#IT CAME ON SO SUDDENLY. ONE MINUTE I WAS FINE THE NEXT I WAS IN AGONY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kathaelipwse · 4 months ago

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Contract, Cooked & Kissed | C.Seungcheol

Pairing: Chef!Seungcheol × Journalist!Reader

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 8256 words ; Reading Time: 30-ish mins

Trope: Arranged Marriage | Strangers to Lovers | Mutual Pining | Secret Softies

Warnings: angst, mentions of family pressure, suggestive language, slow burn, Mingyu is cheol's bestie and woozi is the the reader's bestie, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

Synopsis: A rising journalist. A quiet chef. Thrown into a contract marriage to please their families, neither expected the late-night meals, soft silences, or stolen glances. But what happens when pretend becomes too real… and time runs out?

Author’s Note: This one’s for the foodies and the pining girlies. Cheol is soft, hot, and fully whipped—just how we like him. Hope you fall in love bite by bite.

The scent of freshly baked bread hit you before anything else. But it wasn’t the comforting, cozy kind that made you think of home, of cinnamon and shared laughter. No, this was the suffocating kind—the kind that followed a man who showed up forty minutes late to a dinner you didn’t even know was a marriage meeting.

You stared across the meticulously set table, chopsticks frozen mid-air, the half-eaten plate of what your mother had enthusiastically described as "a very auspicious pasta with a secret family sauce" suddenly tasting like ash. The front door creaked open, and in walked him.

Rolled-up sleeves revealed forearms dusted with a fine layer of white. A flour-dusted apron was still tied firmly at his waist, a testament to whatever culinary emergency had delayed him. Dark hair, usually neat in the photos your mother had subtly (and not-so-subtly) shown you, was ruffled like he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly in the car. His expression didn’t read "sorry I’m late." More like, “I’d rather be elbow-deep in fish guts than here.”

Same. A silent, emphatic agreement settled in your chest.

Your mother turned to you with that practiced smile—the one she only pulled out when she was scheming, a smile that promised both sugar and a hidden agenda.

“Y/N, darling, this is Seungcheol. Seungcheol, this is my daughter.” Her voice was saccharine sweet, the kind that usually preceded a request to call some distant relative you’d never met.

You managed a tight smile, the muscles in your cheeks protesting the forced pleasantry. “Wow. What a totally casual and not-at-all-orchestrated dinner. The surprise element really adds to the charm.”

He raised a dark eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Did you also get tricked into this elaborate carb-loading session?”

“Absolutely. I was promised jjajangmyeon and a quiet evening with Netflix, not a proposal disguised as a pasta night.”

A snort escaped him, a genuine, unguarded sound that surprised you. His eyes crinkled at the corners, softening his otherwise sharp features. “Good. Then we’re on the same sinking ship.”

You didn’t expect to laugh. But there it was, bubbling up like a secret understanding between two strangers thrown into the same ridiculous, sauce-splattered situation.

Dinner passed in a blur of polite conversation that felt anything but. Your mom gushed about your burgeoning writing career, exaggerating your freelance articles into the next great literary sensation. His father, a stern-faced man with kind eyes, boasted about his son’s Michelin-starred potential, his words painting a picture of a culinary prodigy. You exchanged increasingly bewildered looks with Seungcheol every five minutes, a silent language passing between you that translated to: is this real life? Are our parents actually serious?

And then came the bombshell, delivered with the same casual sweetness your mother reserved for offering you a second helping of suspiciously healthy vegetables.

“We’ve drawn up a six-month agreement,” your mother said, her smile unwavering. “Live together. Get to know each other. See if… compatibility blossoms. If it doesn’t work, no harm done. We’ll simply consider it a well-intentioned experiment.”

Your wine glass hit the table a little too hard, the clink echoing in the suddenly tense silence. A splash of red stained the white tablecloth like a dramatic punctuation mark. “I’m sorry—what agreement?”

Cheol didn’t look surprised. Just… resigned. A weariness settled on his face, etching lines around his mouth.

“They talked to me about it last week,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the tablecloth. “I said no. Several times.”

“So did I,” you echoed, the absurdity of the situation hitting you with the force of a rogue wave.

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken expectations and parental determination.

Then:

“We’re still doing it,” your mom said, her tone leaving no room for argument. That was that. The finality in her voice was a familiar, frustrating force of nature.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of hushed phone calls between your parents and his, logistical nightmares disguised as helpful suggestions, and a growing sense of surreal detachment. You found yourself signing papers you barely read, nodding along to conversations you only half-heard. It felt like you were sleepwalking through a bizarre play where you’d somehow landed the lead role in a romantic comedy you definitely hadn’t auditioned for.

Then came the day you found yourself standing in a sterile, brightly lit room, the scent of industrial-strength cleaner overpowering even the nervous sweat prickling your skin. A justice of the peace, a woman with tired eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, droned on about the legalities of marriage. Your parents beamed from the front row, their faces radiating a triumphant “we know best” glow. His parents, while less overtly enthusiastic, offered polite, if somewhat strained, smiles.

Beside you stood Seungcheol. He looked… surprisingly calm. He wore a simple but elegant dark suit, the flour long gone, his hair neatly styled. He looked like he belonged here, in this official setting, taking these serious vows. You, on the other hand, felt like an imposter in the borrowed cream dress your mother had insisted on, your hands clammy as you clutched a small bouquet of white roses.

You hadn't had a proposal, no romantic declarations, no whispered promises under a starry sky. Instead, you had a late dinner, a shared sense of being tricked, and a six-month agreement. Yet, here you were, about to legally bind yourself to a man you’d met less than a month ago.

The justice of the peace turned to you. “L/N Y/N, do you take Seungcheol to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Your throat felt dry. You looked at Seungcheol, really looked at him. Beyond the initial annoyance and shared disbelief, you saw a flicker of something… else. A quiet understanding, a shared burden, maybe even a hint of reluctant curiosity.

Taking a deep breath, you said, your voice surprisingly steady, “I do.”

Then it was his turn. “Choi Seungcheol, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

He met your gaze, his dark eyes holding a depth you hadn’t noticed before. There was a seriousness there that went beyond the absurdity of the situation. “I do.”

And just like that, with a few signatures and the exchange of simple, unadorned silver bands that felt more like handcuffs than symbols of love, you were married.

The apartment you moved into together a week later was bigger than you expected. Minimalistic, all neutral tones and clean lines, with a kitchen so pristine it clearly belonged to someone who knew how to use it. Aka, definitely not you.

“You take the left room,” he said, lugging in a surprisingly heavy box labeled “Spices – Handle with Extreme Care.” “I’ll take the right.”

“Thanks. Also, no offense, but if you burn something past midnight and set off the fire alarm, I will throw you and your precious spices and you off the balcony.”

“Fair. And if you leave so much as a single strand of your hair in the drain, I’m reporting you to the housing gods for crimes against plumbing.”

You smiled, a genuine smile this time, as you set your suitcase by the door of your designated room. “Sounds like the beginning of a beautiful fake marriage.”

He turned away, his shoulders slightly hunched as he wrestled with another box. But not before you caught it—a small, real smile playing on his lips.

That night, you lay in bed, the unfamiliar silence of the apartment amplifying the frantic spinning of the ceiling fan. From the kitchen, a soft clinking of pots and pans drifted through the thin walls. Maybe he was cooking, a late-night creation born out of habit and passion. Or maybe, like you, he was stress-baking his way through the sheer, unbelievable reality of it all.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Woozi : please tell me this isn’t real please tell me he’s not hot You sighed, picking up your phone and typing back, a small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. You: he showed up with flour in his hair and he made me laugh. and yeah… he looked surprisingly decent in a suit today. so yes. I’m doomed.

Deadlines felt less like a ticking clock and more like a pack of rabid badgers gnawing at your sanity. You’d been surgically attached to your laptop for what felt like a geological epoch, the blue light from the screen tattooing itself onto your retinas.

Eight hours. Eight glorious hours spent wrestling with the elusive nuances of Seoul’s underground supper club scene, a world apparently fueled by more secrecy than the CIA and questionable amounts of soju. Your editor, bless their demanding soul, had graced your inbox with a string of three increasingly frantic question marks.

Your stomach, meanwhile, had long since moved past rumbling and was now emitting a low, mournful groan that echoed the general state of your existence. You were too caffeine-addled and deadline-induced to even register hunger as a tangible sensation.

So, when the unmistakable aroma of garlic sautéing in sesame oil began to snake its way under your door and infiltrate your cramped office-slash-bedroom, your initial reaction wasn’t a Pavlovian surge of appetite.

No, it was a sharp pang of guilt, the kind that usually accompanied forgetting your best friend’s birthday or accidentally liking a tweet from 2012. This guilt, however, had a distinctly culinary origin. You knew exactly who was responsible for the tantalizing scent assaulting your senses.

With the slow, deliberate movements of a zombie emerging from its digital grave, you swiveled your chair around.

The kitchen lights blazed with an almost aggressively cheerful brightness, illuminating Seungcheol as he navigated the small space with an unnerving level of calm. Olive oil hissed gently in a pan, a soft sizzle that spoke of practiced hands and controlled heat. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent a shower of perfectly diced carrots into a gentle, aromatic tumble.

He looked… composed. Unflustered. Like he wasn’t currently orchestrating a meal for a roommate who had communicated with him solely through a series of increasingly desperate Slack messages to her editor and the occasional frustrated sigh that probably vibrated through the shared walls.

“I… didn’t ask you to cook,” you mumbled from the hallway, your voice raspy from disuse and the sheer effort of forming coherent words.

He didn’t even glance up, his focus entirely on the sizzling vegetables. “Didn’t ask for your permission either.”

You blinked slowly, the sarcasm bubbling up despite your exhaustion. “Wow. How utterly… romantic. Should I expect a serenade next? Perhaps a sonnet dedicated to the exquisite aroma of sautéed onions?”

“I’m not trying to be romantic,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of any playful inflection. “I’m trying to prevent you from collapsing face-first onto your keyboard and leaving a permanent imprint of the ‘shift’ key on your forehead.”

His bluntness, while undeniably practical, still managed to make your ears burn with a faint blush. You opened your mouth to deliver a suitably withering retort, something about the inherent dangers of unsolicited culinary interventions, but the way he was now meticulously plating fluffy white rice into a bowl stopped you. There was a quiet focus in his movements, a deliberate care that seemed at odds with the forced nature of your cohabitation.

Then, with a silent grace that felt almost theatrical, he slid the filled bowl across the countertop towards your designated spot at the small kitchen table.

You froze, halfway between the hallway and the kitchen. The aroma hit you then, fully, and it was like a punch to the gut. It was your comfort food, the culinary equivalent of a warm hug on a bad day. Soy-braised beef, cooked the way your mom used to make it.

The meat was impossibly tender, glistening with a hint of honey in the rich, savory glaze. And the carrots… the carrots were cut into perfect little stars. Your mom had always insisted on that flourish, a ridiculously time-consuming detail that had annoyed your younger self to no end, but now… now it just felt like a memory, warm and unexpected.

“How did you—?” The question hung in the air, a mixture of disbelief and something akin to… gratitude? You weren’t entirely sure.

He finally wiped his hands on a clean kitchen towel, his expression still neutral. “You mentioned it in passing last week. Something about childhood comfort food and the psychological benefits of star-shaped vegetables. I Googled a bit.”

“You… Googled the recipe of my childhood comfort food?” The absurdity of the situation almost made you laugh, a dry, humorless sound.

You sat down slowly, the wooden chair scraping against the linoleum. You picked up the offered chopsticks, the smooth bamboo feeling strangely foreign in your hand.

You didn’t say thank you. The words felt too inadequate, too… real for this bizarre, orchestrated reality.

But you cleaned the bowl. Every last morsel of tender beef, every star-shaped carrot, every grain of rice soaked in the sweet and savory sauce. You even used a stray piece of lettuce to mop up the remaining glaze, a testament to your unexpected hunger and the undeniable deliciousness of the meal.

Later that night, the glow of your laptop screen finally fading, you padded out of your room in search of water, your bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor. Sleep clung to you like a heavy blanket, blurring the edges of your vision.

The faint sliver of light emanating from beneath Cheol’s closed bedroom door caught your attention. You were about to shuffle past, heading straight for the blessed oblivion of the kitchen sink, when a soft sound made you pause. The rhythmic click-click-click of a mouse. And then… a familiar headline.

Your name.

Curiosity, that insidious little gremlin, nudged you forward. You stepped closer to his door, your ear pressed lightly against the cool wood. The soft glow intensified, illuminating the space just beyond the frame.

He was reading your article. The one that was currently three frantic question marks away from being submitted.

You peeked just enough to see his screen. Your opening paragraph, the one you’d rewritten approximately seventeen times, was highlighted in a soft blue. His head was tilted slightly as he read, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth quirked in that thoughtful way you’d briefly observed during your disastrous first dinner. Then, a small, almost imperceptible huff escaped him. Was he…? Was he actually… smiling?

Panic, swift and sharp, shot through you. You backed away from the door as if it had suddenly become electrified, your bare feet padding silently back towards your own room.

Once inside, you leaned heavily against the closed door, the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat echoing in your ears.

He made you your mom’s ridiculously specific dish.

He was reading your work.

You were so utterly and completely screwed. This wasn't just a bizarre living arrangement anymore. This was… something else. Something unsettlingly domestic. Something that threatened the carefully constructed wall of sarcasm you’d erected around your unwilling participation in this matrimonial farce.

Whereas, cheol's phone kept buzzing.

mingyu: sooooooo mingyu: she licked the plate clean, didn’t she? Those star carrots really did the trick, huh? You're practically a culinary Cupid. cheol: shut up mingyu: OH MY GOD HE RESPONDED. The silent chef speaks! And with such eloquence! This is progress, my friend. Next thing you know, you'll be holding hands and gazing longingly at each other over a shared bowl of tteokbokki. cheol: blocked

This was going to be a long six months. A very, very long six months filled with unexpected acts of kindness, the lingering scent of delicious food, and increasingly uncomfortable eye contact that hinted at a reality far more complicated than a simple agreement.

Next Morning <3

You’d barely managed to peel your eyelids apart when the email notification chimed, a digital herald of the day’s impending absurdity.

Subject: New Series: Love in the Everyday—Couples Who Cook Together, Stay Together Your marriage is adorable. Myself as a editor, I am obsessed. First article & content due next week. Go wild, Mrs. Choi ❤️ Your lovely, Unhinged editor!

You stared at the glowing screen, the word “adorable” practically dripping with saccharine irony. Your contract marriage. Adorable. The sheer audacity of it made you want to bang your head gently against the headboard.

This was supposed to be a strategic alliance, a mutually beneficial arrangement built on tax breaks and convenient cohabitation, devoid of any genuine sentiment. Yet, your professional life was now hinging on convincing the world that you and your fake husband were the poster couple for domestic bliss.

Your life had officially devolved into a poorly written rom-com where the leads were constantly improvising a love story they weren’t actually living.

You found Cheol in the kitchen, a serene island of culinary focus amidst your internal storm. He was meticulously chopping vegetables, the rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of his knife a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in your brain. He looked effortlessly domestic, a stark reminder of the role he was about to play.

“Hey,” you began, the laptop clutched under your arm like a shield against the impending awkwardness. “So, about this video series… the editor really wants us to lean into the ‘adorable married couple’ thing.” You cringed internally at your own words.

He didn’t look up, his concentration unwavering. “Adorable, huh? Should I start wearing matching aprons with little hearts on them?”

“Please, no,” you pleaded. “Just… you know… the usual. Cooking, maybe some light banter. But she specifically mentioned wanting to see the ‘husband and wife dynamic’ shine through.”

Cheol finally paused, wiping his hands on a pristine kitchen towel. “So, more… ‘my wife this’ and ‘my wife that’?”

You nodded, a wave of secondhand embarrassment washing over you. “Pretty much. Apparently, the readers are eating it up.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Eating up a lie. Fascinating.”

“It pays the bills,” you reminded him, a weak justification for the charade.

“True,” he conceded with a sigh. “Alright, Mrs. Choi. Let’s give the people what they apparently crave: a heaping serving of marital fiction.”

The first video shoot felt like a masterclass in forced intimacy. Every time you fumbled a step, Cheol would smoothly step in, his hand briefly covering yours as he corrected your technique, murmuring a casual, “My wife always struggles with this part.” The phrase felt foreign and yet… strangely natural coming from him.

“My wife has a particular fondness for extra garlic,” he’d declare to the camera, adding another clove with a knowing smile that wasn’t directed at you.

“Actually, my husband here sometimes overdoes it,” you’d retort, forcing a playful eye roll that felt about as genuine as a three-dollar bill.

By the third video, a strange rhythm had developed. Cheol seamlessly integrated the “my wife” moniker into his explanations, his tone a casual blend of affection and mild exasperation that, you had to admit, sounded surprisingly convincing.

“My wife insists on adding this much chili,” he’d say, holding up a generous pinch of red pepper flakes, a slight shake of his head that somehow conveyed years of loving compromise.

“Well, my husband has the taste buds of a toddler,” you’d fire back, a genuine smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

The fan comments exploded with even more fervor. @ KitchenGoddessFan: OMG the way he says “my wife” # marriedlife # soinlove @ KDramaObsessed: Their chemistry is OFF THE CHARTS! He’s totally whipped for his wife! # husbandgoals @ SwooningStans: Every time he calls her “my wife” I get butterflies! This is the cutest couple ever!

You tried to remain detached, reminding yourself that it was all an act, a carefully constructed performance for an audience that believed your carefully curated online persona. But with each casual “my wife,” a tiny crack seemed to appear in the wall you’d built around your emotions.

One evening, while filming a particularly chaotic attempt at making homemade pasta, flour dusted both of your faces. Cheol reached out, his thumb gently wiping a smudge from your cheek.

“My wife is a disaster in the kitchen,” he said to the camera, his voice softer than usual, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he looked at you.

Your breath hitched. The warmth of his touch lingered, and the casual endearment, spoken so naturally for the camera, resonated in a way it shouldn’t have.

Later, while editing, you replayed that moment countless times. The way his eyes had crinkled at the corners. The almost imperceptible tenderness in his touch. The easy, possessive way he’d said “my wife.”

It was all for show. You knew that. But a small, treacherous part of you couldn’t help but wonder if, somewhere beneath the layers of performance, a sliver of something real was starting to emerge.

Your phone buzzed.

Woozi : okay that “my wife” compilation your fans are making is genuinely concerning it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion You: tell me about it i think i need to move to another continent Woozi : maybe just… stop letting him call you his wife so much on camera? You: easier said than done bestie the editor is OBSESSED with the “husband and wife dynamic” i think i’ve created a monster

One month after the “Love in the Everyday” videos had inexplicably turned your bizarre contractual arrangement into internet gold, you found yourself wishing for the sweet oblivion of a root canal. Family gatherings on your mother’s side were less about familial warmth and more about a meticulously orchestrated judgment parade, with you and your life choices invariably taking center stage.

And tonight’s special guest of honor? Your husband. Your arranged husband. Choi Seungcheol. The chef. The infuriatingly talented, quietly observant, and undeniably attractive man who had a disconcerting habit of positioning himself just slightly behind you in social situations, as if unsure if he’d been granted permission to occupy the spotlight.

Apparently, some things never changed, even with a burgeoning online fanbase and articles dissecting your “adorable” marriage.

“Ah, the literary sensation graces us with her presence,” your Aunt Hyemi sang out as she greeted you at the door, her arms opening wide in a gesture that felt more performative than welcoming. “Still churning out those little think pieces that set the internet ablaze, dear?” Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, which held a familiar glint of condescension.

Then, her gaze slid to Cheol, lingering for a moment as if he were an unwelcome piece of furniture she hadn’t noticed until now.

“And the… husband,” she drawled, the word stretched out like a particularly unpleasant note in a poorly sung song. “Still… playing with food?” The implication hung heavy in the air: while you were out conquering the world with your intellect, he was merely toiling away in a kitchen.

Your grip on Cheol’s hand tightened instinctively, a silent offering of solidarity. He, as always, responded with a gentle squeeze and a polite bow, his expression serene.

"Still cooking, yes, Auntie. Someone has to ensure Y/N eats something other than lukewarm coffee and deadline-induced anxiety,” he replied, his tone even and devoid of any defensiveness. “Her work is important. I’m just here to… support her endeavors.” His choice of words, “support her endeavors,” felt deliberately understated, a subtle deflection of the implied slight.

You knew that smile. It was the carefully neutral mask he wore when people became too loud, too invasive, too prone to making assumptions based on outdated societal norms. It was the smile that preceded his polite but firm deflections when people asked him what it felt like to be married to someone “more successful” or when they patted him on the back and told him he’d “landed himself a good one.”

Your aunt tilted her head, her gaze sharp and probing. “Mm. Must be… peculiar, though. To be constantly in your wife’s shadow. A man… defined by his wife’s accomplishments.”

You choked on the lukewarm tea you’d just been handed, a sputtering cough escaping your lips. Cheol, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

He simply chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly genuine despite the underlying tension. “I find immense satisfaction in Y/N’s achievements. Being ‘in her shadow,’ as you so eloquently put it, doesn’t bother me in the slightest. We’re a team. Her wins are my wins.”

You weren’t sure if the sudden heat rising in your chest was pride at his quiet strength or a simmering fury at your aunt’s blatant rudeness. Perhaps it was a volatile cocktail of both.

Your aunt snorted, the sound akin to a cat hacking up a hairball. “That’s what men with no ambition say. A man content to stir pots while his wife ‘conquers the world’ with her… little articles?” She punctuated her statement with a loud, brittle laugh that echoed through the suddenly hushed living room. “He’s practically dirt under your heels, sweetheart. A charity case you keep around for the cooking and… well, whatever else a docile husband is good for.”

The room went utterly silent. Forks paused mid-air, halfway to pursed lips. Snippets of conversations died mid-sentence. Every eye in the room swiveled towards the unfolding drama.

Something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized was holding itself together with frayed edges, finally snapped. It didn’t crack subtly; it shattered into a million sharp pieces.

You stepped forward, your grip on Cheol’s hand tightening until your knuckles were white. Your voice, when it finally emerged, was low and sharp, each word clipped and cold as glass. “Say that again, Auntie.”

Your aunt blinked, her painted eyebrows arching in feigned surprise. “What, dear?”

“No, I want you to repeat it. Every single condescending, belittling word you just spewed about my husband. Go on. Say it again so I can hear just how utterly pathetic and small-minded you sound.” The polite facade you usually wore at these gatherings had completely crumbled, replaced by a raw, protective anger.

She recoiled slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Excuse me, young lady—”

“No, you excuse me,” you interrupted, your voice rising slightly. “You think because he chooses to work in a kitchen, because his passion lies in creating something tangible with his hands, that he’s somehow less of a man? He runs a kitchen that feeds hundreds of people every single day. He manages a team of skilled individuals. He knows more about the complexities of human nature in an hour of observing his diners than you’ve learned in a lifetime of judging others over lukewarm tea and stale gossip.”

You could feel Cheol’s steady gaze on your back, a silent presence of support.

“He has more strength, more integrity, more sheer grit in his pinky finger than half the men in this room who are currently trying to impress each other with their fancy business cards and hollow boasts. And if you genuinely believe that the size of someone’s bank account is the sole measure of their worth, the only reason to marry someone—then frankly, Auntie, I’m eternally grateful that your husband chooses to sleep in a different room, likely to escape your poisonous opinions.”

A stunned silence descended upon the room, thick and heavy. Your aunt’s perfectly painted mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish gasping for air. Someone coughed nervously. Another relative muttered a low, impressed “damn.”

Cheol was still quiet, but the tips of his ears were flushed a delicate shade of pink, a rare outward display of his usually well-contained emotions.

You took his hand, your grip firm and possessive, and turned to address the rest of the room, your gaze sweeping over their stunned faces. “Anyone else have something they’d like to add? Any other insightful commentary on my husband’s chosen profession or his supposed lack of… backbone?”

They didn’t. The silence remained unbroken, save for the faint clinking of silverware as someone nervously resumed eating.

Later that night, after the tense atmosphere had (somewhat) dissipated and you’d retreated to the guest bedroom, you found a small tray outside your door. On it sat a bowl of still-warm stew, the comforting aroma filling the hallway. A neatly folded napkin lay beside it, and beneath it, a simple, handwritten note.

“You’ve been standing for me since day one. Let me be your place to fall. – Cheol”

You found him in the kitchen, the familiar quiet of his sanctuary enveloping him. His elbows were resting on the cool countertop, his dark hair tousled as if he’d been running his fingers through it, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance.

He didn’t look up when you walked in, his posture radiating a quiet weariness. “I didn’t expect you to go that hard.”

“I didn’t expect her to be that… cruel,” you admitted, the anger from earlier having receded, leaving behind a hollow ache.

“She’s your family,” he said softly, a statement of fact, not an excuse.

You walked over to him, the silence between you comfortable and understanding. You pulled out the chair next to his and sat down, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor.

“You’re my husband,” you said, the words spoken softly but with a newfound conviction that surprised even yourself.

Cheol finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours. For the first time since the ink had dried on the ridiculous contract, his carefully guarded expression cracked, just a little. A flicker of something vulnerable, something real, softened the sharp angles of his face. It was as if the lines between the performance and the unexpected connection you shared were finally starting to blur beyond recognition.

He smiled. Not the polite, reserved smile he offered to the world. This was a different smile. A real one. A smile that reached his eyes and held a hint of something… more.

You didn’t sleep in the guest bedroom that night. You found yourself drawn to the quiet comfort of the hallroom's couch. You fell asleep with your legs tangled together, your head resting on his steady chest, his hand gently resting on your waist, a silent promise of support and understanding passing between you in the darkness.

Next day, you find woozi's texts, you had vented to him….you always did. After all he is your bestfriend.

💬 Woozi : You defended him in front of your entire family? Like a freaking knight in shining armor? 💬 You: I wasn’t about to stand there and let her talk about him like he was disposable. Like his worth was tied to a paycheck. 💬 Woozi : Girl. You are so screwed. You know that, right? This isn't just some cooking show anymore.

The silence in the apartment had become a tangible thing, a heavy blanket suffocating the vibrant energy that had once flickered between you. It wasn’t the comfortable quiet of shared understanding, but a hollow echo in the spaces where laughter used to bounce off the walls. A silence that felt stolen, a temporary reprieve before the inevitable storm.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours ticking down with agonizing slowness until the contract expired. Until the apartment keys were exchanged, his worn leather apron would be folded away into a box, the subtle, comforting scent of his cologne would vanish from the bathroom counter, leaving behind only the ghost of his presence.

You’d meticulously constructed a narrative of readiness in your head, a mental checklist of practicalities and detached acceptance.

It was a lie. A pathetic, paper-thin fabrication that crumbled a little more each day.

You felt his absence in the way your hand instinctively reached for his when you navigated crowded spaces, only to grasp empty air. In the way your footsteps hesitated outside his closed bedroom door at night, a silent plea for connection warring with a stubborn refusal to acknowledge the ache in your chest. It intensified with the muffled sound of his laughter during phone calls with Mingyu, a pang of longing twisting in your gut because that unrestrained joy wasn’t directed at you.

And then Woozi, bless her oblivious heart, had dropped a conversational grenade with the casualness of commenting on the weather.

“You gonna write about his Paris job in the last article?”

Your feet had slammed to a halt in the middle of the living room, the mundane task of watering the wilting basil plant suddenly forgotten.

“His what?” The question hung in the air, laced with a dread you couldn’t quite articulate.

Later, with a trembling hand, you’d navigated to his open laptop, the screen glowing with an email that felt like a betrayal waiting to be discovered.

Subject: An Invitation to Paris – Chef Choi Seungcheol Chef Seungcheol, We are thrilled to extend an invitation to join our esteemed team in Paris… Our establishment boasts three Michelin stars… We offer a long-term residency with full creative freedom…

It was everything a chef of his caliber dreamed of, the pinnacle of his profession. A chance to truly shine.

And you hadn’t heard a single word.

He walked in later, the familiar comforting scent of cinnamon and star anise clinging to his clothes. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the familiar dusting of flour, his dark hair endearingly messy, his cheeks flushed a healthy pink from the kitchen’s heat. He looked vibrant, alive, on the cusp of something extraordinary.

You stood frozen at the counter, his laptop screen a silent accusation between you.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his easy smile fading as his gaze landed on the open laptop.

“You got an email,” you stated, your voice flat, devoid of inflection.

Cheol didn’t move, his eyes locked on the glowing screen. “You… you read it?”

You nodded, your fingers gripping the cool edge of the marble countertop as if it were the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“You weren’t going to tell me.” The words were a quiet accusation, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you.

“I was going to,” he said, his voice low, defensive.

“When?” you pressed, the question laced with a bitter edge. “Before you packed your knives? Or after the plane took off, with a casual postcard saying ‘Wish you were here, wife’?”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly. He finally broke eye contact, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over your shoulder. “Why does it matter? This… this was always fake. Right?”

The air in the kitchen seemed to thicken, the comfortable warmth replaced by a glacial chill.

“You made it very clear from day one,” he continued, his voice tight. “We do the contract. We play the part. We get what we need. Then we leave. No strings. No… expectations.” He still wouldn’t meet your eyes, and the avoidance felt like a physical blow.

You opened your mouth to argue, to deny the sudden, sharp pain that pierced through your carefully constructed indifference, but the words caught in your throat. He was right. That had been the agreement.

But the agreement hadn’t accounted for the unexpected warmth of his smile, the quiet understanding in his eyes, the way your lives had inexplicably intertwined in the shared space of your fake marriage. The agreement hadn’t factored in the terrifying realization that you were falling for the man you were contractually obligated to leave.

That night, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime of shared meals, you cooked. You hadn’t done it in months. Not since the wedding, a distant, surreal memory. Not since he’d started anticipating your hunger, feeding you without a word, without expectation. Not since you’d realized how much you’d come to rely on his quiet care.

You made something simple, something that tasted of home before home became this strange, temporary space with him. A comforting kimchi jjigae, the familiar spicy aroma filling the silent apartment.

He took one tentative bite, his eyes closed, and then slowly, deliberately, set the spoon down.

“What?” you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the echoing silence.

He shook his head, his gaze distant. “Tastes like… distance.” The word hung in the air, a heavy, unspoken truth.

The apartment became a battleground of unspoken words and averted gazes. He retreated to the comforting chaos of the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans a stark contrast to the heavy silence emanating from your closed bedroom door where you furiously typed words that refused to capture the storm raging within you. Dinners were eaten hours apart, cold and solitary affairs. Your carefully synchronized routines, once interwoven like delicate threads, now lay untangled, frayed at the edges.

But your heart, that stubborn, foolish organ, never stopped searching for him in the empty spaces.

Two nights later, with a heavy heart and trembling fingers, you submitted the final article draft. The one your editor had eagerly anticipated – the grand finale of “Love in the Everyday,” featuring you and your adorably, undeniably real-seeming husband.

But the words on the screen weren’t the lighthearted anecdotes she expected. You didn’t write about the joy of shared cooking, the enthusiastic fan comments, or the viral videos that had chronicled your fabricated romance.

Instead, you wrote about him.

About the quiet strength with which he carried your world, never demanding center stage. About the way he’d wait patiently outside your office with a packed lunch, a silent gesture of care amidst your chaotic deadlines. About the fierce, unwavering support he’d offered that night with your family, standing steadfastly behind you, unflinching in the face of their cruel judgment.

You wrote about the terrifying, gut-wrenching realization of falling in love with someone who had never explicitly stated if he was allowed to love you back, within the confines of your bizarre, temporary arrangement. You poured your raw, vulnerable truth onto the digital page, a confession disguised as a farewell.

You hit send before your courage failed you, the click of the button echoing the finality of the impending goodbye.

💬 Mingyu : You really gonna leave without telling her how you feel, you idiot? She practically went to war for you. 💬 Cheol: What if… what if the ‘my wife’ thing was just for the cameras? What if the comfort food was just a nice gesture? What if I’ve completely misread everything? The contract ends in two weeks, Mingyu. Two weeks and this whole… performance is over. 💬 Mingyu : She made you dinner, Cheol. After finding out you’re leaving for Paris. A home-cooked meal filled with the taste of… distance, according to you. That’s not just a friendly gesture. That’s practically a declaration in Y/N-speak. She might as well have proposed with a side of kimchi. Don’t be a fool.

Choi Seungcheol, a man who could coax flavor from the simplest ingredients, had become a master of emotional suppression, a skill honed in the demanding heat of Michelin-starred kitchens where sentimentality was a weakness.

He had meticulously constructed a fortress around his burgeoning affection for Y/N, each brick a layer of logic, practicality, and the stark, unyielding reality of their contractual arrangement. Mingyu’s hopeful pronouncements, filled with the saccharine optimism of a K-drama fanatic, had been dismissed as mere fantasy. Love? A dangerous delusion.

Their entire relationship had been a carefully orchestrated performance, a series of “my wife this” and “my wife that” delivered for the insatiable gaze of the internet, a cruel pantomime of intimacy. The absence of a single genuine kiss, a fundamental act of connection, underscored the hollowness of their charade.

And a persistent, agonizing question gnawed at him: did she even need him beyond the occasional recipe critique and the shared performance of marital bliss?

And so, with a heart heavier than any cast-iron skillet, he had adhered to the cold, unyielding terms of their agreement. On the fourteenth day, the expiration date circled in his mental calendar since their first disastrous dinner, he had placed the signed divorce papers on the pristine kitchen counter, the crisp finality of the document a stark counterpoint to the messy tangle of his emotions.

The silence as he’d closed the apartment door behind him had been a deafening testament to the chasm he was leaving behind. The gleaming promise of a prestigious kitchen in Paris, a lifelong ambition realized, felt like ash in his mouth, the bitter taste of what he was sacrificing lingering on his tongue.

The journey to forget Y/N, the woman he had sworn to protect his heart from, stretched before him, a desolate and seemingly endless road.

Your final article went live at 7:00 a.m., a digital ghost released into the vast echo chamber of the internet. You didn’t refresh the page, didn’t dare to scroll through the comments section, a battlefield of opinions dissecting a love story that had never truly been yours. Woozi’s frantic texts remained unanswered, each unanswered ping a testament to your profound emotional exhaustion.

Instead, you remained on the cold kitchen floor, a fetal curl of despair amidst the sterile normalcy of the apartment. Your gaze was fixed on the empty space where Cheol’s favorite skillet had hung, a phantom weight pulling at your chest.

He was gone. The silence he’d left behind was a suffocating shroud, each breath a painful reminder of his absence. You replayed the soft click of the closing door in your mind, a sound that had severed the fragile thread connecting your lives. The image of his neatly packed suitcase leaning against the door the night before was a fresh wound.

And so, as the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the empty rooms, you didn’t move. You simply let him go, the unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings a leaden weight in your soul. The future stretched before you, a vast and terrifying expanse devoid of his quiet presence.

But what you didn’t know, as you sat amidst the ruins of your almost-love story, was that miles above the earth, suspended in the sterile cabin of an airplane, your raw, vulnerable words were finding their mark.

[YOUR ARTICLE: EXCERPT] "He always used to say the right meal could mend a broken spirit. I was skeptical, a cynic of grand gestures and easy comfort. But then there were nights when the weight of the world pressed down, when the carefully constructed walls around my heart threatened to crumble, and he would simply offer a warm bowl, a silent presence, a tangible act of care that spoke volumes without uttering a single word of forced comfort. He held space for my anxieties, my exhaustion, the messy, unfiltered parts of myself that I usually kept hidden from the world. He saw the cracks in my facade, the vulnerabilities I fought so hard to conceal, and instead of recoiling, he offered a quiet understanding, a shared meal that tasted of acceptance. He never demanded explanations, never pushed for vulnerability I wasn’t ready to offer. He simply was, a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of my emotions. And now, the thought of a future without the comforting aroma of his cooking filling this apartment, without the quiet strength of his presence a constant reassurance, without the unexpected warmth of his hand brushing mine in a fleeting moment of shared laughter… the thought is a vast, echoing emptiness. The idea of navigating life without his quiet support is a chilling prospect, a flavor of profound loss that no amount of professional success or fleeting internet fame can ever hope to mask."

Seungcheol sat rigidly in seat 14A of his first class, the leather of his worn satchel digging into his clenched fists. The plane remained stubbornly grounded, the pre-flight announcements a distant, meaningless drone. Outside the window, the grey expanse of the tarmac mirrored the desolate landscape of his heart.

His gaze was fixed on the illuminated screen of his phone, your words a searing indictment of his carefully constructed logic. Each sentence was a fresh wound, tearing through the layers of denial he had so painstakingly built. He saw the quiet moments you described, the unspoken language of shared meals, the fragile connection he had so readily dismissed as mere performance.

A wave of agonizing regret washed over him, a bitter taste of what he was so carelessly leaving behind. He had prioritized a lifelong ambition over the quiet, unexpected love that had bloomed in the most unlikely of circumstances. He had chosen the glittering promise of Paris over the raw, vulnerable truth reflected in your words.

With a sudden, visceral certainty, he knew he was making a catastrophic mistake. The Michelin stars, the accolades, the culinary triumphs – they all paled in comparison to the simple, profound connection he had shared with you.

He unbuckled his seatbelt with a trembling hand and stood abruptly, his bag clutched like a lifeline.

“Sir, we are now preparing for departure—” the flight attendant began, her voice laced with professional concern.

“I can’t,” he choked out, the words a raw whisper torn from his throat. “I have to go back.” He didn’t meet her questioning gaze, his focus solely on the urgent, desperate need to return to the woman whose quiet strength had unknowingly become his own anchor.

You heard the hesitant knock around noon, a fragile sound that barely penetrated the heavy silence of the apartment. You remained curled on the floor, a hollow ache where your heart used to be.

Then another knock, slightly more insistent, followed by the soft, hesitant murmur of your name. His voice. The sound, so familiar yet so unexpected, sent a jolt of disbelief through your numb despair.

With a slow, almost agonizing movement, you pushed yourself up, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. He stood in the doorway, his breath ragged, his dark hair disheveled, the familiar fabric of his apron peeking out from beneath his rumpled jacket. He looked like a man who had run across continents for a single breath of air.

“I… I came back,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes searching yours with a desperate intensity.

A single tear traced a lonely path down your cheek. “Why?” The question was barely a whisper, laced with a fragile hope you didn’t dare to believe.

He held up the small bento box, his hands trembling slightly. The warmth radiating from it was a tangible reminder of his quiet care. Inside, nestled amongst the carefully arranged ingredients, was the simple, comforting stew he had made on the night your carefully constructed world had threatened to shatter.

“I made you this,” he said, his voice low and raw. “Because… because you once said it helped you survive. And… and your words… they made me realize… I don’t want to just survive without you, Y/N.”

He took a hesitant step closer, his gaze locking onto yours, his dark eyes filled with a raw vulnerability you had never witnessed before.

“You… you’re more than just someone I cooked for. You… you help me breathe,” he confessed, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. “I was so afraid… afraid of ruining what we had, even if it was… unconventional. I didn’t know if I was allowed to feel this… this real. I was so terrified of being rejected, of misreading every small gesture…”

Before he could unravel further, you reached for him, your fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his jacket, your face pressing into the familiar comfort of his chest. The scent of him, a blend of spices and something uniquely his, filled your senses, a lifeline in the suffocating emptiness.

“You always were,” you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears, the words a fragile affirmation of the feelings you had both tried so hard to deny.

He leaned down, his lips finding yours with a desperate tenderness, a kiss that tasted of regret, of longing, and finally, of a hesitant, burgeoning hope. It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful, wasn’t a performance for an audience. It was real, raw, and a promise of something more than a contract.

That night, the silence in the apartment was finally replaced by the comfortable hum of shared presence. He moved around the kitchen with a familiar grace, preparing a simple meal while you sat on the counter, legs swinging, watching him with a newfound tenderness. You stole bites from the simmering pans, and he didn’t stop you, his gaze lingering on you with a soft smile. When you burned your tongue on a particularly eager taste, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that tasted of forgiveness and the promise of a future finally worth savoring.

💬 Woozi : So… real marriage now? No more pretending for the internet? 💬 You: Real everything, Woozi. Finally. And it tastes so much better than any viral video. 💬 Woozi : My best friend’s finally whipped. Beautifully, irrevocably whipped. About damn time.

THE END.

2K notes · View notes

pearlywritings · 3 months ago

Text

Who said the night was over?

pairing: Alhaitham, Childe, Gallagher, Ifa, Jing Yuan, Kamisato Ayato, Phainon (seperately) x fem!reader

prompt: morning after 😏

word count: 4.2k+ words in total

tw: NSFW, nudity, hints of sex in the shower, hints of public intimacy, oral (female recieving), consensual (!) somnophilia, implied breeding, cockwarming

~ The Music of the Night event ~

gathered all the requests down here! also, yes to the anon who requested Ayato, i'd be glad to put you down as either of these two emojis! (why not both though?)

Alhaitham

With Alhaitham’s dislike for early mornings, it’s an often occurrence for you to wake up while he is still in bed with you. Today, however, blindly feeling the spot next to you with a patting hand makes your sleep-heavy mind aware that your husband is gone. But the sheets and the pillow are still carrying the warmth of his body, so he couldn’t have been absent for long.

Satisfied with the thought that he might’ve gone to the toilet and that your alarm clock hasn’t rung yet, you steal your lover’s pillow to hug it close to your chest and settle back into the mattress to catch some more minutes of sleep, especially after the busy night you two had. And also before you have to face the reality in which you have a teaching job.

When the alarm goes off, however, and you shut it down with a dissatisfied yawn, the other side of the bed appears to be empty, with the only difference being its coldness.

Huh, how strange.

But you don’t have time to question the lack of the man in your shared bed. Just as you are sitting up and tugging your askew-sitting sleepwear in all the right places, the door to the room opens, and your half-dressed lover steps in with a tray balanced on his open palm. Delicious smell of food and coffee fills the air and your nose, making you sniff the taunting aroma with a blissful smile.

“Coffee and breakfast in bed? My, aren’t you romantic this morning,” you tease, but when you finally meet his eyes, the discontent etched into his handsome features cuts your already-prepared teasing short. There is a furrow between his brows and a scowl tugging on his lips, when he closes the door and walks further into your shared space. “Habibi? What’s up?”

“Our dear roommate is ‘up’,” he huffs, putting the tray on the space between his and your halves of the bed and carefully climbs onto it. Your eyes widen.

“Kaveh? But wasn’t he staying over at Cyno’s tonight?” Suddenly your whole body is crawling with dread. If the architect was here the whole night when he definitely heard you two-

“He was,” Alhaitham says sharply, grabbing his mug of coffee and taking a gulp to calm his already spiked nerves. “But apparently he forgot to grab some things to bring to the meeting with the client this morning, and came back earlier to finish it, waking me up in the process. I’m actually surprised how you didn’t jolt awake when he dropped the pile of scrolls he was carrying from his room to the living room.”

“I had no idea…” you murmur, still a bit shaken from your initial thoughts, but willing yourself to focus on something else - for example those delicious-looking pita pockets. “But that’s a total bummer then.”

“Oh for sure,” the Scribe rolls his eyes, picking one of the filled breads too. “Though it’s surprising to hear this from you - you like Kaveh.”

“Yes, I like Kaveh,” you sigh, scooting closer to your husband, leaning your shoulder to his. “But I don’t like him very much right now.”

Alhaitham actually stops chewing and stares at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Had hopes for the morning sex before I have to get up and ready to deal with the students,” you grumble, grabbing your drink and taking a sip, “but it’s fine, I’ll manage.”

“...I can kick him out if you want to–”

“No!” you grab his wrist, even though he hasn’t moved yet. “No need, it’s fine, really. Tonight was more than enough.”

“Clearly not, if you are still feeling needy, habibti,” Alhaitham’s arm slithers behind your back and settles on the hip. He leans his cheek onto the top of your head. “I have an idea. Let’s finish our food and then we can fuck in the bathroom. The running water should mask the sounds– if you are quiet enough,” he wears a smirk, though hides it in your hair with a kiss. “Even if you are not - it’s our house, we can do whatever we want.”

...Well, not looking Kaveh in the eyes for a week it is then.

Childe

Do not look the Fatui Agents in the eyes, do not look the Fatui Agents in the eyes, hold your head high and proud as you walk down the hall of the Eleventh Harbinger’s capital residence, and try not to think about the burning marks hidden under the layers of warm clothes and how evident the limp in your steps would’ve been, had Tartaglia not offered you his elbow to latch onto.

The mask, gifted by the Lord Pulcinella, is covering the upper half of your face - just for good measure, even though the soldiers are trained to not ask questions or gossip. The black furred coat you arrived in is replaced by a pretty azure one, perfectly matching the lapis pools of the man by your side. You look like a refined noble from a long-running bloodline, so it’s hard to imagine you are to be interrogated for the business you could possibly have with one of the Harbingers.

Finally, the exit from the manor. The morning chill is biting at your cheeks and chin, and with it, your worries are swept away. The purely white snow is crunching under your boots as you are descending down the wide-stepped staircase. Then, led by your partner all the way through the alley caged between well-taken-care-of pines from both sides, you walk right to the carriage, waiting in front of the gates.

You are truly exhaling in relief only once you two are settled inside, and the coachman whistled, flicked his whip and the horses started off.

“Phew, now I understand your struggle at keeping your identity a secret,” you say in a low tone. You don’t doubt the people who work for Tartaglia, but being too careful never hurts.

“You’ve done a wonderful job,” his big hand slides out of the mitten and covers your gloved ones, resting in your lap in a tight lock. “I am so proud of you, my sneaky little mouse.”

You can’t help but giggle, gazing at him from behind your mask, eyes sparkling with joy.

“Thank you! Oh, I am so excited to see the capital! I am so happy you got half a day off to spend time with me.”

“You better believe this feeling is mutual,” the gingerhead smiles widely, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips. You practically melt, reciprocating the affection, and wiggle your hands from under his palm to cup both his cheeks. It was probably a mistake to leave his own limbs unguarded - because the moment your attention got occupied, his fingers went wandering.

It’s warm inside the carriage, and it soon becomes a little bit suffocating - the fervor with which Ajax is devouring your mouth, stealing one kiss after another, is enough to rival the furnace’s flames. You notice too late when all the clasps of your fur coat come undone, and your lover pushes it down your shoulders. It’s only once he breaks one of the scorching kisses, staring at you with hooded eyes, burning cheeks and swollen lips, the understanding dawns on you.

“Ajax, wait–!” You whisper-scream at him, trying to dodge a new wave of kisses. “We are not doing this in the carriage!”

The young man promptly stops, closing his mouth and staring into your eyes. He has the audacity to be pouting! After igniting a wild fire in your chest!

“But why not?” He murmurs dejectedly, settling both his palms on your waist. “It is a lengthy ride and I hoped to make up for the rushed awakening. Feels like after the night of passion I owe you an equally affectionate morning.”

That’s true, in order to enjoy the little ‘journey’ to its fullest with your lover, you two woke up at an ungodly hour and made quite a haste to get ready. Which significantly shortened your usual morning routine. Ah, you can admit now that it was a bit disappointing.

“Fine…” You sigh, sliding your arms back around his neck, much to the ginger’s delight. “But nothing that can alarm the people outside.”

He is nodding like crazy, before diving back in, and you just hope that you hold enough power over your partner to stop him when he goes too far.

Gallagher

Standing before the mirror in nothing but panties, you cannot mask your horror. Bright, almost angry-looking hickies and bite marks are littering the expanse of your neck, shoulders, chest and– oh shit, thighs!?

Your lover, with only his sweatpants thrown on, returns from the balcony after finishing the first cigarette of the day, scratching his stomach and yawning when you jump on him with a punch to his shoulder. The yawn is cut mid-action and with a strange noise of a strangled cat the man looks at you. His thick brows fly up in confusion.

“Watcha doing, pretty thing? Is it one of your playful fights to get us both tangled in the sheets?”

“‘Tangled in the sheets’ my ass!” You throw your arms in the air. “Look at me, Gallagher!”

Vermillion eyes observe your face for a few seconds longer before casting their gaze down. Understanding immediately appears on his face along with a smirk. A quiet appreciative whistle makes your cheeks heat up and arms cross over your breasts right after.

“‘Tangled in sheets’ is what left me in such a state! Damn, Gal, I know I joke a lot about it, but maybe you’re really a dog? I’m all bitten like a pack attacked me!”

“And yet all of these belong to just one mutt,” he releases a low chuckle, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, pressing your almost naked body flash to his barely covered one. You have half a mind to punch him again, but when he starts kissing your cheek and temple, you squint with a pout and plant your hands onto his pecs, trying to shove him off.

“Go shave!”

“Don’t remember you complaining when this face was between your prettily marked thig-” you butt his chest with your head, wrapping your own arms around his wide frame. Gallagher hisses when you dig your nails into his back. “Careful, kitty, you are not the only one covered in the reminders of last night.”

“Like I care,” you mutter, but nevertheless put your palms flatly. The kiss is pressed to your shoulder right after, yet this time you do not complain about his stubble.

“You are cooking breakfast by the way.”

“Oh? And what will my beautiful girlfriend do?”

“Spend who knows how much time in the bathroom trying to cover with a concealer the damage you caused. Thighs are alright, chest is too, but my NECK!”

“Never looked better,” Gallagher says seriously and before you could retort, crouches and grabs you under the knees. With a horrified shriek you are thrown over his strong shoulder, and are patted on the ass three times.

“Atta girl. Now let’s go and take a shower. We can talk there about how pretty your neck is and have you give me some more hickies as well. And then we’ll discuss the breakfast part.”

You are fucked.

Ifa

The mouth-watering smell is what makes you leave the warm bed, throw on the first thing you grabbed from the chair and leave the bedroom. Led by the delicious aroma you tiptoe to the kitchen of Ifa’s house, and find the man himself standing in front of the phlogiston-fueled stove. You should’ve guessed that the vet, dressed in nothing but pants, apron over his bare chest and with his signature hat gone (probably still lying somewhere in the bedroom…) is the reason for your awakening.

You can’t help but lean on the doorframe and stare: at his back, at the way his shoulders roll when strong arms move, at the way that pretty tattoo circles his neck in a zig-zag pattern, at those soft, white with a tint of light mint hair, which are still the definition of a “bed head”... Oh, and not to forget that fine ass of his that looks so good in those pan–

“Good morning, sunshine,” a mirth-filled greeting shakes you out of the dreamy stupor, and you have to shake your head to chase it away.

When you look at your lover again, Ifa is bringing two plates to the table and gives you a cheeky smile. You mirror it with one of your own, stepping into the kitchen and skipping right into his arms.

The man doesn’t waste a second, leaning down the moment your arms wrap around his neck and capturing your lips in a morning kiss. You giggle softly at his eagerness, relishing in the moment.

“Good morning to you too, love,” you murmur between kisses and immediately squeal when he turns your body around, cups his palms under your ass and lifts you onto the counter. “Ifa!”

“Damn, babe, you look good in my shirt.”

Ah, so it was his. To your defense, you were so focused on the smell of the breakfast that you really didn’t care what you wore in your boyfriend’s house.

“And it looks like it stayed unbuttoned just to the point of you losing your patience last night and dragging it over my head.”

You notice how his gaze slips down your body, and have to also look. Oh... The shirt is open and barely covering your breasts, giving your lover a perfect view of all the marks he’s decorated your skin with. As the blush is rapidly creeping up your cheeks, you grab the hems, closing them.

Ifa laughs, flexing his grip on your hips and dragging you closer to the edge of the table. As he presses his pelvis into you and puts his mouth on your neck, you can feel the outline of his semi-hard cock through the pants.

You need some form of distraction. Urgently.

“And where is–mmm–where is my feathered baby?

“Cacucu?” The way his breath fans over your cheek makes you shiver and try to close your thighs. To no avail, of course. “Probably went outside for the night. Have you forgotten the last time we had sex? You moaned so loudly, the poor guy burst into the bedroom thinking you were being hurt.”

“Ifaaaa!”

So much for the distraction.

Jing Yuan

Even through the veil of sleep, you feel your body ache in a pleasant languor. You also feel a gentle, almost intangible caress on your cheek, which travels down, slowly, following the length of your neck and then the line of your arm. Goosebumps appear in its wake and you can’t help but shiver, jerking your shoulder.

There is a quiet, affectionate chuckle next to you, and the touch returns to your cheek, brought by a thumb that starts rubbing circles on your skin.

Something in the back of your mind tells you to summon the willpower to fight the clinging sleep and join the world of the awake. It’s so hard though - the lovely scent of the fresh bedding and the softness of the mattress and the pillow seem to make your eyelids heavier and body - more indolent.

But then the thumb gently swipes across your lips, dipping between. Instinctively you bite, and a hitch in breath in front of you is finally enough to tear you away from the sleep’s clutches.

It's hazy and you have to blink a couple of times. The display must be amusing to the disrupter of your dream, since he is chuckling again, and the sound is rich and warm and totally belongs to your husband.

“Good moooorning,” you drawl around his thumb, eventually releasing it and giving the pad a sweet kiss. Jing Yuan hums, reaching both hands to your waist to tug your bare body close to his, and kisses your forehead.

“Good morning to you as well, my love,” you smile blissfully at his response, throwing your arms around his neck and one leg over his hip. Your husband gets the hint and rolls onto his back, effectively moving you on top of him.

As you use his shoulders to lift your upper body, his wide palms slide down to your ass, kneading the supple flesh. You giggle, looking down at him with a half-lidded gaze, and the general has the images of last night flashing before his eyes. More specifically the ones where you pushed him onto the bed and straddled his thighs like a queen claimed the throne.

He can feel his cock stir. You can feel it too, right under you.

“Oh?” There is a smirk on your pretty lips. “Does my lion have something to tell me?”

“Hmm… I suppose he has,” Jing Yuan smiles, letting go off one of your cheeks and softly grabbing at your tit instead, working a quiet mewl from the back of your throat. “I propose you a few courses of action, my dear, and you can pick, agreed?”

“Sounds intriguing,” you can feel your own arousal gathering in the form of slick. “What options do I have?”

“First: we get up, dress up and go have breakfast,” by the way you grimace at that, Jing Yuan laughs. “Second: we stay in bed for a little bit longer and let the night’s love-making proceed.”

“And what if I chose the second option?” You shift so his cock is right between your labia petals and roll your hips to smear the juices all over his length. The man groans, palming at your breast.

“Then you can choose either the oral way of doing things or penetration.”

Something - maybe it's the way he hungrily looks at you - tells you that the answer is ‘both’. And you are all too happy to respond in kind.

Kamisato Ayato

Mornings at the Kamisato Estate were always quiet. Despite numerous retainers that took care of the mansion’s inside and outside, the early hours of the day were filled with serenity and a warm breeze entering the room through the window, slightly cracked open.

You are shielded from the little ray of sunshine that's peeked into the bedroom and began its travel across your lover’s body, yet are still coaxed from the dreamland by the soft calls of your name.

“My darling wife, be so kind and grace me with your lovely gaze,” one of the murmurs is against your hair, ghosting across your temple. “I know you hate it when I leave the bed without you, but the duty always calls,” you huff through your slowly dissipating sleep, inching even closer to the warm body behind you, tucking your head under Ayato’s chin, much to his amusement. “Come now, my beloved. If you keep squirming and pressing yourself to me like this, I won’t have any choice but to pick up from where we stopped last night.”

Last night… Ah, right, last night. The first time in two weeks when Ayato managed to clear his schedule for the evening completely. The marvelous moment spent together, which he started with gifting�� you a new skilfully sewn attire, proceeded at the restaurant and a night stroll and ended with your bodies tangled in the sheets.

The last night, when your husband got determined to cum inside as many times as his body allowed it, all because you teased and were handsy with him when no one saw. Because you put your hand onto his chest and whispered into his ear, like it was some well-guarded secret, that you were ovulating and would love to try for a child again.

The head of the Kamisato clan cannot deny his wife many things. Well, not for long at least, if his own teasing and edging is anything to come by. But he knows that everything is worth it, when with an exhausted but absolutely satisfied exhale she settles with her back against his chest, his cock plunged into her pussy and an arm wrapped around her middle, as the two of you drift off to sleep.

And wake up the next morning, positioned in the same embrace.

Ayato’s breath hitches when you clench around him unconsciously.

“My precious jewel,” he tries again, not losing hope to perform the morning routine together, “we should really get up, before one of our retainers comes storming through the doors, worried that we are still absent.”

“Not my problem you usually get your ass up at the crack of the dawn,” you finally groan, voice thick with sleep, and surely hoarse from all that moaning he railed out of you. “I’m exhausted, Ayato, let me sleep.”

“Exhausted? My, you say it like you weren’t the one jumping my bones the moment the bedroom door closed yesterday,” your husband hums, using his free hand to move your hair to the side. When he presses a lingering kiss to the back of your neck and rolls his hips, you arch slightly, letting out a quiet moan.

“Well, I was horny and I am not sorry for it,” huffing you try to settle on the bed with the full intention of falling back asleep. But the hand that slips between your thighs and presses on your pelvis to move you flash against him, suddenly makes you hyper aware of his hardening cock still resting between your walls.

“W-wait, Ayato,” you gulp, snapping your eyes open and trying to turn your head to look back at him. You do not like the way his eyes squint and lips pull into a knowing smile. “Didn’t you say that ‘duty always calls’?”

“Oh, so you were listening,” his smile gets wider and fox-like eyes even more cunning, as the pads of his index and middle finger press into your clit. It makes you throw your head back on the pillow with a mewl. “But we’ll discuss your lack of response later. Now my duty is my wife and it calls for giving her a few more ‘tries’.”

Phainon

Your morning begins with a wanton moan and an arched back. Your thoughts are a bunch of incoherent sparks of conscience, running through your head and incapable of forming a thing, but your body knows to try and close your legs and hands gripping the pillow and sheets.

Something stops you from slamming your thighs close, there is a strong grip on them, forcing them open and holding in place. And there is blinding pleasure, coursing through your body, tightening the knot in your stomach and hardening your nipples, that got exposed to the morning breeze with the blanket’s and shirt’s absence.

You have to blink and forcefully rub at your eyes with a trembling hand to finally chase away the sleep and see the ceiling of your bedroom. Your and Phainon’s bedroom.

A new surge of pleasure makes you moan louder, and your hand shoots down, grabbing the messy locks of your lover and pressing his head harder into your pussy. This time the moan is not yours, vibrating against your clit and driving you insane. There is slurping and needy whines, as well as a hot heavy tongue sliding between your labia and pressing against the tight numb.

Just one suck and you are gone, letting the knot in your abdomen snap and body go lax with a breathless plea of his name.

“Phainon…”

Your lover perks up, unlatching his mouth from your poor loins, and, feeling your grip on his white locks lessen, lifts himself on his elbows.

“Good morning, princess,” he says cheerfully, and when you find strength to glance down at him, it gets hard to believe that this man was just eating your pussy out seconds ago.

“M-morning…” you rasp out, still shaken by the orgasm. “What w-was that?”

The way he cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy makes a warm feeling bloom in your chest. How can a man be both this cute and indescribably lewd? It’s like the two images can’t exist together.

“Oh, you mean this?” He points at his mouth first and then between your legs and suddenly you want to kick him in the ribs. “You see… After we had sex yesterday, - which was the first time after so long, - the yearning seemed to become…more prominent, and I–” you notice the red tinting his cheeks and his gaze avoiding yours, “I had a wet dream.”

Your eyes widen at the admission, mouth going slack.

“You had a wet dream? About us?”

He nods, almost shyly. The mattress sinks when he pushes himself up, and a moment later he is resting on his side next to you, supporting his head with one hand and putting the other on your stomach.

“I woke up hot and needy,” he murmurs, lovingly rubbing your belly. “And I remembered how you told me you’d like one day an experience of being woken up by oral. So…”

So instead of being mean and shaking you out of sleep just to fuck, he decided to bring you pleasure by fulfilling your little fantasy, not even hoping you’d reciprocate upon arising.

Which leaves him hard and leaking still. Which, in turn, makes you smile and reach out for his face to drag your beloved in the morning kiss, tasting yourself on his lips and turning your still aroused body to his, being trapped into the embrace of two strong arms.

How can you not reciprocate?

author's note: fun fact, but Childe's part was actually written with my A birthday surprise fic in thought hehe~

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whosmariaaa · 5 months ago

Text

— part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 !

college! sukuna spend that same night in his bed, searching for your instagram. your account was a hard find. it took him 60 minutes of his life to even find one of your friends, who had coincidentally tagged you in their recent photo dump. in that same photo dump was a cute picture of you and your friend. you were glowing, a pretty smile on your face, and sukuna immediately took a screenshot to save for himself.

then, he went to your account. you hadn’t posted a single thing, and your profile picture was black. he had spend 30 minutes searching for basically nothing. but, he still followed you.

the notification “r.sukuna is now following you” popped up on your screen around 1 AM. how the hell did this guy find you? you were genuinely confused.

you didn’t have any classes with him the next day, so you came up to him at lunch. not caring about the girl placed in his lap, kissing his neck. sukuna looked awfully disinterested in her.

“did you do your part of the project?” you asked suspiciously. he turned his head to you, and rudely pushed the girl off before getting on his feet. the girl looked at him in shock, and then shot you a glare, as if you stole her man. that girl could definitely have him, for all you care.

“nah, but you don’t mind, do you?” sukuna replied condescendingly, “besides, it’s only due in three weeks.”

you simply sighed. you can not with this man. he was purposely getting on every single one of your nerves. “it’s due in three weeks because it’s a big project half our grade, you massive dick,” you scowled. a stupid smirk made a way on his face.

“so? you’re smart, right? you’ll figure it out,” he responded.

his comment somehow doubled your irritation. “you’re either helping with this, or i’m asking the professor to kick you out. take a pick,” you hissed back. then, his smirk disappeared ever so slightly.

“you’re really a fucking bitch about this, y/n,” sukuna huffed. he broadened his shoulders slightly, narrowing his eyes in irritation. you rolled your eyes back at him, “go cry about it. take a fucking pick.”

he watched you a for a few moments in silence as he straightened his back slightly, seeming even taller. he looked threatening, sure, but you were too pissed off to care.

“…fine, but don’t expect me give a shit about it,” he decided. another beat of silence, of the both of you glaring at each other. you decided now would be a good time to mention him suddenly following you, since the silence was getting a little too intense for your liking.

“oh yeah, why did you follow me on instagram? how’d you even find me?” you asked.

his smirk returned, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement. “just came across your account. am i not allowed to, sweetheart?” he taunted. he spend an hour looking for it, but you didn’t need to know that. you just scoffed, “weirdo.” and then walked off, making sure to shove him with your shoulder.

sukuna stared at you until you left through the doors of the cafeteria. the girl that was in his lap before, got up from her seat. “who was that?” she asked in irritation. he returned his eyes to her, but then a disgusted scowl added to his expression.

“mind your own fucking business, you bitch. and why don’t you get the fuck out of here while you’re at it?” he snarled. the girl flinched slightly at his harsh words, but then muttered something under her breath before getting up and leaving.

“damn, what crawled up your ass and died?” toji asked. sukuna stared at him, his expression dangerous.

“i think he’s still down bad for that girl. what was her name? y/n?” gojo laughed, “y’know what, if you don’t get with her, i will,” he added tauntingly. for some reason, him saying that made sukuna even more pissed off than before. why the hell was he suddenly in his business? you were off-limits, he had made that very clear before.

“watch your fucking mouth, gojo. i won’t hesitate to make an end to your pathetic life,” sukuna threatened.

“man, you’re pussy whipped. what’d she do to make you all in love like this?” gojo teased. sukuna just scoffed and sat down again, ignoring his infuriating friends while in thought.

yeah, what did you even do?

──★˙🍓̟!! hi guys, i’m so sorry i’m still figuring out tumblr, but maybe in the future i’ll be doing a taglist!! ☺️ and @elizabeth-von-winken-universe in my inbox, yes i’ll definitely be doing more parts for sukuna, thank you sm!!! and for the other person in my inbox, i love you to death may God bless u too and keep u and ur family safe💗

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gravegoer · 8 months ago

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What if we get like an internal monologue of just how much Sevika is into you? Like if it’s her first day as counselor and she sees you walking around the halls helping out as an assistant. She can’t help but think reader is so damn cute! Maybe even reader flirts a little from afar <3

Pretty Piltie ⋆˚✿

thank you anon, and yes i love this, this is very cute ! i went a little different for some plot but i hope you like it :) i also have a few more pirate sevika fics coming out so look out for those ! coming sometime this week :) masterlist

After her first day on the council, she saw you in the hallway, walking around with your clipboard in your face. (Definitely in a hurry)

She raised an eyebrow at the pep in your step and the carelessness of you flipping through pages while walking. Before she could even move to the side, you bumped into her.

"I'm so sorry," You looked up at her with an embarrassed look on your face, "I thought the halls would be empty."

She couldn't even get a word out before your eyes widened, "Shit. The meeting is over, isn't it?"

You scurried to the doors she just came from, and she almost laughed at your actions. Even after the exasperating meeting she had a smile graced her lips.

Well, I could get used to that.

When she got home, her mind flashed back to the girl she encountered in the hallway, furrowing her brows. She tried to rid of the image. Maybe she was just thinking about it because it's the only exciting thing that occurred today. Yeah, that's it.

The next week, she had to come back for a second meeting, this time staying back longer to discuss things in finer details. A couple of councilors have already up and left as it was getting late.

After a few minutes, she saw you walk in with one of the council members. You had a nervous smile on your face while the older woman spoke to you.

Sevika let out a snort at your expression, finding it to be oddly cute but containing herself moments later. Although she couldn't stop eyeing you when you stood behind the councilors chair just across from her.

You were scrawling out things on your clipboard while the grey-haired woman in front of you spoke. Sevika was only half listening as her eyes bored into your face, taking in all your features.

I mean, who knew Piltover had princesses like this.

Suddenly, you looked up to make eye contact with Sevika, her brows 5 she averted eye contact to look at the woman in front of you.

She saw your smile from the corner of her vision when she looked away. Fuck.

It seemed like every time you looked away she stared back at you, she didn't come here to eye-fuck her co-workers assistant but damn.

She watched the way you tilted your head when hearing something strange, or raised your eyebrows at something controversial, bending over to whisper something in the ear of your boss.

All in all she was definitely lost in thought when someone called her name, "Sevika!"

She looked over at the woman beside her who spoke, "Shall I repeat myself? I say, what are your thoughts on this matter?"

Sevika blanked. She racked her brain for an answer but the only one it was coming up with was the curve of your smile and the hue of your eyes.

She saw your surprised face and you mouthed something to her, "Say you agree."

She coughed into her fist before speaking, "I suppose that's fine."

The others looked at her suspiciously but carried on nonetheless. Throughout the rest of the meeting she made sure to pay close attention, so that she wouldn't slip up Infront of her co-workers again.

When the meeting was dismissed she was the last to leave, running her hand down her face in a way to ease her mind. She took a deep breath before stepping into the hall.

She was greeted with the sight of you talking to a few advisors, taking notes, and handing out papers. She found it endearing the way you bounced from person to person, engaging in conversation.

It seemed like you were taking peoples opinions for your survey. This was her chance to redeem herself. (She's embarrassed you had to help her earlier.

After speaking with an unfamiliar lanky man, you turned around and locked eyes with Sevika once again.

You waved at her, flashing her a cute grin. But before you could take a step towards her, your boss was calling her away.

Immediately, you deadpanned and pulled your lips into an exaggerated frown. Sevika smirked at your expressions and flicked her hand teasingly in a shoo, motion.

She would most definetly be seeing you again.

i know this is a bit shorter than my usual, spare me

im also having major writers block and i have 20+ asks so 🙏 let me cook here, i also have many projects i want to get to

#arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #lesbian #sevika arcane x reader #arcane netflix #wlw #need that #counciler sevika #sevika counciler

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rizzanon · 6 months ago

Text

Batdad brainrot

a bruce wayne and daughter! reader oneshot | m.list

Summary: your estranged father tries to connect with you in ways you didn’t expect him to

The argument had started as something small.

Bruce didn’t even remember what it was about. A minor disagreement, an offhand comment, something inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It shouldn’t have escalated.

But it had.

And now, you weren’t speaking to him.

Well—not exactly. You weren’t avoiding him outright. You still responded when necessary, still showed up when he called, still acknowledged his presence. But it was different.

It was distant.

Mechanical.

Gone were the casual conversations, the random observations you used to share just to fill the silence. Gone were the moments when you’d tell him about something you found interesting, even when you knew he probably wouldn’t have much to say in response. Gone were the little efforts you made to connect—because no matter how much he had failed to meet you halfway, you had always tried.

And now you weren’t.

At first, Bruce Wayne had told himself it didn’t matter. That it was fine. He wasn’t someone who needed constant conversation, who thrived on interaction. He was used to silence. Preferred it, even.

But this wasn’t silence.

This was absence.

And it made something in him itch with discomfort.

Because suddenly, the manor felt empty in a way it never had before.

Bruce had never been good at fixing things that weren’t tangible.

A broken bone could be set. A wound could be stitched. A case could be solved, an enemy could be defeated, a mission could be completed. But this? This was different. There was no direct solution, no simple fix.

And he hated that.

Because every time Bruce saw you, he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. The way your expression remained carefully neutral, the way you answered only when necessary. The way you no longer sought him out, no longer attempted to start conversations, no longer tried—and the worst part was knowing that it was his fault.

He had spent so much time thinking he was protecting you by keeping his distance, by not indulging in sentimentality, by maintaining the walls he had built so carefully over the years. But all he had done was push you away.

And now, he was left with nothing but silence.

He thought about it more than he wanted to admit.

During patrol, during Justice League meetings, even when reviewing case files in the Batcave, his mind kept drifting back to the argument. Kept replaying it over and over, picking apart every word, every moment, trying to pinpoint the exact second he had gone wrong.

Bruce had always believed himself to be a man who thrived in silence. It was in silence that he observed, that he planned, that he found control.

But now, this silence—your silence—was unbearable.

He hadn’t realized just how much you filled the manor with your presence until it was gone. The absent chatter, the missing quips at the dinner table, the lack of commentary whenever you sat next to him in the Batcave, pretending to work while obviously keeping him company. You were avoiding him. Not just in passing, but with intent. And Bruce wasn’t used to that.

Bruce Wayne was many things, but when it came to being a father, he was painfully aware that he wasn’t the best. And now, that awareness was staring him in the face every time you walked past him without a word.

He didn’t realize how lost in thought he was until he felt someone watching him.

Bruce glanced up from the Batcomputer, already knowing who it was before he saw him.

Dick was leaning against the cave’s stone wall, arms crossed, brow raised. He had that look on his face—the one that meant he had been standing there for a while, the one that meant he was waiting for Bruce to acknowledge him first.

Bruce exhaled slowly. “Something you need?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Dick said, pushing off the wall and walking toward him. “You’ve been staring at the same screen for the past twenty minutes. Either you’re trying to solve the world’s hardest crime, or you’re brooding.”

Bruce frowned. “I don’t brood.”

Dick snorted. “Right. And Gotham is a peaceful city with low crime rates.”

Bruce ignored that.

There was a beat of silence before Dick leaned against the Batcomputer, tilting his head slightly. “So? What’s up?”

Bruce hesitated.

For a moment, he considered brushing it off. Telling him it was nothing. That he was just tired, or distracted, or caught up in work. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew Dick wouldn’t buy it.

And… maybe a part of him didn’t want to brush it off.

So, with some reluctance, he told him.

And by the time he was done, Dick was looking at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world.

“So, let me get this straight,” Dick said, arms crossed as he leaned against the Batcomputer. “You and (Name) got into an argument. She’s now giving you the silent treatment. And you’re freaking out.”

Bruce gave him a look. “I’m not—”

“Bruce,” he said slowly, “do you hear yourself right now?”

Bruce frowned. “…Yes?”

Dick exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I’m aware that’s what I do.”

“Yeah, with cases. Not with your daughter.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the way his jaw tightened must have said enough, because Dick sighed and shook his head.

“There you go again,” he muttered. “Overanalyzing, scrutinizing, looking for some grand strategy when there isn’t one. She’s not you, Bruce. She doesn’t think like you, doesn’t work like you. So stop putting on the whole ‘Bruce Wayne’ act and trying to figure this out like it’s just another mission. Instead of thinking about how you would approach this, think about how she would.”

Bruce went still.

And just like that, his mind started turning again.

But this time, it wasn’t in the way he usually did.

This time, he wasn’t analyzing things from his own perspective—he was trying to see it from yours.

And that… changed things.

Over the next few days, Bruce found himself researching in a way he never had before.

He had read entire psychological profiles on some of the most complex minds in history. He had deciphered alien languages. He had cracked codes that entire intelligence agencies had failed to solve.

And yet nothing—nothing—prepared him for this.

It started with subtle observations. He paid closer attention to the things you watched, the things you laughed at, the things you scrolled through on your phone. He noted the words and phrases you used, the memes you sent in group chats (not that he snooped—he just happened to see them in passing), the trends you occasionally mentioned in conversation with your brothers and sister.

Then came the actual research.

Bruce Wayne was a detective. A strategist. A man who could crack the most encrypted codes, uncover the deepest secrets, solve the most impossible mysteries.

So surely, surely, understanding Gen Z slang couldn’t be that difficult.

He was wrong.

At first, it was just simple terminology. He started with the basics—words like “rizz,” “mid,” “slay,” and “delulu.” But then he found himself spiraling into deeper territory, encountering phrases that made absolutely no logical sense. “Ate and left no crumbs”? “Touching grass”? “Gyatt”?

What the hell was a “skibidi toilet”? Why was “no cap” a thing? Why did “mid” sound like an insult? What was the difference between “based” and “cringe”? Why did some of these phrases feel like they were meant to be grammatically incorrect?

He had never felt older in his entire life.

But Bruce wasn’t deterred. If anything, the confusion only made him more determined.

So, he studied. He took notes. He tried to analyze sentence structures, context, and usage patterns. He even ventured onto TikTok, only to be immediately bombarded with an overwhelming amount of fast-paced videos, most of which he did not understand.

But he persisted.

His first attempt at incorporating this newfound knowledge into conversation came during dinner.

The table was mostly silent—just the occasional clink of silverware, the occasional page turn from Tim’s book, the occasional soft exhale from Cassandra.

You were sitting across from Bruce, scrolling through your phone, expression unreadable.

And Bruce, in a desperate attempt to bridge the gap that had grown between you, cleared his throat and said, “So… I hear that a lot of things are… bussin’ nowadays.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Tim looked up from his book, squinting in suspicion. Damian paused mid-bite, staring as if Bruce had grown a second head.

And you?

You just slowly lifted your eyes from your phone, staring at your father with the most deadpan, unreadable expression he had ever seen.

“…What?” you asked flatly.

Bruce maintained his composure. “I was simply acknowledging that many things these days are… as you would say, based….?”

Your stare somehow became more bewildered.

“Father,” Damian said, voice wary. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Tim looked vaguely concerned. “Did you hit your head during patrol?”

Bruce frowned. “No. I—”

But before he could even attempt to recover, you sighed, shook your head, and went right back to your phone.

Bruce realized, then and there, that his first attempt had been a complete failure

So, he regrouped.

His second attempt happened in the Batcave.

You had come downstairs to grab something, and that’s when you saw it—Bruce sitting at the Batcomputer, scrolling.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Until you got closer.

And realized that your father was—oh god—scrolling through TikTok.

“…Dad.” you said slowly.

Bruce stiffened.

When he turned, there was a brief moment where he looked like he was debating whether or not to close the tab. But then, after a second of hesitation, he exhaled and faced you fully.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he said seriously.

You raised a brow. “Okay?”

Bruce turned back to the screen.

“Why,” he starts, “do so many of these… influencers believe that Batman is an alpha male?”

You blinked.

He gestured toward the screen, where a video was paused on some random guy in sunglasses talking about “how Batman embodies the peak sigma mindset.”

“They claim that I—he—operates on some kind of grindset mentality,” Bruce continued, sounding vaguely irritated. “That the reason Batman fights crime is due to some misguided sense of superiority rather than a moral obligation. Some of them even say he ‘gives off major red pill energy.’”

You cringed.

Bruce’s frown deepened. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “B, please stop scrolling on that side of TikTok.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Bruce said. “It just happened to appear on my feed while I was doing research.”

“…Research?”

“For… communication purposes.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What kind of communication purposes?”

Bruce hesitated.

And then, in what was possibly the most botched attempt at Gen Z slang to ever exist, he slowly said, “I’m just trying to… get that W… and not be an L father. No cap.”

Silence.

Pure, unfiltered, incomprehensible silence.

You stared at him, utterly speechless.

Bruce held your gaze, waiting.

Tim, who had just entered the cave, immediately turned around and left.

It took a full ten seconds for you to finally find your voice.

“…What the actual fuck did you just say?”

“Language.”

You were baffled. Was your father hearing what he was saying??

Before you could respond, an alert suddenly blared through the Batcomputer, signaling an Arkham breakout.

And just like that, he was saved by the bell.

Bruce quickly turned back to the screen, scanning the situation, already shifting into mission mode. But before he left, he spared you one last glance.

And, in what was perhaps his most disastrous attempt yet, he said,

“Stay woke.”

Then, without another word, he swept out of the cave.

Leaving you standing there, completely and utterly at a loss for words.

You had no idea what the hell just happened.

And honestly? You weren’t sure you wanted to know.

But the next day, Bruce made one last attempt.

Bruce Wayne had faced some of the most dangerous criminals in the world. He had been thrown through walls, stabbed, shot at, and even died once (technically). He had outmaneuvered gods, masterminds, and creatures of the night.

And yet, standing outside your bedroom door, debating whether or not to knock, he found himself hesitating.

This was ridiculous.

He shouldn’t feel hesitant about this. He was your father. He had faced literal apocalypses without flinching—why was it so difficult to face you?

Was it because of his failed attempts at getting through to you these past few days?

Probably.

But he had committed to this. He wasn’t going to back down now.

So he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and knocked on your door.

A pause.

Then—“Come in.”

He opened the door, stepping inside with careful, measured movements. His eyes swept over the room instinctively, cataloging every detail—your posture, your expression, the way your fingers curled slightly where they rested on your crossed arms.

You were stiff, but not defensive. Guarded, but not hostile.

Not angry. Not anymore.

But you were distant. And that was worse.

Bruce had always relied on presence—on being there, on the sheer weight of existence as a means of maintaining connection. But now he understood that presence wasn’t the same as attention.

He hadn’t given you that. Not the way you had given it to him. Not the way you deserved.

Bruce cleared his throat, trying to find the words. “I…. would like to formally apologize for being the… goat of bad parenting. That was not very…. rizz of me.”

You blinked.

What?

A slow, deliberate blink, your expression frozen in something between shock and utter disbelief.

Bruce noted the way your brows twitched slightly, the way your lips parted just enough to indicate that you had words but were currently incapable of forming them.

Good. That meant you were listening.

He continued, tone steady. “I have, in fact, been caught in 4K being a cringe father. And that’s on me. Major L.”

The silence that followed was excruciating.

You tilted your head ever so slightly, like you were trying to determine if this was some elaborate joke.

Maybe it did seem like that to you.

Bruce pressed forward. “No cap, I have been acting incredibly mid. Probably even giga-mid.”

Still silence.

The twitch in your eye was microscopic but noticeable. The corner of your mouth jerked—barely, almost imperceptibly, but Bruce caught it.

He nodded, as if steeling himself, mentally adjusting his approach. “This whole situation has been, dare I say… a ratio.”

That was what did it.

You snorted.

A small sound, abrupt, barely audible—but it was real.

Encouraging. He could work with this.

“I have realized,” he said solemnly, “that I have been lacking fatherly rizz. A skill issue, if you will.”

Your entire body curled inward as you let out a strangled, disbelieving laugh, hands flying to cover your face as if that would somehow make this entire situation less insane.

Bruce analyzed every detail—the way your shoulders shook, the way your hands trembled slightly as you pressed them against your face, the way you leaned just a fraction forward, no longer so closed off.

Progress.

Finally, gasping for breath, you looked at him with pure horror. “Dad. Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“I am always serious,” Bruce said gravely. “This is an earnest attempt at slayful parenting.”

You made a sound that could only be described as a dying gremlin noise.

Bruce noted the way you hunched further over, like your body was physically rejecting what was happening, and yet—you were still laughing.

You peeked up again, eyes shining with barely restrained mirth. “Dad, what the hell are you saying?”

He furrowed his brows. “Am I not eating right now?”

You lost it again.

Bruce waited patiently as you continued to laugh into your hands.

Finally, wiping at your eyes, you shook your head. “Oh my god, Dad. What is this. Did Alfred put you up to this?”

“No,” Bruce said. “This was all Dick’s idea, somewhat.”

“Of course it was,” you groaned, still grinning. “I knew he was behind this somehow.”

Bruce hesitated, then walked over, sitting at the edge of your bed.

He saw it in the way you met his eyes, in the way your posture was looser, in the way you were actually looking at him now, rather than through him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your smile dimmed, just slightly. “…For what?”

“For the argument, for not listening. And for not being as emotionally available as I should be.”

You searched his face.

Bruce let you.

You studied him, guarded again. But then—softer, you asked, “Why are you trying now?”

“Because you tried first,” Bruce admitted. “And I never met you halfway.”

That got you.

He saw it in the flicker of your expression, in the way your fingers twitched slightly, in the way your gaze softened just enough for him to catch it.

Then, after a long moment, you huffed. “…Is that why you were acting so weird these past few days?”

Bruce nodded. “I will admit… it was incredibly painful.”

You laughed again, but it was softer now. Easier.

Bruce felt something in his chest loosen.

You sighed, stretching your arms behind your head. “…Fine. I forgive you. But please—never say fatherly rizz again.”

Bruce placed a hand on his chest. “I make no promises.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto your bed.

But you were smiling.

And for Bruce, that was more than enough.

literally based off my parents trying to act like they understand gen z slang infront of me and my sister LOL 😭 hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo | ask to be added <3

#batsis #batfamily #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #batsisreader #bruce wayne x daughter reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson #x reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #platonic batfam #platonic batfam x reader #rizzanon

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ivyues · 7 months ago

Text

Boyfriend Taxi ⋅ Bang Chan

Bang Chan thought he was just dropping you off but now he's meeting your friends.

The evening sky was painted in shades of deep purple and gold as Chris drove through the quiet streets. His hand rested casually on the gearshift, his other gripping the steering wheel. Music played softly from the car speakers, and he hummed along absentmindedly, occasionally glancing at you with that soft, warm smile that you adored.

You were headed to meet your friends for the evening, and he had insisted on diving you, despite having a packed schedule.

“Hey, can you check the navi?” you asked, pulling your phone from your bag. “I want to text the group to let them know I’m almost there.”

Chris leaned forward slightly, squinting at the GPS. “It says ten minutes, give or take. Traffic looks pretty clear.”

You nodded and quickly typed out a message to your friends: “On my way! Be there in 10.” To add a little flair, you snapped a quick view-once picture of the evening sky from the passenger seat.

It didn’t take long for your friends to reply:

“Ouuhh, taking the boyfriend taxi today?”

“You should bring him over. We still haven’t met him yet!”

You smiled softly at their responses but then paused, your thoughts turning over their suggestion. Locking your phone, you stared out of the window, lips pursed to the side. You hadn’t planned for Chris to meet your friends tonight, but the idea wasn’t terrible – it just felt… spontaneous.

The car came to a halt in the parking lot. “We’re here,” Chris said with a smile. You unplugged your seatbelt but stayed silent for a moment longer, still seated and looking at him.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his tone gentle and an unwavering smile on his lips.

“How would you feel about… quickly saying hello to my friends?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, like—me? Meeting them? Now?” His fingers instinctively fumbled with the bracelet on his wrist. “I mean, I’d love to, but I thought I was just dropping you off… I wasn’t prepared for—what am I even wearing?” He looked down at his casual outfit, suddenly self-conscious.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction. “Chris, it’s just a quick hello. No pressure – you don’t have to. And you look fine. Besides, aren’t you literally Mr. Friends-with-everyone?” You teased, hoping to ease his nerves.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You always make it sound so easy.” He paused, glancing at you. “But are you sure? I don’t want to intrude. These are your friends, you know. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Just be yourself.”

As you walked to the door, you noticed his hand hovering uncertainly near your back, unsure if he should touch you in front of your friends. You gave him a reassuring nudge, and he finally rested it there, seeming to relax a bit.

Inside, your friends greeted you enthusiastically, their eyes immediately darting to Chris. “So this is the secret boyfriend we’ve been hearing about?” one of them teased.

The group welcomed him easily, asking a few lighthearted questions about his work and teasing you about finally bringing him around. When one of them asked if he wanted to stay, he shook his head apologetically. “I’d love to, but I have to get back to work. Maybe next time?”

You walked him to the door, where he turned to you, his hand brushing against yours. “Text me when you’re done, okay? I’ll be waiting,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss your temple.

-----

Back inside the car, Chris sat for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. His mind replayed the last few minutes – the introductions, the way your friends had been so welcoming, and how natural it felt to be by your side in that setting. The meeting had gone fine – better than fine, really – but his heart was still racing.

Pulling out his phone, he called Han, knowing he’d need to process this with someone.

“Hyung?” Han answered, his voice curious. “What’s up?”

Chris exhaled a sharp breath. “I just met her friends.”

There was a beat of silence before Han burst into laughter. “Wait, what? Her friends? Like, the friends?”

“Yes!” Chris groaned, running a hand over his beanie. “She didn’t even warn me! I thought I was just dropping her off, but then she asked if I’d say hello, and—”

“And you couldn’t say no,” Han finished, his tone teasing.

“Of course, I couldn’t say no!” Chris huffed. “But, Han, I wasn’t prepared! I’m just in some jeans and a casual jacket – what if I looked like a mess? And these are her friends. They’re important to her.”

“You’re overthinking it, man,” Han interrupted. “If they’re her friends, they probably like you already. Relax.”

Chris let out a long breath again before saying, “Thanks, Han.” His voice was softer now, a touch of sincerity in his words. “Really.”

“Anytime. Now go stop overthinking before your brain melts.”

With a small smile, Chris hung up and stared at the dashboard for a moment. The nerves weren’t completely gone, but Han’s words had helped.

-----

Later, his phone buzzed with a text from you:

“Hey, sorry for throwing you under the bus like that. I’m just not used to introducing boyfriends – it’s easier to keep it lowkey and spontaneous. You were great, though. 💕”

You set your phone down after texting Chris, a small smile lingering on your lips. Tonight hadn’t gone as planned, but maybe that was the best part of it. Some things were better when they weren’t planned at all.

masterlist

#bang chan imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #bang chan scenarios #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #stray kids #skz #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz fluff #bang chan fluff #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids fluff

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blueberrybirdsworld · 23 days ago

Text

Player of the Match 2/3

Summary : She’s the most dominant player in women’s volleyball and media favorite known for her killer serves and perfectly styled hair. She’s also a massive Formula 1 fan. More specifically, an Oscar Piastri fan.

Oscar has no idea… until Lando shows him an interview of her revealing her crush.

Pairing : Oscar Piastri x volleyball player!reader

Genre : SMAU, fluff, request

Face claim : Duru Türknas

Series : Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Main Masterlist

@_oscarpiastri

My summer pics☀️

@_lando your welcome for the pic recos 🤝🔥

@_oscarpiastri I don't know what you are talking about

@_user1 ummm who are you trying to impress exactly Mr. Piastri??? 👀

@_user2 she’s somewhere SWEATING rn I just know it 😭😭😭

@_user3 this is not the same man who captions podium pics with “decent race.”

@_user4 “my summer pics” YEAH OK WHO IS SHE

@_user5 suddenly the shyness is GONE. the shirt is almost gone. the internet is UNWELL.

@_user6 oh we lost soft Oscar. this one takes yacht thirst traps 😭

@_user7 what did lando do to him ?

Oscar had never been fifteen minutes early to a dinner in his life, but tonight he was. He was already seated at the small corner table of the restaurant he had researched for nearly an hour: modern Italian, quiet atmosphere, warm lighting, tucked just off a leafy street in Rome. A place that looked romantic without trying too hard. He hoped.

His foot tapped against the floor under the table. His water glass was already half-empty. Every time the door opened, his head snapped up.

Then she walked in. She scanned the restaurant, eyes moving quickly, until they landed on him.

She smiled.

And he forgot how to breathe.

He shot up, nearly bumping the table. "Hey! You...you made it. Not that I thought you wouldn’t. I just..."

She laughed, walking over, her heels quiet on the floor. "Hi, Oscar. You look... nervous."

"That’s because I am. This is not my natural environment."

"You mean, anywhere without a helmet on?"

He grinned. "Exactly."

They sat. A server came and took their drink orders, mercifully buying him time to figure out how to exist like a normal person.

She looked around. "This place is beautiful. You picked it?"

"Yeah," he said, a little too fast. "I wanted to find somewhere… calm. Not too crowded. Just... nice."

"Well, mission accomplished."

Their menus stayed closed for a while.

"I still can’t believe we’re doing this," she admitted, fingers lightly playing with the edge of her napkin.

"Same. A week ago I didn’t know you existed. Now I can't stop thinking about you."

Her eyes grow bigger "You think about me ?"

Oscar froze mid-sip. "I mean yeah...sometimes. But you can't tell me a thing miss "I have a secret not so secret crush."

"Okay, that’s fair," she laughed, eyes sparkling. "But you’re not exactly subtle either. I saw your last post."

His ears went bright red. "It wasn’t...Lando helped pick those. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Okay. He picked all of them."

She laughed, leaning slightly over the table. "Well, tell him he did good. But next time, if you want, I could help."

Oscar smiled so hard it hurt. "Are you flirting with me again?"

"I never stopped."

Their fingers brushed on the table. He didn’t move his hand.

Neither did she.

Food came and went, but the conversation never slowed. They talked about everything, her season, his most stressful races, the worst flights they’d taken, the way fame was sometimes a prison and sometimes the best excuse to hide.

"I’ve never met someone who gets it without explaining it," she said softly, swirling the last of her wine.

"Me neither. It’s weird. But good."

Later he offered to pay before she could even reach for her card.

"Oscar..."

"I want to," he said gently. "I asked you out. Let me."

She gave in with a small smile. "Fine. But I’m paying next time."

His heart skipped. "There’s a next time?"

"Obviously."

He walked her home, just a ten-minute stroll through quiet streets under warm lights. Neither of them said much for the first few minutes. It was the comfortable kind of silence.

When they reached her building, she turned to face him.

"Thank you," she said. "For dinner. For everything. This was..."

"Unexpectedly perfect?" he offered.

"Exactly that."

Then she smiled and slipped inside, Oscar stood there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, still grinning to himself like he’d just won a race.

@_volley_yn

Had a very perfect night last night.

@_user1 WHO is the man in pic 6. WHO. IDENTIFY HIM IMMEDIATELY

@_user2 not her soft-launching a perfect night and dropping nothing but breadcrumbs??? be serious 😭

@_user3 wait the white shirt… IS THAT OSCAR

@_user4 the man has the SAME HANDS as Oscar Piastri i’m screaming

@_user5 you look soooooo in love girl

@_user6 the way she looks in these pics… oh yeah. he’s winning

@_user7 i need a HARD launch. like tomorrow. don’t play with us

@_user8 girl the caption, the glow, the outfit, the mystery man… I KNOW HE’S F1 AND I KNOW HE’S AUSTRALIAN

The thud of volleyballs echoed through the court like a drumbeat, rhythmic and sharp. She tossed her ponytail tighter, exhaling as she caught a pass and set it again without thinking. Her legs moved on instinct, but her head wasn’t in it. Not today.

“Okay, pause,” Sofia said, grinning as she jogged over from the other side of the net. “You’ve been zoning out since warm-up.”

A few of the other girls were already circling. Francesca smirked. “She had her date last night, remember?”

“Ohhh right!” Ana clapped her hands dramatically. “The F1 guy! Oscar, right? Spill. Now.”

She groaned and covered her face with both hands. “Guys, no. It’s not a big deal.”

Francesca pulled her arms down. “Lie again and I’m spiking a ball at you.”

She hesitated. “It was… good. He picked a really nice place. Fancy but not too much. He was early. He stood up when I arrived, like...”

“Like a gentleman?” Elena teased.

She smiled despite herself. “Yeah. That.”

Ana leaned in. “So? What else? Did he kiss you?”

The pause was too long.

“No,” she admitted. “He didn’t.”

Francesca frowned. “Did he at least hold your hand?”

“No.”

“What? Not even, like, walking you to your door and pulling the slow lean-in?” Ana looked scandalized.

“He offered to walk me home,” she said quickly. “He paid for dinner. He was really sweet, actually.”

“So what’s the problem?” Francesca tilted her head.

She hesitated, swallowing hard. “What if he’s just being nice?”

They all blinked.

Elena stepped forward. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, adjusting her kneepads. “I mean… I talked about him in interviews. Everyone knows I’m a fan. What if this is just some weird ‘make a fan’s dream come true’ mission? Like he’s being polite. Friendly.”

Francesca looked genuinely confused. “But he took you on a real date. Reserved a table. Bought you food. Walked you back. That’s not fan service.”

“He never tried anything,” she said quietly. “Not even a touch. Not even a 'see you soon' text this morning.”

“You wanted him to try something?” Ana asked, voice half-shocked, half-thrilled.

She groaned again. “Maybe? I don’t know. Before I met him it was just admiration. I thought he was cute, talented. But now…” she trailed off, eyes fixed on the net. “Now I actually like him. And that scares me.”

The girls grew quiet for a beat.

Francesca finally broke it. “Sweetheart… guys like Oscar don’t go out of their way for girls they’re not interested in. You don’t book a restaurant, you don’t walk someone home just to be polite.”

Elena nodded. “He was probably just being respectful. Not everyone goes in for the kiss on date one.”

“Especially if he knows you like him. Maybe he’s nervous too,” Ana added.

She looked down at her shoes. “Maybe.”

“Just give him time” Ana smiled. “Maybe your second date will ends with a kiss.”

“Or on the third,” Elena winked. “Gotta give shy boys time.”

She finally laughed, a real one this time. “You guys are relentless.”

@volle_yn

Last training before my weekend 🏐✈️

@_user1 WHY what’s happening this weekend??? why do I feel unprepared 😭

@_user2 Better be Oscar. If it’s some random guy I’m gonna throw my phone

@_user3 nah be so real with us. is this about THAT guy?

@_user4 👀 MYSTERY MAN FROM THE DINNER POST RISES AGAIN

@_user5 if you’re seeing him again I’m going to scream. is it who I think it is??

@_user6 is she flying to see him? or is he flying to see HER??? I NEED TO KNOW

@_user7 He just went to ONE match don’t get delusional y’all 😭

@_user8 No because why is she glowing again?? That’s post-crush energy

taglist : @bunnisplayground, @vampgege, @chocolatemooncoffee, @carlando4, @il0vereadingstuff, @lilith-123321, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @charlotteking27, @ninass-world, @scarletwidow3000, @taetae-armyyyyy, @mynameisangeloflife, @tsuniio, @sophxxkiss, @teti-menchon0604, @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @dustie-faerie, @madicecream123, @angstynasty, @jolixtreesunn @bycinnamoons @taylordaughter @athanasia-day @halleest @l-a-u-r-aaa @esw1012 @storminacloud @anthonys-viscountess @saudianna @cutestarsandstuff @alittlechaotics-blog @sailorinthesie @lindseyybarrett @junklockets @h-rtsnana @anonomano

#oscar piastri #formula 1 x reader #f1 #op #op81 #op81 mcl #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri f1 #mclaren #op81 x you

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authorhjk1 · 8 months ago

Text

A queen's night

(IU X Irene X Karina X Yujin X Yeji)

He could lose his job for this. But there's no turning back now. Not after getting paid in advance. And it's not like he can return the payment.

Jieun's manager takes a deep breath, before finally taking the next turn. He is leaving the route he usually takes to drive her home. His knuckles turn white, sweat starts to run down his neck. Glancing at the rear view mirror, he sees Jieun scrolling on her phone. Looks like she didn't notice anything yet.

"Please turn left."

Taken by surprise, the man in the driver's seat almost shouts. He is so on edge, so afraid of Jieun finding out, that he forgot to mute the GPS. What if she hears it and realizes he isn't driving her home?

After finally shutting it off, he focuses back on the road. Another turn. The longer he drives, the more he is afraid of getting caught. Another turn. What if he gets fired for this? Isn't this basically kidnapping? Another turn. Sweat starts to build on his forehead. Maybe he should turn around? Another turn.

After a minute or two, the screen of the GPS finally shows their destination. He slows down, looking for the right building.

"Oppa."

A cold shudder runs down his spine.

"Where are we?"

"Huh?.... Well,.... We're taking a shortcut."

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Jieun looks out the window. She's never been here before. And this doesn't really look like a shortcut. Haven't they always chosen the quickest route so far?

"Maybe you took the wrong turn?"

He decides to ignore the question.

"Oppa?"

A relived sigh leaves his body, when he finally spots the bright neon sign.

"We are here."

Jieun looks around.

"What does 'here' mean?"

The street, almost an alley, is pretty dark. Except for a couple of street lights and a neon sign, everyone and everything seems to be sleeping.

"I'm supposed to give you this."

Jieun accepts the envelope, while glancing at the rear view mirror. Her manager usually doesn't sound this scarred or afraid. It's not like she's gonna kill him, because they got lost.

She opens the envelope carefully and then takes out the card inside it.

"Third floor, second room on the left."

"What is this supposed to be?"

Her brows furrow, her question is directed at her manager.

"I don't know, Jieun. The... The CEO gave it to me this morning. He... He said to drive to this address and give you the envelope."

"This address?"

Jieun looks out of they window again.

"Yes. The Queen's Motel."

The woman in the backseat stares at the neon light. This looks more like motel for one night stands than a proper meeting place.

"Fine."

Jieun sighs and steps out of the van with a heavy heart.

"Don't worry. I'll pick you up later."

"Sure."

Jieun's manager sees her hesitate one more time, before she finally walks towards the entrance. His eyes follow her when she opens the door and steps inside. He finally groans in agony, all the tension leaving his body. Was it really worth it? Were they all worth it? We're they all worth her reputation?

He reaches into his pocket for his phone. Quickly heading to his gallery, he scrolls through the pictures he took while Jieun was on stage earlier.

He almost had a heart attack when someone suddenly opened the door to her dressing room, while he was watching her performance.

"Hello, manager-nim."

The young girl's sweet voice and smile made him stand up and bow.

"Hello, Yeji-ssi."

"I'm a big fan of IU and I was hoping you could give her this."

Yeji was holding an envelope in her hand. It was red and sealed.

"For Jieun"

"Sure. Of course I can do that."

He was surprised that Yeji came to him and not directly to Jieun.

"I'll give it to her right when she comes back."

He couldn't help but glance at Yeji's midriff. Her top was not covering much of her upper body, showing off a lot of skin. He thought he'd never get a chance with her at all. She's an idol. A celebrity. And he's significantly older than her. No way a young woman like Yeji would even look at him twice. But he had seen her dancing on stage, right before it was Jieun's turn. He still remembered the way her hips swayed to the music.

"Could you maybe wait for a while, until you give it to her?"

"S...Sure. I'll give it to her, when she's at home."

To his surprise, Yeji shook her head.

"Would it be possible for you to drive her to this address tonight?"

She took a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him as well. After glancing at the address, he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Yeji-ssi. I can't just drop her off somewhere in the city."

"Manager-nim..."

His eyes grew wide when Yeji pouted at him, her voice dripping with sweetness.

"This is really important to me. Can't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, Yeji-ssi. But I can't just drop off a celebrity at a random address."

Yeji smiled at him and he felt his resistance crumbling.

"Oppa..."

The word made him feel warm as it left her pretty lips.

"I really need you to do this for me."

He was aware that Yeji had just closed the door behind her. He took a deep breath, hoping this was just a dream. Or maybe was he hoping for it to be real?

"I'll reward you, of course."

"Reward me?"

A victorious smile played around her lips.

"Take out your phone, oppa."

He felt his blood rush into his cock, whenever she called him that. Just the idea of a chance with her...

"You're welcome to take as many pictures as you like."

"Pictures?"

"Do you want me to pose for you?"

Her warm smile made him eagerly nod his head.

He quickly took a picture of her, afraid she would change her mind.

"What do you think of this?"

Yeji closed on eye as if she was winking, while biting one of her nails.

The manager felt his cock harden as he quickly shoot two more pictures.

"And this?"

She bit down on her lower lip, while hooking her thumb under her belt as if she was gonna take off her pants.

His mouth was opened wide as more and more pictures filled his phone. By now he almost took pictures by the second as Yeji made a show out of pulling the transparent plastic straps of her top off her shoulders.

"Do you like it when I strip in front of you?"

He was too busy watching her and capturing the moment with his camera to respond. With a knowing smile, Yeji turned to the side, her hand followed the curves of her body.

"Do you like how slim my waist is? I'm sure you'd love to get your hands on that."

When her hand finally reached her chest, she used her other hand to playfully wag her finger.

"No peeking, oppa."

She turned around completely, so he could get a great couple of shots of her back. He held his breath when he watched her slowly slide down her top. Her upper back was now fully exposed.

"You have to promise to drive her to that address, oppa."

It took him a moment to realize she expected a response.

"Of course. I...I'll get her there."

"Do you really promise it?"

"Yes. Yes, I promise."

"Thank you so much, oppa."

Yeji sent him one last smile over her shoulder, before slowly turning around.

Jieun's heart is pounding in her chest as she raises her hand to knock on the door. Third floor, second room on the left. Who's gonna be in that room? No one is gonna make her do weird things, right? She got some inappropriate requests before. But if her CEO told her to go here, it can't be something bad. He'd want her best after all, right?

She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. She doesn't hear any noises inside the room. After waiting for a good 20 seconds, she knocks again. Still nothing. Jieun places her ear on the wooden door. No one is talking. Or moving. It seems like the room is empty. So maybe she just needs to get inside? Is she supposed to meet someone? If they aren't here yet, when are they coming?

Jieun sighs in frustration and reaches for the doorknob. The fact that she's totally clueless and unprepared makes her feel unsafe and awkward. But eventually, she slowly opens the door.

The room is bigger than Jieun imagined. It's pretty large actually. A huge bed, a couch, a coffee table and... Her breath hitches as she takes a closer look at the left side of the room, behind the couch. Is that a....a sex swing that is hanging from the ceiling? She slowly steps into the room as she notices two cardboard boxes next to the bed. This can't be a sex room or something, right? Her CEO would never do this. Or is it him she's now waiting for?

Jieun's throat feels awfully dry as she bends down to open one of the boxes. She's hoping for something that would explain all of this. Maybe it's just a prank? Or an escape room? Her imagination starts to run wild.

Opening the box, her eyes widen at the first two things she sees. Both black. But both have entirely different purposes. One of them is silicon dildo, it's length making Jieun already sick. Does anyone expect her to take this? With shaking fingers, she reaches for the other item. A whip. A leather whip. She was never a fan of any hardcore stuff. And this is definitely too much. She feels something uncomfortable bubble up inside of her. As if she's getting sick. Her eyes land on a door on the right side of the bed. A bathroom? The lights are on. Maybe just in case...

She suddenly hears something that makes her blood run cold. The door she stepped through earlier has just been closed. Jieun's grip around the whip tightens. She takes a deep breath and then turns around.

"Unnie?"

Irene is standing between Jieun and the door.

For a moment, she is relived. A familiar face. A friend even. But Irene's cold expression soon takes away the feeling of hope.

"What...What are you doing here?"

Without a word, Irene walks towards the couch. Jieun catches her letting a key fall into the pocket of her red jacket. The key for the door?

"Why don't you take a seat?"

An evil smile plays around Irene's lips as she says that.

Jieun hesitates. She thought she could trust Irene. But she's the one who just locked the two of them inside this room.

"Are...Are you the one who gave my manager the envelope?"

Irene lets out an annoyed sigh instead or an answer.

"Just do what I tell you to do."

"Excuse me?"

Jieun is slowly starting to get irritated, even angry. Why the hell is she here? In this place? She could be home by now. Lying on her bed. Recovering from today's busy schedule.

"You heard me. I already took a picture of you at the front door outside. The reporters would love to know why you're in a place like this. Don't you agree?"

"I...What do you want?"

Irene opens her mouth slightly as if she just thought of something. She looks Jieun up and down.

"Why don't you..."

A sly smile plays around her lips.

"Why don't you get on your knees?"

"What? Do you want me to beg or something? This is ridiculous."

She can hear her voice becoming louder. But Irene just slowly shakes her head.

"You heard me."

Now she's pointing at the floor.

Jieun swallows hard. If Irene really took a picture, it could be come really dangerous. She realized by now that this is a love motel. Not some ordinary hotel. And it'd be of no use to explain that someone told her to come here, if Irene would really leak the photo.

Slowly, trying her best to give Irene her best death stare, Jieun sinks to her knees on the black carpet.

"Come here."

Irene slowly crosses one leg over the other, her eyes set on Jieun.

The young woman hesitates, but she realizes that there's no way out of this. If doing what Irene says will make this be over quicker, so be it.

An amused chuckle leaves Irene's lips as she watches Jieun carefully crawl towards her. She avoids eye contact until she is kneeling right in front of her.

"Good girl."

Irene's degrading tone makes Jieun roll her eyes, her face partially hidden by her hair.

"Clean them."

"What?"

Her head shoots upwards.

For a moment, she thought Irene was joking. But she's just moving her right foot a little closer to her face.

"Clean them. Or your career will be over by tomorrow."

Jieun grimaces as she takes a look at Irene's feet. They're clad in elegant black high-heeled sandals, which feature an open toe design and a slim ankle strap tied with a delicate bow in the front. Her toenails are painted in plain white. It's not like Irene has ugly feet, it's the opposite really, but the humiliation is almost too much for Jieun. The two of them might be the only ones in the room. But she could never ever face her, once she started.

After taking a deep breath, Jieun closes her eyes and sticks her tongue out. She licks her instep from the bottom to the top, until she reaches the bow. She quickly does the motion a second time, hoping that Irene had enough. But the older woman, slightly tilts her foot signaling Jieun to keep going. She sighs and starts to lick both sides of Irene's foot, until her tongue has covered every inch.

"Take it off."

Jieun quickly fumbles for the bow, hoping she's now halfway done. To her dismay, Irene just wiggles her toes after her shoe hits the floor. Jieun grits her teeth, but then takes Irene's toes into her mouth, one after the other. She sucks on them, lets her tongue clean them thoroughly. Once Irene had enough, she lifts her foot higher. With a crooked eyebrow, she silently tells Jieun to lick the bottom of her foot as well.

"Good girl."

Her praise almost makes Jieun shake her head in disgust. But when Irene finally lowers her foot to the floor, she sighs in relief.

"I hope for your sake you do a better job with the second one."

Jieun nods, resigning herself to her fate. She sticks out her tongue as Irene holds up her left foot. Once more, she licks Irene's instep with closed eyes. Afraid that Irene might become unsatisfied, Jieun does her best this time. She thoroughly cleans Irene's foot in every way she can. Just while she's sucking on two of her toes, she hears someone else's voice.

"I think she's starting to like it."

Jieun jumps. She looks to her left and stares with wide open eyes into the camera of someone's phone.

"Smile, unnie."

The girl's sweet, seemingly happy voice, confuses Jieun. What the hell is going on?

Looking past the phone, she quickly recognizes the culprit.

"Y-Yujin?"

"I hope you don't mind us. Just keep going."

"Us?"

Jieun looks around and realizes she has been too focused on satisfying Irene. Yujin is standing on her left and another girl on her right.

"Yeji?"

"Hi, unnie. Seems like your manager really liked my photos."

"What?"

Jieun feels even more confused and surprised than when she first stepped into this room. What is going on? Why are they all here?

Suddenly, someone else strokes her hair from behind.

"I always wanted to get a chance like this, unnie. I bet you're tight."

Jieun can't believe that someone would say these things about her. And she immediately recognizes the voice

"Karina?"

In the back of her head, Jieun is still wondering where the three girls came from. But she's focused back on Irene, who leans down a little.

"You really thought you'd get away with this, huh?"

"A...Away with what?"

Jieun can hear her own voice trembling.

Yeji rolls her eyes.

"Your popularity has increased throughout the year."

She looks her up and down with a dissatisfied look on her face

"For some reason."

Irene takes Jieun's chin into her hand.

"And I'm sure you can understand why we're annoyed by that, huh?"

"Well, I-"

"I still don't get it."

Yujin interrupts her.

"You have literally nothing to offer. No cool dancing, no real popular songs, nothing."

Jieun's initial shame gets partially replaced by anger. She didn't work this hard for years to just get bullied by these four girls.

"Leave me alone already. Maybe you should work harder."

Yeji scoffs in disbelief. Jieun feels Karina's hand in her hair again, but this time it isn't as gentle as before.

"Work harder? Oh please."

She pulls her hair a little, making Jieun look up at her.

"I'm sure the only work you ever did was sleeping around with rich men, so they buy your albums."

"That's right. How else would you be able to sell so many copies."

Yujin chimes in.

"I didn't sleep around with anyone! I-"

"Silence."

Irene's cold voice would've been enough to make Jieun stop talking. But the older woman even covered Jieun's mouth with her naked foot.

"I don't want to hear excuses. From now on, I expect you to tone it down. Got it? Maybe take a break from releasing music or something."

Her voice sounds threatening and Jieun is still very aware that Irene has those photos of her. Actually, Yeji seems to now have photos of her, worshipping Irene's feet. That's even worse. Maybe Jieun should just take this lecture and leave.

"Now, I'm sure you get what I'm saying."

Irene lowers her foot and leans back.

"But, to make sure you really understand, we should teach you a lesson."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why don't we start by getting that little dress off?"

Yujin whispers into her ear, a finger already hooked under one of the brown straps.

"Wait! You can't do this!"

Jieun looks to her left, when Yeji pulls the other strap off her shoulder as well.

"Trust me, unnie. We can."

Karina reaches down from behind her and opens the big belt that covers Jieun's chest. As the dress slides down, Jieun instinctively moves her hand to cover her chest. She isn't wearing a bra.

"Don't get all shy now, unnie. You looked like you really enjoyed it earlier."

Jieun shakes her head at Yujin's words.

"What is there to cover anyways?"

Karina grabs the older woman's wrists and pushes them down. Jieun struggles against her, but she doesn't stand a chance. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she's now kneeling topless on the floor, the four girls around her.

"What is this supposed to be?"

Karina runs a hand over Jieun's tits, after Yujin and Yeji both took one of Jieun's hands.

"You're older than me, unnie."

Yujin perfectly mimicks that concerned tone.

"But you have nothing to show off."

Jieun would hang her head in shame, if it wasn't for Karina's hand in her hair. She was always a little insecure about her size. Most of the other idols and actresses have at least something. But she always felt like she wouldn't even need to wear a bra.

"I really don't have a clue to why you're so popular."

Karina's voice in her ear makes Jieun shiver.

"You don't even have tits."

"Her fans are probably all girls."

Yeji's comment makes Karina nod her head in understanding.

"I guess so."

She pulls at Jieun's hair again, making her look up at her.

"Look at this."

With her other hand, Karina grabs the hem of her black top and pulls it upwards. She isn't wearing a bra either. Her tits basically spring free, after the restricting top is gone.

"Jealous?"

A wicked smile plays around her lips.

Before Jieun can answer, Karina leans down, covering her face with her chest.

"Why don't you be as kind to me as you were to Irene, unnie?"

A tug at her hair makes Jieun understand that it wasn't a question. Karina isn't waiting for an answer.

Jieun closes her eyes once more and carefully sticks out her tongue. She can't believe she already had her mouth on Irene's feet. And now she has to do it with Karina's tits too?

She feels someone pulling her dress off even further, but she can't resist. She diligently licks every spot on Karina's tits that she can find, hoping for a quick end. When Karina pulls away a little, she guides Jieun towards her nipples. The older woman takes one of them into her mouth, sucking on it for a while, before focusing on the other one.

"Damn, have you done this before?"

Karina sighs, visibly satisfied.

Still occupied with the younger girl's tits, Jieun doesn't respond. But she almost yelps in surprise, when she feels someone's hand slip inside her dress. Her panties get pushed to the side. Jieun suddenly feels a little hotter than before. A weird sense of anticipation rushes through her for a moment. She feels a finger brush against her folds.

"Here you go, unnie."

Jieun hears Yujin's voice. But it seems like the words weren't directed at her. The finger quickly gets replaced by something else. Something harder and slightly colder. Jieun feels it pushing against her folds, slowly penetrating her pussy. It's size makes her moan into Karina's tits as her walls stretch around the mysterious object.

It takes a her a moment to figure out what it could be.

"Oh god."

She sighs, her voice muffled by Karina, who makes her suck on her nipples once more. While she's coating them in her spit, she feels the dildo push further into her. Is that the huge black one from one of the boxes? She can't tell, but it certainly feels like it. Just when she's about beg for them to not push it all the way inside of her, she hears Irene's voice.

"Jieun, look at me."

Karina lets go off her and moves back a little. Jieun opens her eyes. She's about to glance down at herself, when she sees Irene. The oldest is still sitting seemingly relaxed on the couch. But something has changed. Jieun recognizes the whip she is holding. The one she found earlier. But that's not the only thing that changed. Her eyes grow wide when she takes a closer look at Irene's lap.

"W...What is that?"

"I'm sure you know what it is."

Irene moves her free hand down. She looks at Jieun, while teasingly stroking the strap on she is wearing.

"Why don't you get your pretty lips over here and give it a lick?"

"I...I thought you'd let me go after-"

"Let you go?"

Irene has trouble holding back her laughter.

"We haven't finished your lesson yet. And the way you're behaving right now tells me we might be here all night."

"All night? No, I can't. I have to go home and-"

"You look so pretty here, unnie."

Yeji interrupts her and shows Jieun her phone screen. She recognizes herself. On her knees. Her lips wrapped around Irene's toes.

For a moment, Jieun feels like her heart stopped beating. For a moment, she wonders if she should just leave now. Let them publish the photos. She could go to a remote place where no one would find her. The humiliation would be huge. But it would be better than this. Right?

Jieun glances at herself in the picture once more. She takes a deep breath and leans forward. Sticking her tongue out, she places it on the silicon tip of Irene's blue strap on.

"Good girl."

Irene purrs, making Jieun close her eyes. She slowly drags her tongue along the length of the dildo, until it reaches the base. She's still very aware of the other plastic object, which is still inside of her. But no one has moved it for a while now. So maybe it won't be too bad?

Jieun keeps her tongue glued to the silicon and soon wraps her lips around it as well. It takes her a couple of moments, but eventually she is able to imagine herself with a really handsome man. Of course it doesn't feel the same. But it might make it easier. She pretends to really like him. He is very attractive. His cock tastes amazing as her lips glide up and down his shaft. He showers her with praises. How beautiful she is. How good her lips feel. How skillful she is with her tongue. When Irene takes a hold of the back of Jieun's neck, she pretends she is the man she's sucking off. The older woman pushes her head further down, making her take more of the dildo.

As Jieun gets more and more into it, the three keep watching her for a while. But eventually, Karina and Yeji walk over the two boxes next to the bed. Yujin can't help herself though. One hand gives her breasts small squeezes through her own top, while her other hand has slipped past the waistband of her pants.

"Come on, you can do better."

Irene's voice seems sweet as she pushes Jieun's hair out of the way.

"Make it all wet. For your sake."

Jieun barely registers her words, already too deep into her own fantasy. But the further Irene pushes her head down, the sloppier her blowjob becomes. Soon, Jieun is taking the whole dildo. It barely grazes the back of her mouth everytime her lips kiss its base. Yujin has now taken her leather pants off, her panties are lying next to her. She can't look away as she watches Jieun sucking cock. Two of her fingers are buried inside of her.

Meanwhile, both Karina and Yeji have each put on a strap on as well. Karina's is larger than Yeji's and Irene's with Yeji's being the smallest of the three. In addition to that, Karina took out a pair of nipple clamps from one of the boxes, while Yeji is holding a red rope.

"You know what? Why don't you help your dongsaeng out? Looks like she needs a little help."

Jieun's fantasy vanishes as Irene pulls her off her strap on. The younger woman glances at Yujin, who is leaning against the backrest of the couch, cute moans leaving her lips. Jieun had never had sex with another woman before. She's never tasted someone else's pussy. For a moment, she thinks about declining. But the threat of the pictures don't give her much of a choice.

"Do it. Eat her out like it's your last meal."

Irene's words finally make Jieun move. When she does, she remembers the dildo inside of her. She lets out an involuntary moan. She's been stretched out for a couple of minutes now. Her pussy already got used to it. But now that she's moving, it seems to reposition itself inside of her.

Yujin moves her hand away when Jieun leans in. Her breath hitches as the older woman places her lips on her pussy. Jieun tries to mimick the motions from when she herself got eaten out in the past. She takes it slow at first. Licking Yujin's folds, inserting her tongue into her cunt, sucking at her clit. She keeps alternating between all these options, slowly turning Yujin into a moaning mess. Maybe if she made her cum, she'd have a chance to leave? Jieun is doubtful, but all she can do is hope.

She focuses on pleasuring Yujin, truly trying to make her orgasm. The younger girl starts to push Jieun's head further into her core, trying to get even more of her tongue inside of her. Meanwhile, Yeji has handed the rope to Irene, who is now kneeling behind Jieun. Before she can react, Yeji takes a hold of her wrists once more. Jieun instinctively struggles against her grip. But Yeji is too strong for her. And Yujin pushing her further into her pussy doesn't help at all. She can feel how Irene starts to tie her hands together with the rope. At the same time, Karina has moved to Jieun's left. She reaches underneath her head.

Jieun almost screams at the unexpected pang of pain. Karina has put one end of the metallic nipple clamps onto her left nipple. Jieun almost sees stars, but tries to concentrate on Yujin. If she endures all of that without complaint, they might let her go sooner. Karina now attaches the other end, which is connected with the left one by a small metal chain, to Jieun's right nipple. This time, she's prepared for it. It still hurts, but she can keep it under control.

"Unnie."

Yujin whines. The scene in front of her and Jieun's work brings her closer to her orgasm. She bucks her hips forward, her grip on Jieun's head tightening.

"Oh, damn!"

She cries out as Jieun makes her climax. Her juices spill out of her, partially staining Jieun's face. The older girl is about to wipe it off, when she remembers that her hands are tied behind her back.

"I hope you can take this well."

Irene's cold voice suddenly rings in her ear. Jieun feels how something pokes her rear entrance.

"Wait! I never-"

Too late. Irene is already pushing forward, the strap on slowly disappearing into Jieun's puckered hole. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. The nipple clamps, the dildo inside her pussy and the dildo inside her ass overstimulate her. She's never felt like this before. So full. So...So turned on. She can't really explain it. Mere minutes ago, she never thought she'd ever eat another woman out. She was disgusted by the thought of having to worship Irene's feet. But here she is now. The first time someone takes her ass and Jieun can't do anything but moan out. It's almost like her body is betraying her. Her mind is still fighting this. She's ashamed. But at the same time, her body is starting to welcome all of this. It welcomes every thrust of Irene's dildo.

Surprisingly, it doesn't take her that long to get accustomed to it. Just when Irene is about to fuck her properly, Yeji turns Jieun's head towards her. Her mouth lands on her strap on and Jieun instinctively lets it part her lips. Moments later, her mouth, her pussy and her ass are all filled with dildos. She has never felt like this before. She never even dreamed of this. But for some reason, her punishment is turning into something special. Something good. Unconsciously, Jieun begins to ride the dildo inside of her. The friction which is caused by that and Irene's strap on makes her eyes roll to the back of her head. She does her best to keep sucking off Yeji, her tongue swirling around the plastic tip, whenever the dildo threatens to slip out of her mouth. Now she doesn't mind being tied up. Jieun starts to enjoy the attention. It's almost like all the pleasure and degradation has changed her mind. She isn't bothered by Karina occasionally tugging at the chain between the nipple clamps, making her nipples hurt even more.

"You think, if I keep doing that, you might have a chance of going up a bra size?"

She isn't bothered by Karina's words. And she still isn't bothered when Karina starts pulling harder, actually stretching her tits a little.

"Maybe then it's worth it for you to wear a bra. The smallest size of course."

She isn't bothered by Karina's degrading tone. And Jieun definitely isn't bothered by Irene slowly picking up the pace.

The longer her holes are filled, the more she falls in love with the feeling. At some point, Yeji and Karina change position. Now, Jieun is sucking on Karina's strap on. But instead of just tugging at the nipple clamps, Yeji stole the whip from Irene. She first tries out the new toy on Jieun's ass cheeks. It doesn't hurt her much. The pleasure is almost too much for her to feel any pain at all. But soon her cheeks are covered with red marks. Once she's satisfied, Yeji moves onto Jieun's tits. She uses the whip on them as well. This time, it definitely hurts more. Jieun occasionally lets out a yelp around Karina's dildo, whenever Yeji hits her a little harder.

"I want to ruin her too, unnie."

Yujin's whine makes Irene come to a hold. Jieun sighs in disappointment as some of the pleasure leaves her body. When Irene pulls out, her ass feels so empty. The unsatisfying feeling almost starts to drive her wild. By now, Jieun has started to get used to being filled completely.

"Please..."

She tries to talk with Karina's dildo in her mouth.

"Please use my ass."

Irene smirks at her words. She knew that Jieun wouldn't last much longer. She once heard her moan inside her dressing room at an award show maybe one or two years ago. Since that moment, she knew that Jieun had the potential to be a slut. She knew that this would be the best way for everyone. Perfect to pressure Jieun into taking a backseat, while the other girl's popularity could skyrocket. And also just over all beautiful to see Jieun slowly break down. Slowly succumbing to this guilty pleasure.

"Let's move her to the bed."

Moments later, Jieun is straddling Karina's lap, her strap on angled at the older woman's cunt. When she sinks down on it, a relieved sigh leaves Jieun's lips. Another one soon follows, when she feels Yujin slowly push her new dildo into her ass. She already feels full again. The two fake cocks inside of her make her head spin. When she starts to moan, Jieun quickly gets silenced by not one, but two dildos filling her mouth. She does her best to give them both equal attention. Her tongue aims for every part of their dildos it can reach. Her lips glide along both shafts.

Jieun can feel the chain between the nipple clamps hit her stomach as Yujin increases the pace. In return, Jieun rides Karina's dildo even faster. She really needs to feel that friction between the two strap ons. It just feels amazing. It's almost impossible for her to describe this feeling.

"What a good slut you are."

Irene caresses Jieun's bulging cheek.

At the beginning, Jieun would've felt disgust after hearing those words. But now she's silently begging Irene for another compliment. She leans her head into her hand as much as possible.

"You're liking it now, do you?"

Jieun is unable to nod her head, but her eyes say everything.

She's already forgotten all about the pictures, when the four of them move her to the sex swing. She is barely moving by now. They've successfully turned her into a pleasure addicted toy. Once they're all in position, Irene pushes her dildo into her ass once more. It's still wet with Jieun's saliva. It feels perfect inside of her. Every one of Irene's thrust makes the swing move. Karina is now standing in front of her. Whenever Irene bottoms out inside her ass, Jieun gets pushed onto Karina's dildo. She does her best to suck on it, before Irene moves back again. It only takes a couple of thrust from Irene, until the three of them have found the perfect rhythm.

Both Yujin and Yeji have taken a break from punishing Jieun. They're both lying on the couch, Yeji on top of Yujin. They're enjoying each other, while eating each other out. Their moans sync with Jieun's as she gets basically spit roasted by Irene and Karina.

There really seems to be no end in sight for Jieun. She doesn't know what time it is. Curtains are covering the windows, not letting any light inside the room. Is it morning already? It doesn't matter. Her body is completely worn out, completely used. But the four women don't stop using her. She's now lying back on the bed again. Her hands are still tied behind her back, but a couple of minutes ago, Karina tied her feet together as well. So now Jieun can't move at all. She feels like she isn't even inside her own body anymore. It's like she is watching a movie. But only small parts of it.

"Please let me cum."

She whines as Irene drives her towards the edge, just so she can deny her her orgasm again. And because her limbs are tied, Jieun can't do anything about it. She can only lie on her stomach, her hands on her back, waiting for Irene to start moving again. But Irene has other plans.

"You still have one more foot to go."

Jieun looks at Yujin's right foot. The younger girl is sitting at the head of the bed. The left one has already been cleaned by Jieun. And now, she has to clean the right one too, before Irene starts to fuck her again.

Jieun starts by taking one of Yujin's toes into her mouth. She slowly sucks on it, still not really accustomed to the feeling. But when she suddenly feels the leather pieces of the whip sliding teasingly over her ass cheeks, she quickens her pace.

It's too late though. Irene wasn't satisfied. The whip cracks and a second later, Jieun's right cheek starts to burn.

"Unnie."

She whines, unable to hide her pain. But she quickly moves onto the next toe. Another hit from the whip and both her cheeks hurt. Irene is just starting to enjoy herself. No matter how quick or thorough Jieun is, she feels the whip hit her ass every couple of seconds. She knows Irene won't stop, until she completely cleaned Yujin's feet.

A couple of minutes later, or maybe even an hour later, Jieun has completely lost her sense for time, she finds herself being carried by Yeji and Karina. Yeji is standing behind her, lifting her up and down, her cock sliding in and out of Jieun's ass. Which also means, Jieun is forced to take Karina's strap on as well. Her pussy and her ass are getting stretched out at the same time. She's eye to eye level with Karina, who keeps degrading her.

"Have you ever thought of just getting implants?"

"I...No. I-Oh, god! I haven't."

"Trust me you should. Your fans would appreciate it."

Karina gives her a wicked smirk, knowing full well that that would never happen. Even if Jieun would want to do that, the company would say no.

"Of course everyone would know your tits are fake. But who cares, right? At least you'd look less pathetic."

"Maybe work on your ass little more too."

Yeji speaks up from behind, her dildo still stretching out Jieun's puckered hole.

"You could put on the tightest dress and no one would see a single curve on your body."

Jieun sighs and whines in protest in their arms, trying to defend herself. She's completely fine with being used. She's fine with all four of them ruining all her holes. But the degradation still gets to her.

"I...I thought you wanted me to get less popular."

"Oh, you think because of fake tits you're gonna be more popular?"

Karina laughs at her face, while Jieun can only bite her lip, trying to hold back an orgasm. She was so desperate for one earlier. But now she doesn't dare to climax, while Karina and Yeji are basically body shaming her.

"No way. You'd lose all your real fans and only horny guys would jerk off to you."

"I'd love to see that."

Yeji groans into Jieun's ear. The older woman is small and light, but eventually even she becomes too heavy.

"The only thing you have going for you are your tight holes."

"Maybe that's what you should start selling, instead of music. What do you think?"

Karina's mocking smile makes Jieun turn her head away. But it's already too late. With an embarrassed whine leaving her lips, she orgasms hard. Her pussy clenches onto Karina's dildo, her walls tightening further and further. Her body shakes in their arms.

"Pathetic."

After all four of them put their dildos inside of her for the first time, she started to lose control. Parts of her memories don't really connect together. She remembers being bent over the sink inside the bathroom, someone using her pussy like a fleshlight. A minute later, she's sitting on the sex swing with both Yeji and Yujin trusting their strap ons into Jieun's used pussy. All memories of the night mix together into one blur. To Jieun nothing makes sense anymore. The four of them seem to have endless stamina.

In the end, Jieun finally wakes up from a deep sleep. She gets scared when she realizes she can't move. She's lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling. Her arms are tied together, but not behind her back. They're placed above her stomach. Her ankles are tied together as well. But with enough room for easy access to her pussy.

Jieun hears the same noise that seems to have woken her up. She slightly lifts her head and immediately lets it fall back onto the mattress. Shame colours her cheeks, just like the night before.

"Jieun-ssi."

Her manager calls her name softly. The four girls must've left while she was passed out. She is alone in the room, her manager standing in the doorframe. When she lifts her head again, Jieun notices his phone in his hand. He definitely took pictures of her. But now, his eyes are glued to the wide open hole between her legs. Her body is still experiencing the aftermath of her punishment.

"I hope you don't mind if I just..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, he lowers his phone and starts to unbuckle his belt. Jieun wants to say something, but quickly notices that someone stuffed her mouth with her own panties.

When her manager lets his pants drop to the floor, Jieun finally understands the message. Her lesson isn't over yet. And it never will be.

---------

Hi, everyone!

I hope you enjoyed the story. It was a little harder to write, because I've never written something like this before.

I got feedback on the other two fics before this one, specifically mentioning that some parts feel rushed and aren't connected perfectly. I'd love to use my lack of sleep as an excuse, but that wouldn't be fair to you guys. In this fic, I've tried my best to correct my mistakes from before, but I also feel like slightly rushed scenes and abruptly cut off scenes actually fit IU's experience here.

I'll try to get on top of the current problem as best as I can. But from now on, I'll prioritize quality over the schedule, which means, I might push the release dates of the other two stories a couple of days back. I hope that's okay with you guys. I'm sure you'd rather read a top tier fic a day or two later, instead of reading a sloppily written story on time. I'll let you know on Saturday, if I'm unable to post the next story on Sunday. It shouldn't take me longer than one or two extra days anyway.

I apologize for the inconvenience.

Have a great day and stay healthy!

1K notes · View notes

kilojulietsierra · 4 months ago

Text

Baby, It's Alright - Chapter One (Dr. Robby x fem!reader)

Intro chapter to a little Dr Robby x reader that's a part of my series Save Me From Myself. If you'd like to check those out!

Send Me An Angel (Dr Abbot x nursewife!ofc)

I don't Have A Best Friend (Dr Abbot & Dr Robby and their 'not friends' friendhip)

Summary: You just happened to notice a picture on your charge nurses laptop that sparks a little crush on a sexy, older ER Doc you’ve never met. She is more than happy to set you two up, but you and Dr. Robby both seem to have some reservations. Until you actually meet each other.

TW: 18+ content, age gap, inappropriate humor, flirting, awkwardness, nothing too crazy in this one, barely proofread or spell checked. Don't worry this one's just getting started.

~~~~Chapter One~~~

It all started when the charge nurse, Sam, left her personal laptop on her desk and then got pulled away to help with a patient. You hadn't meant to snoop but her screensaver came up and began to cycle through photos. At first you only paid attention because a photo of Sam and her husband came up. They both had on shorts and t-shirts, dark sunglasses and huge hiking packs. They were standing on top of a mountain, arms around each other and smiling, with a picture perfect mountain valley as a backdrop.

Picture perfect.

You had never met Dr. Abbott, Sam's husband, only knew that he was an ER physician at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. In the photo they looked so happy and perfect together and it was both the sweetest thing you'd seen in some time and envy enducing. You couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time when it would be your turn. Your mind began to wander, jealousy and a little self pity at the forefront, when the screensaver changed again.

The next photo was very different. Three men in sharp, black, suits at some sort of event. You could see the crowd in the background and you recognized Jack on the left from the previous photo. The other two were strangers to you, but the one on the right… you culdn't help but think you would not mind getting to know him.

"Aww, I forgot I had that picture on here."

You jump a little, feeling like you got caught. "Sorry I didn't mean to snoop." You apologized as Sam dropped into her chair.

"Stop it, it's fine." She paused for a minute and watched until the photo switched before she woke the laptop up. "I love that picture."

"How come?" You ask cautiously. She looks a little softer than normal so you try to tread lightly.

Your shift lead smiles and clicks through the laptop until she finds the photo and pulls it up again. "That's Jack," She points to her husband, "This is Doctor Adamson, he used to be the ED Director at PTMC, and that's Robby." She points to the one on the right with the dark beard. "I think this is actually the last picture of the three of them together." She took a long moment to look at it and then must see the look on your face because she explained, "Doc Adamson passed away not long after this. He was… great man is not even close." She smiled and chuckled a little, "God, he loved these two and God knows why."

"Was he their attending or something?" You ask still scared to be too nosey, but curious to know.

"He hired them both. Robby idolized him, Adamson taught him anything and everything, took him in. I don't think Jack needed a mentor quite like Robby did, but if that man liked you he would do anything for you."

"Does he still work there? Robby I mean."

Sam nodded and took one last look at the photo before she closed it. "Yeah he's one of the ED day shift attendings."

"Are they still friends? Him and your husband?"

"Oh God, more like brothers. Mostly in the sense that they love eachother, but some days it's really hard to tell by the way they act." Sam rolled her eyes and then got back to work.

The conversation over, you left to go back to your charting and think about the sexy dayshift attending you had very suddenly developed a little crush on without even knowing him.

~~~~~

One night awhile later, an oddly slow night, you swiveled back and forth in your chair and built the nerve to ask. "Sam?"

"Hmm?" She doesn't look up from the shift schedule she's had to redo for the third time.

"Can I ask you kind of a personal question?" You chew on the inside of your cheek and wait.

She looks up at that, her brow furrowed but face still generally pleasant, "Sure, if you're brave."

"Your husband is... older than you, right?" You start cautiously.

Even more skeptical she nods, "A bit yeah."

You had kind of hoped she'd give a more informative answer, but of course she didn't. "How old? If you don't mind me asking."

Sam was clearly only getting more and more confused, but again she answered and this time she did it with a smile. " Jack is 46, and because I have a feeling you're going to ask, I'm 39."

Your face flushed you consider leaving it at that. Honestly you thought she would be younger. She looks great for nearly 40 and seven years difference doesn't really answer your question. You're committed though so you continue, "Do people ever like, say anything? Because you're younger, you look great so you look, not that he looks super old! You know what? Never mind." You can feel your face flush and you seriously consider if you could disappear under the desk.

Sam, steady, patient, no-nonsense Sam, busted out a laugh and said, "Why don't you take a second and sort your thoughts out and ask whatever it is you want to ask?"

"I'm so sorry."

"You are fine. Just tell me what's up." She gives you a smile and nod of encouragement.

After a deep breath you go for it, "God this is so weird, please don't hate me, but is being with him still... like, I don't know....since he is older, is it still..."

It's obvious she has to try not to laugh again, but she takes pity on you and answers they question you couldn't quite bring yourself to ask. "I met Jack when I was 22, he was 29, I'd had a few shitty high school, college boyfriends before that. Jack put them all to shame in every aspect of our relationship." She smirked a little, "And continues to do so." Sam gives you a mischevious wink and chuckles a little at your clear embarrassment. "As far as onyone having shit to say, sure they might, but fuck them and their opinions."

You weren't sure what you'd expected her to say. You did know that you hadn't expected that.

"Does that help whatever it is you're trying to figure out?" Your supervisor has one knee crossed over the other and honestly, it looks like she's just waiting for you to crack and give her all the details.

"Maybe. Kind of." Was the best you could give her.

Her smile gets soft again, "So... is there an older guy in your life or something?"

"No! Not- not yet anyway I mean."

"But, you're thinking about it."

"God no! I mean yeah, I guess it's kind of crossed my mind recently."

After a moment to absorb that informariton she digs deeper, "How much older? I'm guessing it's more than seven years? For what it's worth, it doesn't feel like that big of a difference. Ten years? More?"

"I'm not sure. Your excitement is scary by the way."

Sam skips over the comment totally, "So, you're not sure how much older he is?"

"Umm no. Do you know how old Jacks ER doc friend is? Robby?" There it was. Now you knew you just had to wait for the judgement.

She had to think for a minute, "Fifty. No, not yet. I think he turns 50 this year. You think he's about the same..." It dawns on her then and even with the scarce information you've provided her over the last few months. The casual comments or questions when she brought him up in conversation. You can see the moment she puts it together. "Oh..."

"Please don't be mad!."

"Why would I be mad!?"

"It's just that he's your friend and I don't know him, It's stupid, I'm sure he's married or,"

"Oh no, he's single." She interrupted you mid sentence. "So Robby? Really?"

"I mean, I've never met him or anything, and I've only seen that one photo, but you talk about him and, and why are you pulling out your phone? Sam, no what're you doing? Please don't!"

"Relax," She laughs again as she taps and swipes and types on her phone, "I'm finding you more pictures."

~~~~~

Nearly a week later and some of those pictures Sam had shown you now haunted your daydreams. Not that you were overly upset about it, but it did make day to day life a little more difficult. You had still never met the man, but Sam had happily shown you whatever pictures she had and even a couple videos. The videos, that was a whole other problem, because you had heard his voice and it was… problematic. Now you could imagine what it would sound like for him to, well, say certain things.

The crack and fizz of a Monster can on the counter in front of you made you jump and when you saw who was on the other side of it, grinning at you like she was, your stomach dropped and your face felt hot.

"Morning sunshine," Sam had a shit eating grin on her face as she took her first sip of her energy drink, "What's got you so deep in thought this evening?"

You tried to recover. Shook your head and replied simply, "Nothing, just not awake yet I guess."

Sam didn't buy it for a second, but she didn't push the subject either. The grin didn't go away and she didn't move to come around behind the station either. Arms crossed on the counter she twisted the can around in little circles, "So… hypothetically speaking, if a certain ER doc I know would be interested in going out with a smart, beautiful, young woman such as yourself,"

"Sam," You cut her off, "You did not. Please tell me you didn't."

Still with that same grin she shook her head, "I didn't, yet, but I would like to if you are really interested?"

"I don't know, it feels silly and I have so much going on."

"So?"

Sam, short, sweet and to the point at the most annoying times. "I mean…" You had to swallow down some nerves. Push aside all the negative thoughts that popped up, "Do you think he would?"

"I think he'd be an idiot not to."

"That's not what I asked."

She took a deep breath and a sip of her Monster, "Ok, full disclosure; he hasn't had the best luck with women and his job, and everything that comes with, I think is a part of that. You know how it can be, but he's who I'd call if I needed anything and coulldn't get Jack. He's the sweetest and annoyingly intelligent, he gives hugs that feel like they could fix a little part of your soul and yeah, sometimes he's a little dark and sarcastic, but he's usually pretty funny." She gives you a smile that's a little more encouraging than teasing, "He's the big brother I never wanted and I love him to death, and I would love to see you two get to know each other. You don't have to decide right now. Just, if you decide you want to, let me know."

After that the topic was dropped. Except you thought about it all night.

You waited, until the last possible second. You watched as Sam shoved everything in her backpack and turned to clock out on the computer. She was halfway to the door when you finally decided, for sure. "Sam!"

She turned, "Yeah?"

"Could, do you think we could do something low key? I don't know if I have it in me to, I don't even know if I could go on like a legit…." You couldn't help but laugh at yourself as you tried again, "Do you think, if he is interested, that we could do like a double date or something? Maybe it would be less awkward?"

Sam smiled, the pretty soft one that showed off her freckles and made you a tiny bit jealous, "What if we just invited you both over to the house for dinner? It's still nice, we can eat out on the patio by the fire. Just hang out. How would that sound?"

That's when you notice that you're smiling too, nervous but a little excited maybe, "That sounds good."

~~~~~~

Getting ready had taken too long, your nerves had gotten the better of you. Sam had said not to go overboard, dress casual and comfy and warm enough to eat dinner out on the patio. You pulled up to the house later than you had wanted. You weren't late but you had wanted to be earlier.

When your Waze app said you had arrived you took in the house before you and cautiously pulled into the empty spot in the driveway. You weren't really sure what you had expected, but this wasn't it.

The house was nice, not fancy or anything, but nice, on a huge lot in a culdesac and the yard and landscaping was immaculate. You weren't convinced it was Sam's house until you see her shiny and sleek, blacked out Tahoe parked in the open garage and what you assumed was Jacks nearly matching, blacked out SIlverado backed into one side of the driveway, both with US Army Veteran license plates. There was another truck parked in the drive that doesn't quite match the vibe, so you assume it must be Robby's. It's not as new, not as... assertive. The second truck looks like something that you could take to run errands , down to the river to fish or maybe help a friend move.

Once you parked you took a deep breath, pushed down the nerves and climbed out of your car. The garage door is open but that felt too forward, so you head for the front door and ring the door bell. You can't help but notice the Ring doorbell isn't the only camera at the front of the house.

It takes a minute for Sam to answer, but when she does she has a smile on her face and laughs a little, "I don't think anyone has used the front door since the Realtor showed us the house." She stepped aside and waved you in, "Next time just come through the garage. If the big door is open, it's unlocked"

The casual way she says 'next time' spikes your anxiety a little. You two had got a long well enough, but the way she said it you couldn't help but take it to mean 'the next time you and Robby come over'.

The inside of the house matched the outside. Nothing fancy, but clean and tidy, lived in enough to feel comfortable and the blackout curtains were pulled open to let in the last of the afternoon sunlight.

Sam interrupted your browsing from the kitchen, "Do you drink wine?"

You nod, "Sure, as long as it's not super dry."

Sam chuckled and pulled down a glass, "Don't worry, the shit I drink might as well be grape juice." She picked up a bottle that was already open on the counter and poured you a glass. "C'mon, boys are out back."

The patio was honestly awesome, with an outdoor couch and patio set, and a flatscreen TV mounted over the fireplace which was lit. Beyond the patio was a pool and a beautiful back yard and once you had taken it all in with wide eyes your gaze fell on the guys. Specifically Robby, because seeing him in person for the first time honestly kind of knocked the wind out of you for a second.

God bless Sam because she stepped to your side and called Jack over so she could introduce you to him first. Which gave you at least a moment to regroup before you had to be face to face with Robby.

He was taller than you had expected, and broader too. His eyes were dark and looked so kind, yet there was something in them that reminded you of those boys in elementary school that would tug on your braids to tease you.

When Sam introduced him as Robby he corrected her, "Michael." which confused you for a moment, but his voice was so much better in person that you don't really think too much about it.

Sam sighed and rolled her eyes, "Yeah, but nobody actually calls you that."

He didn't break eye contact with you as he responded, his hand large and warm around yours, "She can, if she wants to."

Everyone was silent for a moment and you feel so light headed you might float away. You can't look away from him, but you catch the way that Sam hides a smile in her wine glass and she turns to exchange a look with her husband.

~~~~~

Robby had not been been prepared, not even the slightest bit, for how gorgeous you were. Sam had said you were young, smart, sweet... that didn't do you justice.

Michael, he wanted, needed to hear you call him by his given name.

He also couldn't help but take a minute to imagine this differently, in the future maybe. Where you were here with him, for dinner with friends and you would send the evening curled up on the couch by the fire with him. Go home with him. Go to bed with him. He had to stop himself, shut that train of thought down early.

Just in case. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

~~~~~

Dinner was delicious and once you're done eating you can't help but think that if Sam wasn't so cool and quickly becoming the big sister you'd always dreamed of, you might hate her a little bit out of jealousy. It was a bit hard to sit across the table from her where she sat so effortlessly pretty, and smart, and tough, and talented. With her husband that was handsome, and badass, and successful, and apparently couldn't keep his hands off her.

You try to stop those thoughts, but you can't help but sink into that inadequate feeling you knew so well.

Until you glanced to your left and caught the way Robby... Michael, was watching you when he thought you weren't looking. When you do catch him staring, he just gives you a little smile. Then while the nerves remain, you feel like maybe there's no reason to feel less than. The fact that he didn't look away from you feels telling, even though in that moment you're not quite sure what it means.

Once the four of you moved to the couch in front of the outdoor fireplace you thought those nerves might disapate. The wine and the fire kept you warm, and so does sitting so close to Robby. Michael.

On the opposite corner of the couch Sam and Jack sat cuddled up next to each other. Not being inappropriate by any means, she's just tucked into Jacks side with his arm around her shoulder, his fingers stroking lazily over her arm. You glance away from them and back to R... Michael, while he and Jack talk about work.

How amazing would it feel to sit with him like that? You imagine yourself curled up on the couch, tucked into his side and the thought of it alone gives you goosebumps.

~~~~~

Robby had raised his voice as he fought to be heard over Sam, "You just walked on in like you owned the place, how was I supposed to know you were his wife?"

Sam retaliated, leaned forward from her seat on the couch, "Oh, I don't know, 'hi my name's Samantha Abbott, I'm looking for my husband' might have been your first clue!"

"That, you have to admit, sounds like you were looking for a patient."

"Which obviously means you should call security, I almost ended up in cuffs!"

"But, you didn't." He defended himself.

Jack tugged Sam back into her seat with one hand and stepped in, "Because I showed up and explained everything while you two were still yelling at each other like children." Jacks eyes moved to you, "As you can see not much has changed."

You had been laughing the whole time the two of them had been going at it, so hard by the end that your stomach hurt. How could you have known that one simple question about how they had all met would turn into… this. "That's amazing, I would have died of embarrassment."

Sam's face lights up, "Ohhh, if you think that's bad, you should hear about the first time Jack and I met." She turns to Jack and looks at him with a flirty smile and bright eyes like she was asking permission for something.

Beside you Robby, not Robby, Michael, looked like he was already trying to hold back his laughter. Jack on the other hand threw back the last of his bourban and shook his head, as if to say, no.

"Jack, c'mon… it's funny." She tried to convince him.

The look he gives her would be considered a scowl if it was directed at anyone but his wife, "Baby, not everyone has your fucked up sense of humor."

"I mean," Michael starts of with a chuckle, "I think it's funny."

"That's because it's at my expense." Jack fired right back at him

"Okay, you have to tell me now." Your laughter had died down enough to take another sip of wine, " I feel left out."

Sam looked back at her husband and waited. For a long moment they stared each other down while they have some silent conversation. Eventually Jack must cave, because he gave her a small nod. She couldn't even get the first word out before she started to laugh.

Jack shook his head and took a deep breath through his nose, "Sam was working as a trauma nurse at the Role III in Kandahar and I came in as a patient.

With her second wind Sam cut in, "No, you came in with three other guys all shot to shit, actively doing chest compressions on one and rattling off the Casevac report, with a through and through in your shoulder, a turniqet on one leg and a unit of blood strapped to your helmet, that you had started on yourself, in the field."

All laughter had left you and you found yourself holding your breath while you waited to see how this was supposed to turn into some sort of embarrassing 'meet cute' story. You looked over to Michael for some sort of confirmation and he gave it to you in the form of a soft smile and a wink that started your pulse to race.

Sam continued, "When we had to basically drag him off his teammate, so we could treat them both, the first thing out of his mouth once we got him on the gurney was, "If any of you fuckers are going to stick a finger up my ass make sure it's her, at least she's cute."

You nearly spit out your sip of wine as Sam and Robby both busted out into laughter. Once you were done coughing and awkwardly wiping the wine off your chin you nearly shouted, "Why!? Why the fuck would you say that?" Which only made them all laugh harder, especially Michael who seemed to be a little caught off guard by you dropping the f bomb for the first time.

Jack just shook his head at his wife tried to catch her breath beside him, "SOP."

"SOP?" You understood the acynym but not the context.

Sam gasped between giggles and braced her hand on jacks thigh "Yeah. He came in with multiple gsw's."

When you must've still looked a little lost Jack eplained, "MRIs and scans take time. Fastest way to check for spinal chord injury."

Michael chuckled, whistled a cartoonish little sound effect and spun his pointer finger in a little circle before thrusting it up into the air. It's obvious he's trying not to laugh, "Best pick up line ever." Sam is still giggling and Jack just continued to shake his head and grin at his wife.

Jack shrugged, "I'd lost a lot of blood, she was hot, it worked.

"That's seriously how you guys met? That's the first thing he ever said to you?" You gawked at the two of them, "And you're like, happily married now!"

This time it's Sam that shrugs, a little more collected but still with a big, bright smile and pink cheeks. "Look, when a sexy medic comes in with a Ranger tab on his arm and three GSW's, saves himself and three of his teammates and then still has sense of humor enough to make a joke about butt stuff… You just know he's a catch."

She was still a little giggly when Jack took her wine glass out of her hand and finished it as he stood up. It's him that gets the last laugh as he turned back to you and Michael, "Blind date doesn't feel so awkward now does it?"

Your face heat's up so fast you think you might melt and you do everything possible to avoid Michaels gaze. Instead you accidentally catch a glimpse as Jack leans over the back of the couch on his way inside. He takes a hold of Sam's jaw and tips her face up to him as he whispers something in her ear. You have to look away quickly as you flush even more. You catch Robby's gaze, Michael's gaze… and there it is, the thought of him touching you like that, whispering something inappropriate for company in your ear. Your stomach does a flip and you feel dizzy, but it has nothing to do with the wine.

~~~~~

Robby is the one to walk you to your car after dinner and you're nervous, "Can I ask a question Robby? And it might be the wine..."

"Michael," He corrected you as he pulled the door into the garage closed behind you both and guided you past the workout equipment and Sams Tahoe, "and go for it."

"Right, um, I just have to ask, because Sam's usually pretty no-nonsense at work."

He noded, "Like most good charge nurses."

"Are they always like that? The teasing and the flirting?" You felt silly but genuine curiosity and maybe a little wishful thinking drove you to wonder.

Michael slowed to a stop by your car and chuckled, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, "Jack and Sam... I've known them a long time and to varying degrees, yes, they're always like that. I choose to think that they found each other young and are... making the most of it."

You chuckled a little and admitted, "I um, I don't know that I've... been around a couple that's that..." You hunted for the word.

"Affectionate?" He gives you a smile, "They are the most obnoxioulsy, healthy and in love couple I have ever been around myself, which should be taken with a grain of salt." For a minute he paused, and maybe it was the bourban or they way you looked a little flustered, but he added, "You've never been in a relationship where you couldn't keep your hands off each other?"

You flushed again and the way he looked at you made you wonder if he could tell. "Uh no, not since like my twenties," The fact that your twenties was significanlty more recent for you than for him made you nervous again, nearly panic as you added," College maybe, but still not like that." You glance up and he's still got the same look on his face. That easy smile and the crinkles in the corner of his eyes, those deep dark eyes. "What about you?"

He looked as surprised by your question as you felt. "Uh no, my twenties, this nose spent most of it's time in a book."

Oh God, you thought you might burn up right then and there, but he still had that same smile so you pushed, "Thirties?"

His face finally changed, he tipped his head to one side and crossed his arms, "Had it's moments, but mostly work."

Flirting, you were actually flirting with this man, in front of your bosses house. "What about your fourties?"

Michael paused, smile softened a little, "I uh... I got my hopes up a couple times, but still mostly just work. Unless the next few months get exciting."

His eyes locked onto yours and even though you felt your pulse in your ears you gave him a little smile, "You never know, they could." You finally unlock your car and then give him a last look before you know you need to leave, before you completely embarrass yourself. "Fifties could be the best yet."

Michael's eyes pop wide and you can see him chew on the inside of his cheek. He reached for your car door rand pulled it open for you, "Here's hoping."

~~~~~~~

Chaaapter Two - Read it now!

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr jack abbott #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x ofc #dr robby x reader #jack abbot x ofc #shawn hatosy #dr michael robinavitch x reader #dr. michael robinavitch

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puari-vol · 10 months ago

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Peer Pressure

CW: Hypnosis

I stood quietly and unobtrusively off in a corner of the ‘slumber party’ trying my best not to bother anyone. Occasionally I glanced over at my friend Kelsey who was talking animatedly with some girls and wondered why she had insisted I come along. Of course I had agreed at the time, it seemed like a good way to make friends. But now that I was here…I couldn’t bring myself to try talking to anyone. I fixed my eyes on the cup of water in my hand. This was all… fine, I was just being Kelsey's designated driver. I was being helpful, like a good friend should be. It didn’t matter if I had fun or not.

I zoned out enough that when Kelsey tapped me on the shoulder I jumped

“Did you really just stand in the corner this whole time? Geez come on you goof its time for the movie!”

She took my arm and dragged me toward the TV. Both couches were full so I ended up sitting cross legged on the ground in front of them. Kelsey was about to sit next to me before she was suddenly pulled away to sit with some other girls, so now I was just sitting next to two strangers. They didn't seem to mind me, but they didn't introduce themselves either.

The lights go off and the movie starts, the chatter dies down as everybody watches. It seemed like there was something wrong with the audio, there was an odd droning sound playing under the movie. But it wasn’t loud enough to be annoying and nobody else seemed to notice so I kept quiet. The movie was honestly kinda boring, I glanced around and accidentally made eye contact with someone doing the same thing. I felt myself blush and turned back to pay attention. The movie kept going and after a while I started to space out. I was so out of it that when something changed it took me a while to notice. The movie wasn’t playing anymore, or maybe…this was part of the movie? The screen just showed a pink and purple spiral spinning around and around. The droning had gotten louder. How long had the spiral been on the screen? I couldn’t remember. I looked to the girl on my right, about to ask if something was wrong with the movie. But she was just staring at the screen, focused. I noticed everyone else was doing much the same. I quickly turned back to the screen, not wanting to embarrass myself. As I watched I tried to remember what had been happening in the movie for this to make sense, the spiral and been going for at least a few minutes now, but the more I tried the more the details of the movie seemed fuzzy and distant. I stared intently at the screen, trying to find out what everyone else was looking at…

I blinked when there was suddenly someone sitting in front of me. I only noticed because she waved her hand in front of my face after she sat down. She was backlit by the spiral on the screen and she smiled at me.

“Hey there” she said softly “First time here?”

I just nodded feeling strangely dizzy.

“Kelsy said she was bringing someone knew, is that you?”

I nodded again, she was gazing intently at me and I started to feel self conscious, I averted my eyes and saw that everyone else was still just staring at the spiral

“Well Kelsy has good taste, you’ll be lovely”

I blush, not expecting the compliment

“Um thanks” I mumble no longer able to meet her eyes. She was grinning at me now

“Are you ready?”

“Uh…for what?”

“To learn about the button that turns off your brain”

I blinked as I tried to sort through the nonsense statement

“The what?”

She giggled and pointed off to my left

“Just watch, you’ll get the idea”

I looked and saw she was pointing at the girls sitting on one of the couches, all of their eyes were glued to the spiral. As I watched, another girl came up behind them. Starting with the girl on the far left, she leaned down and whispered something into her ear. Then reached over and tapped her on the forehead. At once, she went limp. Head lolling forward, eyes closed. She slumped into the girl sitting next to her, who jolted as if suddenly startled awake, eyes blinking rapidly. But the girl behind the couch simply reached over and tapped her on the forehead as well. And suddenly both girls seemed to be fast asleep leaning into each other. The girl behind the couch smiled and gave them both a pat on the head before moving on to the rest of the couch

“You see? All good girls like you have a button that turns off their brain”

I was staring open mouthed at the girls now asleep on the couch

“But…but I’m not-”

“Shhhhh”

I felt a hand on my cheek, and my head was turned to face the girl in front of me again. I was blushing like crazy now and I stammered something incoherent. The girl just smiled kindly

“Don’t worry, you won't be bothered by that kind of stuff soon”

Hand still on my cheek, she turned my head to the right, where I watched the girl sitting right next to me get tapped on the forehead. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she slumped back, mouth open and drooling.

“Isn’t she pretty?”

She put her hand below my chin and made me nod, I hardly noticed I was just staring at the girl

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, all sleepy like that?”

She made me nod again

“Don’t you want to look like that?”

I nodded, I wasn’t sure if she made me or not

She turned my head to face her again. Her other hand was held up in front of me, her index finger pointed at me. My eyes focused on the tip of her finger

“W-wait”

“Nighty night”

She tapped me on the forehead

#hypnosis #hypnok1nk #mind control #brainwashing #hypnotized #shortstory #hypnostory #let me know if you like it #I might do a sequel

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jjkbambi · 7 months ago

Text

frat flu luigi mangione x virgin!reader 18+

summary!!! (smut inspired by this request) you’re set to interview frat president luigi mangione for the penn newsletter!

note: fratboy!luigi but not reallyyyy associated to that cheating demon storyline. written as a standalone but could be seen as a prequel if you squint. unedited but happy new years

warnings: long fic cuz we need a reason to be fuckin, sad bc luigi’s sad, comfort, an attempt at fluff, and of course smut, dubcon (he grinds on you while you’re sleeping), so dry humping, p in dis v (VIRGINNN)

luigi mangione, as described by his fraternity brothers: “cool,” “mega smart,” and “totally chill.” all phrases you could blindly draw from a hat to describe a stranger walking down the street.

surely, this couldn’t be your debut in penn today. a spotlight on the brightest mind on campus, phi kappa psi fraternity president luigi mangione. top of his class at a mysterious luxury private high school, started a hash brown business at sixteen, and, according to his linkedin, volunteers at local libraries, elderly homes, and animal shelters during breaks back home. he’s got a first aid/cpr certification, a bartending license, and a squeaky clean record.

“he doesn’t even complain on yelp,” you groan.

your friend, lacy, sits in the drivers seat, shaking her head. “maybe he’s just nice.”

you shoot a glare at her.

she raises her hands, defensive. “i’ve only heard good things!”

“oh, well, if he was really so nice, he wouldn’t have canceled on me a hundred and one times.” as if he’d heard you, your phone pings—his name flashing on the screen.

from luigi Hey pretty! Something came up today. So sorry. Can I see you another time?

“one hundred and two,” you declare, showing her your phone screen. at this point, it felt less like inconvenience and more like cruelty. his constant rejections, delayed responses, and last-minute reschedules were a relentless reminder of your looming failure to finish the piece on the phi kappa psi house. journalism club was going to fucking kill you.

“y/n, he literally could not have been nicer.” she finally puts the car into park. the both of you look outside.

frustration had been simmering for weeks, growing with every missed promise. almost two months ago, he’d smiled big and earnest, assuring you he’d meet for the interview—yet here you were, still waiting. the distance between you two seemed to stretch with every passing day, and you couldn’t summon the energy to pretend you still cared for niceties.

you’re outside his fraternity house, calling him, he surprises you by answering almost immediately, his voice low and hoarse, like he’s just woken up. “hello?”

“hi, it’s y/n.”

“oh,” he says, tone dipping as he cleared his throat. “hey, how are you?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt. “i just wanted to talk—”

“yeah, i know ‘m sorry,” he tells you, sincerity to be debated. “i’ve just been a bit all over the place these past few weeks.”

lacy mouths, “im staying in the car.”

nodding, you hop out, a familiar sense of anticipation lingering. it’s not your first time at the fraternity house, but each visit feels different. the mansion, though grand, has a worn charm—earth-toned walls and overgrown grass, with boys constantly darting across the yard. trash cans overflow with aluminum cans, remnants of the never-ending chaos.

“no, i get it, i do. i, you know, am busy all the time.”

“oh, i’m sure,” he says. “are you free next weekend?”

you didn’t even have to check your schedule to know you were free. but you were already here. “well, actually, i just, um…” you feel a bit of your confidence deflating as you trespass their yard. your face flushes and you suddenly feel the eyes of the other brothers staring at your silhouette like curious dogs, unsure of whether to bark or bite. “i was just passing by the neighborhood, i was wondering if i could come over now?”

he yawns. “what? you mean right now?”

“is that alright?”

“how far away are you?”

“yeah, uh, i’m outside your front door.”

“oh?” he says, clearly taken off-guard. the embarrassment finally settles in. what the hell were you doing?

“you know what, never mind. i’m so sorry,” you flush, spinning on your heel and rushing down the steps, avoiding eye contact with the other guys.

you’re not sure if it’s your heart stopping or the phone call ending, but it’s in that moment that the blackwood door opens. you turn around, and the brown-haired boy steps through, looking disheveled, with dark bags under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept. though, despite that, he’s in gray sweatpants and a long sleeved black compression shirt.

“y/n, come on in,” luigi says, his voice booming, almost too loud for the quiet pennsylvania street. he glances toward the team of players in the front yard, bringing attention to you all over again. “this is the journalist for the penn.”

you shuffle up the steps again. “it’s called penn daily.”

“right,” he nods, eyes searching your body up and down. “you want a jacket?”

you’re in leggings and a tank top. you’re shivering. “no, no, i like the cold.”

the brown-haired boy shakes his head, grabbing one off the coat rack anyway and tossing it over to you.

“you’ll like the jacket even better.”

as he guides you through the house, the weight of the silence surrounds you. you’ve only ever seen the place during parties—neon LED lights casting strange shadows, tables covered in empty Solo cups and suspicious piles of random powders. it always felt like a place of unrecognizable chaos, where everyone was too busy to think about much else but the next round of shots or whatever game they were playing. but today, in the quiet of the late morning, the house feels different. the lights aren’t flashing, the music isn’t blasting, and there’s no throng of people rushing around. it feels oddly intimate, even though it’s still just as cluttered as always.

“is this what it looks like clean?” you ask, only half-joking.

“be nice,” luigi barks, tone plain as he rolled his eyes in faux annoyance. “we had a long night yesterday,” he gestures to the crowds of twentysomethings outside, one group cleaning off the mountain of soda and beer cans off the plastic gray tables, the other playing ping pong. “another long night ahead. you should come.”

the invitation doesn’t sway you, you’re distracted by his face. though his curly hair is neatly cut, and his chocolate brown eyes hold a quiet, dark intensity. his tall frame fills up the room, the way he stands commanding attention without trying. his features are sharp, framed by thick eyebrows, and his smile is small, barely there, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. he offers it to you as if it’s expected. there’s an underlying feeling you can’t shake. it’s like you can tell it’s forced. you’ve seen enough of him in passing (and in stalking) to know this isn’t the usual “luigi” you’re used to seeing at parties or around campus.

you bite the inside of your cheek. “you know, if today’s a bad day, you don’t have to—”

“no, babe, it’s fine,” he says, the term rolling off his tongue like it’s second nature.

in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve picked up on his knack for nicknames and gathered you probably shouldn’t be flattered—all the boys in this frat were entirely too flirty.

he pushes the door to his bedroom open, stepping aside to let you in. “shouldn’t take too long, right?”

“sure,” you lie as you slip past him, fingers brushing over the notepad tucked in your back pocket, your mind racing with questions you’re suddenly too aware of.

“well then, it’s no rush,” he says.

quickly, you notice the collection of allergy medication at his desk. a heinous amount of nyquil, half-empty bottles scattered among crumpled tissues and unopened water bottles. it’s almost comical, the way his organized chaos betrays the “untouchable golden boy” image you’d pieced together. his desk, once probably neat and deliberate, now looks like the scene of a losing battle against the flu. curious, you ask, “bad fever?”

luigi laughs dryly. “something bad, that’s for sure.”

you feel yourself sink at the admission. instinctively, you reach up to feel his forehead, your fingers hovering just shy of his skin. it’s a simple gesture, something you wouldn’t think twice about doing for one of your roommates, but as soon as your hand makes contact, he stiffens, his body recoiling ever so slightly. the movement is subtle but enough to make you hesitate, pulling your hand back as his lashes flicker up to meet yours.

“jesus christ,” you gasp. “you’re burning up.”

luigi doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on you just a moment too long, his eyes a little softer than usual.

“think i’ll be fine,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice, like he’s trying to brush it off. it feels more like he’s saying it for both of you than for himself.

a pang of guilt hits you hard—a reminder of how you’d pushed for this interview while he was clearly feeling terrible. all those ridiculous, relentless messages, the nagging about deadlines while he was probably just trying to get through the day. god, you feel like an idiot.

you cup his cheeks, serious. “you should really get to bed.”

“what, and miss the privilege of being interrogated by the penn’s finest?” he teases, leaning into you. you’re struck at how warm he was, how utterly unprofessional you were coming off as, how awful it would be to pull away.

the article, you remind yourself, inching away. “if you pass out mid-question, it’s not going to make for a great article.”

“least i’ll be a shoo-in for the sympathy vote next semester,” luigi says with a wry chuckle, his tone light but laced with something deeper as he glances back up at you, almost as if testing your reaction.

“come on,” he reaches for your hand when you frown, interlocking your fingers and swaying you. he doesn’t pull you too close, something about the way he’s looking at you has you sure he’ll never give you the satisfaction, but your fingers interlock and there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips, smugness plain. “i couldn’t let you walk out here so fast. you know what they would say about me if they thought i let down a pretty girl like you?”

you feel your face go pink but your ego won’t let his flirting power last. his forehead was burning hotter than sauna, he probably didn’t know what was even happening. “you look like you haven’t even slept,” you say, matter-of-factly. “would you just sit down?”

“trust me, this headache’ll be gone before you can even say sto meglio con te,” he says, his voice a little softer than usual.

he grins as your brow furrows. “you could put that in your article. successful, speaks italian, looks like shit.”

“i didn’t mean that. i’m just worried.” ignoring the fluttering in your stomach and his persistent gaze, you turn your phone over. “i could order you some soup. there’s a really nice pho place down the road—”

“what’re you, my girlfriend?”

“mangione,” you sigh. “you’re being impossible.”

“baby,” he says, the word slipping from his lips with a teasing familiarity that catches you off guard. it pierces straight through your ego, sharp and unexpected. “i promise, ive got way more interesting things to talk about than allergies. come on, ask me.”

before you can react, another voice calls from outside, and you hear hurried footsteps approaching the door. luigi hesitates for a second, glancing at you. a younger group of fraternity brothers peeks in, looking urgent.

“hey, we’ve got a problem with the fundraising paperwork—someone made a mistake with the donations, and it needs to be fixed or we’re going to miss the deadline,” one of them explains, his voice tight with stress.

“who was in charge of that?” luigi asks, a lilt of accusation in his tone.

the younger twentysomethings look around, feigning innocence, avoiding eye contact. “whatever, it doesn’t matter,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “i’ll take care of it.”

he squeezes your hand before he leaves the room, saying, “stay put for me.”

so you sit on his navy blue bed, stiff and idle, your mind wandering as you wait. you text lacy and tell her you’ll catch up with her later as the constant sound of chaos fills your ears. you hear the house scrambling through the halls and luigi’s answering calls and questions, directing people, moving them out the way. the speakers for the party this weekend just got delivered, the delta 3 girls are inviting them to volunteer at their annual car wash, and there’s a leak in the basement that needs immediate attention. after what feels like hours, you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. exhaustion pulls at you, and without even realizing it, you fall asleep on his bed, the rhythmic noise of his busy life buzzing around you.

“y/n,” luigi exhales as he finally re-enters the room, his exhaustion evident in every step.

he’s greeted at the sight of your body sprawled across his bed, eyes fluttered shut with his jacket blanketed over your silhouette. he’s not so sure what comes over him, but he locks the door. your peaceful slumber is a stark change from the drunk mayhem on the other side of the door, and he’s intent on keeping the peace. the bed dips under his weight as he sinks down beside you, too tired for niceties. without a word or a second’s hesitation, he pulls the jacket off you and brings your tired body closer to his.

it starts off innocent. his arms are wrapped around your stomach, your body limp against his. he cradles into the nape of your neck—and you’re so soft and you smell so good, he can’t help himself. he tells himself he won’t take it too far. starting with small, sweet kisses against the side of your neck, almost tickling you out of your unconsciousness. you sleepily squirm under his hold and he’s straining in his sweatpants before he can make sense of it.

“you’re so pretty,” luigi whispers. it would be a waste, really, to have you this close without touching you. using you.

he grinds his hips against your plump ass. he’s so fucking hard, he really can’t help it. he has to have you, but he can’t bring himself to wake you—you’d been so sweet to him earlier, doe eyes wide with concern—he figures he has to return the favor somehow, right? letting you nap in his bed feels like the least he can do.

“you’ve got no idea how often i lose my mind thinkin’ about this, about you,” he confesses. the noise outside is loud, chaotic—a world away from the quiet intensity between you. it’s too loud for anyone else to know of the secret unfolding here, in the space of his touch and the weight of his gaze.

he’s rougher now, tightening his grip on your hips as he jerks himself into you. you were so worried about him earlier. you’d want this, wouldn’t you? to help him out, make him feel better?

his defense of plausible deniability falls apart piece by piece. one of his hands stray from your hip to your clothed core, rubbing you, desperate for friction. he groans into your back. you were wet, he was sure of it, he had to make sure of it. he slips his hands down your leggings and rushes to palms your wetness. he has to make sure you’re feeling just as good as he was.

you shudder at the touch, slowly bringing yourself from rem to reality. the room is hotter than you remembered, and you almost shriek as you realize luigi’s hands had been all over you. he’s quick to put his hand over your mouth, talking in your ear, “‘m sorry baby, couldn’t resist.”

his sloppy wet kisses are hot against your neck, so frantic, so desperate, so needy, his stubble unnerving you as you squirm under his hold. you can hardly make sense of what’s happening. “luigi.” you mewl as he grinds his clothed cock into you. “what’re you doing?”

he moans at the perfect blend of innocence and surprise twined through your voice. its undeniable now — he can’t spend another second not experiencing you.

“you said you wanted to make me feel better, yeah?” luigi grunts. before you can respond, he’s slipping a finger into your wet pussy. you jolt at the wild unfamiliar storm that grasps you, trying to turn your head over to him, to look at him, to ask him what the hell had gotten into him. he kisses you when your head tilts, his free hand wrapping around your throat.

“that’s so much fuckin’ better,” he tells you, stretching your core out with another two fingers. he’s so eager—so intent on making a mess of you, you’re almost humiliated at how easily you fall apart underneath.

you quiver and shake, and try to twist out of his groping hands, but he doesn’t budge, pressing harder into you. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart,” he swears.

“luigi,” you cry, helpless. the friction felt so hot it made you light-headed. the pleasures storms out any logical part of you. “i don’t—i don’t know what to do.”

of course you don’t. you were entirely too sweet, too well-meaning, too fuckin’ stupid to realize how badly he wanted you. running up to him after his gym workout, bright-eyed as you asked him to hang out. not on a date, not even as friends, but for a stupid fucking college paper. he should’ve taken you right there, in the parking lot, let you scream on it so loud the entire campus knew you were his, saved all this goddamn time.

“you’re a fuckin’ virgin?” luigi asks. he needs to hear you say it.

he rips his hand from your aching cunt and you cry out at the loss of friction.

“yes,” you pout.

“any good journalist knows to use specifics.” you see a cocky grin etch onto his lips before he flips you over and brings you in for a proper kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he sinks into you. you kiss him back. you wanted this, whatever it was. “tell me again.”

“i’m a virgin,” you admit, reddening.

he smiles against your cheek before kissing you again—“been waiting for me, yeah? you want me to take you?”

“luigi, please.”

“what’s that?” he says, cruel.

you pout again and try to please him, rushing into another kiss. he captures your lips gladly, but refuses to bring you to the satisfaction of salvation.

all too mean, he points out, “you don’t even know what you’re begging for.”

at this point you were sure you could get drunk off the warmth of him. if you bucked up into the air, you could feel his bulge raging against his sweatpants.

“i want you,” you whine. “i mean—i just—i thought you wanted me too..?”

“of course i do. look at you.” luigi grunts before he strips off his shirt, ripping down your leggings with a force that pulls your body down the bed with him. his dark gaze drifts down.

you flush at the sight of the wet mess all over your legs. “you did all that just for me?” luigi mocks. “you want me that fuckin’ bad?”

“yes,” you have no idea why but you do. you can’t imagine a world where you walk away now and never experience him.

luigi never had any intention of being nice about this. his morals and his plans for the night unraveled the moment his eyes found you sprawled across his bed. harshly, he grips your hips—sure to leave marks, hoping for it—before pounding the entirety of his length into your purity.

the stretch scorches, searing into you. you see white, red, and hell all at once. “luigi—!” you cry out.

“you’re so good,” luigi assures. he tries to pace himself as you fall apart underneath him. he tries he tries he tries—but your inexperienced pussy molds around him, so perfect and wet, he can’t help himself.

you feel everything but perfect. unnerved and wild and overwhelmed, whimpering underneath him like a sick puppy. he fucks into you like he’s itching to see if you’ll break.

“it hurts,” you whine.

“you look so fuckin’ pretty with your legs spread,” luigi says. “can’t get enough of this perfect pussy.”

you paw at him, desperate for sacred ground, grip landing on his arms, hard and toned underneath your fingertips. he smirks. “feelin’ me up, sweetheart? you like my arms?”

the sound of skin slapping overtakes your corner of the world. you’d seen him before, but never like this. you’ve never had anything like this.

“luigi.” you whimper. “i can’t, you’re so big—”

“i know, pretty, i know,” he murmurs, kissing the running wet tears down your cheeks. “d’you remember the night you went up to me after the gym? d’you remember what you were wearing?”

you can’t help but claw your fingers deep into his arm muscles, desperate to find a vice for the pain. “oh my god,” you gasp. he pounds into you relentlessly and before you realize, you’re rolling into waves of foreign pleasure.

“stupid fuckin’ tank top,” luigi groans. pleasure storms you as he gets more brazen. he pulls down your camisole, lapping at your tits, biting you, marking you. “wind blew over and i got to see your perfect fuckin’ nipples. wanted to tear you apart right there.”

“what? really?”

“had to jack off in my fuckin’ car thinking about you, about this,” he murmurs before smashing his mouth back onto yours—and this time, you feel more prepared to bear it, melting into his warmth, lips perfectly reunited. you’re shivering under the heat. he fucks you hard into the mattress, hellbent on breaking you in. you’re sure he’s accomplished it already. you’re dizzy and light and on top of the goddamn world.

he sees through you. “fuckin’ close?”

“i-i think so—”

“so fuckin’ stupid,” he muses. “stupid fuckin’ virgin, doesn’t even know when she’s gonna cum.”

“you’re so mean,” you whine.

“yeah, you think so?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as his hand strikes your cheek. the sting blooms like fire, another cruel signature of his dominance, a mark left behind in his endless quest to tarnish the golden purity you wear so effortlessly. his wicked touch moves down to your delicate clit and the sparks of pleasure turn into storms. you’re done for, waves of white gushing around him as you cry out his name.

“oh god,” luigi groans. “such a good girl, creamin’ on it like that. so perfect.”

the jolt of pleasure within you only makes you more sensitive. this time, when his hands return to your body, they’re clamped around your neck. he’s pulling into you, punishing your delicate cunt. as you quiver and froth, his thrusts grow sloppy and he rasps again—this time more guttural, more intense—and soon enough you feel his huge cock twitch inside of you, sending streams of his seed into your stomach.

he joins your silhouette on the bed, his warmth melting into yours as he pulls you close. his arms wrap around you, steady and secure, and his lips press softly to your forehead.

“‘m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and soothing. “didn’t mean to get so rough.”

you struggle to find the breath, then the words, “no, i—i think it was fine.”

he looks at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful, his gaze deepening with quiet admiration. “just fine?” he asks, his voice laced with a hint of playful disbelief.

you meet his gaze, your heart fluttering, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you hum,

“penn’s finest.”

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sydwritess · 1 month ago

Text

Meeting The Family

Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

Summary: Lewis and you have been dating for a while, but you have never seen who's been by his side for life. One day, in between races, Lewis has a brilliant idea for you to meet his family.

Second Person POV

You and Lewis were outside at his house. He was in the pool, and you were on one of the lounge chairs, and Roscoe was over in the grass, catching around a butterfly.

Lewis was swimming around, before slowly coming over to the side of the pool, resting his arms on the ledge.

"You should really get in. It's nice." He said with a smile.

You lift your head up gently "Sorry. I'm trying to work on my tan."

"Oh come on!" He whined. "Your going to get burnt if you stay out there anymore." He said.

You laugh slightly at him "I'm sorry I don't want to blend in with the clouds."

He went silent while you rest your head back along the chair again. He continued swimming around, the waves he was making splashing along the edge of the pool.

You had your eyes closed, the sun beaming down on you, making your skin glow. You were listening to Lewis swim when it suddenly went quiet.

You figured he had just rested or got out. When you lift your head, that's when you feel it. A bunch of water pouring down on you.

Sitting up quickly, you open your eyes to see Lewis still in the pool. Water marks on the concrete from where he just splashed you.

Your frown quickly forms into a smile "That is so not cool."

"Seems like you liked it." He said, holding your gaze.

"Fine. Maybe it was... refreshing." You say with a smile, getting up out of the chair and sitting at the edge of the pool, dangling your feet in.

"See? Isn't it lovely?" He asks.

"Very." You say smiling, leaning down to kiss him.

"Your a good swimmer."

"So are you. You should try it out some time." He smirked.

You kick your feet in the water a bit "I am swimming."

"Look I'm doing it!" You say, pointing down into the water while laughing.

"Good for you." Lewis smirked. We both went silent. The growl of Roscoe in the background. We both look at him as he comes towards the pool, getting closer to the edge.

You and Lewis both look at him as he jumps into the pool, making a big splash, kicking his paws towards us.

"That was so cute!" You say in awe. Lewis laughs as he slowly turns back to you.

You looked at him confused, tilting your head slightly "What?"

"Nothing. Just... looking." He said with a smile. You put a hand on his shoulder as he stands in front of you.

We stay like that for a minute. And then he grabs your waist. You thought he was leaning in for a hug, but instead he drags you into the pool, making you go slightly under water.

"Oh my god!" You say, getting shocked by the coolness of the water.

"See It's nice when your fully in!" Lewis said, putting his hands in the air.

You cross your arms with a smile "It's cold."

"Awe, you'll be alright." He said, smirking and patting your head. You laugh at him as he pet's Roscoe, who came up next to him.

Lewis grabs Roscoe, holding him still.

"We, have an important question to ask you." Lewis says.

"I love how you include him."

"Yes. But this is very important."

You nod along

"How about, you come meet my family tomorrow."

Your eyes go wide "No, no that's-"

"Come on! They will love you! And... if Roscoe loves you, then they will love you." Lewis backed.

"That's because Roscoe loves everything. He just tried to get a butterfly to be his best friend." You say, pointing to the grass.

"He is pretty weird isn't he." Lewis laughs out. Roscoe then barks at him.

"Look even Roscoe wants you to come." Lewis said.

"I don't know. I wouldn't even know what to say or- or do." You say.

"Well, first you say 'hi my name is y/n, pleasure to meet you' and then you sit down and meet everyone-"

You giggle at him, meeting his eyes "I know how to meet people Lew."

"I know, I know. Just, please..." He said, grabbing both of your hands. "Will you think about it?" He asks.

"Okay. I will."

"You will think about it?"

"I will go."

"Yes!" He says, sliding next to you more and hugging you. You hug him back.

"Alright, I suppose I will let you get back out now." Lewis smirks.

You smirk back at him. "It's okay. I think it's nice in here."

"Oh I see how it is." He says.

You go to lay on your back, floating all around in the water while Lewis and Roscoe swim around. A few minutes went by until you finally get out of the pool, laying back in your lounge chair.

"Are you ready to go inside?" Lewis asked, getting out of the pool and walking over to you.

"Depends. Are you ready?" You ask, squinting your eyes at him. His figure blocking the sun just right.

He smiled deeply before going around the lounge chair, laying down next to you.

"What if I did this?" He asked, putting an arm around your stomach.

"Then I'd have the weirdest tan line ever." You say, laughing.

"You should let me draw a smiley face on you with sun block." He says.

"If you do that then I get to drive for you in your next race." You say, smirking at him.

"Oh no no. Sorry love but you'd probably crash." He said.

You gasp. "I would not. I'd be very careful." You say dramatically.

We spent the next hour outside before going in for dinner.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" Lewis asks, cooking something on the stove.

"I guess." You say.

"You guess?"

"I'm... scared."

"Don't be. My family is nice."

"What are they like?"

"Kind, loud, hectic, party people."

"The American Dream." You say giggling.

"You know it." He says, turning around and smiling at you. We both eat dinner together, and eventually go to bed afterwards.

You wake up early in the morning. The sun glistening down on your through the big windows. You slowly get up out of bed, and notice Lewis still sleeping.

You quietly go into the closet, grab some of your clothes and walk in the bathroom to change. Before walking out, you do your hair, putting it into a slick back, high ponytail.

"Good morning." A raspy says beside you, you look through the mirror and at the doorway to see Lewis standing there.

"Morning." You say, smiling at him. He walks to you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist, hugging you.

"And what do we call this look today?" He asks.

"A slick back." You say, finishing your look.

"What is that? Some weird food but for hair?" He asks. You turn to him, face to face.

"You are so old." You say, lightly chuckling at him.

"Am not! I am all about the latest fashion." He said, and started to fix his own hair.

"Yeah... right." You say slowly.

We both spend the day together at his house, keeping things somewhat calm before going to his parents house. We were sitting outside in his back yard when we finally see the sun start to set.

"Are you ready to go?" Lewis asked as we walked inside.

"Yeah... yeah." You say. Lewis turns to smile at you as he puts Roscoe's collar and leash on. You both walk out of his house and make your way down into the lobby.

"Here you go." Lewis said, opening the passenger side door for you.

"Thank you." You say, getting ready to get in the car when suddenly Roscoe jumps in the seat before you, plopping down on it.

"Roscoe. You have to move." Lewis said, tugging his leash. He just sat there.

"Roscoe." He said again, getting in the doorway to try to pick him up. He failed.

"It's okay. I don't mind sitting in the back for the handsome boy." You say, kissing Roscoe's head.

"What- what about me?" Lewis said.

"Your handsome to." You smile, reaching up to kiss him.

"Thanks." He mumbled, smiling down at you. We both get in the car and start driving to Lewis's parents house.

Lewis pulls into the driveway, parks the car and we all get out, walking up to the door.

"Their going to love you." Lewis says, waiting for someone to answer the door.

"I hope so." You breath out. All the sudden the door opens, revealing what must be his mom.

"Lewis! So happy to see you." The women says, leaning in to hug him.

"Hi mum." He says.

"This is y/n. Y/n, this is my mum Carmen." Lewis says.

"Hi, nice to meet you." I say quietly.

"Nice to meet you to hun. Come on in." She says, smiling. We both walk through the door and immediately outside, to see his whole family having a cookout.

"Dad." Lewis says smiling, letting Roscoe go to roam the yard.

"Lewis, how's everything." His dad says, brining him in for a hug.

"Good, good. This is y/n. Y/n, my dad Anthony." Lewis says.

"Hi." You say, slightly waving. He leans to you.

"How's he treating you?" Anthony asks.

You look up at Lewis, then back to Anthony. "Good, great."

"Good, he throws any problems your way you better call me. I'll handle him myself." He jokes.

"Um anyway-" Lewis says, grabbing you hand. "Thanks for the threat dad." Lewis jokes, walking away with you.

"Y/n, this is Sam and her son Ezra. This is Nick, and this is my sister Nicola and her kids, Willow and Kaiden." He says, pointing to each person.

"It's nice to meet you all." You say. They all great you back happily as you and Lewis sit down.

"So, is Lewis treating you right?" Nick asks.

"Your dad just asked the same thing. Yes, he is." You say.

"He can be such a bully sometimes." Nick says, playfully rolling his eyes, the whole table laughs lightly.

Suddenly, a little blond girl, who you assume is Willow, appears between you and Lewis, putting her hands on your leg.

"Are you the pretty lady my uncle always talk about?" She asks, her voice small but loud.

"Well I sure hope so." You say, smiling down at her.

"She's very pretty." Willow says, turning to Lewis, nodding her head. Shen then crawls into Lewis's lap, facing him. You couldn't help but smile.

"What's been up with you? Are you liking school this year?" He asks her. She nods her head.

"We get to color, and play on the big kid playground this year." She says.

"Wow, that must be fun." He says, she nods aggressively.

"Yeah, we get to go down the firepole to!"

"That's exciting, how did you do?"

"I went down it five whole times!" She said, putting up five fingers. The two talk for a couple of minutes and you couldn't help but look at the two of them.

"So, y/n, are you into racing?" Nick asks.

"Yeah, I've always been apart of it. Somehow." You say.

"Has Lewis let you drive the car?"

"No, I wish. He said I'd crash." You say, slightly laughing.

"The disrespect." Nick says, putting a hand on his heart. You laugh at his joke and turn to see Willow and Lewis talking.

As you turn your head away, you hear whispering next to you.

"Do you think... you could ask her to sit with me." Willow whispered to Lewis.

"I'm sure you could ask."

"No. I'm scared.

"She's nice though."

"What if she says no." She whispers again.

"Just ask, I'm sure she'll say yes." Lewis whispered back, nodding his head. Willow got off Lewis's lap and stood next to you, looking at you.

"Do you think... you can sit with me." She said shyly, looking back at Lewis and then you, Lewis just smiled at her.

"Of course I can." You say happily. She smiles and starts to crawl up in your lap herself.

She quickly started talking to me, babbling about school, home, how she is excited it's almost summer, anything she could think of.

"Can I ask you a question?" She asks.

"Of course." You say.

"Can I be throw flowers on the path for you when you and Uncle Lewis get married?" She asks.

"Oh- I um." You hesitate, looking at Lewis who's eyes were wide, shocked at the question, having no response himself.

"You know what. Of course you can." You say smiling at her. "Your at the top of my list." You say.

"I like you." She says happily, leaning on your chest and hugging you.

"Hey, why don't you hug me like that!" Nick joked, looking at Willow.

"Because you didn't give me cake when we had a sleepover." She said, crossing her arms at him.

"Oh, so I get shafted." He laughed. She turned back to you.

"I know, I'd be sad to." You say, putting a hand on her back.

"I mean, not giving you cake? Who does he think he is?" You say sarcastically.

"Boys." She says, rolling her eyes. Lewis and Nick burst out laughing. Lewis leans over to us.

"I told you they'd like you." He whispers to you. You smile at him.

"She's mine now." Willow said, wrapping her arms around your neck.

"Oh she is? Is she?" Lewis asked. Willow nodded.

"She loves you." Lewis said, looking you, grabbing your hand.

Hey loves! My first time writing second person POV, please comment to let me know how I did because it was so so hard lol! Comment to be added to the tag list!

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