes fixed on the monitor, dread setting in.

"Still in asystole", you hear Donnie behind you.

Jack motions for you to switch out. You step back and he resumes.

"Let’s push one more round of epi", you beg, eyes bouncing between Jack and Robby.

Robby nods. Mateo pushes another amp, as you take over compressions for another round.

Robby checks his watch. "That’s it. Stop compressions", a familiar sadness in his voice.

You comply eventually, but cannot bring yourself to look up.

The air is thick, suffocating.

Jack calls it, knowing you can't. "Time of death, 12:36".

A breath escapes you that you didn’t realize you were holding. You look at the woman lying before you and see yourself.

Still. Sleeping. Almost peaceful, if it weren’t for the tube down her throat. Gently, you touch her hand. "I’m so sorry", you whisper.

"Why don’t we take a minute and then debrief with Kiara?", Robby suggests. The nurses and techs leave the room quietly.

You stay, frozen. Jack and Robby don’t move either.

"I can do the notification, Y/N...", Robby offers softly.

"I'll do it", you counter too harshly.

Robby and Jack exchange a look. You pretend you don’t see it.

Jack opens the door to the family room, holding it as you step inside cautiously, Robby following behind. You all sit, facing the husband of your deceased patient.

The weight of what you’re about to say hangs heavy in the air. You wait, just one more minute, as if delaying it could change the outcome.

You study the husband's eyes: fear, hope, maybe both. Every movement feels deliberate. You're about to shatter this man's world. And he will hate you for it.

You begin to speak, your words soft and measured.

Dana watches you through the glass doors. The husband's sobs echo through the hallway, the sound raw and aching.

"Do you think she was-" The husband can't finish the thought.

"Scared?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, then nods.

"No", you answer gently.

You feel Jack and Robby’s eyes on you, their sadness palpable. You don’t look at them, but the image of Robby is burned into your mind. The lines on his forehead deepening, his eye twitching at the painful memory, his jaw tight as if holding back words he can’t say.

Jack is harder to ignore. You feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and familiar, like a silent plea for forgiveness. You remember how his lips press together, the corners of his mouth pulling downward, like he’s exhaling a grief too big to contain. You've seen him break and mend over the years, unaware of the love he still carries for you.

You lean in, your voice soft: "I believe she thought about her loved ones. How much you made her laugh with your silly jokes. How she loved you and how deeply you loved her in return."

The husband lets out a strangled sob. He tries hard to keep it in, but it escapes anyway. "I don't know..."

You pause.

"I do."

He meets your gaze and it hits him.

Somehow, him realising that you're speaking from experience triggers something buried deep inside you.

Your pulse quickens, your vision blurs. You excuse yourself with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "Our social worker, Kiara, will talk to you about the next steps. Again, I’m so very sorry."

Jack and Robby watch you leave, grief and guilt washing over them all over again.

You just need to be somewhere else, away from their eyes, away from the memories.

Your confession still hangs heavy in the air. Robby and Jack don’t speak, there’s nothing to say, only the fear creeping in that something isn’t right.

They exchange a brief look before moving in sync towards the stairwell, urgency in their steps, knowing the one place you go when the world feels too heavy, when you need to breathe.

But when they open the door to the roof, the air is empty. No familiar figure standing behind the railing, staring out at the city. Just the harsh wind and the distant noise of the world below.

Robby's eyes dart across the rooftop, taking in the emptiness. His chest tightens, panic rising, “She’s not here.”

Jack's thoughts spiral back to the moment they saw you leave the room. The confession. The look in your eyes. The sudden shift in your energy, the weight of something you hadn’t shared before.

Robby rushes towards the railing, peeking over the edge. He doesn’t want to entertain the possibility, but the image of you disappearing over the ledge flashes in his mind and for a moment, it paralyzes him.

"Robby, stop", Jack's voice is sharp, his eyes scan the space around them, desperately looking for anything that makes sense. But he can't bring himself to look over the edge. He won’t. Not yet.

Jack's been through this with you before, he's seen you at your lowest. And vice versa. But tonight, something's different.

“Where would she go?” Robby asks, voice barely a whisper, now full of dread.

"She wouldn’t just leave. Not like this." Jack's voice trembles, trying to convince himself more than Robby.

Thanks for reading hehe. Hope you enjoyed this first chapter. It's pretty heavy, but sets the tone for the rest of the series. Pls come back for Chapter 2: Please Forgive Me

PS: Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist. ♡

#also this is obviously not taking place during The Pitt timeline #the pitt max #the pitt #michael robinavitch x reader #jack abbot #dr robby #dr robby x reader #dr michael robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch x reader #dr michael robinavitch x you #the pitt hbo #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr robby x you #noah wyle #shawn hatosy

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archivegyu · 7 days ago

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masterlist

timing has never been our thing

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

The practice room lights had long since dimmed to that late-night fluorescent glow that made everything feel slightly unreal. Seungcheol rolled his shoulders, feeling the satisfying pop of tension releasing after hours of choreography. The room was quieter now, most of the members having filtered out one by one as midnight approached. Only Mingyu remained, sprawled across the floor with his long limbs stretched out like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he stared at the ceiling.

Seungcheol's phone buzzed on the bench where he'd left it.

kkuma's other human

[10:43 PM] Cheol: I'll be late again. Save me some dinner if you can?

[10:59 PM] Her: Already done. It's in the blue container. Don't forget to reheat properly this time.

[11:00 PM] Her: Kkuma misses you. She keeps sitting by the door.

[11:01 PM] Her: I think I do too.

Seungcheol's thumb hovered over that last message. The casual confession stole his breath, not because it was unexpected, but because it was so honest. So simple. The way she'd always been with him, even when he couldn't find the courage to be the same.

He typed out three different responses before deleting them all.

[11:07 PM] Cheol: Will be home soon :))

"You're smiling at your phone again," Mingyu observed, not bothering to lift his head from the floor. "It's painful to watch."

Seungcheol slipped the device into his pocket. "I'm just tired."

"That's not what tired looks like. That's what whipped looks like," Mingyu said, finally sitting up with a groan. "You're texting her, aren't you?"

Seungcheol didn't answer, just turned to gather his things from the bench. The silence was answer enough.

"You know," Mingyu continued, "I could literally feel you thinking about going home all day. Like, mid-practice, your eyes would drift to the clock. You weren't even trying to hide it."

"I was focused" Seungcheol protested weakly.

"Yeah, on getting back to her."

There was no heat in Mingyu's words, just a knowing smile as he stood and stretched, joints popping. "You hungry? I think that chicken place around the corner is still open."

Seungcheol hesitated, fingers playing with the strap of his bag. He thought of the blue container waiting in the refrigerator, of Kkuma at the door, of her waiting up despite how late it was. But another text lit up his screen.

[11:10 PM] Her: Don't rush. I'm working on my project anyway. Just come home in one piece.

"Yeah," he said finally, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Let's go."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The night air was cool and thick with the scent of rain that hadn't quite fallen yet. Mingyu drove with the windows cracked, one hand loose on the steering wheel while the other occasionally reached for the fries balanced on the dashboard. They'd ordered too much food: fried chicken and fries and side dishes that spilled out of paper bags, but neither seemed to mind as they pulled into an empty parking lot overlooking the city.

Seoul sprawled below them, a constellation of lights blurring together through the slight fog. Seungcheol took a bite of chicken, savoring the spice as his eyes drifted over the skyline.

"She made dinner," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Mingyu glanced at him. "And you're here eating gas station chicken with me instead?"

"She said not to rush," Seungcheol defended, though his voice lacked conviction. "She's working on her project."

"Right," Mingyu nodded, taking a long sip of his drink. "The one about architectural innovation or whatever, yeah? She's been obsessed with it."

Seungcheol's lips quirked into a proud smile. "She's brilliant. Everyone in her program thinks so."

"And you think so most of all."

"I've always thought so," Seungcheol admitted. Then, after a beat: "I feel like I've watched her grow up. From the kid who'd share her lunch to the woman who's going to design buildings that change the way people live."

Mingyu hummed, thoughtful. "You should've seen her face when you nailed that high note in practice today. She was looking at you like you hung the stars."

Seungcheol's hands slowed, a fry halfway to his mouth. "She came to practice?"

"Yeah, for like an hour. Said she had a break between classes. She sat in the back." Mingyu frowned, turning to face him. "You didn't see her?"

"No," Seungcheol murmured, feeling his chest tighten. "I didn't."

He set the food down, suddenly less hungry. There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and the occasional rustle of paper bags.

"You ever feel like you missed your chance before you even had one?" Seungcheol asked suddenly, staring out the window.

Mingyu stopped mid-bite. "What do you mean?"

"With her," Seungcheol clarified, his voice lower now. "You ever think about how long I've known her? How many years of my life she's been there? And I still haven't..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Haven't told her," Mingyu finished for him.

"Yeah."

"Why not?"

Seungcheol's laugh was hollow. "Timing. It's always been terrible timing." He leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the car. "She was with someone. Then I was. Then life got in the way. And now that we're both free... I'm scared it's too late. That maybe I waited too long."

Mingyu's usual playful expression had faded, replaced by something more serious. "If it's real," he said slowly, "maybe timing's just an excuse."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with truth. Seungcheol felt them settle in his chest, uncomfortable but necessary.

"I'd rather stay close than risk it all," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if she sees me the same way. But if I say something and she doesn't... I lose her. I lose all of it. I'd rather hurt quietly than break us."

Mingyu was quiet for a long moment, his eyes focused on the windshield where drops of rain had started to appear.

"You think keeping quiet keeps her close," he said eventually. "But hyung... some things are already changing, even if you stay silent."

Seungcheol turned to look at him, feeling something cold slip down his spine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Mingyu said carefully, "that study abroad program she's thinking about. The one in Barcelona for next semester. You ever wonder why she hasn't talked to you about it yet?"

The world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis. "Study abroad?"

"Shit," Mingyu breathed, closing his eyes briefly. "You didn't know."

"No," Seungcheol said, his voice suddenly dry. "I didn't."

"She probably hasn't decided yet," Mingyu rushed to add. "But Joshua said she was looking into this prestigious architectural program. Something about studying under some famous architect and getting international perspective for her thesis project."

Seungcheol swallowed hard, feeling like the air had been knocked from his lungs. "Barcelona is... far."

"Yeah," Mingyu agreed softly. "It is."

The rain fell harder now, drumming against the roof of the car in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in Seungcheol's chest. He thought of the apartment they shared, of the blue container in the refrigerator, of Kkuma waiting by the door. Of her saying she missed him through a text message because it was easier than saying it out loud.

Just like it had always been easier for him to love her in silence than to risk everything on words.

"I have to go home," he said suddenly, reaching for his bag. "I should be there."

Mingyu didn't argue, just started the car and pulled back onto the road. The drive back to the apartment was quiet, rain streaking the windows and blurring the city lights into smudges of color.

"You know," Mingyu said as they pulled up to the curb, "sometimes I think about what would happen if you just told her. No perfect timing, no grand gestures. Just... the truth. What's the worst that could happen?"

"She could leave," Seungcheol said, hand already on the door handle.

"Or she could stay," Mingyu countered. "She could choose you. She could already be choosing you every day, but you're too afraid to see it."

Seungcheol stepped out into the rain, the cool drops a relief against his heated skin. He leaned down to look at Mingyu one last time.

"I'll think about it," he promised.

Mingyu nodded, his expression gentle. "Good. Because I think she's been waiting for you to catch up for a while now."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The apartment was quiet when he unlocked the door, slipping off his shoes in the entryway. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm glow over the space. Kkuma didn't come running this time, which meant she was either asleep or—

"Hey," her voice came from the living room, soft and slightly raspy, like she'd been dozing. "You're back."

Seungcheol crossed the room and found her curled up on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees and Kkuma snuggled against her side. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, glasses perched low on her nose, and she wore one of his hoodies: the old gray one he thought he'd lost months ago.

The sight of her made his heart ache.

"I'm back," he said simply, setting his bag down.

She smiled, that small, tired smile that always felt like it was just for him. "How was practice?"

"Long," he said, moving to sit beside her. "How's the project?"

"Long," she echoed, closing her laptop and setting it aside. "But I think I'm finally getting somewhere. The review board seemed impressed with the preliminary sketches."

He nodded, watching as she stretched her arms above her head, the too-long sleeves of his hoodie falling back to expose her wrists. "That's good. You've been working hard."

"Not as hard as you," she said, turning to face him fully. "You look exhausted."

"I'm fine."

"Liar," she accused gently, reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair from his forehead. "You're pushing too hard again."

The casual touch made his breath catch, but he managed a small smile. "Says the woman who fell asleep at her desk three times this week."

"That's different," she protested, though her eyes crinkled with a smile. "I'm a student. I'm supposed to be sleep-deprived and caffeinated."

"And I'm an idol. I'm supposed to be practiced and prepared."

She rolled her eyes, but her expression softened. "Did you eat? I saved you some dinner."

"I did, with Mingyu. But I'll have yours for lunch tomorrow."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that had always been easy between them. Seungcheol watched as she absentmindedly stroked Kkuma's fur, her eyes drifting to the window where rain still pattered against the glass.

"Mingyu mentioned something," he said before he could stop himself. "About Barcelona."

Her hand stilled on Kkuma's back. She didn't look at him right away, and in that hesitation, Seungcheol felt his heart sink.

"It's just a possibility," she finally said, her voice careful. "Nothing's decided."

"But you're considering it."

She sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "Of course I am. It's a good opportunity for my thesis. The kind that could really set me apart when I graduate."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Soon," she said quietly. "I was waiting for the right time."

"The right time," he repeated, a bitter taste in his mouth. "Timing has never been our thing, has it?"

She looked at him then, really looked at him, with an expression he couldn't quite read. "What do you mean?"

Seungcheol felt the weight of all the words he'd never said pressing down on him. All the moments he'd let slip away because the timing wasn't perfect. All the chances he'd missed because he was too afraid to take them.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Forget it. It's late."

She reached out, her hand finding his wrist. "Seungcheol."

The sound of his name on her lips had always been his undoing. He looked down at where her fingers wrapped around his wrist, right where his pulse was racing.

"If you don't want me to go," she said slowly, "just say it."

He swallowed hard. "It's not that simple."

"It could be," she pressed. "Just tell me why you want me to stay."

The moment stretched between them, fragile and vital. Seungcheol felt himself at the edge of something enormous, something terrifying and beautiful all at once. He thought of Mingyu's words: Sometimes I think about what would happen if you just told her.

But years of habit were hard to break. Years of keeping his feelings locked safely away, where they couldn't hurt either of them. Where they couldn't change what they had.

"I want you to be happy," he said finally, his voice low. "Even if that's in Barcelona."

Her hand slipped from his wrist, and he immediately missed the warmth. "Right," she said, her voice just a touch too even. "Of course."

She stood then, gathering her laptop and nudging Kkuma gently to the side. "I should get some sleep. Early class tomorrow."

"Yeah," he agreed, watching as she moved away from him. "Goodnight."

She paused at the edge of the living room, turning back to look at him. For a moment, he thought she might say something else, might push him further. But instead, she just offered a small smile.

"Goodnight, Cheol."

He watched her disappear down the hallway, listened to the soft click of her bedroom door. Only then did he let his head fall into his hands, a ragged breath escaping him.

Timing has never been our thing.

But as he sat there in the quiet apartment, rain still falling outside, he wondered if maybe timing had nothing to do with it at all. Maybe it was just him, always standing still while the world moved around him. Always waiting for the perfect moment that would never come.

Maybe some things were worth the risk of imperfect timing.

Maybe she was.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Seungcheol's phone buzzed on the coffee table, startling him out of his thoughts. He reached for it, expecting a message from one of the members, but instead found her name lighting up the screen.

[12:34 AM] Her: If you asked me to stay, I would.

He stared at the message, heart hammering against his ribs. His fingers trembled slightly as he typed out a response.

[12:35 AM] Cheol: Why?

The three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared. He waited, holding his breath.

[12:38 AM] Her: You know why.

And maybe, finally, he did.

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