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hoshifighting · 2 days

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— Synopsis: After a series of graffiti attacks on your bakery, you find out Jihoon is the vandal behind it, frustrated because your shop's success has outshone his grandma's bakery. — WC: 13k — WARNINGS: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff, physical violence (reader hits jihoon with a mop, vandalism), jealousy, emotional conflict, fingering, blowjob, hair pulling, semi-public sex, cock riding, overwhelming, body fluids (cum), no protection, fetish elements—being painted with grafitty during sex, claiming, mention of an enormous cock on the bakery's wall.

Your arms are crossed in a tight clutch as you stare at the front door of the bakery, the black, fresh tags sprayed across the pastel walls like an ugly bruise. It’s the same crap, just a new day. The pink and white of your shop—the delicate aesthetic that drew people in—was constantly being smeared by some low-life with a spray can. Months of this, and all the cameras ever caught was a faceless guy in a black hoodie. Useless.

With a frustrated sigh, you unlock the door, pushing it open with more force than necessary. The day needed to start, vandalism or not. You open the windows, letting the fresh morning air in. At least the floors were clean, thanks to the obsessive mopping you’d done last night. That had become a habit lately, one of the few things you could control.

You grab a bowl, dumping the ingredients for cake batter in with a bit too much force. Your arm flexes as you whip the fouet through the mix, your irritation guiding every furious stroke. It’s therapeutic, in a way—until Mingyu walks in.

“Are you... trying to murder the batter?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice as he sets his stuff in the locker. “You’re about to crack the bowl in half.”

You glance up, still scowling, but the comment catches you off guard. “Shu’up, Mingyu. You would be mixing like this too if someone graffitied your walls for the hundredth time.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be so dramatic about it,” he teases, walking over to grab his apron. “It’s just a little paint. You act like the world’s ending.”

“It’s not just paint! It’s every day with this. And it’s not even good graffiti. It’s just some bullshit tags that don’t mean anything.”

Mingyu laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, some people might say you’re overthinking it. Maybe the artist is just misunderstood. Maybe there’s a deeper meaning.”

“‘Eat shit’ has no deeper meaning,” you deadpan, pushing the bowl to the side. “And I’ve got a cake due at 3 p.m. Can you please help me with the fondant? I need to leave on time for class.”

“Gastronomy waits for no one,” he quips, moving to help you.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand. “Exactly. And if I’m late, I’m fucked. So let's get this done.”

Mingyu chuckles, but he gets to work, his hands already busy with rolling out the fondant. “You ever think of just... catching the guy yourself? Stake out the place or something?”

“Yeah, because that’s a great use of my time,” you mutter. “I’ve got school, work, and now this mystery asshole. Besides, what am I supposed to do? Sit outside all night and wait to get jumped?”

“Hey, you might scare him off with your mixing technique alone.”

You snort. “At this point, I’d rather beat him over the head with the bowl.”

— // NEXT DAY // —

You’re bent over the counter, carefully arranging the pies and cupcakes in the vitrine, when the bell above the door jingles. The sound makes you straighten up automatically, pasting on your best “welcome to my bakery” smile.

“Good morning! What can I get you today?” you ask, looking up to see Mrs. Yang, one of your more... particular customers. She smiles politely, her bag clutched in one hand, and takes her time approaching the counter.

“Good morning, dear,” she says, her voice too sweet for whatever she’s about to say next. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about... the situation outside.”

Here we go.

You nod, still smiling like your life depends on it. “Yes, we’ve been dealing with some, uh... graffiti issues lately.”

Her lips purse. “It’s quite the eyesore, don’t you think? Having that sort of thing on the storefront isn’t good for business, especially with such a nice bakery like yours. People might get the wrong impression. I wouldn’t want to bring my friends here if it continues.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you from the back, wide and alarmed like he’s bracing himself for whatever smartass remark is about to leave your mouth. You can almost hear him holding his breath.

But instead of snapping, you swallow it down. Barely.

“I understand, Mrs. Yang. We’re working on getting it removed as soon as possible,” you say, your voice calm and professional, even though your brain is screaming, What the hell do you want me to do? Hand-paint the walls every night?

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll handle it,” she replies with a thin smile, “You always do such a lovely job here. I’ll have two of the lemon tarts, please.”

“Of course,” you say, grabbing the tarts and ringing her up, every muscle in your body tense as you try not to explode. “That’ll be $8.50.”

As she leaves, Mingyu sidles up behind you. “You alright? That looked painful.”

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up before I throw a tart at you.”

He just laughs. “Hey, props for not biting her head off. That’s growth.”

Your day only goes downhill from there.

An order comes in last-minute, right when you're about to head out for a cake delivery, forcing you to juggle too many tasks at once. The fondant on the cake cracks just as you’re trying to finish it, and you nearly drop the entire thing when you’re loading it into the car. By the time you deliver it, you're ten minutes late, and the client is tapping her foot like you ruined her wedding or something.

As you drive away, you notice that some idiot in the parking lot nicked the side of your car with their door. The scrape is fresh, ugly, and just another thing you don’t have time to deal with.

By the time you make it to the university, you’re on edge. Every little thing is pissing you off—the late delivery, the car, Mrs. Yang’s passive-aggressive comments replaying in your head.

You stomp into the classroom, tossing your bag on the desk as you take your seat. Your friend, Jiyeon, looks up from her notes, immediately catching the “I’m about to lose it” vibe radiating from you.

“Woah, woah... Don’t talk to me,” you say, waving her off before she even opens her mouth.

She raises her hands in mock surrender, exasperated. “Okay, okay, damn. I wasn’t even gonna say anything!”

From the corner of your eye, you catch the guy sitting next to you glancing over. He’s half-smirking, like he’s amused by your bad mood. You roll your eyes as you pull your utensils from your bag.

“The hell you lookin’ at?” you snap, not really in the mood for whatever attitude he’s giving you.

He just raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “Nothing. Chill.”

You huff, biting your tongue. “Whatever, man.”

As class starts, you try to focus on the lecture, but it feels like everything is stacking up, one annoying thing after another. You’re counting down the hours until you can get out of here and back to the bakery, where at least you can take your frustrations out on some dough.

[...]

The bakery is finally quiet. You’ve set the doughs to rest for tomorrow, turned off the colorful lights, and now it’s just you, the mop, and the hum of the radio. There’s something peaceful about the dark bakery—like it’s resting, too, after a long, chaotic day. The floor’s slick beneath the mop as you drag it in lazy strokes, the apron around your neck, always too tight, was finally off.

It’s quiet out there too. Rush hour’s over, people are strolling by in pretty scarves, leaving their cubicles for the day. Not that you’d ever want that life. That could never be you—this was your space, your bakery. You’d rather be here, mopping your own floors than stuck in some windowless office.

Even if your apron’s been digging into your neck all damn day. You rub at the sore spot, sighing, when—

Wait.

What the fuck? You squint, eyes narrowing as some guy steps right up to your bakery window, a paint can in hand. You watch in disbelief as he starts spraying. Right on your wall. Again.

You don’t even think. You just move. The front glass door slams open so hard the bell almost flies off, the aggressive clatter echoing behind you as you stomp out, mop still in hand.

“YA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

The guy barely turns, but it’s too late. You’re already swinging. The wooden handle of your mop cracks across his back with a satisfying thud, and he lets out this startled grunt, almost tripping over his own feet. You swing again, harder this time, and it echoes across the empty street. Even the homeless guy across the road—the one you always give leftover tarts to—jumps in his spot, startled.

“What the fuck, you asshole! You think this is funny?!” you yell, swinging the mop at him again as he ducks, letting out an “ouch” with each hit. “You keep tagging my walls, and I’m the one paying for this shit! Do you even know how much it costs to get this cleaned? Huh?!”

“Ouch, fuck! Stop, STOP!” he stammers, arms up, trying to shield himself.

You don’t stop. You’re done with this day, done with this week, done with this punk-ass artist ruining your bakery’s vibe. “You piece of shit! You’re dead! I’m gonna shove this can so far up your—”

“What the hell?!” the guy stumbles, trying to dodge your swings, but you’re relentless.

“You think you can just waltz in and spray whatever dumb shit you want? You’re gonna clean this up with your tongue, you little—”

Before you can deliver another hit, the guy turns around, and his hood falls back. Your breath catches.

“Jihoon?!”

The guy grimaces, rubbing his back where you’ve practically beat the soul out of him, but it’s definitely him. The same Jihoon you snapped at in class today, the same Jihoon you barely tolerate during group projects. The fucker who’s been defacing your bakery.

You blink, still holding the mop in a death grip. “So it was you, you fucking idiot?! You’ve been doing this the whole time?!”

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, still smirking like this is some kind of joke. “Well... I wouldn’t say the whole time.”

“You—” You jab the mop handle at him again, making him flinch. “You’re going to clean this up. I don’t care how. Hell, you can start with your tongue if you’re so attached to your damn art.”

“Woah, woah.” He holds his hands up in surrender, backing up a step. “I didn’t think you’d take it so personally. I mean, it’s just paint.”

“Just paint?” you repeat, incredulous. “I’ve had customers complain, the city’s sent me notices, and you’re out here calling it just paint? Are you fucking insane?”

“Come on, the tags aren’t that bad.”

“Oh, no. They’re shit. Like, the worst shit I’ve ever seen,” you bite out.

You cross your arms, staring Jihoon down as he leans awkwardly against the wall.

“You know what? I should call the police on you.”

His eyes go wide, his posture straightening instantly. “No, no, no! Come on, don’t do that!”

You slowly pull your phone from your back pocket, waving it in front of him as you point a finger at his chest. “I think it’s about time you get what’s coming to you.”

Panic flashes across his face, and he lunges forward, trying to grab your phone, but you thrust the mop at his chest, pressing it against him to keep him at bay. “Back off!”

He stumbles back, frowning, his lips jutting out in a sulk. “I don’t wanna go to jail! I don’t wanna sleep in the cold!” His feet stomp on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum, the whole thing looking ridiculous enough that anyone watching might think this was an opening scene from The Office.

You ignore his whining and start dialing, but he won’t shut up. “Please! You can’t let me go to jail over some paint!”

“You should’ve thought about that before tagging my bakery again.” You cut him off, giving him a pointed look. “Why the hell have you been doing this? And don’t think I didn’t notice the enormous dick spray-painted on the back of my shop either.”

Jihoon stays quiet for a moment, avoiding your eyes as he shifts on his feet. His hands fidget with the hem of his sweatshirt, and you narrow your eyes, sensing something off.

“Well? Spit it out,” you demand.

He mumbles something, so low you can barely hear.

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What?”

His face goes red, and he mutters again, “Only if... you let me try one of your tarts.”

You blink, leaning in closer. “What was that? Speak up, punk.”

Jihoon sighs, cheeks practically glowing. “I said... I want to try one of your tarts, okay?!”

For a second, you just stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Then, you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

He nods, keeping his head down, looking smaller and more pathetic than you ever imagined he could.

“You’re telling me... you come here, paint my walls like a little delinquent, and now you want a fucking tart? You—”

You breathe in, trying to summon every ounce of patience you have left. The tarts are your best sellers—the buttery crust, fresh fruit, and creamy filling that made your bakery famous not just in the neighborhood but all over town. People raved about them, coming from across the city just to get their hands on one. Hell, students from your college made regular stops just to bring some back to class.

Your shoulders sag in exasperation, but you eventually gesture toward the door. “Fine. Get inside.”

Jihoon looks up, surprised but not daring to push his luck. You flip the lights back on, the bakery coming to life once more. Heading to the back, you grab a fresh tart from the display, muttering curses under your breath as you shout, “Which one do you want?”

“Strawberry!” he calls out.

You grab a pink plate and set the tart delicately in the center, placing it on the counter with one of your signature gold-colored forks and a neatly folded napkin. When you walk over to the table Jihoon picked, nestled in a corner, you notice him glancing around the bakery with a curious expression, taking in the space like he’s never seen it properly before.

He sits down, eyeing the tart suspiciously at first. You cross your arms and sit across from him, your foot bouncing impatiently under the table. You can’t help but suppress an inner smile—every customer had the same reaction to their first bite, and you’re secretly waiting for it.

Jihoon picks up the fork, hesitantly cutting into the tart. As soon as the buttery crust gives way, the scent of fresh strawberries and sweet cream fills the air. He takes a bite, and his eyes widen almost immediately. He chews slowly, like he’s processing the taste, his expression changing from sulky to... amazed.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs under his breath, glancing up at you, eyes wide. “This is... really good.”

You lean back, crossing your arms tighter. “Yeah. That’s what people keep saying.”

He takes another bite, and then another, clearly trying not to devour the whole thing in two seconds. His face softens, the usual smugness gone, replaced by genuine awe. He looks around the bakery again, understanding slowly sinking in. The care you put into every detail—the soft lighting, the warmth, the way the scent of fresh-baked goods fills the air. It’s no wonder other bakeries in the area couldn’t compete.

No wonder people kept coming back.

Jihoon finally looks up, sheepish but impressed.

You shift in your seat, arms still crossed, and stare at Jihoon as he wipes his mouth with the napkin, setting it down with a quiet sigh. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture heavy with something unsaid.

“So… you gonna tell me why you’ve been punking my bakery?” you ask, your voice less biting than before, though the edge is still there.

Jihoon hesitates, glancing out the window for a moment like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he sighs again. “We had a bakery, me and my grandma. It was right across the street.”

You frown, your head tilting slightly as you turn to glance outside through the window. Yeah, you remembered that place. It had that old-school charm, the kind of bakery that felt like a cozy throwback to the 60s, with its wooden benches and rustic signage. It had been there before you moved into the neighborhood. You even remembered the old lady that used to work there, always with a smile, though her hands were slow and her voice even slower. The front of the bakery had been boarded up for months now, closed and forgotten by most.

Jihoon continues, his voice lower. “Before you opened up, we did well. My grandma’s tarts were, like, the thing around here. People came from all over to buy them.” He pauses, and you see his shoulders drop slightly. “But after your tarts took off… we started losing customers. A lot of them.”

You don’t say anything, but the tension in the air thickens. You swallow, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable weight in your chest. You remember seeing them sitting outside their shop, the once-busy bakery now quiet as yours boomed with success.

“We tried to keep up,” Jihoon says, his voice a little shaky. “But no one came in anymore. People stopped buying our stuff. My grandma and I used to just sit there on the bench, watching people line up outside your place while we were lucky to sell a couple tarts.” He laughs, but it’s hollow, like he’s mocking the memory. “She’d pretend it didn’t bother her, but I knew. I knew it killed her inside.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach, guilt creeping in even though you know it wasn’t really your fault. Still, hearing it from him, the weight of their loss, makes you look down at the table, feeling suddenly small.

“What was I supposed to do?” you ask softly, the words barely escaping your mouth. “This was my dream too.”

Jihoon nods, almost like he understands, though there’s still bitterness in his tone. “I know. And it’s not like you did anything wrong. Your bakery is… well, people love it. They loved your tarts. And I guess, after a while, I just got so… mad.”

He looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “We had to close the bakery. We couldn’t keep up. And I started working in the city, doing graffiti, whatever I could to make ends meet.” He shakes his head, laughing without humor again. “And when I saw people still lining up here, day after day, it just… pissed me off. So I started tagging your walls. Stupid, I know.”

You feel a lump in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You glance back out the window, seeing the boarded-up bakery in the distance, and it stirs something deep inside. His frustration, his anger… it all makes sense now.

“I didn’t understand,” Jihoon says, his voice softer now, almost defeated. “I couldn’t figure out how your tarts were better than my grandma’s. It didn’t make sense to me. We’d been here for years. How could people just forget about us?” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression sad. “But now I get it. I guess… your tarts really are better.”

The way he says it, with that empty laugh, hits you right in the chest. There’s no joy in his voice, no real acceptance, just this sad realization that his family’s legacy had been outdone by you.

You lower your gaze, feeling awful. “Jihoon…” You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt gnawing at you, but what could you even say? You worked hard for this. It wasn’t like you meant to destroy his bakery. But it’s clear now that, in a way, you did.

“I never meant for this to happen,” you mumble, your voice quieter than you intended. “It’s not like I wanted to take business away from you guys.”

He waves it off, but his eyes don’t meet yours. “I know. It’s just how it worked out. You did what you had to do. I just… I didn’t know what else to do but get mad at you for it.”

The silence between you is thick, heavy with unsaid things. Jihoon keeps his gaze on the table, his fingers playing with the edges of the napkin, while you try to process the weight of everything he just said.

And as much as you want to feel justified—after all, you didn’t do anything wrong—there’s a part of you that can’t shake the sadness settling deep in your chest. You glance out the window again, at the closed shop across the street, and for the first time, you wonder what it must’ve been like for them, watching your bakery rise while theirs fell apart.

Jihoon’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “I don’t know… it’s dumb. You didn’t mean to screw us over. I just… I just miss the way things used to be.”

You breathe in deeply, trying to push down the growing lump in your throat.

The silence between you two lingers, stretching out like the stillness of the night outside. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator behind the counter, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. You breathe in, thinking of something to say, and for a moment, Jihoon glances up at you, expectant. But when you close your mouth again, he looks away, fingers fidgeting with the napkin.

Finally, you place your hand on the wooden table between you, the sound of your fingers brushing the grain breaking the silence. "What kind of tarts did your grandma sell?" you ask, voice steady but curious.

Jihoon frowns, clearly taken off guard by the question. "Savory ones," he says after a beat, as if testing the waters of the conversation.

Your brow lifts in surprise. Savory tarts weren’t really your thing—you specialized in the sweet stuff. "Savory?" you lean in a bit, curiosity piqued. "Like what?"

Jihoon seems to hesitate, unsure of where you’re going with this, but then he starts listing them off, voice soft at first but growing stronger. "Palm heart or olives, ham, and cheese, sometimes we’d do quiches with bacon and caramelized onions, even some seasonal ones with pumpkin or sweet potato… Stuff like that."

You sit back, letting the list of flavors settle in your mind, gears turning. You’d never considered offering savory tarts before—your bakery was known for its sweets. But maybe that was part of the problem. There was a whole side of the tart game you hadn’t even touched.

"You think you could make some of those flavors and bring them tomorrow?" you ask, your tone casual as you rest your chin in your hand.

Jihoon frowns deeper, confused, his head tilting to the side. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

You chew your lip for a second, glancing around your bakery, imagining it filled with the rich, hearty smells of savory tarts instead of the usual sugar and cream. "I was thinking maybe we could try something… an experiment," you say, eyes lighting up as you lean forward. "You bring the savory ones, I’ll sell them in the display, right alongside the sweet ones. See how people like them."

Jihoon blinks at you, processing your words, and for a moment, you see a flicker of disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’re suggesting. "You… you wanna sell my grandma’s tarts here?"

You nod, the idea already snowballing in your mind. "Yeah, why not? People around here are crazy for the sweets, but maybe they’ve just never had the chance to try something savory. And you know I don’t do that kind of thing, so… it’d be different." You pause, watching his face, which is slowly starting to shift from confusion to something brighter. "We’ll call it a collab or something. Give them a taste of what your bakery used to offer."

His eyes light up, sparkling with excitement as the idea sinks in. The hesitation that was there before vanishes, replaced with genuine enthusiasm. "Really?" He leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. "You think… people would like them?"

"If they’re as good as you say they are," you grin, tapping your fingers on the table, "then yeah, I think they will."

Jihoon’s face softens, and for the first time tonight, a real smile spreads across his lips. It’s small at first, but there’s something genuine and almost childlike about it, like you just handed him a lifeline he wasn’t expecting. "They’re really, really good," he says earnestly, nodding. "My grandma used to get people coming back for them all the time. They were, like, her specialty."

"Then bring enough for tomorrow," you say, feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite yourself. "We’ll put them out, see what happens. Maybe it’ll bring some of her old customers back."

He looks at you like you’ve just flipped the entire script on him. The guy who’d been tagging your bakery out of spite now suddenly has a shot at redemption, and it’s written all over his face. You can see the wheels turning in his head, his excitement barely contained.

"How many do you need?" he asks, voice filled with an eagerness you hadn’t seen in him before.

You pause, thinking for a second. "Start small—maybe a couple dozen to test the waters. If they sell out, we’ll know we’re onto something."

Jihoon nods rapidly, his excitement bubbling over. "I can do that. I can bring, like, the spinach and feta ones. Those were super popular. And maybe the mushroom ones too. People loved those." He’s rambling now, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks. "You think they’ll like them? I mean, people around here are kinda obsessed with sweet stuff, but these… these are different."

You laugh softly, watching him get more and more animated. "I think if they’re as good as you say, people are gonna be lining up for them. And who knows? Maybe savory tarts will be the next big thing."

Jihoon sits back, grinning like he can’t believe this is real. "I can’t believe you’re actually doing this." His eyes flicker over the bakery, taking in the pink and white décor, the polished countertops, the faint smell of sugar still lingering in the air. "I thought you’d just tell me to fuck off, honestly."

You shrug, smiling slightly. "Well, I did wanna hit you with a mop earlier. But… I don’t know. It seems like the least I can do after everything."

He stares at you, his grin softening into something more serious, more genuine. "Thanks," he says quietly, and you can tell that he means it. "I… I really judged you wrong."

You wave him off, but inside, there’s a warmth spreading, something that feels almost like… relief? Like maybe this little experiment could be more than just business—it could be a way to right some wrongs.

"Just bring your best game tomorrow," you say, standing up from the table. "If your grandma’s tarts are half as good as you say, I’m sure people will love them."

Jihoon stands too, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Oh, they will. Trust me." His eyes sparkle with that confidence again, and for the first time, it feels like you’re seeing the real him, not the guy who’s been tagging your bakery out of anger.

As you walk him to the door, you glance back at the kitchen, already imagining the savory tarts lining the shelves next to your usual sweets. This could be something big, something new—something that might even help mend the bridge between you two.

Jihoon pauses at the door, turning back to you with a grin. "Tomorrow, then. You won’t regret this."

The next morning, Jihoon arrives at your bakery with a box, the warmth of the tarts and quiches radiating from inside. You grin as you lift the lid, the smellof the buttery crust wafting out. Carefully, you place them in the display, arranging them neatly beside your sweets.

Jihoon moves towards the door without saying a word, but before he can leave, you raise your voice, “Where are you going?”

He pauses and steps back in, bending down to pick up a bucket of paint remover and a brush from outside. “Gonna get rid of the mess,” he says with a shrug, shaking the supplies in his hand.

You scoff, leaning against the counter. “Looks like hitting you with the mop actually worked.” You raise an eyebrow, arms crossed.

He freezes, his eyes widening a little, like he just remembered something. “Hey! You!” he protests, gesturing to his back. “I’m my back its black and blue thanks to you! My back its ruined.”

You roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Serves you right,” you shoot back, and Jihoon huffs, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes as he heads outside to scrub off the tags.

As the morning rush starts, a couple of your regulars approach the counter, eyeing the new items. One of them, Mrs. Park, furrows her brow. "What’s all this?" she asks, nodding to the savory tarts.

You flash her a smile, "We’re doing a little collab with Jihoon’s family bakery. They used to sell these savory tarts, and we thought we'd give them a try here. You should taste them, they’re amazing."

Mrs. Park raises an eyebrow but picks up one of the tarts anyway. Within minutes, word spreads, and before you know it, the dozen savory tarts you put out are gone—people even leaving with extras for home. You lean against the counter, watching the buzz, satisfaction building in your chest.

As the rush dies down, you step outside where Jihoon is wiping down the wall, now tag-free. You smirk. "Sold everything," you say, watching his reaction.

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes wide. “Really?!”

You nod. “Yeah, they went faster than I thought. Even Mingyu couldn’t keep his hands off them,” you say, pointing through the window where Mingyu is, mid-bite, munching happily on a tart behind the counter.

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he looks at Mingyu, then back at you. "I’ve got more ready at my grandma’s place. I can go grab them now."

"Do it," you say with a grin, waving him off. “Bring a lot. I don’t think these’ll last long.”

An hour later, Jihoon returns, but this time he’s not alone. His grandma, the sweet old lady you remember from the bakery across the street, is with him. You light up when you see her.

"Mrs. Lee!" you greet her warmly.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling as she gives you a gentle hug. "You’ve done so well with this place," she says, looking around the bakery.

As you help unload the box of fresh tarts, you see Mingyu’s eyes widen as he watches you set them out again, his mouth practically watering. He reaches for one, but you swat his hand away.

"Those are to sell," you scold playfully, but before you can follow up, Mrs. Lee reaches up and pats Mingyu on the head.

"Eat, eat, you’re a big boy. You need it," she says, and Mingyu, towering over her, grins sheepishly as he lowers his head.

"Yes, ma’am," he says with a boyish smile, clearly charmed.

With the tarts restocked, the afternoon turns out to be just as busy as the morning. People are coming in and out, curious about the new savory options, and before you know it, they’re sold out again.

After the rush dies down and the shift ends, you pull out the cash notes, counting how much you’ve made for the day. You walk over to Jihoon, handing him a stack of money.

"Here, this is how much we sold, minus the cost of ingredients," you say, but Jihoon waves his hand, shaking his head.

"Nah, don’t do that," he says, clearly uncomfortable. "It’s your bakery. I’m just helping out."

You raise an eyebrow, folding your arms. "You think I’m not gonna pay you for your grandma’s recipes? Don’t be stupid."

He fidgets, glancing down. “I don’t deserve it,” he mumbles, but you cut him off.

"Come on. You think of reopening your grandma’s bakery again?"

He hesitates, then nods slowly. "I’ve been thinking about it. But there’s a lot to clean up, fix…"

You lean back, thinking for a moment. “Well, while you figure it out, how about you use my bakery to sell your savory stuff? We can split the profits and see how it goes. Maybe that way, you’ll get enough to fix it.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen, gratitude spreading across his face. "You… you’d let me do that?"

You shrug. "Why not? People love your stuff, and I’ve got space. Plus, this way, we both win."

His lips part, disbelief still etched on his face, but then his shoulders relax, and a small smile forms. "I don’t know what to say. Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet," you say, grinning. "We still gotta get through tomorrow."

He laughs, the tension that had been hanging between you since the whole graffiti incident finally easing. "I guess I’ll be back here early with more tarts, then."

"Bright and early," you reply, with a playful nod. "And don’t forget to bring your grandma too. Mingyu might cry if she doesn’t show up."

Jihoon chuckles, glancing at Mingyu who’s in the back, still wiping tart crumbs from his face. "I think you’re right about that."

As Jihoon and his grandma leave, you’re left standing in your bakery, the warm glow of the lights reflecting off the now pristine windows.

The next morning, Jihoon shows up right on time, his grandma’s small hand wrapped around his arm as they step into the bakery. There’s something heartwarming about the sight—the way she leans on him, and how he effortlessly balances the heavy box of tarts in his other hand. You catch a glimpse of the pure affection between them, the kind only grandparents seem to have for their grandkids, and it makes you feel... softer.

Jihoon flashes you a quick, almost shy smile as he sets the box on the counter, the warmth of the freshly baked tarts instantly filling the room. You move to help him, opening the glass case of the vitrine. As you lean in to arrange the tarts, his arm brushes against yours, just barely. It’s nothing, really—just a quick touch—but you bite back a smile anyway. The warmth of it, the quiet ease, feels nice. Comfortable.

Outside, the rain begins to pour, pattering against the windows. It's not the gloomy kind of rain, though—it’s the kind that makes people crave warm spaces, a place to settle into with a coffee in hand. Your bakery, with its soft yellow lighting and the sweet smell of tarts mingling in the air, feels like the perfect refuge. You can already see a few people huddling under umbrellas as they make their way inside, the little bell above the door chiming each time.

Jihoon steps back, his eyes following yours as you arrange the tarts in perfect rows. “Looks good,” he murmurs, glancing over at you.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to sound casual, though your voice is a bit quieter than usual. You clear your throat. “Rain’s gonna bring people in. They’ll want something warm.”

Almost as if on cue, the door swings open with a gust of wet air, and your best friend stumbles inside, panting, her umbrella flung into the holder by the door. She shakes the rain off her coat and makes a beeline for the counter, eyes wide.

“I heard you’re selling savory tarts now,” she exclaims, nearly breathless.

You shoot her a look, half-amused. “Word spreads fast around here, hm?”

She leans on the counter, eyes scanning the new additions in the vitrine like she’s sizing them up. “You know me. I’ve got my ear to the ground,” she says, grinning. Her gaze shifts to Jihoon, who’s still standing behind you. “And you,” she says, her tone turning teasing, “finally decided to be useful, huh?”

Jihoon just rolls his eyes, but you can see a flicker of amusement there. “I’m useful in ways you don’t even know,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear, but it makes you smirk.

Your friend raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure,” she quips, pulling out her wallet. “Alright, give me one of those tarts. Let’s see if they’re worth the hype.”

You grab a tart—spinach and cheese, her favorite—and hand it to her on a small plate. She takes one bite, her eyes widening dramatically. “Oh my god,” she says, mouth half full. “Okay, this… this is dangerous. You can’t sell these, I’ll be here every day.”

You laugh, watching her devour the tart. Jihoon leans against the counter next to you, arms crossed, a little smug. “Told you they were good,” he murmurs.

The steady rain outside only adds to the cozy vibe, making the bakery feel like a warm little haven. More customers trickle in, shaking off their umbrellas and ordering coffees to go with the new savory tarts. Some regulars ask about the new addition, and you tell them about the collaboration with Jihoon and his grandma. It’s casual, like you’re letting them in on a little secret, and soon enough, people are lining up to try them.

As you work, you can feel Jihoon’s presence behind you, quietly helping out where he can—refilling the display, wiping down tables, clearing plates. It’s kind of funny, actually. Not long ago, this same guy was spray-painting the walls of your bakery like a punk, and now here he is, setting tarts in your vitrine, his arm brushing against yours, acting like part of the team.

Your friend finishes her tart and slides the plate back toward you, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Okay, I gotta go before I eat the whole case,” she says, shooting you a wink. She glances at Jihoon as she grabs her umbrella. “You better keep bringing these, or we’ll have problems.”

Jihoon smirks, giving her a mock salute. “I’ll keep ‘em coming.”

As she leaves, you watch the bakery fill with warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of conversations. The rain taps against the windows, the outside world grey and wet, while the inside is alive with comfort. You lean against the counter, watching Jihoon’s grandma chatting with a customer. It’s kind of perfect, in a way—everything just falling into place.

After the lunch rush, Jihoon catches your eye, his expression a little sheepish. "They’re really selling, huh?"

You smile, a little proud. "Yeah. Told you they’d be a hit."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Guess I underestimated this place."

“It’s kinda nice having you around... even if you are a pain in the ass.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes but not disagreeing. “You just like bossing me around.”

“I do,” you admit with a grin. “And you’re getting pretty good at following orders.”

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he picks up a rag to wipe down the counter. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring more tomorrow."

The evening was quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint swoosh of the mop gliding across the floor. You were halfway through cleaning when your foot nudged something under the counter. Frowning, you crouched down and pulled out a box—heavy, clinking inside—and when you opened it, there they were. Paint cans.

You tilted your head, staring at them, then shouted, "Jihoon! What the hell is this?"

He popped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Uh... well, I was thinking... maybe the bakery could use a little—art,” he said hesitantly, his eyes darting from the cans to you.

"Art?" you raised an eyebrow, hands resting on your hips. "You're not gonna draw a dick on the front door, are you? 'Cause if that's your plan, Jihoon, I swear—"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No! It wasn’t me, alright? That was one of my friends.”

Your eyebrow shot up even higher. "So you had your friends tag my bakery too?"

He suppressed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I yelled sorry, like, a million times already.”

You shook your head, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Jihoon stepped closer, eyes scanning your expression carefully. “Look, I promise—no dicks. I was thinking... something different. Something that matches the vibe here. I could paint something... that looks like you.” His gaze lingered on you, analyzing your features like he was already sketching you out in his mind.

You sat back, considering it. The idea of graffiti on your pristine bakery wasn’t exactly appealing, but there was something about Jihoon’s offer... the way he was looking at you, not like a cocky vandal but like someone who wanted to create something for you.

You frowned, arms crossed, skeptical. “You? Graffiti something that looks like me? You’re kidding.”

He shrugged, stepping back slightly. “Let me show you. I’ll do it on the back wall. Something pastel, something sweet—like your bakery.”

You huffed, but curiosity got the better of you. “Fine. But if it looks like shit, you’re cleaning it up, Jihoon.”

Outside, the air was crisp, and the dim lights of the street barely reached the back alley behind your bakery. Jihoon grabbed the cans, setting them down with a focused energy, his jaw tight. He was different when he worked on something—serious, quiet. You watched as he started to shake one of the cans, the metallic rattle filling the space.

He started to sweat after a few strokes of the spray, his arm flexing each time he pressed the nozzle. The light from the back door illuminated his face, and when he flicked his hair to the side, it reminded you of those boys from high school, the ones who all had that Justin Bieber haircut. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

He stepped back, turning toward you, his eyes searching your face. “So... what do you think?”

You tilted your head, focusing on the paint. It was a pastel-colored slice of cake, detailed with delicate swirls and shadows that made it look almost real. “The... strawberry looks a little weird,” you pointed out, walking closer.

Jihoon let out a soft laugh, stepping aside. “Come help me then. You fix it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Me? I don’t know how to spray paint, Jihoon. It’s gonna look like a five-year-old did it."

He waved it off, walking toward you with the can in hand. “Nah, you can do it. C’mere.”

Before you could protest, he was already pulling you out of the chair, placing the can in your hand. “Just like this,” he murmured, stepping behind you. His chest pressed lightly against your back, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear. His hand moved to yours, guiding your fingers to press down on the nozzle, and the paint sprayed out in a clean line. "Here," he murmured, his voice low. "Press gently... just like that."

“See?” he whispered, his voice right in your ear, and you could feel the concentration in his breath, how calm it was. “Not so hard, is it?”

You were too aware of everything—his breath, his hand on yours, the way his body pressed just slightly against yours, not enough to feel too much, but enough to make your pulse pick up.

His hand, now on your waist, gave you the faintest squeeze, right where your skin showed between your top and your jeans, right where your shirt had ridden up a little. It was an absent touch, almost like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But you did. His fingers were warm, the pressure light but there. Your breath caught in your throat for a second.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. His hand never moved, just stayed resting on your waist, a quiet but steady reminder of how close he was. The paint kept flowing, and you realized you were barely focused on the mural anymore. It was all Jihoon. The way his body moved with yours, the brush of his breath against your ear.

“Jihoon,” you whispered, voice low, just to see what kind of reaction you’d get. "You sure you're not just getting handsy with me to avoid doing the work?"

He huffed a small laugh, right in your ear, his breath warm. “You think this is me being handsy? I’m just trying to teach you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little more, just enough to feel him tense up. His hips were snug against yours, and you could feel the smallest reaction in his body, the way his chest rose sharply as you pressed back into him.

"Uh-huh,” you said, feigning innocence. “So that’s why you sound like you’re having the best time of your life right now? Not exactly subtle, Jihoon.”

He scoffed, his mouth so close to your ear that you flinched a bit. "Says the one who's shivering under my arm like I’m doing more than just helping you paint.”

You let out a soft chuckle, your head leaning back just a little, the movement making his face brush against your shoulder. You could feel his breath catch again as your body pressed back.

“Jihoon…” you said, voice dropping an octave. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying real hard not to moan in my ear.”

His breath hitched, and this time, you felt it. His body tensed, the can in his hand wavering slightly as he pressed the nozzle. He was trying—trying so damn hard to stay focused on the paint, but your words were getting to him. His grip tightened on the can.

He lowered your arm, stopping the spray of paint, and you could feel the tension crackling between you both. His hand lingered on yours for a moment, and then he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing the edge of your jaw as he whispered, “You keep teasing me like that, I’ll forget the painting and pin you to this wall.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the low rumble in his voice, letting your ass push against him again. You give him a slow, teasing smile, turning your head just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye. “And if I told you I wouldn’t mind?”

Jihoon’s eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes, in a blink, he turned you around, the paint can clattering to the floor as his hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His lips hovered over yours for just a second, his breath mingling with yours, tension thick in the air. “You're playing with fire, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. “Then burn me.”

His lips crashed against yours in a starved kiss, his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressed so close it felt like there wasn’t an inch between you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him down harder into the kiss, feeling the tension melt away from his shoulders. His hands roamed over your back, slipping under your shirt, his touch burning your skin as he kissed you deeper, rougher, like he couldn’t get enough.

His body pressed you against the wall, his hips fitting perfectly against yours, and you could feel his cock coming to life. The slight tremor in his hands as they roamed your sides, the way his breath hitched when you kissed him harder—it was all there, barely restrained.

His lips were warm, tasting faintly like the strawberries and honey from earlier, and every time you tried to pull back for air, he chased you, his lips crashing back against yours like he couldn’t stand the space between you for even a second.

Finally, when you both pulled away for breath, your foreheads resting together, you smirked, your breath still uneven. “You okay there, Jihoon? You look like you’re about to lose it.”

He chuckled, his hand still gripping your waist, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You talk too much,” he muttered, pulling you back in for another kiss before you could even think of another comeback.

You could feel the wetness of his tongue against yours, slick with saliva that started to pool at the corners of your mouth as you sucked it in deeper. Jihoon’s hand was firm, gripping the curve of your ass, his other arm wrapped tight around your waist as if he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

You stumbled backward in a tangle of steps, the two of you moving like you were magnetized to each other, lips fused together, completely unwilling to separate. His hand squeezed your ass hard, making you gasp into his mouth. That sound—the desperate little moan you couldn’t hold back—had him groaning too, swallowing the noise like it fueled him, pressing you harder against the door to the back of the store.

Jihoon fumbled for the handle, blindly opening it while keeping his mouth glued to yours. You barely noticed when he shoved you through the threshold, into the bakery’s quiet salon. He didn’t break the kiss, not even for a second, not until your back hit the counter and he pressed himself against you again, trapping you between him and the cold wood.

You were breathless, desperate to kiss him harder, to get more of those sweet, low moans he made when your lips connected just right. It wasn’t until you felt his hand slipping between you that you realized what he was doing. Somehow, in the heat of it all, he had already undone your jeans, his fingers deftly sliding the button free, his hand dipping lower, teasing the waistband of your panties.

"Fuck, Jihoon," you panted, head thrown back as his lips trailed along your jaw. You shivered when you felt his hand slipping under the lace, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin. You felt your sink boiling, the warm air from the bakery making you sweat down your neck.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, more like moaning.

The jeans you still had on were tight, too tight, and it made it impossible for you to spread your legs the way you wanted. The friction of his hand between you was good, but not nearly enough.

You shifted against him, trying to spread your legs wider, your breath coming out in frustrated little pants. "Jihoon," you managed, voice almost pleading, "jeans... get them off."

His lips curled into a smug grin against your skin, and you could feel him smirk before he pulled back slightly. "So bossy," he murmured, but he didn’t hesitate. His hands went straight to your jeans, tugging them down with quick, rough movements, the denim catching awkwardly on your thighs before he yanked them free.

With your jeans finally gone, he spread your legs wide, his eyes dark and hungry as they trailed over you. His hands gripped your thighs, positioning you exactly how he wanted before slipping his fingers right back under the waistband of your panties, but this time, there was no hesitation.

He slid one finger through your slick folds, groaning low when he felt how wet you were for him. "God, you're soaked," he breathed, almost like he was in disbelief. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that had your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more.

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips. "Just... please, Jihoon—more."

He slid a finger inside you, the sensation making you gasp, your legs instinctively spreading wider for him. You wanted more of him, needed it, and when he curled his finger just right—not even forcing it, he felt the spongy spot, you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

"Like that?" he whispered, voice hoarse as he added another finger, filling you up and making your whole body arch into him. His other hand gripped your thigh, holding you steady as he worked his fingers inside you, each thrust deeper, more insistent.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, barely able to form words as he sped up, his thumb still rubbing circles over your clit, making you see fireballs with closed eyes. "Just... just like that."

His hand moved faster, fingers curling and stroking deep inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the quiet room. Your hips bucked against him, chasing the sensation, wanting him to take you higher, needing him to push you over the edge.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, "I could do this all night... but I think you want me to make you come, don’t you?"

You whimpered. "Please, Jihoon," you breathed, voice shaky. "I need it."

His fingers quickened their pace, thrusting deep, hitting that spot over and over until your whole body trembled. He could feel how close you were, could see it in the way your thighs quivered, the way your breath came in short, desperate gasps.

"Cum for me," he murmured, thumb pressing harder against your clit, feeling the nerve throb as his fingers worked inside you. "Cum all over my fingers."

You rest your elbow on the counter, arching your back in a way that makes the slick sound between your thighs almost obscene. It’s impossible to ignore. You know exactly how wet you are, and palm, right there pressing down the mound of your pussy—god, you can feel it, burning hot. Your breath hitches, and you throw a hazy glance in his direction, catching his smirk, that cocky look on his face. His lip is trapped between his teeth, eyes dark and full of heat, and that’s all it takes before you come apart.

Your orgasm hits hard, ripping through you. Eyes squeezing shut, your body tenses, thighs trembling as your hips jerk involuntarily against his hand. You hear him coaxing you through it, his voice a low murmur, his fingers keeping steady pressure, coaxing every last wave of pleasure out of you.

“There you go… good fuckin' girl. Just like that, keep comin’ for me… shit, so fuckin’ good,” he mutters, fingers slowing just enough to keep you riding the high.

Your chest heaves, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you slowly open your eyes again. He’s staring at you—taking in every inch of you. The smirk on his face hasn't faltered, only deepened. There’s something dangerous about the way he looks at you, like he's already planning his next move.

“You think you can turn around for me?” he asks.

You shake your head, still catching your breath, but a wicked grin spreads on your lips. “Nah. I’ll fall to my knees and suck you off instead.” Your voice is steady despite the way your legs still tremble. His eyes widen just for a second before he sharpens a breath, a harsh inhale that lets you know you’ve hit the right nerve.

You don’t give him time to respond before you’re on your knees, fingers already undoing his belt, pulling his jeans down just enough to free him. You look up through your lashes, watching his jaw tighten as his cock springs free, already hard and leaking at the tip. His breathing’s heavy, uneven.

You run your tongue along his length slowly, collecting the sticky precum, teasing the underside before wrapping your lips around the head. He moans immediately, one hand gripping the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles turn white.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward as your lips slide further down his cock. The sound he makes is a whiny moan, almost of frustration as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You can feel the pulse of him on your tongue, the way his body reacts to every little move you make.

He grips your hair, tugging gently as you bob your head, setting a slow rhythm that has him panting. His hips start to move, barely restrained, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. “Goddamn… ngh—fuck! From hittin’ me with a mop to this?” His voice cracks on a laugh, but it’s breathless, shaky. “Didn’t think you’d… suck me off like this…”

You pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, lips slick, before looking up at him, smirking. “Better than the mop, right?”

His laugh turns into a groan, the sound vibrating through his chest as you take him deep again. “Fuck yeah… way better than the fuckin' mop.” He’s losing his composure now, hips moving a little more desperately, the hand in your hair tightening, guiding you as you work him harder, faster.

His moans grow louder, less restrained, and you can feel the tension building in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer. You hollow your cheeks one last time, sucking him in deeper, tongue working every inch of him until you hear him curse under his breath, his head falling back as his body shudders.

“Shit—” His moan is drawn out, almost too much for him to handle, as he loses himself in your mouth, his hips bucking forward uncontrollably. You keep going, pushing him right to the edge, savoring every last sound he makes until he finally pulls you off, breathless and wrecked.

“Fuck... you’re gonna kill me with that pretty mouth,” he pants, grinning down at you, still catching his breath.

You pull back for a second, lips slick with spit, catching your breath before you go back in, this time with a wicked grin. His cock twitches in your hand as you stroke him slowly, teasing, just enough to keep him on the edge.

“So…” you start, voice low, looking up at him with a dangerous gleam in your eyes. “How are you gonna fuck me, huh? Gonna be good to me, or…” You drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, making him gasp before taking him back into your mouth, sucking harder, wanting to hear him stutter. “… or you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

His breath hitches, and he swears under his breath. “I—fuck, I—” His hips jerking toward your mouth, but he’s not quite there. The pressure is building, you can feel it, the way his muscles tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens.

But before you can push him too far, he suddenly pulls you off with a gasp, his cock red and leaking at the tip, his body shaking from the almost-orgasm. “Stop, stop, fuck—”

You raise an eyebrow, lips swollen as you sit back on your heels, panting, teasing. “Could’ve just let me finish you off,” you murmur, licking your lips slowly as you watch him struggle to catch his breath.

He grins, though his expression is tight, like he’s holding onto control by a thread. “Not gonna let you win that easy,” he mutters. He helps you up, hands firm but delicate as he lifts you to your feet. Your knees wobble a little from the discomfort of kneeling on the hard wooden floor, and he notices, his thumb brushing gently across the soft skin.

“They hurt?” he asks, glancing down at your knees, frowning just a little.

You shake your head, smirking. “I’ll live. But you owe me a good fuck for that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make it up to you.”

You let him guide you back against the counter, his hands already sliding down to the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling them down tossing it on the floor. He pauses just for a second, eyes flicking between your bare pussy and your face, his breathing heavy.

He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Gonna make you scream.”

You shiver, feeling his cock press against your thigh as his hands move to grip your waist. His fingers are rough, impatient. You can barely think straight when he turns you around, pushing your chest flat against the cold countertop. The contrast of the cool surface and his hot skin makes your breath hitch, your body already aching for him.

He groans softly, positioning himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it along your slick folds as you grind back against him, impatient.

“Fuck—please, just—” You barely get the words out before he thrusts into you, filling you up completely in one swift movement. The stretch is intense, but it’s exactly what you needed, the delicious burn making you gasp as your fingers dig into the counter.

He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls back and thrusts again, setting a relentless pace. “That good enough for you, hm?”

You can barely answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are desperate moans as he fucks into you, hard and fast, just like he promised. “F-fuck, Jihoon… yes—just like that.”

He leans down, his chest pressing against your back as his lips brush your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good… so tight, fuck.”

Your body trembles under his, the pleasure building so quickly that you can barely keep up. "Jihoon—" His name leaves your lips in a broken moan as you start to lose control.

Your breath is ragged, chest heaving as you lick your fingers, letting them trail down your slick body. The moment your fingers find your clit, Jihoon freezes. His cock still buried deep inside you, but it’s like he's hypnotized by the way you touch yourself. You know he’s watching, eyes dark with hunger as you start to circle your clit, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your legs weak. There’s something so intoxicating about him just watching you, letting you take control of your own pleasure while he stays inside, keeping you full.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he mutters, his voice husky and rough as he leans over you, his lips grazing your ear. "You look so fucking good like this."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, his words fueling the fire burning low in your belly. Your mind flashes back to everything between you two, from the first time he tagged your bakery walls, scowling like you were the enemy, graffiti cans in his bag, the way he barely looked at you when he spoke.

Now look at him, look at you—sweat-slicked bodies moving together, his fingers pulling your hair. The teasing exchanges that turned into this—tangled limbs in the very place you swore you'd kill him if he ever touched. Now, all you can think about is how good he feels inside you, how much you crave more.

His hips start to move again, slow, smooth rolls that make your whole body tingle, but he keeps his hands steady on your hips, letting you keep that perfect rhythm on your clit. The sound of your wet fingers moving in time with his thrusts fills the room, and it’s obscene, but fuck, it’s so good.

“What do you want me to do?” he murmurs against your ear, his voice vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

God. Hot. So fucking hot.

You could ask for anything. Him fucking you against every surface in the bakery, bending you over the counter, the tables, hell, maybe even hanging from the goddamn chandelier if it were possible. But right now, with the way his cock fills you and your fingers work your clit, you only want one thing.

“Pull my hair.”

His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, and he gives it a firm tug. The sharp pleasure shoots you, and your body arches against him, hips pressing back to meet his next thrust. The way body rollsl, smooth, matches the pace you’ve set with your fingers. It’s perfect, it’s so fucking good.

His hips snap against you harder now, and you can feel his restraint slipping. He’s getting close, the way his moans get rougher, the way he’s tugging your hair a little more desperately. You know he’s just as on edge as you are.

“Jihoon…”

He moans sly. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You hum, breathless. Something so ridiculous comes to mind, and you can’t believe you’re going to say it, but fuck it.

“Can you… paint me?” You’re not sure where the words come from, but once they’re out, you can’t help but smirk.

He hesitates for a second, his hips stuttering before he recovers. “What?”

You bite your lip, half-laughing through your moans. “You heard me. Paint me. Grafitti me. Whatever. Do it.”

He’s still chuckling, his chest pressed against your back as he slows down, but you can feel the horniness in the way his cock twitches inside you. He is very into it. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. “You’ve been tagging my bakery for weeks. Might as well make it official.”

He groans, biting his lip as he slides out of you for a moment, leaving you feeling suddenly empty, needy. You turn your head, watching as he reaches for one of the paint cans you knocked over earlier, shaking it a few times. The sound of the metal ball rattling inside echoes through the small space, making your heart race faster.

“You sure about this?” he asks, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still hard and wet, glistening in the dim light.

You arch your back, pushing your ass out toward him, wiggling a little for good measure. “You scared?”

He shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip. “Not even a little.”

Then, with one hand steady on your lower back, he leans in, the cold metal of the spray can grazing your skin. You hear the hiss of the paint as he presses down on the nozzle, feeling the cold spray hit your skin. It’s not the same as the heat between your legs, but it sends a thrill through your body nonetheless.

“Hold still,” he mutters, focused, but you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s enjoying this—maybe a little too much.

You laugh, a shaky sound as the paint settles on your skin, the smell of it filling the room. “What are you even writing?”

“You’ll see,” he says, voice teasing. The spray continues, and then, after a moment, he steps back. “There. Perfect.”

When he’s done, he pulls you back onto his cock all in once, making you gasp as the pleasure returns full force. “Red suits you,” he says, his voice whiny. You can feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of you painted, fucked, completely his in this moment.

You look over your shoulder at him, breathless. “What did you write?”

He smirks, thrusting hard enough to make you cry out. “My name,” he says simply. “Right across your ass.”

The sound that leaves your throat is half-laugh, half-moan. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but you can’t deny how fucking hot it is, the thought of his name on you, like a claim.

He watches the paint dry quickly, the faint sheen of it on your skin as you move against him. The thought of cleaning it off flickers in his mind, but fuck, the idea of you walking around with his name stamped across your ass, hidden inside your jeans as you go about your day—a part of him wants it permanent, a tattoo maybe, to mark you in a way no one else could see but him. His. Completely.

His hand slides up your body, fingers sneaking under your shirt and bra until they’re squeezing your tit, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you yelp and splatter your hand onto the counter for balance. Your legs are shaking as his thrusts get rougher, messier, the slick sound of him filling you echoing in the quiet bakery.

You moan out his name, “Jihoonie…” and he fucking loses it. Every time you call him that, it gets to him. The way you say it, needy and teasing, like it was meant to wreck him.

He grunts in response, pulling your hair again to tilt your head back against his chest. Your eyes roll, pleasure coursing through you like fire, and your pussy clenches tight around his cock, sucking him in deeper.

You try to hold yourself up, but your legs are jelly, barely able to stand. “I’m gonna… fuck, Jihoon,” you gasp, your body trembling. You’re on the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap at any second.

He pulls you back harder, his chest flush against your back, his mouth right at your ear as he growls, “Cum for me, baby. Fuckin’ do it. I wanna feel you.”

His words, the rough sound of his voice, the way he’s completely owning you—it pushes you over the edge. You shatter around him, your body convulsing as your orgasm slams into you. Your pussy clenches tight, milking his cock, and you scream his name, your voice echoing through the empty bakery.

He groans deep in his chest, thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his own orgasm. The way you squeeze him, the way you moan and tremble in his arms, it’s too much. He pulls out at the last second, just barely, his hand jerking his cock as he cums, thick ropes spilling onto your ass, painting over his name in red.

You’re a mess, both of you—paint, cum, sweat sticking to your skin—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

His hand slides gently down your back, soothing the tremors that still ripple through your body. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice still shaky. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck, completely different from how rough he was just moments ago.

You breathe out a laugh, still catching your breath. “Think we’re gonna need more than a mop to clean this up.”

Jihoon chuckles, pulling back slightly to admire the mess he made. “Yeah,” he says, “But I gotta say… seeing you with my name on your ass? Kinda want it permanent.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, a lazy smirk on your lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His smirk matches yours as he tugs you closer, his hands still resting on your hips. “Maybe,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. “Maybe more than I should.”

Jihoon sulks, his face twisted in irritation as he presses the paper towel against your ass, muttering under his breath about how he ruined it. You can hear him grumbling, the cum smudging the once-clear letters of his graffiti like some kind of art project gone wrong. He’s so focused on trying to clean it up, but all he’s doing is making a bigger mess, the red paint mixing with the white streaks, swirling into a chaotic, almost laughable design.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. The whole situation is just too ridiculous—the great Woozi, all serious and brooding, now pouting like a kid who messed up his school project. You rest your arms on the counter, the cool surface grounding you after everything, and glance over your shoulder, still half-naked from the waist down, shaking your head.

“Hey,” you snicker, pushing up onto the counter, bare skin still tingling from what just went down, “come on, take a picture for me.”

He glances up, narrowing his eyes in that grumpy way of his, but he’s not about to argue. With a sigh, he reaches out to take your phone, swiping it from your hand like it was a burden. He shakes his head, but there's the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, waiting as he squats a little to get the right angle. His breath is still slightly ragged, cheeks flushed pink, but he’s focused now, swiping a thumb across the screen before lifting the phone to snap a pic. You hear the click, followed by his low mutter. “Fuckin’ smudged.”

“Let me see,” you laugh, reaching out for the phone. He hands it over with a huff, standing there, arms crossed, while you inspect the damage.

There it is. Bold, bright red, smeared all over your ass. “Woozi,” right there in the middle, smudged but still totally readable. The first “W” is clear, but by the time you get to the “zi,” it’s a messy blur of paint and cum, like he tried to rush through it at the end. You burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty bakery.

“Woozi?” you choke out between laughs, glancing up at him. “You really went with that?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a bit now. “What? It’s better than my actual name, isn’t it?”

You squint at the screen again, biting your lip to stop the next wave of laughter from spilling out. The smudge really does make it funnier. It's like his little alter ego tried to make a grand appearance but ended up getting dragged through a mess of his own creation.

“Woozi,” you repeat, grinning as you shake your head. “So now I’m walking around with your vandal name on my ass?”

He shrugs, still pretending to sulk, though you can see he’s fighting back a smile too. “Thought it’d be… symbolic or something. Besides, no one’s gonna know what it says. It’s all smudged now.”

“Oh, they’ll know,” you tease, lifting the phone to show him the picture again. “It’s clear enough, trust me. Woozi’s gonna be famous for something else entirely after this.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, great. Exactly what I need. My name on your ass, and you showing it off to the world.”

“Not showing it off to the world,” you smirk, leaning back on the counter. “Just, you know, keeping it for personal reasons.” You give him a cheeky look, watching as his eyebrows raise in mild curiosity.

Jihoon moves closer, sliding his hands over your hips again, thumbs brushing the sides of your thighs. “Personal reasons, hm?”

“Yup,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too wide. “Might just stare at it whenever I need a good laugh. Or maybe when I need to remember how well you… fuck.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes again, but there’s a smirk pulling at his lips now. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

You nod, still grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Mm,” he hums, stepping even closer, so close that your legs naturally part to let him stand between them. “Love it, huh?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head. “Yeah, love it. You, though?” You press your palms to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt just a bit. “You’re sulking because you didn’t get the masterpiece you wanted.”

His hands grip your waist, and he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’m not sulking,” he whispers, voice dripping with faux irritation. “I just didn’t expect my art to get ruined by…” He pauses, pulling back slightly to give you a teasing look. “…circumstances.”

You snort. “Circumstances? Jihoon, you came on it.”

He tries to hold back a laugh, but it slips out anyway, his chest vibrating against your hands. “Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly help the situation. You’re the one who—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if he’s trying to erase the memory of what just happened.

You grin, tugging him even closer by his shirt. “Say it. I’m the one who what?”

He chuckles. “You’re the one who kept calling me ‘Jihoonie’ like you were trying to kill me.”

“Oh, that’s on me?” you laugh, giving him a playful shove. “You loved it, don’t even lie.”

“I did baby girl, I did.”

You hold on to him, tired from working the whole day and from… fucking in the workplace too.

“But don’t think this makes us even. You still hit me with that damn mop.”

The next few days were nothing short of chaos—an exhilarating rush of sweet and savory tarts flying off the shelves, and new recipes you and Mrs. Lee concocted together, bringing fresh buzz to the bakery. The scent of freshly baked goods filled the air every morning, pulling in crowds, while the constant hum of the oven working overtime had become your new normal.

One morning, Jihoon arrives early, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet streets. He strolls in, wiping the sleep from his eyes, hair a little mussed but looking determined to work.

As soon as he steps inside, he spots you standing near the counter with Mingyu. You're talking animatedly, your hands gesturing as Mingyu grins at something you said. His big frame blocks most of your view, so Jihoon immediately veers toward the vitrines to see how the tarts are doing. He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re saying to Mingyu, but he's definitely curious.

He gets to the counter and freezes. The vitrines… they’re empty. Not a single tart left. Not even the little label card for the savory tarts, the one that proudly displayed the flavors he’d worked so hard to perfect.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, half in disbelief. “Hey, where’s all the savory tarts?” he asks, trying not to sound like he’s panicking a little.

You and Mingyu exchange a quick glance before you turn to Jihoon, biting back a smirk. “Oh, yeah... about that,” you say, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “We had to stop selling them here.”

Jihoon blinks, caught off guard. “What?” He steps closer, eyebrows knitting together. “Stop selling them? What are you talking about?”

You sigh dramatically, playing it up. “They were just taking up too much space, you know? Not enough room for the sweets and everything else. Figured we’d move on to other things.”

Jihoon stares at you, his eyes flicking between your face and the empty case. You can see the gears turning in his head, confusion, then frustration. “But… they were selling well. Why would you—?”

Mingyu pipes up, poorly holding back a laugh. “Yeah, dude, it was wild. People just stopped caring about them, I guess.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “No way. They were doing so well just yesterday—” He stops, eyes narrowing at Mingyu's grin. Then he looks back at you, finally sensing something’s up. “Wait… what’s going on?”

You can’t help it. The corners of your lips twitch, and then you crack, bursting into laughter. “Come on, Jihoon. Just follow me.”

He follows you, still a little skeptical, his pace hurried as he tries to keep up with your sudden excitement. When you lead him out of the main bakery, his confusion only grows. You guide him around the corner to a neighboring shop space you’d kept quiet about.

Jihoon stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees the sign hanging above the door: Lee’s Tarts. His eyes go wide, scanning the large windows where people are already lined up outside, some chatting excitedly while others peek through the glass to get a look at the new place. And right inside, behind the counter, Mrs. Lee is standing tall, her hands expertly working as she serves up savory tarts to eager customers. The place is buzzing, the line practically spilling out onto the street.

“What the hell...” Jihoon mutters, blinking in disbelief.

You nudge his arm playfully. “Surprise.”

He turns to look at you, his expression still caught in shock. “You opened a shop?”

“Well, technically, Mrs. Lee opened the shop,” you grin. “I just helped.”

Jihoon shakes his head, still processing. “This… this is for her?”

“Yeah, for both of you,” you say, folding your arms, satisfied with the look on his face. “Your tarts were way too good to just stay in one little display case. Now they’ve got their own home.”

Then, without warning, he turns to you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Holy shit,” he mutters into your hair, squeezing you so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling warmly, something that you rarely see from him.

“You deserve it, Jihoon. It was all you.”

His lips curl into that soft, genuine smile that’s rare but so worth it when you see it. “Guess we’re gonna be pretty busy, huh?”

“Guess so,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Better get used to it, Woozi.”

You and Mingyu handle the morning crowd in your bakery, but every now and then, you steal glances through the window at the new Lee’s Savory Tart shop next door. The line of people doesn’t seem to stop; every time you look, it’s like there are more. Jihoon’s name is already making waves, and it’s only been a few hours since the doors opened.

Someone at the counter clears their throat, and you turn back, wiping your hands on your apron. A woman leans over the display case, eyes scanning the rows of sweets. “Hey, don’t you have those savory tarts? The ones with the spinach and cheese?”

You nod, smiling. “Not here anymore, actually. We’ve got something even better now.” You motion with your thumb toward the window. “Just next door. The savory tarts have their own shop now, Lee’s Tarts. You’ll find all the flavors there—probably even a few new ones.”

The woman’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh! I didn’t know they moved! I was looking forward to trying them again.”

Mingyu, wiping down the counter behind you, pipes in with a grin, “Yeah, you’re gonna want to head over there before the line gets longer. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

The woman glances outside, spots the line, and her face shifts to one of mild panic. “Oh god, it’s already long.”

You chuckle. “Better get in there while you can. They’re selling out fast.”

She nods quickly, a little flustered, and rushes out the door, making a beeline for the shop next door. As the door closes behind her, you share a look with Mingyu. He’s smirking, arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter like he owns the place.

“You’re really sending our customers away like that, huh?” he teases, shaking his head. “What are we gonna do when everyone’s over there?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh please, you know people will still come for the sweets. Besides, Jihoon’s shop is practically ours. Same team, right?”

Mingyu grins wider. “Yeah, I guess. But damn, the guy’s getting popular fast. Never thought I'd see the day where Jihoon had groupies for tarts.”

You laugh, glancing out the window again, and sure enough, more people are queuing up outside the Lee’s Tarts storefront. “I know, right? It’s kinda surreal.”

Another customer steps up to the counter, a man in a suit, adjusting his tie as he peers at the empty spot where the savory tarts used to sit. “Excuse me, do you still have those mushroom and leek tarts?”

You shake your head, smiling.

[...]

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms and watching through the glass again. There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing people excited for Jihoon’s tarts—almost like watching a small victory unfold before your eyes. It’s hard not to feel proud.

Mingyu glances at you, brow quirked. “You think he knows how big this is yet?”

You shrug, still watching the customers flow in and out of the shop next door. “Maybe. He’s probably too busy to even think about it right now.”

Mingyu snorts, pushing off the counter. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope he doesn’t get all cocky now that he’s got his own place.”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nah. That’s not him. If anything, he’s probably stressing about making sure everything’s perfect.”

As if on cue, the door to the bakery next door opens, and Jihoon steps out for a quick breath of air. He’s in his apron, hair falling into his eyes, looking a little sweaty but in control.

He glances over to your shop and catches your eye through the window. For a second, his expression softens, and he gives you a small, appreciative nod.

You wave back, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Then, before he can get too sentimental, he’s back inside, ready to tackle the next wave of customers.

As the day wears on, the steady flow of customers in both shops never really stops. You keep handling the orders, but every once in a while, someone comes in asking for the savory tarts, and you point them next door, grinning every time at how fast Jihoon’s new shop is becoming the talk of the town.

By the end of the day, when the last customer has left and the door finally swings closed, you take a deep breath, leaning against the counter, watching the lights flicker off in Lee’s Tarts through the window. Jihoon steps out again, this time wiping his hands on his apron as he locks up for the night.

He crosses the sidewalk and steps into your bakery, looking utterly exhausted but somehow content. “Busy day?”

You smile. “You could say that. You?”

Jihoon lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Never thought tarts could be this stressful.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist in a brief hug. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with it now.”

He smiles down at you, that soft look back in his eyes as he pulls you in for a kiss—quick and sweet this time, just a little stolen moment before the work starts all over again tomorrow.

From behind the counter, Mingyu makes a gagging sound, dramatically covering his eyes. “God, you two are disgusting.”

As you roll your eyes, Jihoon leans in close, his lips brushing your ear with a low murmur. “Maybe we should celebrate... you know, properly. You, me, that freaky side you try to keep in check—let’s see if I survive tonight.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. “Is that a challenge, Jihoon?”

He chuckles, breath hot against your skin, his hand squeezing your hip suggestively. “Only if you’re up for it. I might not walk straight after, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

[...]

The next thing you know, you're in a motel room, Jihoon having insisted that the best way to celebrate was somewhere far away from work, where neither of you had to think about baking for once.

You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, thighs caging him, riding him so hard it’s like you’ve forgotten how to go slow. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with every thrust, but all you can hear is Jihoon’s moans—loud and desperate.

His pale skin is already flushed pink, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Fuck... you're gonna break me," he gasps out, voice strained, eyes half-lidded and desperate. His head falls back against the pillow as you ride him harder, his lips parted in a silent moan. "I can't... shit, you're too good."

You lean down, your hair falling around your faces, your lips brushing his ear as you tease, “You’re not tapping out already, are you?”

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his hands slipping down to grip your ass, trying to hold you still for a moment, but you don’t let him. You push back against him, harder, faster, and his groan rips through the small motel room. “Fuck, I’m serious... gonna fucking break...”

“You’re the one who wanted to celebrate, remember?” You dig your nails into his shoulders, moving with an intentional grinding roll of your hips, making you two shiver at the same time. "Now take it."

He almost sobs at that, his hands tightening on your waist, his head falling back as his hips buck up into you. The noises spilling from him—those choked-off moans and heavy breaths—made your lower belly boil, making you even bolder. You grind down, angling just right, and Jihoon lets out a sound that's more a whimper than anything.

You bite your lip, holding back a laugh as you grind down harder, feeling his cock twitch inside you. “Look at you. Jihoonie, you're so fucked out. What was that about me breaking you?”

He groans loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands grip your thighs tighter, knuckles white from the pressure. “Shit—”

You lean down, your mouth brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. “Maybe you’ll survive if you’re lucky.”

That’s all it takes for Jihoon to melt completely. His hands slide down your body, clenching desperately as his entire body tenses beneath you. His hips stutter, a long, ragged moan tearing from his throat as he finally cums, body trembling as he cums hard, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, you just let him ride it out, watching the way his chest heaves, eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss, his body still twitching from the orgasm. You slow your movements, giving him time to catch his breath.

When he finally opens his eyes again, they’re hazy, half-lidded with exhaustion. He looks up at you like you’ve completely destroyed him, which, to be fair, you kind of have.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You really are going to break me.”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips, your hips still gently rocking against his. “Can’t break my Jihoonie.”

He covers his face, whimpering, cheeks flushing up as if they couldnt get more red.

“If you call me that again, I'll paint your face.”

“At least it's not my bakery.”

[...]

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the window as Jihoon crouched outside, focused, the spray can in his hand hissing with each stroke of paint. The tart he was working on looked almost surreal—like it could pop right out of the wall, the pastry perfectly golden, the filling a burst of deep reds and oranges, with olives vibrantly on top. It was almost too pretty for a bakery wall, but it was Jihoon, and somehow, it worked.

"You're staring again," Mingyu's voice broke through your thoughts, and you barely turned your head as he leaned against the counter beside you, his stupid teasing grin stretching across his face.

“Shut up, i'm not,” you muttered, but even you could hear the weakness in your voice. Your eyes stayed glued to Jihoon, his hands moving quickly, confidently, as he added more details to the tart. a few people stopped to admire it, heads turning as they passed by, and you could see them whispering to each other, clearly impressed. he really was talented.

“Uh-huh," Mingyu’s voice showing that he was doubting everything you say, “You know, if you’re gonna stand there drooling, you might as well just go out there and sit on his lap while he paints.”

You shot him a glare, cheeks heating up. “Mingyu, fuck off.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh come on, just admit it. You’ve been staring at him all week. It’s obvious. The way you look at him? Please.”

You bit your lip, eyes sliding back to Jihoon outside. He had stood up now, switching cans, his fingers stained with vibrant shades of pink and yellow. There was something about watching him work, about how focused he got—His brows furrowed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he leaned in close to get the details just right.

And, god, after yesterday when he finished the cake on the front of your shop… you were pretty much done for. You hadn’t even realized how long you'd been staring until he'd caught your eye, giving you that little smirk that made your stomach flip. And yeah, the way he insisted on going around the whole damn city to find the perfect pastel colors to match your aesthetic? It was sweet. Way sweeter than you wanted to admit.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, waiting, and you let out a long, frustrated sigh, finally caving. “Fine. okay, Yes. I fucking like him. Happy now?”

His eyes widened in mock surprise, but he was clearly pleased with himself. “Oh my god, really? Who would’ve guessed?”

“Oh, shut up,” you sulked, crossing your arms tighter across your chest and turning your gaze back to Jihoon, who was now adding some final touches to the tart's crust. The sunlight hit him just right, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the veins in his forearms as he shook the can. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was annoyed as hell with him, and then… Yeah. Here we are.”

Mingyu chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “I think it was when he convinced you to let him spray that cake on your wall. You looked like you were about to strangle him, but then you didn’t. You just stared at him like he’d hung the moon or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, well… I guess it was kinda cute. He really went all out with that cake. You know he circled the whole damn city for those colors?”

“Yeah, he told me,” Mingyu said, smirking. “And now look at you, all whipped for him.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair, trying to push down the feelings that were bubbling up again. “God, why am I even telling you this? I don’t need you making it worse.”

ou sighed, glancing out the window one more time, watching Jihoon wipe his hands on his jeans, the drawing complete. He took a step back, admiring his work, and for a second, he glanced your way, catching your eye. He raised his hand in a casual wave, a soft smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned away, feeling like you’d been caught.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.” You groaned, pushing past Mingyu to head back behind the counter. “Whatever. You’re just jealous he didn’t paint something for your store.”

Mingyu’s laughter followed you as you walked away, but as you leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, you found yourself glancing back out the window, one last time. There was no denying it anymore. You were definitely into him—his art, his focus, the way he just fit into your world without even trying.

You let out a small sigh, content, but your peaceful moment was interrupted when the door swung open hard enough to make the bell jingle a little too loudly. A group of boys walked in, street-worn and loud, carrying backpacks that were half-open, revealing cans of spray paint inside. A couple of them had skates hanging off their shoulders, and their clothes were loose, baggy, clearly not from around here—or at least, not part of the usual clientele.

You blinked, taking in the sight of them as they strolled in like they owned the place, heads bobbing to whatever beat they had going in their heads. One of them, tall with a beanie pulled low over his eyes, spotted you behind the counter and immediately grinned. “Yo, is this the spot where Jihoon’s lil' girlfriend works?”

You froze, mid-wipe, blinking silently at the question. Girlfriend? Lil’ girlfriend? Your face flushed, and you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. You quickly tried to play it cool, clearing your throat. “Uh... I don’t—what?”

The guy chuckled, his crew falling in behind him, all of them eyeing the bakery like it was some kind of alien planet. “Nah, nah, don’t play like that. We know. Jihoon said his girl runs this bakery. This is it, right?”

One of the other boys, wearing a hoodie that was about three sizes too big, pointed to the display case, leaning over the counter a bit. “Damn, y’all got those fancy-ass tarts here. Hey, you think we could get a discount? You know, 'cause we know your man and all.”

You blinked again, gulping, still processing the whole “girlfriend” thing. Flour clung to your apron and dusted your arms, and you suddenly felt a little out of place, standing there dirty from baking while these guys—who clearly rolled with Jihoon—looked way too comfortable.

“You, uh, want some tarts?” you asked, trying to change the subject, wiping your hands on your apron.

The beanie guy grinned again, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll take some. Heard you got some sweet shit in here. Hook us up, Jihoon’s girl.”

You cringed at the nickname but forced a smile, grabbing a few plates and serving up some of the sweet tarts you had left. They all watched you work, curiosity in their eyes, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched watched.

As you handed them their plates, another one of the boys spoke up. “Damn, I thought bakers were like... supposed to be all old and shit. You’re cute, though.”

You almost dropped the plate. “Thanks,” you muttered, cheeks turning pink as you slid the tart towards them. “Enjoy.”

“Yo, speak of the devil,” one of them interrupted, nodding toward the door as it swung open. You turned around, relieved, and there was Jihoon—sweaty, paint splattered across his arms and hands, still holding a spray can. He froze for a second, taking in the scene, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his crew huddled around the counter.

“The fuck you guys doin’ here?” Jihoon grumbled, walking in with that same grumpy look he always wore when he was caught off guard.

You could see Jihoon’s jaw clench as he approached the counter, shaking his head. “She’s not—why the fuck are you even here?”

Another one chimed in, chuckling. “We just wanted to see the spot, man! Heard it was dope.”

Jihoon stepped up next to you, placing a hand on your lower back in a subtle, protective gesture. “Get outta here, you dumbasses. This isn’t a playground.”

“Bro, why didn’t you tell us she makes shit this good?”

Jihoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked up to the counter. “They’re not here to cause trouble, are they?” he asked, giving you a look that was half-apologetic, half-amused.

“They’re just hungry,” you said, shaking your head, trying not to laugh at how out of place they all looked in your pastel-colored bakery. “Let them eat. I think they like the tarts.”

“They’re pretty good, right?” you teased, handing Jihoon a tart too.

One of the guys pointed his finger between you and Jihoon, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Man, your kids are gonna be so well-fed. Tarts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”

Jihoon almost choked on his tart, coughing as he shot the guy a glare. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no denying the redness creeping up his neck.

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation too much to handle. “You really bring these guys everywhere, huh?”

Jihoon shook his head, embarrassed but smiling too. “I didn’t bring ‘em. They follow me like strays.”

One of the guys grinned, shoving another tart into his mouth. “Hell yeah, we do. And we gonna keep comin’ back if these tarts are free.”

You gave Jihoon a look, shaking your head with a laugh. “Let ‘em eat. They’re harmless… mostly.”

“That one,” Jihoon said, jabbing his thumb toward the high guy. “He’s the asshole who drew the giant cock on your wall.”

Your eyes widened, immediately zeroing in on the guy who was now trying to pretend he wasn’t the subject of conversation. He suddenly found the tarts very interesting, stuffing another one into his mouth to avoid your glare.

“No way,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with disbelief. “You did that?”

The guy, mouth still full of tart, shrugged sheepishly. “Uh, it was… kinda funny though, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Oh, hilarious,” you said, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Do you know how many old ladies came in here and gave me looks?”

He swallowed hard, looking around at his friends for backup, but they all just laughed, clearly enjoying the fact that he was getting called out. “I, uh… I’ll clean it up?” he offered, scratching the back of his head.

Jihoon snorted, shaking his head. “Too late for that, man. She already scrubbed it off.”

You shot Jihoon a look. “I scrubbed it off. With bleach. In the middle of a freakin’ heatwave.”

The guy looked genuinely guilty for a second, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “My bad, yo. Didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal…”

Jihoon laughed under his breath, clearly amused by the whole situation. “You owe her, dude.”

The guy shrugged again, looking at you with a half-apologetic, half-amused grin. “Aight, aight. My bad, lil’ bakery girl. I’ll make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, you better,” you teased.

“We’re definitely talking about the ‘girlfriend’ thing later.” Jihoon gave you a squeeze on your ass behind the counter, where nobody could see it.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him, not missing the way his eyes lingered on you just a second too long. “Oh, are we?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his breath warm and teasing against your ear. “After I get these idiots outta here.”

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blood-smiles · 3 days

Text

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 💌

You organized various assortments of products on shelves, placing each product perfectly, the name of the item fully on display,

While stepping back to admire your work you heard the squeaky shoes of a little kid, suddenly a small body crashed into your side and landed on the floor with a sickening crack,

“Jimmy! Jimmy! Oh my god! JIMMY!” The frantic voice of a woman called out, you instantly turned around, seeing the little boy wailing on the ground, his arm twisted in an uncomfortable direction,

You crouched down next to the child, trying to get him to calm down as you inspected his arm,

The same woman ran in your direction and pushed you off her child with a rough shove, tears welling up in her eyes,

“YOU! YOU DID THIS TO MY CHILD!” She shrieked, holding the kid in her arms,

“I-I ma’am! I swear it’s not that, your child was running and crashed into—“

“I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT! I AM GOING TO SUE YOU FOR THIS!” She screamed at you, her spit landing on your face as you stepped back,

A burning pain splattered all over your face, the woman’s purse making a harsh contact with your nose bridge,

Small red droplets dirtied your white uniform polo shirt,

She scooped up the injured boy in her arms and ran outside the store, yelling profanities and curses at you,

Suddenly a loud crash was heard as the woman kicked the large shelves, causing the tall shelves to come down on you, one by one alike to dominos,

You can’t remember what happened next, as you woke up in a hospital.

So. You have a huge law suit over your head now, a metaphorical guillotine over your neck, just waiting to be brought down on you, decapitating you and your clean record,

You stood in the waiting room, the fresh smell of floor cleaner wafting into your nostrils, helping you distract yourself momentarily,

“Mx (Y/N)?” A deep voice rings out, pulling you back into reality,

You glance up at the source of the voice, your (e/c) meeting with scarlet red hues, sharp eyes encased behind glasses,

You slowly got up, using your crutches to stabilize your footing, the man waited for you, his eyes inspecting your form as if calculating your every move, he stared at you for longer than needed but you ignored his eyes and kept acting as if nothing was happening,

He politely opened the door for you, giving you enough room to limp inside the office, after you successfully sat down, the man stood in front of his desk,

His ruby eyes were drilling into your own, as if memorizing every single detail of your iris, you looked into his eyes too, trying to seem confident,

If you looked close enough you could see the slight color difference under his eyes, you recognized that gaze— of exhaustion and pulling all nighters, but he did do a good job minimizing the eye bags!

You didn’t get to look at him properly but he was very well dressed.. the classic black vest along with black dress pants and a white dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms,

Pretty purple hair gathered at the back of his head in a ponytail, two tresses framed the sides of his face, bringing more attention to his sharp features, he was attractive.. Very attractive.

After another round of continuous staring the male finally cleared his throat, breaking the suffocating tension in the room,

“I am Alejandro Ortega, your defense in the court.” He stated clearly, sticking his hand out, asking for a hand shake,

“Oh. I’m (Y/N), thank you for your time sir.” You politely stretched out your arm and gently shook his hand,

His larger one enveloped your own hand, giving you a steady and firm handshake, slightly squeezing your hand in his,

His touch lingered, hand still tightly held around yours, he stared into your eyes, unwilling to let go,

You half smiled, trying to pull your hand away from his, slightly becoming unsettled when he didn’t let go,

He coughed, letting go of your hand and sitting down on his own chair,

He crossed his legs under the desk, taking out a paper and a pen, tapping the opposite side of the tip on the paper sheet, he discussed with you the phases of how he was planning to defend you in this case, giving you a bit of a background check on him,

“Well then, please tell me how everything happened, miss (Y/N).”

You started retelling the events of the store, your hands coming in play and moving around to emphasize your actions and feelings,

A soft smile bloomed on the man’s face, sometimes even chuckling quietly at your exaggerated gestures,

Alejandro liked—No, adored your company, you were so charismatic and lively, your energy was so contagious that even his hard exterior had began to show cracks,

The buzzing in his chest wouldn’t stop, his hands were sweaty and his face felt warm, just what was this feeling? He is supposed to maintain a poker face and not show any favoritism with his clients.. Oh but you.. he couldn’t help but show contentment around you,

Unfortunately you soon had to go home and rest, he felt truly pity for you, being all bruised up and injured— on top of that you were in the process of being sued,

Such a sweet soul you have, he would make sure that you would be well protected under him, he would hate to see you in harms way,

Alejandro finished helping the janitors cleaning up, he waved everyone off as they left, with suitcase in hand he leaned against the wall,

Ever since your appointment with him he couldn’t stop thinking of your face and voice, perhaps he could use your files for some.. private research.

He opened the doors of his home, his wife, Ume, peeked into the hallway as if already knowing it was him who entered the manor,

Her long white hair flowed behind her as she sped walked towards him, she brushed her bangs out of her beautiful face as she approached him,

“Honey! Did you get off work early?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a loving peck on his lips,

Alejandro grunted in response, peeling her arms off his shoulders and neck, he despised physical contact from Ume, he hated her voice, to him it sounded like nails scratching against a chalkboard, it irritated him, greatly so.

Ume was not at fault, for she had done no wrong to him, she was what any man would wish for, she was obedient, beautiful, loving and skilled in every aspect,

He just hated the intent behind his marriage with her, ever since he had slipped out of his mothers womb and brought into this world he had no control over his life, for it had been decided for him,

What he was going to be, who he was going to marry, where he was going to study, who his relationships were and even how he should feel,

He had no control over his life, he had never had any control over his own livelihood, his parents had controlled him even beyond the grave,

He hated his life. He hated Ume. He hated his parents. He cherishes you. He hated everything but you.

You had brought excitement to his life somehow, you came into his office and sparked something in him with your attitude and personality,

Maybe his life wasn’t so bad.

He stared at the knives in his kitchen, his hand itching to find something— someone to slice into ribbons with the sheening blade of the knife,

When did he become so violent? Was he this savage all along?

He shook his head lightly, taking off his glasses momentarily as he cooked dinner for his self and Ume,

He flipped the chicken and rice in two plates, as he brought the food and placed it down on the long hall table,

Ume awed at the perfectly cooked food, she dug in immediately, complimenting him and his cooking skills every time she spooned food into her mouth,

Alejandro subconsciously clutched a napkin in his hand, his knuckles turning a ghost white from sheer force,

“..Thank you” he muttered, his hand shakily cutting off some chicken and inserting it into his mouth,

His mind wandered off to your beautiful eyes, those beautiful (e/c) gems twinkling under light enamored him so much..

Alejandro noticed how your eyes would wander off sometimes, looking at him intently, as if you were listening to the most interesting thing in the world, it just made him feel so bashful..

How long had it been since he had seen you? 5 hours? 5 days? 5 years? God, he can’t remember anymore, just being away from you felt like an eternity, it was driving him insane..

Maybe next time the both of you meet you can go out for a drink together.. he smiled a little at that, perhaps he could invite you to a garden and talk to each other and learn more about you..

“Dear? What are you smiling at?” The gratingly annoying voice of his wife chimed in, anger rose inside him, taking most of his willpower to keep a calm mind and most importantly of all not to lash out at her,

“It’s none of your concern, Ume.” He answered coldly, glaring at her, a small vein sprawling across his temple in irritation,

She looked taken aback by her husband snapping at her, her smooth caramel tinted skin draining of color, her wonder turning into a fear in a flash,

Just as she was going to open her mouth to apologize Alejandro cut her off,

“—I’m going to go take a shower, I’m finished with my diner, wash the dishes please.” He instructed as he left but not before giving her a pointed look,

Alejandro shut the bedroom door behind him, huffing as he sat on his and Ume’s shared bed

Ume wouldn’t understand, she would break down if she ever found out he had developed romantic feelings for someone else,

As soon as he makes developments in yours and his relationship he will make sure to get divorce papers signed immediately,

He wouldn’t want you to think he was unfaithful, because he isn’t.

His marriage never worked out anyway, he can only imagine the beautiful domestic life you would have with him,

He wouldn’t have to come into office, he could be your stay at home husband! He knows how to cook, clean and overall good spouse.. He spent most of his childhood honing these skills by taking care of his little sister,

He simply goes into work to avoid having to see his insufferable wife, even a minute away from her made his life expectancy slightly increase,

He opened the water, staring at his reflection before stepping into the shower,

Cold water ran from the shower head, landing refreshingly on the tall males’ back and body,

He sighed, relaxation seeping into his body slowly and steadily, he leaned his body weight onto his forearms,

His forehead rested on the cool shower walls, cleansing his thoughts for just a moment, his long hair stuck to his forehead and shoulders as water slipped off in small droplets,

as hard as he tried he couldn’t fend away certain thoughts, all of them being of You. You. You. Ý̵̯͙̰̾Ô̸̱͉̖̣̾͝Ú̷͎͍.

Look at what you have reduced him to.. A lovesick fool.. craving nothing more than you— It has only been five days, yet you live in his brain and heart like maggots, digging deeper and deeper into him..

Yet he didn’t care, he would allow you to do so because he knew that he secretly liked it, he liked having someone to obsess over and follow like a lovesick puppy,

he had been saving his love for too long, and now it seems that you pulled the trigger on his heart, for this dangerous love ridden russian roulette has just started.

He now understands why he suffered for so many years, he sees now that it was all for you, it seems that god has gotten tired of torturing him and sent you, as his savior— his light.

If he knew things would come to this he would have chosen to suffer again and again, continuing what appeared to be an endless cycle just to be able to meet you and reach zenith.

He is holding his heart in his hands for you, it was you awakened feelings he never thought were real, now assume the consequences of your actions, won’t you, love?

Ume stalked the halls of the huge mansion, her heart feeling heavy after she upset her beloved husband,

She smoothened down her dress as she shakily opened the bedroom door, seeing that the room was empty she sat down on the bed,

Staring at the bedroom door longingly she decided to slightly peek through a crack in the doorway,

The water landed against the shower floor, helping muffle out the small whimpers and moans that were heard from Alejandro,

His hand fisted his cock rapidly, his hips bucking into his soft hand to feel some kind of friction, the sound of his hand clapping against his skin being audible even with the drizzling water ambients,

Ume’s eyes widened, never had she though her husband could ever make such.. Sinful sounds, it seemed he was saying something between the strangled sounds of pleasure..

“—N).. (Y/N).. Mmph! (Y/N), please..”

(Y/N)? Who was this (Y/N)? Why was her husband saying that name? Was he cheating on her?

Her green eyes zeroed in on his body, watching as his back would arch and tremble whenever he would get close to climax,

Ume had tried a handful of times to get some kind of intimacy going on with Alejandro, going as far as getting some.. Aphrodisiac products, however it seemed that even under the influence of such hard core drugs he would rather deal with it himself than come close to her,

His free hand roamed his body, soon reaching up against his chest and starting to play with the soft muscle,

Delivering soft and hard squeezes, soft groans muddled with mutters of “I love you”s slipped out of his lips,

Dampened hair fell over his eyes as he pressed his cheek against his shoulder, gentle sobs mixed with the sound of water running,

His thrusts slowed down as his thighs pressed together, with a final cry of your name the knot in his stomach came undone,

Loads and loads of white semen painted a section of the tiled shower walls, he kept thrusting into the air, riding out his high.

Ume closed the door quietly, sitting on the bed she placed her hands over her face, her well manicured nails digging into the sides of her soft face,

Whoever this.. (Y/N) was she was going to speak to, and it’s not going to be pretty.

Alejandro was her husband, hers only, and she was willing to fight tooth and nail for him,

The bathroom door opened, showing the ruby eyed man walking out with a towel wrapped around his waist, delicate beads of water dripping off his hair and rolling down his skin abdomen,

“Is there something wrong?” He asked with a raise of his eyebrow, eyeing her down menacingly,

The pretty woman but her lips while smiling, kicking off her shoes and spreading her legs open, an idea popping into her head

“Well.. perhaps, I’m feeling awfully.. Hot down there, help me will you?”

It had been 3 months precisely, it was your court date, you dressed up as best as you could afford, brushing your hair neatly and ironing your clothes to perfection,

You arrived early, looking at the huge court with furrowed brows and crudely covered dark circles, you weren’t able to get a wink of sleep last night,

Your mind couldn’t stop thinking of all the worst possible scenarios— What If you lost and went to jail? What if you were forced to sleep with a crazy cell mate? Sentenced to death? Having to use forks as hair brushes for the end of your days?!

A hand gently fell on your head, softly caressing your hair, you met scarlet eyes, beautiful eyes, the same shade as blood,

“Everything is going to be alright, I can assure you that, so please don’t worry your pretty little head over whatever you are thinking, will you promise me that?” You knew that voice, that was your lawyers voice, it was always so soothing to you, never was his voice rough or hoarse, it was always so warm and gentle..

You nodded, your worries calming down slightly, you weren’t expecting it but it sure was meaningful to you, you knew he was very.. Stoic most of the time, you liked to think he might have a soft spot for you, although the probability of that is probably non existent, oh how you were so so wrong.

The both of you entered the court, you were sweating buckets of sweat, pulling at your collar once in a while to try and freshen yourself up,

“Defendants please rise.” The judge called out, her voice strong and authoritative,

The both of you stood up, you were so nervous in the moment that you totally ignored Alejandro’s hand clasped around yours, his fingers intertwined tightly in between yours,

Alejandro was right, he was good, good was a massive understatement, he got evidence from places you didn’t even recognize, you had no idea if some of the documents had been falsified or not due to how legit they looked,

By the end of court you weren’t the one in cuffs, but the mother of the little boy, who had been taken into custody,

She yelled profanities at you, kicking and screaming at the police men to let her go,

Alejandro stood in front of you protectively, eyes narrowed into a glare, gaze as sharp as knives and glass shards,

You were so happy and relieved, weight had been lifted off your shoulders, you felt as if you were going to cry or happiness,

Your chest felt light as you hugged Alejandro, thanking him a million times over and over,

Had you overstepped boundaries? Maybe, Would Alejandro normally flip out and do something unseemly? If you were someone else, yes.

But it’s you, how could he deny you of something he had been wanting to do for a long time? How? So he wasn’t.

He deserved this too, he had gone through so much trouble to fake so much evidence to get that dirty bitch in jail, and you were willingly giving him his reward,

He basically threw himself on you, his arms over your head, he adjusted your arms on his waist, letting you hug him as close as you desired,

His face was close to your hair— so so close to you, he just had to smell you, just one second, please please please please please please.

He breathed in your scent, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head, you smelled so good, he knew his wife was in the audience but he couldn’t give less of a fuck,

Let her watch, let her see how he loved you so much more, he didn’t care anymore, he wasn’t going to hide it anymore, because it was true he had become so intimately infatuated with you he couldn’t even stand being a moment without you,

He had all he ever wanted right in his arms, and he didn’t care what he had to do to make you his,

He didn’t care if he had to frame innocent people over and over again, he didn’t care if he had to make shady deals with hackers or mafia men, he will do crazy shit and get away with it!

If he had to let the world burn for you he would turn the world ablaze until only ash and cinder was left, only to light it on fire again over and over just to prove how much he loved you.

His eyes met his “wife”’s emerald like gaze, her eyes shining under light with jealousy, he knew she wanted to tear the both of you apart,

But he wouldn’t let her, as he would be the one ripping her to shreds this time around,

He will do anything and he means everything for you.

He would do it all in your name. ♡

#yandere x reader #yandere #smilesyanderes #male yandere #dom fem reader #dom gn reader #male yandere x reader #fem reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #alejandroposting #yandere male #yandere x darling #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc

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joemama-2 · 2 days

Text

this is not how you imagined your friday night would go.

you thought you’d be watching the stars by now after a nice dinner. maybe some compliments, maybe even a small kiss shared. or some held hands.

but no. because currently you’re seated on the expensive couch, eyes fixated on some random nature documentary because you don’t have the courage to face the six year old boy to your left and demand him to stop staring.

you like kids, but this one oddly makes you nervous, scared almost.

your date is in the bathroom taking way too long and you’re half tempted to up and leave. your posture is stiff, forcing yourself to find the screen interesting.

our of your peripheral, you can see the boy raise his spoonful of ice cream to his mouth, head tilting like you’re one of the animals being observed on the TV.

“are you the one he keeps talking about?”

confusion strikes you as you finally turn your head to face him. your titled head mirroring his own. “um…..i’m not sure.”

a part of you feels flattered by the sudden fact. is satoru really talking about you? but then an unsettling feeling takes place, one of hesitation and jealously. or is he talking about someone else?

“you have the black Cane Corso, right?”

ah, so it’s the former. you smile. “oh, yeah. that’s me.”

“what’s his name?” the little boy asks you, shifting his small body as the talk of dogs gains his attention by the second.

“sunny.”

his brows pinch together. “why sunny?”

“because he was a stray, i found him a box on a very hot day.”

he hums and nods before asking yet another question. you forget how curious children can be. “is he nice?”

you chuckle. sunny has the stereotype of being aggressive due to his breed and size, but he’s anything but. he’s your gentle giant who gets scared of butterflies and plastic water bottles. “he’s really nice, he loves meeting new people and licking.”

you playfully stick your tongue out with a look of a faux grimace. this gets the small boy to crack a hint of a smile. it warms your heart almost instantly. “you like dogs?” you ask him, voice softening.

he nods automatically. “i really like dogs, i have two dogs. one is white and the other is black.”

“oh wow,” your eyebrows raise. “that’s so cool, are they big too?”

“mhm.” he nods.

you do a small look around. “where are they?”

he simply shrugs and answers, “they only come out sometimes.”

you want to ask what he means by that, but you figure satoru would best know. speaking of, he must be shitting a big one or he’s trying to calm his nerves inside that bathroom down the hall.

the little boy hesitates, like he wants to ask another question but isn’t sure if he should. you give him an encouraging nod and he sighs. “can you bring sunny next time?”

—————————————————————

“when you said you were fostering, i assumed a pet or something. not an actual child.” you tell Satoru as he’s walking you to your apartment door.

the two of you stop in front and he takes this time to grin. “do i not look like a boy dad?”

your eyebrow raises with an unamused expression. “no, first off, you look like a girl dad. and second off, does he consider you his dad?”

“nah, not at all. more like an older brother if anything. or maybe that annoying uncle everyone hates.” he reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “did he like you?”

“i hope so.” your lips purse. “i wasn’t exactly ready to pitch myself as a good person tonight to some kid.”

satoru chuckles, thumb lingering on your cheek. “don’t need to pitch yourself, just be you and he’ll like you just as much as i do. well—actually—hopefully not as much. i’d hate to have competition.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes. “he did mention a next time, though. wants me to bring my dog.”

“you mean that oversized human on all fours?”

your hand collides with his shoulder. he laughs and intertwines your fingers with his. “kidding, kidding. don’t get violent, at least not now.”

leaning down, his lips kiss your forehead smoothly, they linger for a few seconds before he mutters against your skin. “his names megumi, i hope you’ll get along.”

your stomach flutters during this moment, relishing in the easy and comfortable intimacy. you nod and murmur back. “of course.”

he pulls back and smiles down at you. just as he’s about to speak another cheesy line, you beat him to it.

“so….you talk about me a lot?”

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 15 hours

Text

get off the floor, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You order Jeon Jungkook to get off the floor. He says, "Make me." You make him. Eventually.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; tipsy, bratty (needy) JK; wedding guests reader and JK hooking up in a random corner room bc they can no longer contain themselves, gasp; semi-public smut (fem dom!reader + sub!JK, JK becomes half-undressed while reader is still fully dressed, slight degrading talk (not really), heavy making out, dry humping) basically, I was staring at this photo and had thoughts

“Get off the floor.”

“Make me.”

Once again. No stranger to this supreme annoyance, and yet knowing that did not make it bearable. You looked down at him. Was he drunk? He stared off to the side. Looked moodier than anything. Trying to play it cool, perhaps. You caught him glancing and you stepped back, smoothing the high slit of your deep purple evening gown.

“That suit costs way too much to be on the ground,” you attempted again, his black blazer over your bare shoulders.

Jeon Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t care.”

You could feel your patience running thin. Not new, just like all of Jungkook’s antics. You felt his eyes travel up from your legs to your waist to your chest. When he got to your face, you gave him an unimpressed frown. If he hadn’t been drinking, he would have the good sense to look away. But he had, so he just ticked his head as if he wasn’t laying down in the middle of a random offshoot room in a very nice hotel. There was no one around. Time of night and because this wing had been rented for the wedding that was still going on in the main ballroom.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” you warned.

His dark eyes caught the low lights of the art deco sconces on the walls.

“Get on top of me.”

This was precisely why you had considered skipping this wedding. But, alas, common sense pulled through. You had not come with a plus one because you didn’t have one. Jungkook had not arrived with a plus one either even though you were quite sure he could have secured one. He was probably thinking the same of you as well. The look on his face when you strode in and greeted the couple was enough to encourage some of the guests to mysteriously begin herding you and him in close proximity. You couldn’t blame them. Playing matchmaker was bound to happen if a woman attended such a social event alone.

You just didn’t think the lucky man would be Jeon Jungkook.

You narrowed your eyes. His eyes lowered to half-moons. His lips parting. The two silver rings gleamed on the right edge of his lower lip.

“Don’t play this game.”

The tip of his pink tongue flitted against his lip rings.

“I’ve been wanting to play your game for a while now,” Jungkook breathed, his low voice vibrating in his chest.

You could still hear the bass of the music. One step. The heel of your pumps clicked loudly against the tile floor. His black three-piece suit had been perfectly tailored to him. There was no need for additional shape because his body lines were already ideal. His black hair had been carefully slicked back. Nothing to hide behind. Another step. His black vest and crisp white shirt were tight enough to his chest that you could witness the way his breath hitch lifted his upper torso. You looked down, then pointedly back up at his face, reminding him that his tight slacks made everything obvious.

He bit the side of his lip.

With a casual lift of your slinky skirt, you stepped over him, and then re-draped the dark violet fabric over his lower torso. One foot on each side of his hips. He must have expected you to refuse, as you already had many times before. He immediately froze, his startled eyes widening. In your defense, he had previously been more subtle and annoying about it rather than direct. You reached up, maintaining eye contact with Jungkook, and twisted your wrist, hooking two fingers on the collar of his blazer around your shoulders, pulling it away from your body to reveal skin.

You dropped it on the floor, away from your bodies.

The fitted gown had a soft sweetheart neckline with thin straps that framed your collarbones. A simple white gold chain necklace with a tiny round-cut diamond nestled at the base of your neck. The straps crossed over to your exposed lower back. The medium-weight fabric was tailored to skim over your curves. Princess seams accentuated your shape from chest to hips before opening up to wispy high slits that were only obvious when you walked or stood with more weight to one side. Demure if you stood straight, which you mostly did. Wasn’t your wedding after all. Your hair was down, smoothed down at the right, covering enough of your back to uphold the illusion of modesty. Unfortunately, as night approached, you had found yourself quite cold. The air conditioning had been turned high to accommodate for all the dancing bodies.

That wasn’t the trajectory of the night for you, though.

Instead of the dance floor, you and Jeon Jungkook were now somehow in deserted offshoot room with chairs on tables. Probably reserved for additional seating just in case any additional guests tried to squeeze in at the last minute. Certainly not reserved for a raunchy rendezvous.

You lifted an eyebrow.

“Scared?” you taunted, looking down at him.

His wrists were against the floor by his shoulders. You saw his fingers twitch, but he did nothing to move further.

“Ravage me already,” Jungkook exhaled. Hot and heavy and hiding desperation. “I can’t take this.”

You had been well-acquainted with him and a while now. You ran the tip of your pointed heel against his side. Jungkook shuddered. He didn’t move to touch you. You backed off. The real problem with all this was not the friendly terms you both had, but rather the fact that he had caught you in a rather dubious place some nights ago. Neither you nor him should have been there. In fact, you made it a point to travel far enough so you wouldn’t run into anyone, which you presumed was also the exact reason Jungkook ended up in the same place.

You squatted down, tilting your head at him in a predatory way.

The skirt of your dress pooled over his abdomen.

As you came close to Jungkook’s level, you heard his breathing shallow.

You took a short moment to collect your dress accordingly before dropping to one knee. And then the other. Straddling him, but not quite touching. Your fingertips touched the ground. He smelled like faint musky spice. You lowered over him, until your hands were just under his upper arms.

Looked down.

Jungkook stared at you from below, trapped in your shadow.

“You really did see me at the BDSM club that night,” you murmured. “Didn’t you?”

You raised your right hand and closed it around his left wrist, pinning it to the ground. He sucked in a tight breath, the gravity of the situation seemingly sinking in although it didn’t seem like he was rushing to stop you.

“Your ass looked so fucking good,” he whispered in the dark. “I knew it was you.”

You bent your left elbow, descending to his face.

“Someone will find us.”

At your reminder, he bit his lower lip in that fuck-me-harder kind of way. Then you felt movement. His right hand snaked between you and him. Your eyes flickered down. His dress shirt was fastened all the way to his neck. He looked sharp. Conventionally handsome. The only things he couldn’t hide was his facial piercings and the tattoos on his hand. Hand tattoos were a big faux pas to most. You liked a rule-breaker though. Unfortunately. Jungkook’s deft fingers traced the pressed collar of his shirt.

You watched him undo the first pearlescent button.

Then the second.

Your lips parted to warn him to stop, but the third was already coming undone and you could hear the desire in his erratic breath drifting upwards. Then it was eyes-to-eyes, devouring you with false innocence, and you opened your mouth to trace your lips with the tip of your tongue, taunting him with the glistening void.

“Fuck…” he whispered, trembling under you.

And then you stopped his hand by fully pressing your body against his chest, your clothed breasts against his naked pecs. Flitted your tongue over his lip rings, tasting his moan before hearing it. He turned his head, trying to chase it, but you feathered kisses over his cheek, gripping his left wrist as you licked his ear, hearing the whine of your name tickling yours.

“P-Please…”

You avoided him that night at that club, hoping he hadn’t recognized you, causing every subsequent interaction making it painfully clear to you that he had indeed seen you strutting your stuff in black latex while teasing strangers with your leather crop. Surprisingly, not in the way of trying to use such information against you, which was what you expected, but rather in the way the tempted drive the tempters insane. In imploring looks that only you could know. In too many chances of being too close in proximity. You don’t know how he did it, but now for some reason everyone was delicately suggesting to you to, perhaps, give him a chance. It only strengthened your want to teach him a lesson. You savored the rising panic in his voice as you bit the curve of his ear and toyed with him with your tongue. His trapped hand turned and you felt his palm mold to your lower ribs, sliding up. You bit down. He gasped, biting back a moan as his fingertips ghosted the curve of your breasts.

“Ah…. D-Don’t…” Whimper so close to his heart that only you could hear it. “My e-ear is… is sensitive, a-ah…”

You smiled, pressing your lips to his earlobe. His earrings were warming from your breath and saliva.

“Is that why you have so many piercings, huh?”

You made sure he could feel your lips move as you purred filthy nothings.

“What a pain slut you are.”

This time he truly moaned, his hips rising, and then abruptly cut himself off to avoid rising volume.

“D-Don’t…”

You sank down. Pressed against him, and even though the layers you could feel his erection throb, his entire body shivering when your weight dispersed over his lower body. His fingertips traced the dip in between your breasts. Your tongue circled over his ear once more before kissing up to his temple, the fingers of your other hand creeping up the side of his neck, and then you made out with Jeon Jungkook, right there on the floor with his groan vibrating the inside of your throat as you slowly thrusted your tongue into his lips. He did his best to suck and you always pulled away at the last second, using one finger to trace the muscle of his neck down to his collarbones.

You broke the kiss.

His lips were glossy and flushed.

“Please… Don’t stop,” he begged, squeezing your breast. “Don’t stop…”

The inaudible music continued to hum in the background.

You placed two fingers on his chin and pushed his head back, giving you access to his throat. For a brief moment, you considered making your mark, but instead you trailed your tongue down, down, painting possessive saliva onto his warm skin. His body rose. You let go of his wrist to pull open the sides of his shirt, realizing he was undoing his vest at the same time as his chest became fully exposed to the air, his dark nipples hard. You flicked your tongue against them, an involuntary ripple seizing his torso at the heated contact. Licked all over, enjoying the scent and taste of his skin. He silenced a cry as you bit down.

“H-Harder…”

You rose slightly, grazing your tongue against his skin before doing so.

“Be quiet.”

And then you roughly pinched his other nipple.

His arm flew up and he screamed behind clenched jaw, his hips lifting from the floor and his erection colliding with the inside of your thigh. You let out a light hum, sliding up his hard thighs. Your dress was already bunching around your waist. With a sweep of your skirt, your barely-there panties came into view. His attentive eyes immediately went down to the matching skin-toned thong barely covering your pussy, tricking him for just a moment, and then you saw the disappointment flutter into a slight frown.

“Did you expect me to be naked?” you mused.

He tried to cover himself with indifference. “No.” His needy gaze and raging boner gave him away.

You smiled.

And held the front of your skirt out of the way, rocking your hips forward to rub your panties against his clothed cock. Jungkook gasped, staring back at your relaxed expression with wide eyes, unsure where to look. You put a little more force into it, increasing the friction and molding his hardness to the soft dip between your legs, and you saw his eyelids flutter, his dark eyes rolling back, a contained moan escaping his chest.

You talked down to him, because you could tell he liked it.

“You thought I wouldn’t have panties and I would just ride you in a public place with no remorse or shame?”

Tension began to show through his muscles. He had one arm on his forehead and the other against the black-and-white tile floor, using subtle leverage to grind against you. He wasn’t obstructing his vision though, still very obviously staring at your thighs, the dip towards your pussy, watching the hem of your panties press into your skin with each movement.

“I… oh, fuck, I don’t k-know…” He panted, his shadowed eyes roaming back to your face. “Maybe.”

You laid your free hand on the waistband of his slacks, tracing his belt. You watched him hold his breath, his chest tight and oh-so-delectable. Slowly, you hooked your fingers under his belt. Gripped it, and changed the angle of your thrusting so that the head of his cock was rubbing against the radiating heat of your pussy, giving him a better view of your thin panties digging into your slit.

You saw his teeth sink into his lower lip.

“F-Fuck…”

His eyes slid shut and he moaned your name, sensual and deep and far too practiced for it to be a closed secret, his hips pushing back up against you, trying to get more and unable to do so. Frustration. Need. Craving. All bleeding into his expression. Against better judgement, you could feel it too, the irresistible pull of barely enough, the desire to tease turning into wetness between your legs, slowly but surely perfuming the air with your sweet, musky arousal.

Jungkook opened his eyes and stared up at you, imploring softly.

“P-Please…”

His arm lifted from his forehead and his other hand raised, fingertips stroking your thighs while using his shoulder blades for leverage. Forceful and precise. You let go of his belt and traced the knuckles of one of his hands, feeling the restrained strength in his touch. He sank his fingers into your thighs, gasping, pressing the back of his head onto the floor and arching his back. His open shirt. His exposed muscular chest. His tan skin faintly glistening with sweat. His throat begging for a bite.

You raked your nails down his abs, forcing Jungkook to lustfully grown to the ceiling.

You smirked.

“Get up.”

With minimal effort, Jungkook lifted his torso off the ground, frowning at you for asking him to be reasonable. His palms pressed into your thighs, ensuring that you continued to straddle him even though you had no intention of moving. In fact, you drew your knees together, pinning him in between your thighs. A few black strands had dislodged from their places and draped over his furrowed brows.

“Was that so difficult?” you murmured with lowered lashes, walking your nails up his chest.

His hands were sliding up towards your hips under your skirt. “Yeah.” He squeezed your ass with his strong grip while staring into your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to get you out of this dress for hours.”

“Hm.”

You gave him an unimpressed look as you felt his fingertips glide down. He pulled outwards ever-so-slightly. From below, out of sight, your pussy lips parted with a wet sucking sound.

Jungkook moaned against your cheek, pressing his naked chest against your clothed breasts.

“Come on… Please…”

You hand had migrated to his side, steadily scratching his lower back.

“Very reckless and dangerous of you.”

He glanced at you with those half-moon eyes filled with stars of longing.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me to be,” Jungkook whispered hotly. “Brushing up against me by accident when I already told you that you look too damn hot. Teasing me every time I look down by showing off your legs even more.” His mouth brushed against the side of yours. You could faintly feel his lip rings. “You’re mean.”

You sat on top of his still-hard cock and purred, “I don’t recall doing such things,” before lightly bouncing on top of it.

He gasped and you sucked away his exhale, pulling back before he could kiss you.

“Let me,” he breathed out.

His hands came up to cradle your back as you arched your spine and then you sighed out, his soft kisses fanning over your décolletage, tucking his tongue between your breasts and licking upwards, his eyelids fluttering in bliss from the taste of your perfumed skin.

“Please, let me…”

Your arms around his neck. You had not intended to fuck Jeon Jungkook tonight but, then again, that was easy to think when he hadn’t looked at you with those perfectly desperate eyes yet. Nor had he yet pushed the top of your ass down to collide with his hard dick still fighting his pants, implying just how well you would fit together. Until right now that is. You smiled, leaning back into his warmth.

“At least button your shirt so you don’t startle the hotel staff with your sexy body.”

His ears flushed bright red. You shot him an amused look as he fumbled about.

“And what if there was a camera in here, hm? Recording your depravity,” you mused, appreciating the view.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbled to his chest. His ears remained red.

“I see. But if I compliment you, you become embarrassed.”

Jungkook avoided your gaze. “N-No…”

You hooked a finger under his chin and yanked him back up, confronting those big, dark brown orbs. He looked taken aback, almost afraid of what you would say next.

“I can’t wait to have you under me,” you whispered. “I’ll make you show me how talented you are at begging.”

He moaned into your mouth as you kissed him deeply, pulling him into your possessive embrace.

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x you

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yapperblog · 23 hours

Text

Red Red Wine

"Handing my boyfriend a spicy polaroid of myself while we are at dinner"

Tags: established relationship, excibitionism, brief choking, oral (m!rec and fem!rec), PinV unprotected, titjob. +18

Explicit RPF below, don't interact if you are not comfortable with that

You stand in front of the mirror, fixing your hair and checking your outfit from different angles. You and Joost are going on a date to a restaurant, there is no special occasion really, you both just wanted a reason to get dressed up and spend time together.

"You look great." you feel a pair of warm hands on your hips, your eyes meet Joost's in the mirror. He leans to kiss your shoulder.

You turn in his arms. "Speaking of looking great, look at you." He is wearing a fitted black suit, thick framed black glasses, his hair is freshly trimmed, and when he smiles at your compliment you notice he put in the grills on two of his teeth. He needed to add more personality to the suit. You fix his tie and smooth down the white shirt moving your hands from his pecs down his torso, stopping at the chunky belt buckle.

You turn back to the mirror checking yourself one last time. You are about to bend down to do the strap on your heels.

"Let me." Joost says and kneels in front of you. His hands gently move from your calf to your ankle, his touch is feather light, but still sends a shiver down your spine. He looks up at you and you move your foot closer to him. He puts his his head down to focus on the task at hand, you see a faint smirk form on his lips in the reflection of the mirror. He buckles the strap around your ankle and motions for you to bring your other foot closer. All of his touches are gentle, his hands so warm on your skin.

When he is finished, he leans in to leave a kiss on your exposed leg, just above knee, you feel your cheeks start to go red.

"Thank you." you say quietly as he stands up in front of you, you have to tilt your head up to look him in the eyes.

"My pleasure." he bows his head dramatically. He is joking, and his theatrics make you giggle, but it's true - caring for you is a pleasure to him, he would do just about anything for you.

When you are about to leave, you make sure you have the polaroid photo in your purse and rush out of the door, where Joost is waiting for you.

The restaurant you picked is fancier than the usual places you go on a date to, the reviews are great and the dim lighting with candles on each table is making it very cozy. There is a live band playing soft music on the instruments, which Joost is immediately impressed by. His usual music preference is fast and loud to match his energy and fast-pace thoughts, but he appreciates a good live instrument.

After getting seated and ordering, you feel yourself get more nervous about the surprise you prepared for him. You saw a trend of people getting their partner a spicy polaroid of themselves and decided to treat Joost to one too. You bought a new lingerie set, a lacy see-through bra and matching panties with a delicate bow, but one thing let to another, you started trying out new things and poses, so after looking through the results, you decided on the one where you are completely naked. It is on a riskier side, but the idea of him reacting to it here turns your nerves into excitement. But it is not the time to reveal it yet.

"What's on your mind?" Joost asks. He takes your hand in his, tracing his thumb on your skin. You are sitting in a small booth type table, he is on the opposite side of you.

"This handsome guy I saw, actually" you reply, your tone neutral.

"Really? Who is he? Should I check him out too?" he turns to look around the room.

"I think you might know him. He is wearing a nice suit, it looks expensive. The pants fit around his thighs so nice." you whisper the last part and he turns back to look at you. You are glad that your table is a little further away from others and it feels secluded. "And if you are lucky and get him to smile, you will see those silver grills, which make him even hotter, if that's possible." you see a blush spread on his cheeks, but he quickly regains his composure, matching your eye contact.

"Damn, hope he is taken by the prettiest girl, which caught my eye earlier, in this tight silky dress which challenges his willpower to keep his hands away from her in public and not take it off." he squeezes your hand, which he is still holding. "or else I might ask for his number, he sounds like a treat." he ends the sentence with a wink to you.

You both laugh at each others comments and turn the conversation to talk about what you both did that day, you haven't seen each other since the early morning when you left for work and until he came back from the studio in the evening, when you both got ready and left for the date.

You are discussing the documentary you watched last night together, when the waiter brings the wine. You are glad to finally have a drink, it will help take your mind off the surprise, which lays heavy in the back of your head.

"It's nice here." Joost says lifting the glass to his lips.

"It is. I'm glad we decided to go." you are happy he is enjoying it.

"Me too." he leans back on the chair, his stature seems more relaxed now. You fall back into the conversation again.

The waiter brings the pasta which you both ordered. As much as you would like to hate the overpriced food, you have to admit it's delicious. After the first bite, you close your eyes and a quiet moan slips past your lips. Joost looks at you, finishes chewing, and reaches his hand across the table to your mouth.

"You've got something here." he swipes his thumb across the corner of your lower lip, slowly on purpose. It feels so nice to feel his touch on you. There is a little bit of red sauce, which he brings to his mouth and licks off, maintaining eye contact, and continues eating. You swallow hard.

You are glad he is feeling as flirty as you, it makes you giddy to what the night holds. You continue talking, eating and drinking wine, the giggles start to escape both of you.

An idea pops into your head and you immediately act on it, as you start to move your foot closer to his. The first touch of the tip of the heel you are wearing is very light right above his ankle. You keep it there. He continues telling the story. You nod while listening and move your foot a little higher along his leg, you see a glint in his eyes appear, which are staring intently into yours. You act as if nothing is happening, matching his eye contact, while moving your foot up and down his calf slowly. You bring it higher, just under his knee, which makes him he stumble over his words and loose the staring contest, having to look down into his now empty plate. He loves to act like he is in control, and you have fun pushing his buttons seeing how far you can go to make him break his act and show how he is truly wrapped around your finger.

"Having fun, are you?" he says leaning back on the chair, you notice the tips of his ears are red. He puts his hands under the table, finding your leg, holds your ankle, then moves further to message your calf. Your skin soft under his hands, he is just happy to touch you.

"I am." you reply calmly and give your opinion to the story proving you were listening carefully to the story he was telling and are unbothered. You count it as a little win. Making him flustered feels so good, knowing you have that effect on him.

"Do you want to order desert?" you suggest and put your foot down on the ground.

"Yes, I would love some." he agrees.

The dim light, instrumental music playing in the background, murmur of the conversations around you, and the nice buzz from the wine, makes you a little bolder. Everyone around seems to be in their own little bubble, focused on food and their company. You decide it's time.

You are laughing at the story Joost was telling from one of the times he went to Berlin with his friends, when the desert is placed on the table. You have to wipe the tears in the corner of your eyes from laughing so hard. He would tell you stories all night, if that meant he got to hear the beautiful sound of your laughter. Joost hands you one of the two spoons and waits for you to try first, because he knows you love the first bite.

"Actually, I have something else for you." you say and reach into your purse. You carefully take out the polaroid photo, holding it face down and sliding it to him across the table. You lift your hand and leave it front of him. You feel your own face going red at the excitement and nervousness. He looks puzzled, puts down the spoon, tries to read your expression, but you just motion for him to look at it. He takes the photo and flips in his hands to look what it is. His eyes immediately go wide, he quickly presses the polaroid to his chest, looking around to make sure no one around saw. You watch his every move, enjoying his reaction, you can't hold in a laugh that escapes you.

"Fuck." his voice sounds breathy. He looks at you exaggerating the shocked expression with his jaw open, you smile brightly. Not only his cheeks are flushed, but you see his neck slowly turn red.

He lets out a breath and looks at the polaroid, taking his time now. He leans against the back of the booth seat. You hear him swear under his breath as his eyes move across the photo, not even caring anymore if anybody walks by. He wipes the sweat the formed on his brow, trying to regain his composure. He looks at the photo again, the tips of his ears red, you are drinking in his every move.

"You did this for me?" he asks, as a little chuckle escapes him, when he sees how are excited you are.

"No, I did it for the neighbour upstairs. But he didn't answer the call in time, so I gave it to you" you say, your foot playing with his under the table again.

"Great thinking. That actually might have stopped him from complaining about the noise again." he matches your joke.

"Of course I did it for you." you touch the bracelet he got you with his initials. "Yours forever." your words make his heart race faster. He brings your hand with the bracelet on to his lips, kissing it softly.

A playful smile spreads across his face, he shakes his head and looks up at you.

"So that's what's got you so fidgety all night." he leans in placing his elbows on the table, turning the polaroid to you. It even takes your breath away, you look good in that photo.

"I wasn't fidgety." you say, defending yourself.

"Baby, I could see your hands shaking when we sat down." he says, sliding closer to you in the booth. "If I knew I had that on me, I would be nervous too." he is now only a few inches away from you. He looks at the photo again. "That is so fucking hot." he traces his finger along your body on the photo.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he takes one last look at it and puts into his card holder. To him it instantly becomes worth more than any card he owns. As much as he would love to stare at the photo for the rest of his life, he also can't believe you are sitting right in front of him, he is not possessive in a true sense of the word, but the thought that you are his, that you love him as much as he loves you, fills his heart with so much happiness.

"That's what I've been wondering too." you say, placing your elbows on the table, holding your head in your hands and turning to look at him through your lashes.

"So do you want the desert?" you take a spoon, swipe it across the white cream on the top of the piece of cake in front of you. He watches you bring the spoonfull of heavy cream into your mouth and lick it, closing your eyes, enjoying the taste. He knows you are trying to torture him and it's working.

You open your eyes, his eyes which were focused on your mouth meeting yours, his pupils are wide, the candle light reflecting in them. The fire matches his thoughts racing through his head right now.

He moves even closer to you, his lips close to your ear "I would love the desert." he whispers only for you to hear. You turn to face him, your faces only a breath apart. He almost leans in to kiss you, but you turn to the plate again, you dip your finger into the cream and bring it to his mouth this time. He looks into your eyes and takes it in without a second thought. His tongue swirling against the tip of your finger tasting the delicious cream, his tongue feels so wet and warm. You take it out as quickly, lick off the residue and wipe it on the napkin.

He brings a hand to your jaw, his fingers splayed on the side of your face, holding you this time, so you won't move, and kisses you. You let him and lean into him. His lips are soft against yours and you can still taste the desert. The closeness, his hand tight on your jaw, tilting your head the way he wants and the smell of his cologne almost makes you forget you are still in public and you can't do what flashes through your head.

"I'm gonna be right back." you end the kiss quickly and push at his chest, making him lean back. You stand up and head to the bathroom. You turn around the corner, down the hall and reach for the door handle, when you hear footsteps right behind you, a familiar cologne smell enveloping you again. Joost hurries you inside, locks the door, and pushes you against the wall, your chest flush against his.

"What are you doing?" you are breathless from all the sudden movements.

"I couldn't wait." he leans in licking his lips, you feel his breath against your lips. He smiles looking into your eyes for a silent confirmation that you are okay, you nod and catch a glimpse of his grills. He kisses you hungrily as he presses you into the wall with his full weight. You answer the kiss trying to keep up with his pace. You planned on teasing him longer, not letting him have his way, but you are so weak and his strong hold on your hips and warmth feels so good on you. One of his hands moves to grab at the muscle of your ass through the dress, you feel him breath heavily into the kiss.

You are getting dizzy, he seems to be everywhere all at once, it all feels so good. Your hands are around his shoulders, fingers scratching at the nape of his neck. He tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, you open your mouth for him, his tongue instantly finding yours, tasting you. He can't get enough of you, can't get close enough. You feel so soft under him, the prettiest needy sounds leaving your mouth in between kisses. He slowly moves his hand from your waist down to your hip, then your thigh, squeezing it, feeling the soft plush skin, earning more sounds. He doesn't have a plan, he just had to come with you here. He is happy with just a makeout session, but somewhere in between the desert and this moment he started to get hard, the pants getting uncomfortably tight. He wraps your leg around his hip to be even closer to you.

"Let me make you feel good." he tries to sound sexy, but it comes out more as a whimper.

You lean your head into the wall trying to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw leaving wet kisses on his path to your neck. With your leg wrapped around his hip, where he is holding it tight still, you can feel him hard close to your core. His other hand sneaks into the top of your dress, you are not wearing a bra, so it is easy for him to feel your chest, which he thought about all night. You moan under him, your nipple getting hard at the touch of his big hand. You feel his other hand leave your thigh and trail down your stomach closer to the slit of your dress.

"Joost." your voice is breathy. "Let's wait till we get home." his kisses on your neck slow down. You feel bad for denying him right now, but you need to stick to your plan.

He peels himself off of you, his soul coming back into his own body after what felt like intertwining with yours. "Okay" he leans in to kiss you on the lips again.

"I'm sorry." your eyes move down his crotch, his bulge visible in his suit pants.

"No, it's fine. We just have to wait here a little." his voice gentle.

"Um, I actually do need to pee." you say. This bathroom is not a big space, a sink with a big mirror and a toilet.

"Okay." he says matter of factly. "I'll turn to face the wall." he adds when he notices you raise an eyebrow. "I can't go out now like that." he points to his crotch. "Also as if I haven't seen you pee before." he says more quiet. He is right, while traveling by car with him from country to country for his concerts, you had to make some questionable stops in the middle of nowhere. Also living together for so long, you both are long past locking the door while showering, so the other can use the bathroom at the same time.

"You did this to yourself by the way." you motion to his dick.

"I know, but can you blame me?" he turns to look at the wall, his eyes closed, you are sure he is trying to think of something to make the boner go away. "Next time I will give you my nude photo at dinner." he jokes, but the idea actually plants in his mind.

You are washing your hands, fixing your hair in the mirror.

"I can't stop thinking about that polaroid. Can't believe you did that for me." his voice soft, full of love. He feels like that photo is burning through the card holder, through the pocket of his pants.

"I'd do anything for you, you know." you look at him through the mirror.

"Don't say that right now." he throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, blood rushing back to his dick.

"I have one more, if you will be a good boy, I will give it to you." you turn to him, leaning back against the sink.

He looks into your eyes, a sweet smile on your face, a contrast to the words which just came out of your mouth, makes him close the space between you, his hands on your hips again, slotting so perfectly against your body. He is convinced you were made for him how good you fit on his hands.

"Will you be a good boy?" you look up at him, placing your hands on his chest, trying to feel his pecs through the suit.

He feels like a teenager again, trying not to get hard at every word a girl he likes says.

"You are torturing me, you know?" a potential image of another photo circulating through his mind. He leans in to kiss you again, slow and soft this time. Enjoying your lips on his. He bites your lower lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make you gasp in surprise.

You lean back in his embrace, your lipstick all over his lips. You bring your thumb to clean it off.

"Want to go for a smoke?" you offer. "Might help your situation." you trace your nail slowly just under his belt.

He takes your hand in his and leads you outside, a cigarette sounds really good right now.

You go into an alleyway next to the restaurant. It is a warm evening, but you still shiver as soon as you step outside. He shrugs off his jacket, and puts it around your shoulders. He doesn't even need to look at you, already knows you will be shivering, he feels hot all over on the other hand.

He takes out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket, which hangs from your shoulders. Offers you one, which you take and place it between your lips. He lights your cigarette and then for himself. Joost inhales the smoke slowly, nice feeling spreading across his chest. You watch him roll up the sleeves of his white shirt, as you bring his jacket tighter around your shoulders. It smells just like him.

"So what's the plan?" you ask him.

"I don't know, you tell me." he smiles, now more relaxed, the grills shining back at you from his wide smile. "I'm at your mercy."

"We head back to finish the desert. I hope they are not looking for us by now, thinking we ditched the bill." you say.

"And what if we do ditch it?" he blows the smoke up into the night air. "Run away. Just me and you."

"It's always just me and you." you step closer to him, placing your hand on his exposed forearm, moving further up to play with his tie. He looks so good, the rolled up sleeves revealing his tattoos, which you always had a soft spot for.

He takes a slow drag, blows the smoke away from your face, even though you are also smoking. Then leans in, putting your hair behind your ear and off your shoulder, "Such a tease tonight." his mouth right next to your ear, "Do you want me to bend you over right here and take you against the wall?"

Your eyes go wide, suddenly the night breeze is not enough to regulate your temperature. He straightens up to stand tall in front of you, looking down at you. A surprised chuckle comes out of you. The real answer is: You do, but you will never admit that to him. Not now at least.

"When did you get so bold, mr. Klein?" you are still holding his tie loosely between your fingers. His cocky stage persona taking the light now, you love it.

"Learned from the best." he says and you try to pull him closer to you by the tie.

"You are right. Let's head back for the desert." he doesn't give in to your pull. Both of you playing this cat and mouse game, which makes the end result all the more exciting. You giggle and lead him inside by the tie, dropping it, as soon as you walk in. He still follows you blindly, as if bound by an invisible string.

You finish the desert, he pays the bill and you can't get home soon enough. His hand is trying to trail up further and further up your thigh, you keep swatting it away playfully.

"Be patient." you whisper to him. "We can do anything you want when we are back home." you make a promise to him. He loosens the tie around his neck at your words.

You open the door, he follows right behind, you can feel his heat behind your back. You turn around, facing him, now walking backwards slowly towards the wall, he is following you a few steps behind. You lean forward to take off your heels, kicking them to the side. relieved to finally fully touch the floor. Without the added inches, you are even shorter now, having to look up higher to face him. He is walking you into the wall like he is hunting a prey. You beckon him closer with your finger, as a giggle escapes you, sparkles dancing in your eyes.

Your back hits the wall, as he closes the distance between you, his eyes fixated on yours. You take a good look at him, a smile on his lips reveals the shiny grills, rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt make his shoulders even wider, the pants fit him so nice. He looks incredible, you should go out all dressed up more often. You take his tie in your hands.

"Come here." you bring him closer to you by the tie. He leans in crashing his lips into yours, a groan escapes his lips, which you can feel through your whole body. It excites you even more.

His hand is on your neck, applying a slight pressure, his fingers splayed on your pulse point, under your jaw, which makes you moan into his mouth, a sound so delicious to him, he drinks it all in. His hand feels so big and warm on you, you start to feel a pulse between your legs. You let go of his tie, when he uses the hand on your neck to turn your head the way he wants to deepen the kiss. His other hand grabs a handfull of your ass. Every time he is close to you he feels like it's not enough, wants to envelop you whole, there is so much space for love in him and it is all for you. You make him dizzy with just your presence, your perfume, your soft skin, the rapid pulse he can feel under his hand, it all makes him the happiest man on earth.

You break apart gasping for air, his hair messed up from your hands running through them. His lips are swollen, stained with your lipstick, you try to wipe it off, but end up smearing it even further, he follows your hand pushing his face against it, craving your touch. He kisses your palm, your wrist, your hand so much smaller in his. He takes both your wrists in his one hand and hold them above your head.

"So beautiful." he says quietly. It's just you two in the apartment, but he wants those words to belong just to you. His hand traces from your jaw down your chest, stomach, slowly tracing the curve of your waist, while you can't move, your wrists pinned above your head. He is eating you with his eyes, enjoying the view. He sees you every day, but it is still never enough. You try to wriggle your wrists.

"Joost. Please" you whine, getting impatient.

He leans in closer. "Get on your knees for me, liefje." he lets go of your wrists, you immediately follow his request, your knees hitting the floor, you can't wait to get your hands on him. You lift your eyes, while undoing his belt, slowly moving to the zipper. He is looking down at you, his hands softly petting your hair.

You palm him through his underwear, he is already half hard. He moans a sound of satisfaction finally feeling you close to him. You lean in to kiss his still clothed length.

"Go on, baby." you leave one last kiss right on his tip, before taking off his pants and boxers. His dick springs free, he feels so heavy in your hand. You place your other hand on his thigh, steadying yourself. You move closer placing featherlight kisses along his length, while he makes a makeshift ponytail with your hair to get it out of the way. You lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, spitting on it, mixing it with his pre-cum, now your hand slides so much better along him. You keep moving your hand up and down while looking at him through your lashes, his mouth is open, slight moans escaping his mouth, but you hear him. You cup his balls and his head falls back, you massage them pulling more sounds from him.

You feel him pull your hair tighter. "Open your mouth for me, schat." you oblige, sticking out your tongue. He takes his dick in his hand, slaps it on your tongue and pushes in. He lets you set the pace, but still keeps a strong hold on your head. You try to steady your breathing to take more of him. He feels your nails on his thigh, secretly loves that feeling, it feels grounding when he feels like floating away from the warm and wet feeling of your mouth, bringing him so much pleasure. You keep sucking him, hollowing your mouth, following the pulsing vein with your tongue.

You breathe steadily through your nose, looking up at him, watching the expressions on his face, when he starts to buck his hips into your mouth.

"Fuck, baby. Feels so- good." his voice is low. "Can I-" his words are not coming out properly, he is so lost in you. But you know what he wants, you hum a confirmation around him. He puts one hand on the wall behind you, the other hand on the side of your head as he starts thrusting harder. Tears are forming at the corners of your eyes. Drool coming out down your chin and around his shaft, your nose hits his pubic hair, and he keeps your head there moaning loudly. He is so close suddenly, you feel him twitch in your mouth.

He pulls you off of him, you try to catch your breath, wiping your mouth. You reach out to touch him again already missing the heavy feeling of him in your throat, but he brings you up.

"Let me have a taste of you too." he says quickly pulling up his pants back on not bothering to do the belt properly, when you are face to face with him. He kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue, a reminder what you just did. You keep kissing as he walks you into the living room, blindly stumbling towards the couch, but he catches you. His hands steady on you, always holding you and you trust him completely.

He spins you around, bending you over the back of the couch. He presses himself behind you, kissing your shoulder, his hands quickly moving to the top of your dress

"I need you so bad." he kisses along your spine, moving lower and lower. He bunches up your dress along your hips, exposing you to him.

"You have me." you say, turning your head to look at him, holding yourself up on the couch.

He exhales loudly, as he squeezes your ass, only a thong separating you from him. "I've been thinking about this all day" he says kneeling down behind you. He is so impatient, so pent up and so inlove with you, he feels everything at the same time. He touches you through your underwear.

"So wet." you feel his breath in between your legs. You've never been with someone who loves giving head as much as him, he would put your pleasure above his own any day.

After continuing to touch you through the fabric, feeling your folds, hearing your impatient frustrated moans spurs him on, so he finally moved your underwear to the side and dives in immediately. He pushes you further into the couch with a firm hand on your lower back, you arch for him to have better access.

"The prettiest pussy and all for me." He spreads you with his two fingers and licks a long stripe from your clit to the hole, he feels it clench under his tongue. He is obsessed with how sensitive you are, your taste the most delicious to him. He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard, you buck your hips into him. You were already getting close by giving him head and all the pretty sounds you were able to pull from him, you feel like you won't last long.

He continues to make out with your cunt, his eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed, listening to every little sound you make, focusing on what makes you twitch the most, moan the loudest. He moves his head from side to side, which makes you arch even further.

"Please, Joost, don't stop. I'm almost there" you plead to him.

You feel him smile against your folds, it is so messy, you feel your thighs are wet when he pulls back and starts do draw fast wide circles around your folds, the sounds your pussy is making would embarrass you, if you weren't so lost in the building climax you feel in your lower stomach, pulsing through your whole body, your mind blurry, you keep repeating his name over and over, which makes him impossibly hard. You see him move his own hand between his legs, palming himself through the pants, groaning into your core.

"I need you inside of me. Please." you manage to say.

He would love nothing more in that moment, he stands up, pulls down his pants and underwear in one movement. His tip an angry shade of red, balls heavy, you turn your head forward, moving your hips closer to him, inviting him in.

"Quickly" you whine.

He is holding your hip with one hand, while he holds his dick in the other hand, slowly moving it through your folds, collecting your slick.

"Can you go again after?" he asks, his voice breathy.

"Can you?" you turn to him, placing your hand over his own on your hip, to feel more of him.

He chuckles. His tip catches your hole, pushing in. You both inhale at the same time. "You are in for a fun time today" he says, as he pushes in further, you are so wet, it is so easy for him. He bends over to be closer to you.

His heart runs like an engine as he bullies his drooling cock up against your soft cunt. His words close to your ear, nothing but filthy praise, about how you are perfect for him, that you were made for him, he loves you. His hips meet yours in a fast pace behind you, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. As soon as he moves his hand to draw circles around your clit, you scream out his name and gush all over him, squeezing him impossibly tight, which makes him lose his pace. It triggers his own release, after a few more pumps, you feel his cum paint your walls, there is so much, it starts to trickle down your thighs. He collapses on top of you, barely able to catch himself putting his hands on either side of you on the couch. His white shirt is sticking to his skin with how sweaty he is.

You feel he is still not fully soft inside of you. The stamina he has today makes you excited, because you are also ready for more.

You wince when he pulls out.

"Was that not too rough? Sorry, we didn't even make it to the bedroom." he asks, while his eyes are trained between your legs, it is so wet and shiny with both of your releases. He is almost hypnotised.

"I can't even catch my breath still. I don't think we could have possibly made it to the bedroom." you say and you both laugh.

He helps you stand up, you stand in front of him, moving your hands behind you undoing the zipper and slipping out of your dress, leaving it on the floor. He watches you intently, your naked figure in front of him. It is dark in the room, only a street light coming from the window and low light from the hall illuminating you.

"You are so beautiful." he repeats the words he says to you every day, no matter if you are in your pyjamas or full make up and expensive dress, if he was a painter he would paint you and only you. He gives you so many compliments, you started to believe them, boosting your self confidence, which you are thankful for.

"It is your turn now." you undo his tie, throwing it on top of your dress. He starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, while you move towards the bedroom.

You are both completely naked when you fall on the bed. You lay on the pillows, he slowly crawls on top of you, kissing your calfs, your thighs, as you spread your legs apart, giving him more space. He continues kissing his way up, your stomach, stopping on your chest, focusing on your tits. He looks into your eyes, when he takes your nipple into his mouth, playing with it with his tongue, sucking in. You arch your back, whining and moving your hands to his head, holding him close. His hand moves to touch your other boob, squeezing it, twisting and pulling the nipple, enjoying your moans. You feel so good in his mouth. He moves to the other nipple, changing hands to play with the shiny wet nipple from his spit.

You start lifting your hips to meet his, his cock lays heavy on your lower stomach. You pull on his hair to get his attention, he moves his hands in between your legs, you are so warm and wet at his touch.

He looks up at you, letting go of your nipple, moving further up closer to your face.

"You ready to go again?" you ask him, placing your hand on the side of his face, wiping the residue of you on his chin.

He kisses you, and you melt under him immediately. His lips ever so soft capturing yours.

"Yes." he says sitting up. "Are you?" he moves his hands from your neck slowly down to your chest, feeling your fast heartbeat, matching his own, down to your lower stomach. His thumb presses on your clit, your hips lift on their own, a whine escaping your lips, still overstimulated, but it feels so good at the same time. He sees you clench around nothing, waiting for him.

"Don't tease, Joost. Put it in." you reach out to touch his cock. You move your hand up and down his shaft, but he takes control again. He holds himself by the base, leaning in closer, he aligns your hips, putting his cock onto your lower stomach, the tip almost reaching your bellybutton, seeing how deep it will go in. The sight makes his breath catch. The tip leaves a wet spot on your skin.

"I love you so much." he says as he finally reaches your hole, sliding in. He moves your thighs further apart, holding them. He watches your face, your expressions helping him set the pace, seeing what makes you moan louder and what movements make you clench around him. He builds the thrusts around your pleasure. Your arms cling to his on your thighs.

"Feels so good" your head falls back on the pillows.

"Look at me, baby" he moves your head back to look at him. "I want to see you when you cum on my dick." each word is followed by a harder thrust. One of his hands moves to touch your nipple, letting go of your thighs. The other hand draws fast circles around your clit. He rolls his hips just the way you like, you feel your climax envelope your entire body, from your toes to the tips of your fingers. He lets you ride out your high, your hips moving on him, his hands moving softly on your sides. His dick keeping you full.

"That's it baby. That's it. So good for me" he praises you.

You come to your senses and feel him pull out. You start to flip on your stomach, thinking he wants to change positions.

"No, wait." he stops you, laying you on your back. His hands come to your chest, squeezing your boobs together. You are confused for a second, following his gaze on your chest, when you realize.

"Do you want to fuck my tits?" you ask. You could tell he wanted to do it for awhile, but he wouldn't bring it up for some reason. You wish he would believe your words, when you say you would let him do anything. You trust him completely.

"Yes. Would that be okay?" he asks meeting your eyes unsure.

"Yes. Come here" you push your boobs together. He can't believe the sight in front of him. He gets even harder than before. He moves his hand to your pussy, covering his hand in your release, when he brings it in the valley between your boobs, making it slippery.

"You are so nasty." you say. He always loves it messy, even prefers to cum on your stomach or chest, spreading it after, but truly you don't mind.

"And you love it." he says and lets his spit fall on your chest, holding your boobs together, making it even more wet. He plays with your nipples, twisting them in between his pointer finger and thumb, as he moves to straddle you closer, making sure not to put his weight on you.

You help him hold your boobs, when he lines himself in the valley of your breasts. He tries to move, his head falling back with a loud groan, it feels so good. You watch his face contorted in pleasure. He keeps moving his hips, as you squeeze your boobs tighter around him.

"Oh fuck, liefje." one of his hands move to the backboard of the bed for leverage. You open your mouth catching his tip when he thrusts in. He moans at that, his mouth agape, looking down at you.

"Do that again." you oblige and keep your mouth open. He keeps thrusting in and out, his tip staying in your mouth. You move your hand to cup his balls, feeling the tender skin. You make sure to place your tongue on his slit on his next thrust.

"Feels so good. So good." his brain is a mush at this point, he starts to chase his high, moving faster. Your neck is getting tired, so he holds you by the back of your head.

"I'm so close, gonna cum." he warns you, in case you want him to move away. But you hum around him, sucking him harder. He shuts his eyes shut, after a few more thrusts he cums in your mouth, but pulls out and also finishes on your chest. His own chest is contracting in shallow breaths, he plops down next to you on the bed, his legs can't hold him anymore. You feel his warm release on your chest, which he can't stop looking at and starts massaging it into your tits.

"Joost." you whine. "You are such a freak." you swat his hands away laughing.

"And what if I did this?" he leans in quickly and puts your nipple into his mouth, feeling it wet with his spit and his own release. You squeal at feeling, pulling his hair.

"The biggest freak ever." a giggle escapes you. "Let's get in the shower."

After you get back all clean, you show him the other polaroids you took, but didn't end up choosing for the final surprise. He inspects every single one, commenting on what he likes about each one and makes you promise you will wear the underwear set you wore for it tomorrow.

He is already planning on giving you a nude polaroid photo of himself to match yours.

#joost klein #joost klein smut #joost klein rpf #joost klein x reader

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stagefoureddiediaz · 3 days

Text

We’ve been looking at this all wrong the entire time...

So my brain is a weird place that I don’t fully understand, but sometimes it connects dots and I figure something out that has been staring us in the face the entire time! Lets just say it explains so many things - right down to the very pointed use of tommy calling Buck Evan!

This all stemmed from me looking at colour theory and costuming for Buck and Eddie (and by extension Tommy) season 7 again, because I was going to try write the buddie costume metas for episodes 9 and 10 that I never managed to get done before we started season 8 I will hopefully get to those posts, but this post - while technically about Tommy and his costumes (yes me ant Tommy person writing a post on him I know!) it does also look at the costuming for Buck and to a lesser extent Eddie more widely across the season and what the colours used actually mean - getting some distance and some time on the season has been a blessing!

Im not going to go into it in detail, but, broadly speaking the show has given each character a signature colour - this doesn’t mean they wear it all of the time - but they do wear it a lot of the time and especially in key scenes - characters can have more than one key/ signature colour, and it can change and develop over time. We can ignore season 1 because it was a pilot season and very often shows won’t choose to establish a signature colour for a character (911 s1 is all over the place from a costuming perspective - because they had several designers working across the 10 episodes but since s2 we’ve had much more continuity with Alayna Bell-Price at the helm for most of it). So for example Athena’s signature colour is mostly black with white and khaki green also in the mix. She’s moved away from that subsequently - wearing less black and more white/creams but both colours are still staples of her wardrobe.

Eddie we all know mirrors Athena from a costuming perspective - his signature colours are also black and khaki green with some white/cream as well. The khaki green was much more dominant than the black to begin with - which played into his military past - that had evened out on the black and khaki front whilst the cream had stayed fairly steady, but now we’re also starting to see a little bit more of it as well as some darker blues. this mirrors Athenas own journey t healing - the more she heals the less Khaki we see and the more white/cream - Eddie is starting to follow the same path from a costume perspective.

Bucks signature colour has always been blue, but he also wears a fair amount of yellow and grey, so those are his three colours. He obviously wears a lot of other colours, especially white, but white has its own specific use in Bucks costumes that sits separately from his signature colours.

We all know about yellow/ blue and green blue colour theory - I’ve gone on about it enough (especially yellow blue colour theory and its queer coding) and others such as @lover-of-mine have as well. Well both yellow/blue and green/blue continued to play out in season 7, I’m not going to go into them in too much detail - there are posts on my pinned post that cover that much better and I want to get to the good stuff (and I know you all do too!)

We do need to remember that Buck and Eddie very very rarely wear blue and green in scenes together - if Eddie is in green Buck won’t be in blue, and vice versa - this is because of the ties to blue/green being Buck and Eddies break up colours - the colours they wear opposite their respective girlfriends when the relationships are ending. This is a little less set for Eddie - who actually wears white/cream much more when he’s ending relationships than blue or green - but the one time he has actively done the breaking up he was in green.

As I was starting to do a bit of work on the 7x9 and 7x10 metas, I ended up going back and looking over the Buck and Eddie costumes for the season as a whole, and how Tommy fit into all of that as well - as we’ve all been billing him as Eddie lite.

While I do still think there is an element of Tommy being Eddie lite, I don’t actually think that is what the show has been doing -that concept is a bit of a red herring. I’m sorry that this is likely to get a bit convoluted and wordy - but my brain is still reeling and incoherent so bear with me - I hope it all makes sense.

Right this post is super long so the rest is going below the cut! I hope you enjoy!

Because I was looking for Eddie and Tommy parallels in the costuming for the season, I had been looking at the choice to put Eddie in red/black for his dinner date with Kim and Buck being in green for the scene at Bucks loft, and the fact that back in 7x04 Tommy had been dressed in the same colours - a red henley which was shot with black giving it a red/black colour way. I naturally started looking at the other Eddie - Tommy costume parallels - and there are plenty - lots of the khaki green we see Eddie in - playing into Tommys own military background.

These are Tommy’s scenes - where he wasn’t in uniform of some description (which is a good chunk of his scenes to be fair)

7x04

at the hangar - white tee, greenish stone coloured shirt and a tan jacket with stonewash jeans

at the court - light grey marl cut off hoodie and bright blue shorts

at Bucks loft - red/black short sleeve henley and stone wash jeans

7x05

at the restaurant -dark khaki green shirt (I would also like to point out the blue green colour theory here with the addition of tommy having a blue phone case - which is relevant later I promise!)

coffee meet up - light grey henley and navy blue hoodie with mid wash jeans

7x06

karaoke club - navy blue short sleeved henley

7x10

light grey marl tee and greenish denim shirt

So what you can see from this is that besides the use of henley’s, the only time we get actually get direct reference to Eddies costuming is through the use of khaki green and his first outfit at the hangar. There is of course the direct parallel of the red/black colour way I spoke of before, but, beyond that if you look you’ll see that Tommys outfits actually parallel Bucks far far more. I would even argue the Henley’s are more similar to Buck than Eddie - because they are short sleeved and Eddies are invariably long sleeved.

Bucks colours are blue and grey - and so are Tommy’s - particularly in scenes that are 1-1 with Buck. What I’m trying to get at and will explain is that this has never ever been about Tommy being Eddie lite - this is all about Tommy being Buck - Buck’s subconscious if you will. (I know you all this I’m completely mad at this point - but stick with me!) I have a lot to say about all of this which will explain the why of it all and how we ended up here so we’re going to go through it Tommy costume by Tommy costume!

Lets start with the hangar scene - the most Eddie like Tommy looks throughout the entire season. this is very much intentional - this is about the red herring of it all, but it is also about Eddie (I’m not discrediting anything we’ve talked about regarding Tommy being Eddie lite etc - it is all relevant - but that’s what makes it such a good red herring!) and about Buck being an unreliable narrator. This is in part why we also still see Buck in his too short trousers and his white sneakers. This is his journey (the sneakers), but he’s still trapped in his old self at this moment in time - but aware that he doesn’t fit his skin anymore (as an aside I will be writing a post about Bucks trousers and their changing fit throughout the seasons at some point soon!)

Script wise the key lines are plentiful - the entire scene is full of double meaning. We get Buck stating that he is ‘happy where he’s at’ and Tommy’s response of ‘you’re thinking of changing things up’. viewed through the idea that Tommy is a version of Buck, this then plays out as an internal conflict - a battle about wanting what you already have - being happy with what you have, but also wanting to change things.

Eddie saying ‘you aren’t thinking of leaving us are you’ and Bucks response ‘I’m keeping my options fluid.’ Eddie needing reassurance that what they have isn’t going to change, while Bucks reply is about him not really being sure of himself - of who he is - keeping his options open because he’s figuring out if he wants to change - the line is said to and directed at Eddie so its about Buck keeping his options open about possibly changing their dynamic - becoming something more, even in the face of Eddie not wanting things to be different. Tommy stating in this scene that Buck doesn’t need to leave the 118 to get certified to fly - that its something he could do for fun on his days off - becomes even more loaded through the internal monologue lens - Buck considering how he can stay at the 118 and have the joy, fun and benefits of ‘flying’ when he isn’t at work - that he could fly with Eddie (Eddie going flying with Tommy to do something fun and date like is a very literal visual metaphor for Bucks internal monologue - showing him what it could be like if he changed things up). There not being three tickets - only two is also important - its again a metaphor this time about how if Buck and Eddies relationship changes - it would only change for the two of them - it would become a relationship that doesn’t have room for another in it. When I say that’s about Chris not being involved it sounds really harsh, but the reality is Chris cannot be a a part of Buddie - he cannot be a part of something romantic. it isn’t saying Chris isn’t important or central to Buck and Eddie - simply that he cannot be a factor in a romantic relationship - that has to be just between Buck and Eddie alone - its kind of about Eddie (and also to a certain extent the same is true for Buck) not being able to hide behind Chris anymore when it comes to Buck.

Fundamentally its all tied back to his death in season 6 (we even get the being struck by lightening reference from Buck just to bring that aspect home) and subsequent resurrection and rebirth (post linked on my pinned post if anyone wants to read it!). we have to keep at the front of our minds that Buck has died and that is still playing on his mind - its still influencing who he is and who he is becoming and it was all throughout season 7 - even if it wasn’t obvious or stated.

The basketball costume is actually the one that has always stood out for me - Its the most Buck outfit of all Tommys outfits. The bright blue shorts especially.

So in that scene, which we know is supposed to read as being from Bucks view point, not only are we getting golden haloed super happy bouncy Eddie - Eddie the way Buck sees him - but Buck is also projecting and seeing Tommy in the place he (Buck) has always existed in. It’s a visual representation of what Buck talked about with Maddie and Tommy replacing him in Eddies life. Its unreliable narrator buck in visuals he’s seeing Eddie replacing him with Tommy - occupying the same places Buck has and more - from the calendar to the basketball court.

But that’s actually wonderful, because not only does it give us information on how Buck views himself (as expendable/replaceable) and how he thinks others view him - because if he thinks he’s similar to Tommy (which for a purely visual stand point he is - Lou looks more like Oliver than Ryan) but it also gives us information about the reality of how much Buck is actually intwined in Eddies (and Christophers) life - its telling us that Buck is in fact on Eddies calendar (and therefore fridge - fridge magnet theory for the win!) and how much space and conversation he occupies in the Diaz’s everyday life.

So he isn’t actually seeing Eddie in Tommy at all - he’s actually seeing the version of himself he doesn’t think he is but wants to be in Tommy. The version of himself that takes Eddie to vegas etc - that’s the Buck that Buck wants to be - the one openly flirting with Eddie and taking him on dates etc. That’s why the vegas fight is so seemingly ott (especially when you think about the fact Tommy and Eddie have known each other a week or so at most by this point) its the grand gesture Buck wishes he could be making.

All of this also makes Bucks ‘attack on Eddie’ more telling (it’s still the boy pulling the girl he likes pig tails in the playground concept) because Eddie is being receptive to all of these advances by Tommy - adding further weight to the Buck being jealous of and threatened by Tommy.

Tommy is this version of Buck swooping in and doing all this stuff that Buck wants to be doing (subconsciously still at this point - willful ignorance be winning) but either didn’t know how to or didn’t know Eddie if would be receptive to. Remembering that this is all Bucks viewpoint of things its essentially Bucks brain showing him what dating Eddie would be like and Buck being Buck misunderstands what his brain is telling him (forever misunderstanding the assignment).

There is a second aspect to this and it ties into Tim’s comments about the hamster wheel Buck has a been stuck on and it being time he got off it - the hamster wheel is actually multifaceted and has more than one meaning. The most important is that the hamster wheel hasn’t ever been about his relationships or about the women he’s dating (or men now). The hamster wheel he’s stuck on is actually the fact that he’s built this strong relationship and family with Eddie and Chris - (you don’t find it son you make it) and its something safe and stable and predictable in his life. Getting off that hamster wheel is about being brave and moving that relationship - that family dynamic onto the next level - removing the platonic aspect of their family and making it a fully formed family for real - romantic love and all - so the ‘platonic’ family is the hamster wheel he actually needs to get off of.

The other aspect of Tommy actually being Buck and the hamster wheel of it all is that hamster wheels are solitary pursuits - the implication is that Buck is the one standing in his own way - and coming back to the basketball game we see that played out in the moment where Buck tries to literally run through Tommy - only you can’t act out at yourself, and Tommy is a literal solid unmoving barrier and Buck won’t get past himself by just trying to bulldoze his way through.

This all then plays into the final Buck and Tommy scene of the episode - in bucks loft. I already spoke above about the red/black of it all, but now with the added concept of Tommy being A version of Buck things start to become more interesting. The red/black of it all is a warning (and the poker date red/black velvet suit and eddies red and black suit from s6 actually play into this as well!) - its dark romance - ‘forbidden’ dangerous romance or love. So for Eddie and his date with Kim that meaning is very self explanatory. The two season 6 suits are also fairly self explanatory - for Eddie again its the dangers of looking for romance that isn’t on your own terms and for Buck at the poker game its about the danger of falling in love with the person you are when you aren’t being truly yourself. Tommy being a version of Buck and this concept is a little more murky - essentially is about a similar thing to his poker suit - with a twist - its about the danger of seeing more value and loving a version of yourself that ‘used to exist’ as well as a version of yourself that you think will make you more attractive to others.

We do also need to Talk about Bucks costume here as well - the fact that it fits him almost perfectly - he’s in well fitted if slightly loose jeans and a navy shirt that isn’t tight with buttons not clinging on for dear life (to the same extent). The colouring is still on the dark side - so its not entirely positive - much in the same way that other scenes with buck in a dark navy shirt are moments where things go a bit askew for Buck (think the taylor ‘I kinda love you for it’ scene from s5 as an example). The implication is that - before Tommy comes along Buck is at his most content with who he is - he’s fitting into his skin better than he has in a long while but it’s not perfect. This is key, firstly because of how the scene unfolds and secondly, because of how he is then costumed from here on out for the rest of the season.

I do also want to mention the yellow blue colour coding in this scene and that is mostly done through the lighting - Buck is in blue and the light behind him is always yellow - he is surrounded by yellow light. In contrast - Tommy is barely touched by the yellow light - not until Buck starts to figure things out - then we get him briefly touched by the yellow light - the rest of the time he is lit very cooly - which is in contrast to the warmth of the loft - and further plays into the idea of Tommy being a stand in for Evan - Evan who isn't loved and accepted in the same way Buck is - Evan who Buck needs to learn to love.

If we look at the script for this scene, it also fits in perfectly with the idea of Bucks internal monologue. Tommy and Eddie being ‘buddie’s’ making perfect sense is a literal aside to the audience telling them that Buddie makes perfect sense - but it is more than that. This is where I have to bring up the ‘Evan’ of it all. I know a lot of us shudder with horror because of the fact Tommy only ever calls Buck ‘Evan’ and how both jarring and rude it is. How it shows how little Tommy knows Buck. We’ve always known it was being done intentionally. Well, if we view the use of Evan through the lens of Tommy being a version of Buck and things become clearer. Because Tommy is basically the old version of Buck - the Buck who existed before he knew Eddie - before he joined the 118. And this is where the choice to bring back Tommy specifically for this role becomes a really smart one - because ‘Evan call me Buck Buckley’ was Tommys replacement at the 118. Tommy who has a problematic past that has never been dealt with on screen. This isn’t about the nature of the problematic past. This is the show playing on the idea of Buck’s software upgrades - before Buck 1.0 there was Evan, and using who Buck replaced at the 118 as a plot device to actually dig into Evan more so that Buck can deal with, accept and move on from Evan and become who Buck is meant to be.

Tommy saying he couldn’t replace Buck furthers this - because Buck cannot go back to being Evan - Evan can never replace Buck. invoking Christopher adds weight to this - because Chris never knew Evan - he’s only ever known Buck and Buck is ‘his Buck’ and irreplaceable. Tommy then stating his jealousy is about Evan feeling the lack of family that he grew up with - the recognition that as Buck he has made a family for himself - Bucks assertion that Tommy (Evan) was a part of it is valid - because without Evan Buck couldn’t build the family he has. The entirety of this conversation is about Buck choosing to ‘get to know’ his past (remember this is coming of the back of Buck crossing out the ‘LEY’ on his nameplate in s6 and his struggles with his parents acceptance in that season before the lightening strike), choosing to learn about Evan and embrace him as a part of Buck.

Bucks assertion that he was ‘trying to get [Tommys] attention and it being exhausting’ is part of that as is the confusion Tommy expresses. The choice for Buck to use the word ‘exhausting’ - it’s Bucks subconscious trying to get his own attention - its his subconscious telling Buck that he’s exhausting himself by not listening to what his inner voice is saying. It’s of course a play on Buck being called exhausting by other people (and is perhaps why he doesn’t have the confidence to listen to that inner voice) and that also plays into the Evan of it all and how Buck views himself. Tommys confusion also plays into that - bucks own mind is confused - it was getting ready to ‘pursue’ Eddie but now we’re pivoting into what is essentially self love.

The continued bringing up of Eddie also makes sense with the contact of Tommy being alt Buck - because Eddie Eddie Eddie fills Bucks heart and mind - Both Evan and Buck recognise Eddies importance if not his full relevance in this moment. The resulting kiss then becomes less about Bucks bi awakening (I am not diminishing the importance of that in any way shape or form - its a vital aspect of Bucks journey) and more about Bucks decision to pursue loving himself - this ties into his statement ‘it wasn’t about me wanting to leave the 118 - it was about wanting to get to know you’ - its about Buck wanting to get to know himself - on the other side of his death and resurrection. It’s a continuation of his comments about Natalia ‘seeing him perhaps better than he sees himself’ - it’s about Buck starting to see himself better now he’s died and essentially been reborn and bout Buck now being in a place where he feels ready to confront that idea of being reborn and becoming someone new.

At the restaurant in 7x05 we have Tommy in an Eddie colour, but in a shirt that is much more Bucks style. There is also the green/blue colour play with Tommy stating Buck isn’t ready and Tommys ‘mismatched’ clothing bears that up - the play is on Bucks lingering confusion and uncertainty about what he wants - is it the Eddie side of things we’re pursuing the self love of Evan aspect we’re looking to explore? The entire scene is not just about Bucks first ‘date with a dude’ its also about Bucks fumbled attempts at self love - at not getting it right - its why Bucks outfit doesn’t fit him- why they’re now too big and baggy (I wrote about this in my costume meta for that episode - which like all the other costume posts can be found linked on my pinned post). The innuendo about closets and Buck going into masculine bro mode is as much about his nervousness about being on a date with Tommy and being seen as it is about the fact that a man practicing self love is still taboo and so often met with derision - hiding that you are pursuing that is a kin to hiding queerness - at the start - until you get to a good place with it.

We side step into the Buck and Eddie loft scene briefly to look at Bucks confession to Eddie - I could write a whole thing on Eddies acceptance of Buck and its importance - but that is for a different post that isn’t already a million words long! what I want to mention in this scene is the why Buck can’t stop thinking about Tommy of it all - how it is essentially establishing the idea that Buck is starting to listen to himself. He can’t stop thinking about Tommy because it isn’t Tommy he can’t stop thinking about it’s actually himself - Evan - in a learning to love himself and embrace who he is and was kind of way - all being done through a bi lens. it is essentially about Buck doing the thing he needs to do to be ready for a forever relationship with Eddie - which is love and accept himself - all of himself and acknowledging that to Eddie.

Buck switches back to better fitting clothes for the coffee date - and tommy is now dressed back in Buck colours and no trace of anything resembling Eddie in sight - making it clear that Buck has chosen to pursue himself. To get himself to the place he needs and wants to be first - the line about not knowing what it is he’s ready for but being ready for something is key - its a very self love line, but it also puts a very clear time frame on things - it makes it clear that Tommy is not endgame - because Bucks choosing self love and embracing and understanding ‘Evan’ isn’t his end game but a part of his bigger journey - a part of becoming who he needs to be to achieve what he actually wants - to get him to his endgame.

Then we have the Karaoke - brief scene(s). There isn’t really a huge amount in these scenes. But I do want to point out two things - the awkwardness of Buck and Tommys hug - and how that plays into the tentative nature of Bucks self love journey - and also Eddies behaviour towards Tommy - and the way it was very very clearly a lot cooler than we saw in 7x04.

We all jumped on the Petty Eddie train - and I agree there is an element of that. But - there is also the fact we are not seeing that scene through Bucks eyes - its through external eyes and we are therefore seeing the actual reality of Eddie and Tommys friendship - in that it isn’t this heightened date like - flirty new love type relationship - its simply two people who are loosely friends. Its remarkably normal and no threatening - only furthering the entire purpose of 7x04 being from Bucks viewpoint and Tommy being an alt Buck rather than an alt Eddie. It also therefore serves to further establish the Buddie of it all (but we all already knew that!). Tommy is still in Buck colours and the short sleeved henley is still something I would put more into the Buck costume camp than the Eddie one - especially in this season!

The final Tommy scene and costume is the date at Bucks loft and the conversation about daddy kink. I still don’t like this scene (which has a lot more to do with execution and the script than the actual daddy kink of it all) but I am much more sanguine about it now that I understand what it is setting up.

Bear with me here I probably won’t make sense, but with the knowledge that Tommy is actually buck lite - a less good and developed version buck (Evan and in part the version of Buck that Buck himself thinks he is) the daddy kink scene actually becomes about setting up Buck addressing his past and his actual real daddy issues - because bucks past self sees his worth in those issues and without them it means both Evan and Buck have no worth. Buck confronting and dealing with them and choosing to forgive and move on means the end of Buck and Tommy because Tommy is no longer needed - he has served his purpose and Buck would be ready to start his future - Evan stays in the past and Buck completes his rebirth and closes his lightening strike arc.

Onto Bucks season 8 journey - Bringing Gerrard in to Bucks arc rather than the others who have far more connection to Gerrard now begins to make much more sense. Tommys past under Gerrard actually echoes Bucks past - in different ways and to vastly different degrees, but the parallel is there. S1 Buck being a play boy and sleeping around and not treating women especially well (objectifying them etc) because of his own hang ups - is a pale echo of Tommy being closeted and racist sexist and homophobic under Gerrard. Like I said before - Buck is a pale imitation to Tommy here and that’s intentional (more in a sec) because once Tommy is under the wing of Bobby when he takes over the 118 we see him begin to grow and change. Buck follows the same pattern - Bobbys guidance pulls him away from his destructive behaviours and sets him onto the right path (Bobby is arguably the birther of Buck - Look I could write a whole thing off the back of my death and resurrection of Buck post about Bobbys role as God - the heavenly father - in Bucks life and how that is the overarching theme of Bobby and the show but I don’t have the time tbh!) to ‘redemption’.

Bucks behaviour is very intentionally not as bad as Tommys behaviour, because if Tommy is the plot device meant to essentially represent Bucks subconscious and how he views himself, then the reason we haven’t been shown Tommy atoning for any of his past sins and behaviours is because Buck hasn’t forgiven himself for his own. Buck is his own worst critic and will self flagellate to a ridiculous degree - and again with him being an unreliable narrator - he views his past indiscretions as being the equivalent of Tommys - therefore in his mind he hasn’t yet done enough to deserve absolution (Buck and Bobby being father and son in this as well!).

Which brings me to s8 and the return of Gerrard and what Bucks arc is going to be (this is slightly incoherent and not fully formed - I’m still percolating!). Gerrard being central to Bucks arc - and Bucks push back is imo going to be about Buck taking a good look at himself and recognising/ facing up to and accepting his past. And that actually does come down to the daddy issues of it all. Because if Bobby is as good as Bucks dad - and allowed him (and his subconscious in the form of Tommy) to develop and grow - then Gerrard is Phillip Buckley (obviously a heightened more terrible version of reality in the same way Tommy is a much worse version of Buck) who parented Evan through apathy and taking the easy route - we saw Evan pushing back against Phillip in Buck Begins and being rewarded for it and thus establishing Bucks self destructive and self sacrificing pattern of behaviour. Acting out and getting hurt got him attention - so Buck acting out against Gerrard is this reduced and will ultimately have the same results just in an essentially more destructive way. This is is a good thing - because this is about Buck recognising that he is worth and acting out etc is detrimental to him progressing as a person - its going to actively prevent his self love journey to flourish (and this is why in part I maintain my belief that Tommy is going to, if not encourage Bucks behaviour, then at least tell him to go along with Gerrard demands - for an easy life and also part of why I don’t think we’ll see a huge amount of Tommy - at least to begin with - until we get to a point where Buck is really motoring on the self love journey and getting to the point where he needs to do some pre break up face to face conversations that move him forward!). It’s about forgiving and accepting his father for how Evan was raised - Bucks arc is going to be about forgiving himself and allowing himself to be happy, and he cannot do that if he doesn’t go through the Gerrard stuff - which is essentially a type of therapy. That’s also where I think the golf comes into it - it’s a metaphor for Buck building bridges, gaining understanding and accepting his past with his father - the metaphor of the driving range being the idea of standing side by side and performing the same thing, but landing in different places. There is also the concept of improving ones self and choosing to not repeat the mistakes of the past.

It also means the thing Tim said about Buck and Tommy becoming more comfortable with one another makes much more sense, and why he’d flip the question to talk about Eddie and about Eddie feeling a bit left out in the cold but not out in the cold! Buck is becoming more comfortable with himself and while he’s doing that and learning to be happy etc as I described above. Eddie is going to feel left out - because this is about Buck not Eddie - because it’s about Buck being ready for forever with Eddie - and Eddie ultimately cannot be a part of that journey - Buck has to do it for himself in the same way that Buck cannot help or be there while Eddie goes through his reckoning with the Catholic Church, and faiths place in his life and also dealing with the ghost of Shannon and his mother issues(because he has those and they are all set up to go in s8 - Chris being in Texas really sets that up nicely!

Bahaha Tim I’ve finally figured out your question answering methods and how they tell us all we need to know!!

All this to say - Tommy is actually alt Buck - not Eddie lite (I mean he is still also that but it’s a bit of a red herring) he is a plot device for the biggest thing about Buck as a character and it all means Buddie here we come!

Thank you so so much if you have read this epic piece of waffle - I hope you enjoyed and I truly look forward to hearing all your thoughts on this and to you being as insane about it as I am!

Tagging some people who asked (and some who didn’t but might be interested anyway!)

@spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @lover-of-mine @fruityfirehose @leothil

@bewitchedbewilderedbisexual @theladyyavilee @livingwherethesidewalkends @craigyxo

@izzysbeans @buddiediaz118 @inell @hotshotsxyz @winterskydragonx

#Man I hope this makes sense!#kym writes meta #kym costume meta #sort of #911 meta #gonna make a mini post about this to as I don't know how many people will actually read all 1 million words that I'e written!!!#Tommy isn't actually Eddie lite - He's actually alt Buck!#imo it all fits better than the Tommy is Eddie lite theory #which still works and is part of it - but I think the Buck angle is the more compelling one and makes more sense in the wider show!#If I am remotely right about this I will be flinging myself into the su n and never returning to earth!#anti bucktommy #anti tommy kinard #just to be safe as I know I'll likely get hate for this post from them!#911 spoilers #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc #buddie #my iinsane theories

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geotjwrs · 2 days

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Hey is it possible if you could do Jenna x male reader based off the song Dark Red by Steve Lacy? Thank you

only you babe

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The faint sound of music hummed in the background, barely loud enough to be heard over the quiet tension in the room. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, his phone clutched in his hand, his eyes staring blankly at the screen. It had been an hour since Jenna had texted, and her silence felt louder than anything else in his life right now.

"I think you know that I miss you…"

The lyrics echoed in his mind, but all he could focus on was the gnawing feeling in his gut—the one that told him something was wrong. He hadn’t heard from her since their last conversation, and now every passing second felt like a countdown to something he didn’t want to face.

He stood up, pacing the small apartment. He’d always had this fear, deep down, that Jenna might slip away. That one day, she would realize she didn’t need him. And lately, that fear had started to feel more real. The way she’d been distant, the way her messages came less frequently, it all pointed to something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

"Something bad is ’bout to happen to me…"

The words from the song buzzed in his head, like a warning he couldn’t ignore.

Y/N ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of everything bearing down on him. He knew he should call her, talk to her, ask her what was really going on. But every time he thought about it, that voice in the back of his mind whispered, What if she’s done? What if you push her away?

Just as he was about to give in to the anxiety, his phone buzzed. A message.

Jenna: “Can we talk?”

Y/N’s heart dropped. He stared at the screen, his hands shaking slightly. Those words—“Can we talk?”—were never a good sign. He could feel the blood draining from his face, and the room suddenly felt too small, too hot.

He sat down again, his mind racing with every possible worst-case scenario. She was leaving, wasn’t she? She had found someone else, or maybe she had finally gotten tired of him. Y/N’s thoughts spiraled out of control, and before he could stop himself, he typed out a response.

Y/N: “Is everything okay?”

The seconds stretched into minutes, and still no response. Y/N stood up again, pacing even faster now, his palms sweaty as he waited for her reply. He couldn’t breathe. His mind was clouded with every possible thing that could go wrong.

"I think I’m losin’ it…"

He looked around the apartment, his gaze falling on the little things that reminded him of her. The jacket she’d left hanging on the back of his chair. The coffee mug she always used. The picture of the two of them sitting on the shelf, smiling like nothing in the world could ever come between them.

But now, Y/N wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t been sure for a while, and it scared him more than anything.

Finally, his phone buzzed again. He snatched it up, his heart pounding in his chest as he read her message.

Jenna: “Yeah, but… I just feel like things have been off between us lately.”

Y/N closed his eyes, feeling a lump form in his throat. He had known this was coming. He had felt it in every silence, in every missed call, in every time she had looked at him like she was seeing someone else. But hearing her say it, seeing it in black and white on his screen, made it real.

Y/N: “I know… I’ve felt it too.”

He didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to tell her how scared he was, how much he loved her, how the thought of losing her made him feel like he was drowning. But he didn’t. Instead, he just waited, feeling like the walls were closing in around him.

An hour later, Jenna showed up at his door. She stood there, her arms crossed, looking at him with those dark eyes that had always been able to read him like a book. There was something different in them tonight, though—something he couldn’t quite place.

Y/N stepped aside, letting her in. They hadn’t talked in person for a couple of days, and the air between them felt heavy, loaded with everything left unsaid.

“Hey,” she said quietly, her voice almost fragile as she walked past him.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, his throat tight. He closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a second before following her into the living room.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, the space between them feeling much bigger than it had ever felt before. Y/N fidgeted with his hands, trying to come up with something to say, but his mind was blank.

Jenna looked at him, her expression soft but serious. “Y/N… I don’t know what’s been going on with us lately. But I can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong.”

Y/N swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to tell her everything—about how terrified he was of losing her, how he’d been feeling this weight of uncertainty pressing down on him for weeks. But instead, he just nodded, afraid that if he said the wrong thing, he’d make everything worse.

“Me too,” he finally managed to say. “I’ve felt it too.”

Jenna sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t want us to fall apart, Y/N. But lately, it feels like we’re not even on the same page anymore. Like we’re both just waiting for something bad to happen.”

Y/N’s heart sank. That was exactly how he had been feeling. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to say she was done with him. He hadn’t realized she was feeling the same way.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N said, his voice cracking slightly. He hated how vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. This was Jenna, the girl he had loved for longer than he could remember, and the thought of her walking out of his life was unbearable.

Jenna’s eyes softened at his words. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. “I don’t want to lose you either. But we need to figure this out, Y/N. We can’t keep going on like this, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Y/N nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. “I know. I just… I’ve been so scared, Jenna. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize you didn’t want this anymore. That you didn’t want me.”

Jenna’s expression softened even more, and she moved closer to him, her hand still gripping his. “Y/N… that’s not it. I love you. I always have. But we can’t keep letting fear control us. We need to talk to each other, not shut down every time things get hard.”

Y/N closed his eyes, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. She wasn’t leaving. She didn’t want to leave. But the fear, the doubt, had been eating him alive for weeks, and now that it was out in the open, he realized just how much it had been affecting them.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own head that I didn’t realize I was pushing you away.”

Jenna shook her head, her thumb gently brushing over the back of his hand. “We’ve both been doing it. But it doesn’t have to be like this. We can fix this, Y/N. We just need to be honest with each other.”

Y/N nodded, finally meeting her gaze. “I want that. I want us to be okay.”

Jenna smiled softly, leaning in to press her forehead against his. “We will be. But we have to stop letting fear get in the way.”

They sat there like that for a while, their foreheads touching, the weight of their unspoken fears slowly lifting. The tension between them wasn’t gone, but it felt lighter now, more manageable.

As the night wore on, Y/N realized that the dark cloud that had been hanging over them for so long was starting to fade. There were still things they needed to work through, still conversations they needed to have, but for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt like maybe they could make it through this.

And as he held Jenna close, he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going to let fear take her away from him. Not again.

#dailywomen #imagine #fanfic #one shot #jenna ortega #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x male reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n

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creatingblackcharacters · 1 day

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on the topic of fandom racism.. wanted to ask an outside opinion on this.

so without much detail bc i don't wanna get this person harassed or something, i'm in a fandom where most of the characters are japanese and look pretty similar, so the diversity is Not Great. recently i saw an artist, who is white, draw a character with slightly darker skin than the rest of the cast as Black, where he was ambiguously brown before. my problem with this as an outsider is that i think that plays into a ton more stereotypes than if he was just tan or something. this character is regarded to be misogynistic, overly sexual, and especially to his #fffff white japanese (girl) friend.

i, as a white person, would like to approach this artist and ask if that's really the message they wanna send, but god forbid i do not want to sound like those people that believe in "black-washing" or just hate to see more diversity in an anime lineup. would it be white knighting to point this out, or approach that, hey, maybe your only person of color in this cast shouldn't be the one that acts Like That...

Hm. I see what you're saying. I'd suggest a few things, which is really my go-to for everyone white fighting fandom racism:

1) first, look out for the voices of Black fans in that space and see what they're saying. If they are perturbed by what they see, then I would amplify their voices and support them first. Let them know they're not crazy. They're the ones experiencing the harm, let their voices be the ones prioritized. If no one Black has said anything, that could be a sign that this entire fandom isn't safe for that kind of feedback (which... Often.)

2) look at that person's page to see how they treat this character. Do they actually offer them depth? Are they a fan? Have they shared anyone's good perspective of him? Do they actually care about him, and think his being Black serves a better narrative? Or is it really just this character is a douchebag and now he's "Black" because they wanted some diversity points without thinking about it. Hell, does the original media do right by this ambiguously brown character lol? Because that can often be the larger issue too.

3) does this person positively interact with Black people at all? Like people, opinions, topics, politics, anything at all? Or is this their Token Black Blorbo Barbie™? Because that's a red red flag lmao.

4) if you still feel strongly about it, send them a DM. I'd say make sure to be genuinely polite, not because you should be respected more because of it, but so that it's on record that you wanted to give them the space to amend ("Hello, I mean no harm, but I was worried that this may-") You're white too, so it'll be safer. DMs are really a kindness, a last chance for grace; sometimes people are just like "fuck it, that's a racist and imma treat them like it". And I don't begrudge them that, this shit is exhausting and enraging.

5) accept that you may very well approach with the best intentions, and this artist may very well act a complete asshole* about it. They may make excuses, the classic "I would never be racist", they may accuse you of all those things that you just said, try to cast you as the problem, and their friends may very well make you out to be the racist for pointing out the racism. Welcome to fighting antiblackness and racism in fandom 👍🏾 it's a minefield out here.

*keep in mind, even if they "respond sweetly", the whole "thanks 💕" schtick is still them being an asshole. Racism in sweet words is still racism.

6) if they do respond like an asshole, it is not a reflection of you, but of them. 👍🏾 They are now purposely choosing racism. Block them and move accordingly.

#creatingblackcharacters #thatsjusttips

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highinmiamiii · 3 days

Text

you can be the boss 🦢

Club owner!Joe Kessler x Stripper Reader x DBF!Billy Butcher

18+ smut mdni

(a/n): new installment to club kess! i love this au soooo much kess is such a dirtbag, he’s kinda hard for me to write so i apologize if things are not as smooth sailing as you might expect. i hope you all enjoy this more sugar daddyish oriented smut chapter i was feeling smutty…perhaps we will get more sugar daddy shenanigans in the future before butcher decides he needs kessler gone asap. i love them being jealous of eachother its so hot, anyways

(CW: in general just stay away if you’re uncomfortable by anything sexual bc this is pretty filthy. fingering, squirting, slight daddyish dynamic, arguement w butcher, idk what else)

The dim glow of Kessler’s modern penthouse was a sharp contrast to the harsh reality she faced daily. The space was a testament to excess—a grand apartment bathed in dark marble, glass and metals, where every piece of furniture looked more out of some sort of sterile futuristic hospital than the last. Black velvet drapes, rich and heavy, framed the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of cigars and fine leather.

Tonight, she was a vision in a black silk dress that clung to her every curve, the material shimmering under the soft, ambient lighting. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, each step resonating with the weight of her uncertainty. The dress’s plunging neckline and thigh-high slit revealed just enough to captivate yet leave much to the imagination. Her makeup was impeccable—smoky eyes and red lips that promised allure. Her hair cascaded in glossy waves, framing her face in a way that only enhanced her beauty further.

Kessler lounged on an overstuffed leather sofa, his presence larger than life. He had a predatory grace about him, his eyes glinting with unspoken promises. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice smooth as silk. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous tonight. I must say, the way that dress hugs you—” He let the compliment trail off, his gaze lingering in a manner both admiring and possessive.

She shifted uncomfortably, aware of the subtle pressure his gaze exerted. “Thank you, Mr. Kessler,” she replied, attempting to mask her discomfort with a polite smile.

Kessler’s smile widened, revealing a glint of white teeth. “Call me Joe, darling. ‘Mr. Kessler’ makes me sound like a schoolteacher. Now, let’s talk business.” He gestured toward a bottle of vintage champagne resting in an ice bucket nearby, his hand lingering just a fraction too long on her arm as he led her to sit beside him.

As she settled on the sofa, he poured the champagne with practiced elegance, his eyes never straying far from her. “You know, baby, I’ve been thinking about our last conversation. You’ve got something special, and I’d hate to see that talent go to waste.”

Her heart raced at his words. She thought back to the other day when he spoke to her in his office. The promises of stardom hanging heavy between them since them “H-how so?”

Kessler leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “I’m talking about making you a star. Not just any star, but one of those dazzling lights that everyone will want to see. I could maybe even get ya in a film one day”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, trying to read his intentions. “And what’s in it for you?”

A smirk played on his lips as he handed her a thick envelope stuffed with cash. “Absolutely nothing sweetheart, just a little something to show my appreciation. Get yourself something nice to wear. Don’t worry about the details just yet. We’re going to get you out of this town, baby. It’s only a matter of time.”

The envelope felt heavy in her hands, its weight a reminder of her growing dependence on Kessler’s promises. As she hesitated, he reached out and gently stroked her cheek. “Relax, darling. You’re in good hands.”

His thick strong hands roamed their way down her waist, gently turning her over so her back is facing him. He starts to dig his fingers deep into the blades of her back, kneading the skin and helping her release every last knot “Mmm, so tense baby” He huffs and kneads rougher, causing a pleasured gasp to escape her throat “fuck..” She whispers, cracking her neck

Kessler’s hands continued their slow, deliberate work on her back, each stroke more possessive than the last. His breath was hot against her neck, close enough to send shivers down her spine. He was playing a dangerous game—one that blurred the lines between manipulation and seduction.

“Can’t have my girls all tense like this,” Kessler whispered, his lips grazing her ear, voice low and full of promise. “You’ve been carrying too much weight on those pretty shoulders.”

He pushed her hair aside and trailed soft kisses down the back of her neck, his lips lingering just enough to make her pulse quicken. She tensed, unsure how to respond. Part of her mind screamed to pull away, but her body betrayed her, leaning back into his touch, craving the attention despite the warning signs flashing in her head.

“You don’t need to worry about a thing, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers now tracing circles along her hips, drawing her closer into him. “I’ll take care of everything. You just let me handle it.”

His hands roamed lower, teasingly brushing against her waist as he spun her around to face him. Kessler’s dark eyes were filled with desire and power, a dangerous mix that made her heart race. He pulled her closer, into his lap so that she’s straddling his waist.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Kessler growled softly, his hand now caressing her cheek, thumb tracing her lips. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you, baby? The way you move, the way you look at me… it drives me wild.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips crashing against hers with an intensity that made her knees weak. The kiss was hard and demanding, filled with the same possessiveness that had been building between them since the start. His hand gripped the back of her neck, holding her in place as his tongue slid against hers, coaxing her deeper into the moment.

Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions. She knew this was wrong—knew that he was manipulating her, bending her to his will. But in that moment, with his hands on her and his words washing over her, it was hard to remember the reasons why she had to resist.

He pressed her against the wall, his lips finding their way to her jaw, her throat, marking her with each kiss. “I’ll take care of you, baby,” he whispered against her skin, the promise dripping with desire and control. “You won’t need anyone else. Just me.”

Her breath quickened, and she felt his hand slide down to her thigh, lifting her leg slightly so that he could press himself harder against her. It was overwhelming, the way he commanded the situation, the way he took control without giving her time to think. Kessler pulled back just enough to speak, his voice husky with lust. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s what you do to this ol’ man, eh? you proud of that?” He says teasingly as he breathes heavily into your ear

As his lips found hers again, she kissed him back with a desperation that surprised even her. It wasn’t just the money, or the promises—it was the way he made her feel in moments like this. Powerful, desired, and yet, completely under his thumb. A stark contrast to how Billy made her feel.

The only time she would feel any sort of reciprocation from Butcher when he was off his rockers or blackout drunk. You’d looked up to him since you were a literal little girl. Of course you had a dumb schoolgirl crush on him, but that didn’t matter right now. Not with Kessler holding you like this, making you feel so sexy, so wanted, spoiling you every last chance he got. Fuck Billy. If he didn’t want her sober then she was going to find someone world’s better for her.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, she knew the truth: the more she gave in, the more she’d lose of herself. But then again, it was a much better feeling to have someone want you without having to consume enough alcohol to kill a small animal for once.

Kessler’s hands slid up her waist again, his grip firm. “You won’t ever need to work for those tips again,” he murmured, kissing her neck. “You’re too good for that. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

She pulled back, her breath ragged as she searched his eyes. “And what do you get out of this, Joe?…” She asked, honestly not wanting to deal with her suspicions right now and see him as the perfect man…but she had to, it seemed like a very unfair trade here.

He smirked, that devilish grin lighting up his face. “I get you, sweetheart. That’s more than enough.”

Her mind was screaming at her to step away, to leave, but instead, she stayed there, pinned between Kessler and the wall, completely unsure of where to go from here.

Kessler's gaze held hers captive, his eyes darkening with intensity. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek before tangling in her hair. "Why do you always have to be so unsure about everything, huh babygirl?" he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

Kessler's hands tightened around her waist, his fingers splayed possessively over her hips. "You know, when you're being difficult, it makes me want to put you over my knee and spank some sense into you." He growled, his voice low and menacing.

Her eyes widened, her face flushing a deep shade of red. "W-What?... Over your knee?... Like a- a fucking a child?" She stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re sicker than I thought you were Kess” She mutters with a soft nervous chuckle. Kessler grinned wickedly, enjoying her flustered reaction. "Well, sweetheart, you're acting like a damn brat right now, ain't you? Maybe a good spanking is just what you need to learn some respect." His hands squeezed her backside, his intent clear.

She nervously stutters out “Y-you know what- it’s getting late kess—“

Kessler silenced her protests with a searing kiss, his hands gripping her thighs and hoisting her up. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck. "Then perhaps," he said against her lips, "you should show me some obedience instead, young lady."

Her mind was racing, but her body betrayed her, clinging to him as he carried her to the bedroom. She buried her face in his neck, murmuring “y-yes Mr. Kessler”

He hikes her dress up past her ass, his palm smacking loudly against the plump fat, her skin rippling as she yelps in shock “Told ya not to fuckin’ call me that, didn’t I babygirl?”

She gasped as his palm connected with her bottom, the sharp smack echoing in the room. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she buried her face deeper into his neck, letting out a choked sob "Y-yes- m’sorry” she whines helplessly

Kessler's hand caressed her reddened flesh soothingly, his touch gentle despite the earlier roughness. "Good girl." He praised, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's see if you can ride my hand like one"

Kessler felt a surge of protectiveness well up within him. He could feel her body quivering against his, her breath coming in ragged, tear-choked gasps. Her vulnerability stirred something primal within him, a need to cherish and control her in equal measure. She let out a soft, shuddering breath as his hand caressed her stinging backside, her body still tensed from the sudden, humiliating punishment. The heat from his palm seeped into her skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room. His touch gentled, his fingers trailing along the crease of her bottom, pausing to squeeze the tender flesh possessively before slipping lower. She could feel his knuckles brushing against her thighs, parting them ever so slightly.

Kessler wrapped an arm around her waist and tossed her facedown on the mattress, her breath hitching as she bounced slightly. He climbed onto the bed, straddling her thighs and pinning her hips down with one beefy, tattooed arm wrapped around her waist. His other hand snaked beneath her, groping along her inner thighs until it reached the hem of her lace underwear. He paused, his thick fingers toying with the delicate fabric before he slowly began to drag it aside, revealing the tender flesh beneath.

As he exposed her soaked pussy, he let out a low, appreciative growl. "Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his breath hot against her ear. "Fucking soaked, just for me. dripping all over my sheets, aren't you, sweetness?" Her cheeks flamed with embarrassed heat as she buried her face in the mattress, muffling her moans. His thick fingers parted her folds, slowly sliding up and down her slick crease. “Answer me," he demanded gruffly, punctuating his words with firm pressure against her hole.

“Y-yes” she gasps out softly, wondering how the hell she got here. she had promised butcher that she wasn’t sleeping with kessler, especially not for his money…so what the hell was she doing letting him touch her like this. Her mind raced as Kessler's touch grew bolder, his fingers pumping in and out of her as his thumb swirled around her sensitive little pulsing nub, soaking up her guilty secret. "Squeezin’ me and i’ve barely got two fingers in, got the tightest pretty little pussy i’ve ever laid eyes on, baby" he growled, his breath hot against her ear.

Kessler's fingers curled inward, pressing against her g-spot as he continued to talk dirty to her. "that’s a good fuckin’ girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "let's see just how messy we can get’er, eh?”

She bit down on her lip to silence her cries as he slowly added a third finger, stretching her wide. His touch grew more insistent, his thumb rubbing firm circles over her swollen nub while his fingers pumped in and out of her, slowly gaining speed.

“oh yeah baby, doin’ so well..” he rasped, his tone filled with approval. “This little cunts gripping my fingers so tight, all soaked and sloppy... that old fuck that comes around the club- what’s his name sweetheart?— “

“W-wha—“ She mumbles, rolling her neck in pleasure as she arches her back slightly. “jeeesus- i- i don’t know who you’re talking about-“

“The motherfucker that picks ya up babygirl, think I don’t ask around? Butcher, was it? He bury his fingers this deep in ya like I am now?"

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled moan as he hit that spot inside her again and again. Her eyes rolled back, and she squeezed her legs together, trying to keep his fingers inside her, but he just pushed them in even deeper. Her back bowed, pushing her rear higher into the air as unbridled pleasure coursed through her veins like liquid fire. Each thrust of his fingers against that magical spot sent shockwaves through her core, her inner walls clutching at him greedily, desperate to keep him inside.

"Mmm, does he make you feel like this?" Kessler growled, his breath hot against her ear. "does he make you shake and whimper like my touch does? does he make you beg for his touch, sweetheart?"

"No, Billy means nothing," she stammered, her back arching off the bed as Kessler's fingers hit that magic spot inside her. "We've never— really done anything. He's always drunk, and I've never… never even gotten close to finishing with him…I-I swear…”

Kessler's eyes widened in disbelief as she spoke, his fingers pausing inside her for a moment before he started moving again, faster and harder. "What the fuck, sweetheart? He's never even gotten you off?" "He's not my boyfriend," she gasped, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets. "He's just... around. And when he is, he's drunk or asleep. Oh god, Kess, please..." Kessler groaned softly, his mind racing with the realization that he was likely the only one who'd ever touched her like this, who'd ever brought her to the brink of release. His fingers curled inside her, his thumb rubbing her swollen nub with quick, firm circles. "You're so close, babygirl. I can feel you pulsating around my fingers. You're gonna come for me like this, ain't ya? Y’don’t need him..” She nodded frantically, her body trembling as his words washed over her. "Yes, Kess, yes, d-don’t need him! I've never... I've never even touched myself like this. Only you, only your fingers—and oh god, I'm so close!"

Her back bowed, a high-pitched cry tearing from her throat as the most intense pleasure she'd ever known exploded within her. It was like a dam breaking, her insides convulsing as waves of pure ecstasy crashed over her. Kessler's mouth dropped open as she cried out, her body convulsing as a torrent of her release gushed out, drenching his hand. "Holy fuck...made my girl fuckin’ squirt" he breathed, watching in awe as her body trembled and quaked.

He quickly moved to clean her up, his tongue delving between her folds to lap up every last drop. She whimpered and shuddered, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as he ate her out like a starving man.

Kessler's face buried between her thighs, his tongue ravaging her soaked flesh as he licked up every last trace of her release. She quivered uncontrollably, her hips bucking against his mouth, overly sensitized from the mind-shattering climax. "K-Kess... it's too much...,"

He gentled his touch, lapping at her slowly, thoroughly cleaning her up before placing soft kisses on her inner thighs and belly. He crawled up beside her, pulling her against his chest as they both caught their breath.

That next morning, sun seeping in through the floor-to-ceiling windows as his his housemaid sweeps the floor. Soft jazz played in the background, creating an atmosphere of sophistication and ease. She, in a delicate white lacy dress that contrasted starkly with the darkness of her previous attire, felt like she was stepping into a world far removed from her own struggles. This dress, with its intricate lace detailing and short little poofy skirt, was both elegant and suggestive—a perfect blend of innocence and allure.

Kessler greeted her with an almost theatrical flourish. “There she is, my starlet,” he crooned, his eyes dark with something akin to possessiveness.

Weeks later, her role at Club Kessler had evolved significantly. She had been promoted to a bottle service girl, a coveted position that allowed her to cater to the club’s high-profile clientele. The VIP area, with its plush seating and private booths, was a stark contrast to the main stage where she once performed. The exclusivity of her new role seemed like a step toward the future Kessler had promised her.

Kessler’s possessiveness, however, became more apparent with each passing night. She, now clad in a glittering silver mini-dress that showcased her toned legs and accentuated her every move, was serving a particularly influential client. As she danced for him, her movements fluid and practiced, she noticed Kessler watching from the shadows, his gaze intense and scrutinizing.

After the dance, Kessler approached her with a dangerous smile. “Baby, I need to talk to you.”

Her heart sank. She followed him to a quieter corner of the club, where the sound of the music seemed distant and hollow. “What’s wrong?”

He placed a hand on her arm, his touch possessive. “I saw what you were doing out there. It’s not what I want for you. You’re not just another girl in this club; you’re special. I don’t want you giving private dances anymore.”

She blinked, stunned. “But… how am I supposed to make money? I work off tips.”

Kessler’s smile faltered for a brief moment before returning with a more sinister edge. “Don’t worry about it. From now on, I’ll take care of everything. You’re not here to earn a living, sweetheart; you’re here to shine.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on her shoulders. Her independence was slipping away, replaced by a sense of obligation and dependency. The last shred of her dignity—the money she had earned herself—was now a distant memory.

Kessler’s manipulation became more pronounced. The cash he handed her grew in volume, and his control over her life tightened with each passing day. She felt the weight of her dependence on him—a growing burden that overshadowed the promises of fame and freedom.

The bell above the door chimed as Butcher stepped into the shop, his presence a familiar weight that made the cramped space feel even smaller. She stood behind the counter, hands smoothing over a pile of folded shirts, trying not to let her fingers tremble. The shop smelled like old leather and wood polish, mixed with the faint tang of motor oil from the garage out back. It was the kind of place that felt worn-in, like a pair of boots broken just right.

Butcher, in his usual dark coat, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, looked out of place here—too rough, too loud for the quiet, slow-moving world of the shop. His heavy boots echoed off the wooden floors as he strode past the racks, eyes landing on her in that way that always made her feel exposed. He had that same look tonight—like he knew something wasn’t right but wasn’t sure how to ask.

She wore a pale pink dress today, soft and frilled at the edges, the kind of thing that made her feel delicate, though she’d long forgotten how to be. It hugged her figure just enough to feel pretty without trying, but now, under Butcher’s stare, it felt like too much. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the dress, fidgeting in that way she did when she was nervous.

“Bit late, don’t ya think?” she asked, her voice light but brittle as she glanced up at him. He looked tired. The kind of tired that sunk deep into the bones, making everything heavy. He didn’t answer right away, just made his way over to the counter, resting his elbows on it as he leaned toward her, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read something there.

“You closing up soon?” His voice was low, rough, but there was something softer beneath it, hidden beneath the layers of his gruff exterior.

“Yeah, just waiting on one last customer,” she said, nodding to the back where an old man was browsing the shelves with deliberate slowness. He didn’t seem in a rush to leave, and neither did Butcher, it seemed.

He grunted in response, shifting his weight. “Didn’t think you’d be workin’ this late.”

She shrugged, eyes dropping to the counter, fingers running over the grain of the wood, tracing the tiny nicks and scratches that had accumulated over the years. “Needed the hours,” she muttered. Butcher knew why, even if she didn’t say it outright. The debt. Kessler. Everything she’d tangled herself in.

A silence fell between them, thick and heavy like the dusk settling outside. She could feel him watching her, that familiar gaze that made her skin itch, like he could see all the things she was trying to hide. It was always like this with Butcher—he didn’t have to say much to make her feel like she was under a microscope.

“You alright?” His question was simple, but there was weight to it, like it held more than just casual concern.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, too quickly, her voice wavering just enough to betray her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the cracks.

Butcher tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if to study her closer. “Ya sure ‘bout that, Doll?”

She hated how easily that nickname slipped out of him, how it softened her resolve even when she didn’t want it to. She glanced up, meeting his eyes for just a second before looking away. He always had a way of getting under her skin, seeing through her defenses without even trying.

The old man at the back of the shop coughed, a reminder that they weren’t alone. Butcher straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest, looking like he was about to say something when the customer shuffled to the front, a stack of books in hand.

She stepped away from Butcher, her heart pounding in her chest, and rang up the sale with hands that were a little too shaky. The man didn’t seem to notice as he gathered his things and nodded politely, heading for the door. The bell chimed again as it swung shut behind him, leaving her alone with Butcher.

The air felt thicker now, the shop quieter. Butcher took a step toward her, his fingers drumming on the countertop. “Doll,” he started, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

She looked at him finally, really looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of a world that wasn’t entirely his. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His coat was rumpled, like he’d been wearing it for too long, and his shirt was half untucked, one side pulled loose where his belt cut into his waist. But there was something else too—something softer, buried deep in the lines of his face. Concern, maybe. Or guilt. She couldn’t tell anymore.

“I’m fine, Butcher,” she repeated, but this time her voice was quieter, more tired than defiant. She wiped her hands on her dress, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “You don’t need to keep checking in on me.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something like a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah? And who’s gonna check in on ya if I don’t?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and unspoken for too long. She didn’t answer, didn’t know how to. Her eyes drifted to the door, then back to him, and suddenly the space between them felt too small, too intimate.

“I can take care of myself,” she muttered, more to convince herself than him. She didn’t even believe it anymore.

Butcher’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out but thought better of it. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice dropping low, rough around the edges. “I ain’t sayin’ you can’t handle yourself, Doll. I know you’re tough. But tough ain’t always enough.”

Her chest tightened, the words sinking deep. She could feel the weight of them pressing down on her, the way Butcher always seemed to pull her in, making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. She wanted to push him away, tell him to leave, but instead, she found herself leaning into it, letting the silence stretch between them.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You don’t have to fix everything.”

Butcher’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and he let out a breath he’d been holding. “I ain’t tryin’ to fix ya, Doll. Just don’t want ya drownin’, is all.”

There it was again—that concern, that twisted, broken care that made her chest ache. He didn’t know how to show it, not the way people were supposed to, but she felt it anyway, like a pulse between them.

“I’m not drowning.” she whispered, though the words felt like a lie. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself anymore. “Leave it, Butcher.”

Butcher didn’t move, didn’t push, just stood there watching her with that quiet intensity that always made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something. Something dangerous. Something she couldn’t escape from.

The bell above the door chimed again as he turned to leave, but before stepping out into the night, he glanced back at her, eyes lingering for just a second longer than necessary. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Make sure ya lock up, Doll,” he muttered, his voice softer now, like a command but gentler. Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving her standing in the dim light of the shop, the weight of his presence still hanging in the air.

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chnhyvng · 3 days

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stray kids and what nails they would pick for you || ✨🤍

bang chan

chan loves a good almond shape, (yes, he knows the name of the shape you always get because he’s just attentive like that), and when you asked him he was delighted and honored!! he knows what you like and what you don’t, so him being the perfect boyfriend he is—picked something that you would like and him as well. plus you look good with pink (really any color) and he loved his sweet girl in pink!! of course he paid for it, and even sent extra “just because🤍.”

lee know

lee know doesn’t really care about what kind of nails you get as long as you love them. you could show up with claws for nails and he would just look at them, smirk, and then proceed to fake meow like the cat man he is. however, when you asked him he read your message and didn’t respond for a good 10 minutes. you thought he had simply not bothered to answer and you were annoyed at him, but then he sent this picture along with the message “for my little witch✨.”

changbin

we all know changbin is the biggest girl’s girl that has ever girl’s girl’d. so of course he had pictures of nail inspo just sitting in his gallery with the thought of you in mind, just patiently waiting for the day you would ask for them. the day eventually came and he sent the picture in quite literally less than a minute, quickly followed by a notification about you getting $500–which was way more than what your nails cost and changbin knew that (of course he did research on nail prices). however, you didn’t pry and simply thanked him later on for his…generosity!

hyunjin

hyunjin is a man of luxury. versace, louis vuitton, gucci—you name it he’s been on the cover of most luxury brands. so, his taste will be accordingly, however sometimes he’s very laid-back and simple! this isn’t your first time asking your jinnie for nail recommendations, and he hasn’t given you any that you haven’t loved—so you ask him every time you go to the salon. he gives you the prettiest inspiration too, and when you come home he looks at your nails, gushes over them, and then secretly admires them with a hint of pride on his face when he thinks you aren’t looking.

han

han is a pretty laid-back and down-to-earth man, so he doesn’t go for anything too fancy or over the top, but he does want his baby to be slaying and her nails to exude silent luxury. he also wants it to be trendy and cute so that you fit in while also being unique! black is his favorite color so of course he picks something black, but yours are pink and white so he decided to incorporate both of your desires into one style!! he was anxious about whether or not you would like it, but was very relieved and happy when you actually got them and showed him!

felix

this man is all for cutesy and demure! felix loves to scroll on tiktok and see all the trends so he knows that hello kitty and coquette are both in style, plus you love sanrio so it’s a win-win situation!! you called him while you were already at the salon and he sensed that you were a bit stressed because you had no idea what you wanted, so he calmed you down with his sweet words and soothing voice. then after making sure you were alright, he put you on speaker while he searched for nail inspiration for you to show your nail tech. he loved how you gasped and immediately began gushing over the nails when he sent what he found and you vowed to eat all the sweet creations he would make that week as thank you (even though you would either way.)

seungmin

the second-youngest contemplated on whether or not he should joke around and send a picture of teeth nails, but he decided not to torture you at that moment because he thought of something better to do later. seungmin wasn’t the most knowledgeable about nails and he didn’t know what was best for you—but he did know your favorite color so that had to help right? the male didn’t even know what an acrylic was and you began to worry if your boyfriend was the best person to ask, however seungmin pulled through and managed to find nails that you actually loved and got the next time you went to the salon.

jeongin

jeongin knew exactly what was in style and he actually thought about getting a simple style like this because he liked it, but he decided to save it for next time because he had a photoshoot soon and he didn’t know how they would react to it. so, he sent you the same picture he had saved as inspiration for his own style and sent a crying emoji afterwards to show how upset he was that you both couldn’t match!! he knew that you were fine paying for your own nails and he groaned about spending money on you (which he still does anyways despite the act he put on), but he sent you money for lunch with your friends. he knew you were going to be out all afternoon so he also sent you a text saying that you should be safe so he won’t have to go to jail if anyone attempted to hurt you:)

thank you so much for reading and leave a note if you enjoyed!! also: follow me for more skz reactions/imagines/fics!!

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #kpop #kpop imagines #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #jeongin

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forhappysake · 2 days

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Fluffy Surprise

Author's Note: Not proofread and the first fic I've written in like six months so read if you dareeee

Summary: Reader decides to give Spencer a present when he returns to their new home.

Warnings: People with cat allergies, beware! (?) Fluff ofc.

You moved into the new house two weeks ago. Technically, you moved all your stuff into the new house two weeks ago. In boxes. Lots and lots of heavy boxes.

Spencer had come up with a system, labeling each box with the room it would go into at the new house. You had worked together to pack everything, label each box, and unload the boxes into your new home.

And it seemed like the moment he set the last box down and you were ready to start setting the place up, his phone rang.

Spencer had been gone for one week.

The case was halfway across the country, somewhere in Santa Fe. You couldn’t exactly be mad at him for being gone, but unpacking and trying to organize everything without his input was a nightmare. You were finishing the last box in your shared bedroom, carefully placing his clothes on wooden hangers and organizing them in the closet, when your phone rang.

Spencer’s name lit up the screen. You answered quickly.

“Hi, Spence,” you said, plopping down on the freshly made bed.

You could tell how tired he was from the long pause he took before responding. “Hey, honey. How’s the unpacking?” he asked with a small sigh.

You frowned to yourself, worried about how tired he sounded. “Oh, it’s alright. I’d like you to look through all the rooms when you get home, just to make sure everything is where it should be.” You let out a soft laugh, “I also had a hard time hanging up all the pictures and paintings without you, so we may have to straighten some of them up when you get back.”

Another pause followed, though this time you could envision him nodding to himself. “We can do that,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to do it all by yourself. I promise I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was fine, Spencer. Besides, I’m pretty sure chasing a serial killer or something gives you an excuse.”

He sighed on the other end of the line. “That’s what I wanted to talk about. We caught the unsub this evening. I’m hoping to be home late this evening, but it probably won’t be until after you go to bed.”

You smiled, content with the thought of him coming home to your freshly decorated home. “Oh, I’ll be staying up. I want to see your reaction to the place.”

“Alright,” he said, clearly too tired to urge you to go to bed instead with a list of facts about the health benefits of a good night’s sleep.

You sighed. “As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I’ve got about fifteen more boxes to go.”

“I understand. I should probably get some work done, too. Files, reports, you know how it is,” his voice was barely a whisper now, the exhaustion beginning to get the better of him.

“Don’t work too hard, Spence,” you cautioned. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.”

“I won’t. I love you too,” he answered. The end of his line promptly went dead.

You looked around the bedroom, discarding your phone on the bed. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was something you could do to make Spencer’s return home a bit more special.

You sat up and leaned over, furrowing your brow and resting your head in the palm of your hand as you tried to think of things Spencer liked. Of course, Spencer liked a lot of things. He liked sweet coffee, puzzles, and a classic novel in some foreign language you couldn’t comprehend.

None of those things were overly special, in your mind. As you sat and wracked your brain, a thought finally came to you.

One month ago, walking by a local cat cafe, Spencer spotted the most beautiful calico. She had fluffy hair, one black ear, one orange. Her little paws were white and she was so well mannered. Spencer and yourself had gone in immediately and he had spent your time inside doting on the calico, whose name, you learned, was Calypso.

You bolted up from the bed and out into the living room, finding your purse sitting among the unpacked boxes. You shot out to the car, and without a second thought, drove the ten minutes to the cat cafe.

You said a silent prayer that the cat was still available as you pulled into a parking space across the street. As if on cue, you looked up to see the same cat lounging lazily in the window sill, green eyes poised on you.

The adoption process was quick, quicker than you anticipated. Fifty dollars later, you were on the road with Calypso in the passenger seat, sitting demurely in the carrier the shelter had provided you with to take her home in.

On the way home you had to stop at PetSmart to pick up a litter box, a few toys, and a scratching post with the hope that your new furry friend would not decimate your new furniture. Calypso remained in the carrier, watching quietly from the shopping cart as you agonized over which treats to get.

Soon enough, you were on your way home. The moment you walked through the front door, you set the carrier down and allowed Calypso to wander free. She was tentative at first, gently sniffing the floor and getting the feel for her new surroundings. However, after ten minutes, she perched herself on the kitchen counter, looking quite like the queen of her own castle.

You took this chance to open her new toys and scatter them about the house, as well as find a secluded corner for her litterbox.

For the rest of the day, the cat watched you unpack boxes. Beady green eyes noting your movements until you disappeared from her sight. Occasionally, if you left the room for too long, you would turn to find that she had followed you. In these moments, you would stop to offer her a gentle petting and giggle as she flopped down on the floor, furry belly up to the sky.

It was six hours after his phone call that Spencer arrived at home.

2:19 a.m. was the time on your watch when you heard the lock turn and rose to greet him at the door. Calypso, seated in the corner of the room on a side table, perked her ears up at the new noise coming from the entrance.

Spencer locked the door behind him and turned to face you, reaching out and pulling you in for a long hug.

You rubbed your hands up and down his back. “Are you happy to be home?” you asked, your voice muffled by his shoulder.

“You have no idea,” he said. He pulled away only to examine the living room. Spencer nodded in approval. “It looks really good in here. You did a great job.”

You smiled warmly, nerves settling in your stomach as you realized he’d not yet noticed the cat in the corner of the room, who was still watching him with suspicious eyes.

“Spencer, I have to tell you something,” you said, wanting to explain yourself for doing something as impulsive as adopting a cat while he was away.

His face suddenly became very serious. “What is it? Did something happen while I was gone? Are you alright?”

The questions came quickly and you shook your head to reassure him. “No, Spencer, it’s nothing bad. Here, come look.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward until the two of you were standing behind your couch in the middle of the living room.

“Look around,” you said.

Spencer’s tired eyes traversed the room. You watched as they landed on paintings, the television, the clock, and nearly everything but the cat who sat entirely still in the corner.

“I don’t understand,” he said, brow furrowed. “Did you make some major change I don’t know about? If you did, I’m sure that it’s f-”

At that moment Calypso jumped off the side table. The soft thump that accompanied her landing on the floor was enough to stop Spencer in his tracks. Finally, you watched as the feline caught his eye.

“You didn’t,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper. His reaction wasn’t telling you much, and you were afraid that he was not pleased.

You started trying to explain yourself. “Well, I knew that you had a long week. I wanted to do something special. I know how much you enjoyed spending time with her at the cafe and now that we have the space I figured…”

You trailed off. In the time you had spoken, Calypso had crossed the room, climbed the couch, and began butting her head up against Spencer’s hand. Panic was setting in. Why wasn’t he reacting?

Just when you were about to push him to say something, you looked up to see a large grin plastered on his face. Spencer gently wrapped his arms around the cat and picked her up, holding her close and petting in between her ears.

“This is the most thoughtful present ever. I love her,” he said. His excitement reminded you of a little child and pulled at your heartstrings in a way that could have made you cry.

You sighed in relief. “I’m so glad.”

With Calypso still draped over one arm, Spencer reached out for you, pulling you to his side. He planted a soft kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you so much. I love her. I love you,” he said, smile still evident on his face.

“I love you too,” you said, turning to face Calypso, who looked all too content to be wrapped up in Spencer’s arms.

“I think she’s trying to steal my man,” you joked, nudging Spencer on the side.

Spencer laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about that. My heart has room for two lovely ladies.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #aaron hotchner #bau team #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #dr reid

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demonstars · 2 days

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MY PART FOR THE WORLDWIDE DTEAMIES COLLAB. thank you @suenitos for the wonderful idea born in our dms xoxoxo. Anyway. have some ecuadorian dteamies with snf being victims of my favorite carnaval tradition which is To throw water at any traveler during carnaval. translation under the cut!

DRIM: U guys ok? SYLV: ?!? *LAUGH* JORGE: I'm never going out with this guy in carnaval. DRIM: ... At least your hair looks good? JORGE: Don't come at me with faggotery, THEY MASSACRED US. SAPITO: DON'T FUCK WITH ME—

Some details :333

sylvee is drinking inca kola which is actually a peruvian drink but eh. i see it plenty in ecuador. she is also wearing a barcelona (ecu team ver) shirt.

dream is wearing a guayas shirt, which is the costal south region of the country. he is also sporting marathon shorts, which are The sports brand.

it is currently illegal to wet people on the street just because. this doesn't mean that it doesn't keep happening. i like to think snf got the short end of the straw in going outside and through a carnaval street and lost to kids with water guns and balloons, which is something that has happened quite a lot of times to me. i have also thrown water at many people from the sky, to be clear (BEFORE IT WAS MADE ILLEGAL. SMILES.)

george is also wearing marathon and also probably a white shirt because february in ecuador is so hot and humid you really shouldn't be wearing black. sapnap is wearing black because he wanted to use his don ramon shirt. that is a national treasure too, btw. every self respecting man should use one.

i like to think they're coming from super despensa aki for no reason other than I miss my local super despensa aki.

in ecuador you use "man" as you would use "dude", with the thick spanish accent, which i find very funny.

hey kudos to you for making it down this far!

#dteamworldwide collab #myart #dteam #dteam fanart #sylvee #sylvee fanart

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togamest · 2 days

Text

❝ Run into the bright lights most nights, now or never / Always and forever, the last day alive. ❞

word count: 3,944 content: afab!reader, alcohol consumption, oral sex (reader!receiving), penetrative sex, first meetings a/n: first chapter of the long-awaited series, woot! hope you guys enjoy. this will be crossposted to ao3, but will only be accessible if you have an ao3 account for privacy <3

navigation:

[ AO3 LINK ] | [ MASTER LIST ] | [ NEXT CHAPTER ]

-> song link

There’s boxes strewn around your room in your midst of moving out. You had no idea you’d have so much cardboard stored away as you tear the tape with your teeth, closing one of the final storage compartments and sighing, feeling the last of the packing up slide off your shoulders.

There’s one box that you haven’t picked, yet. It’s been closed and sealed for a long time, dust collecting on the top of it. It’s a bit beaten up too, smaller than the other hefty moving boxes.

You know what’s in there. Every time you notice it, your curiosity peaks; hope returns.

You swat it away physically, as if the thought existed in the air around your head and that would help you forget it, and repeat the sentence you’ve been telling yourself for months now.

Don’t open the box.

Because then, you have to face the truth.

The truth that it’s all over.

Tears prick at your eyes. This time, you’re worn down; you’re stressed out, you’re sad, you’re torn apart and attempting to pick up the pieces and shove them into a U-Haul that will take you across the country. Away from all of this, away from the sadness that you’ve collected. Away from the bridges you’ve burned; not entirely your fault, though. It’s the fault of the man who wears those stupid orange sunglasses and bright green eyes, the softest smile tugging at his lips as he looks at you like you’re a star.

And this time, you finally cave. The box cutters are in your hand before you even realize, tearing open the small box and seeing the journal pages spill out.

You pick up the one titled SUMMERTIME in large black letters, sitting back against the wall. You have a few hours before you have to sleep; why not immerse yourself so you can finally let go, once and for all?

It couldn’t hurt, right?

As you begin to read, you’re thrown into a memory you’ve attempted to forget.

The start, after all, is the best part.

The summer sun is warm on your face when you step out of your villa.

Greece was lovely this time of year, the soft ocean breeze tickling your face and causing a slight burn in your nose from the salt. Everything was so blue, photos could never have done it justice. You’d taken so many disposables, but nothing could compete with seeing the view with your own eyes. The pretty blue roofs of Santorini stood out starkly against the white alabaster walls as you make your way down the stairs, two at a time.

Your beach bag is heavy against your back as you finally reach the sands, the warmth of them squeezing in between your toes as you adventure out, grabbing an open chair with some shade. Pale as you were, the sun would not be kind to your skin even with the layers of sunscreen you had caked on mere minutes before. Your hat protected most of your face, as did your sunglasses as you lean back, sighing at the relief that came with finally resting on the chair by yourself.

As the hours tick by, you take notice of a certain someone staring at you across the beach.

He’s cute, you think to yourself behind your sunglasses. He’s tall, black hair and green eyes standing out starkly against his pale skin. He’s sunburned, his shoulders sticking to his frame having just left the ocean. His hair is slicked to his neck, droplets sliding down his face as he sits, his sunglasses perched on his face. They’re translucent and a pretty orange; but they do nothing to hide his gaze from you.

Blushing, you choose to look away, picking up your book from the bag you’ve brought along with you. It’s a good read, something about magic and twists of fate; you’re almost finished it, every page gripping you as tightly as it can. It’s a good excuse to look away from the man who has clearly picked up on you staring at him, because you can feel his eyes pricking at your skin. You don’t look back at him; you’re not really in the mood for conversation.

You sip your beer as you continue to read, the sun crossing the sky faster than you realize. Before you know it, it’s sunset, the sky ablaze with colors of orange, yellow and red. Night drifts across the horizon in deep purple, and you yawn, stretching, before beginning to pack up. Amidst your packing, you completely miss the footfalls that land on the sand, approaching you from behind.

“Hey there.”

Your bloodstream feels like it’s on fire as you jump and turn around, nearly spilling your packed bag as you manage to choke out an apology (for what? you ask yourself, he’s the one disturbing you) but being captivated by his eyes. They’re so much more green up close, and he’s much taller. He towers above you, looking down at you, the dying sun’s rays turning his skin a pretty tan.

Wow.

His hand scratches the back of his head as he suddenly appears shy, and you blink, hoping that you’re pretending seeing blush crawl up his neck and across his cheeks. “Saw you starin’ at me all day today,” he admits finally. His voice is nice; it’s smooth and slow, like a gentle breeze weaving through your ears.

You gulp. “S-Sorry about that, didn’t mean to be weird—”

He waves you off, grinning. His teeth are so white. “Nah, not weird. I get that a lot.”

There’s a beat of silence between you two, as if neither of you know what to say next. He doesn’t seem to want to speak the words that are clearly bubbling around in his head, and you’re still confused as to why he’s even over here. Your mind drifts to the bath that’s awaiting you back at the villa; you’d just gotten a few lavender bath bombs delivered today from room service. It’s going to smell so good—

“So, uh, was wondering. If you got plans, ‘s fine, but my friends and I were gonna go to one of the bars ‘round here for some drinks later. You wanna come?”

Your mind races at top speed. Is he…asking me on a date? No, he can’t be. It’s with his friends. It’s just a group outing. He’s just being nice. Is this weird? Is he gonna kidnap me?

You choose to say none of those things, and instead forgo the idea of the bath. It’ll be there for when you’re back, and possibly will feel ten times better when you’re drunk. “Sure,” you nod, “I’ll go. That’s awfully nice of you to invite a stranger.”

His smile grows wider. “Yeah, well, I wanna get t’ know the cutie that’s been oglin’ me all damn day. You seem different than the folks I stick around. I like it.”

Your skin prickles at that comment. Different. You hadn’t gotten a good look at his friends, but you sure would tonight, you suppose.

Numbers are exchanged, as well as drop-off locations, and you part ways, watching him wander back to his group as they finish packing up. He seems to be the loner of the group, oddly enough; nodding to one of the shorter members with wily, curly brown hair and wide brown eyes, chattering excitedly over what you can only assume is about the eventful evening you’re all about to have. There’s no additional partners in sight; you heft your bag over your shoulder, hoping that there’s at least someone else that’s, well, more like you.

A stranger.

The bar that’s written out in the text message glaring up at you is relatively simple. It’s a tiki bar, really, with low lights and a calmer atmosphere than some of the clubs further down the boulevard. Blue, purple, yellow and green slowly flicker across the walls decorated with license plates from all over the country, which leads into an open-air space with soft neon lights, beat up wooden seats and a cobblestone floor. It was…quaint, to put a word to it.

You can't miss the stranger sitting at the bar, orange-tinted glasses low on his nose as he nurses what looks like a juice box. You approach him, ignoring his friends who have perked up behind him, having seen you already. The one you'd seen on the beach with the curly hair looks especially interested, and the growing burn on your neck is becoming difficult to ignore as you muster up the bravery to slide into a seat next to him.

The stranger glances over, before a lazy smile breaks across his face. You get a better look at what he's drinking; it's a soda, blue in color, with unreadable Japanese text on the label. "Juice at a bar?" you comment, and he chuckles, the rumble making your cheeks feel warm.

"Yeah. I don't drink."

There's something unsaid there, but you choose to ignore it, ordering yourself a fruity cocktail from the bartender. You can feel him staring at you, pretty emerald eyes digging into your skin as you take a sip from your drink, sighing as the tropical flavors gush across your tongue, putting you a little more at ease.

"You like fruity shit like that? Seems like we got somethin' in common."

You turn to him. "Normally I'd go for a beer, but…I'm nervous."

He cocks his head. "You, nervous? Whatcha mean? You spent all day starin' at me and now ya got cold feet?"

The blush on your cheeks is so warm that you feel like you could light a fire with it as you look away, scowling. "Well, I wasn't expecting you to come over and talk to me!" you exclaim, taking another long sip of your drink. God, rum tasted so good to you right now. It was exactly what you needed with the ball of anxiety in your stomach.

The stranger takes a moment of pause, before huffing. "Fair play," he gruffly responds back, "but now you know. At least you look cute with your cheeks all red like that." There's a tug of a smile at the edges of his mouth, though, pushing the teasing tone. You don't know how to respond — instead, you change the subject after realizing your mouth is ajar like a goldfish.

"What's your name? I never got it."

"Togame. Jo Togame."

You swirl your straw in your drink. "Togame. Japanese?"

He nods.

"You on holiday, I'm guessing?"

He nods again. "Out with my friends, who you saw on the beach w'me. Jus' had to get outta Tokyo for a little while, clear my head, and this felt like the best place. Feels good since I met you, too. You seem…different."

Different?

It's no secret that you are a little different. I mean, how many other people go on holiday alone? Solo traveling must seem so strange to someone who has so many friends, you think to yourself as the rum hits your tongue once more. The ice has melted, which waters down the taste as you suck up the rest of the liquid through the pink straw that's been placed in your cup.

"Good different, or bad different?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Good. It's good. I like it."

The conversation devolves into small talk; you learn that he works retail, in a boba tea store back at home. One of the friends he's come with, the one with the curly hair, owns the place. "Choji," he says, gently, as if the name has a deeper meaning behind it, a fonder emphasis, "was my first friend. I couldn't let him open it and watch it fail. I had to help him." He speaks about the shop like it's his child. You write down the name of it in your phone — if you're ever in Japan, you make a note to visit sometime.

The night progresses steadily on, and the clock on your wrist grows past midnight. You barely noticed, four rum punches deep as your cheeks burn from the alcohol, no longer embarrassed, allowing yourself to laugh at his jokes and giggle at his advances. He's loosened up as well, a third blue raspberry soda in his hand, his hand resting on your thigh with a feather-light touch. So light that you almost pretend you don't feel it; but you can't ignore the way it lights up your nerves.

"Wanna get outta here?"

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. "Right now? It's almost one in the morning, I should—"

"—go home?" He cuts you off with a knowing look in his eyes. "At least let me walk you home, yeah? Can't have you gettin' lost around here, and I'd feel bad knowin' I abandoned you. You've kept me good company tonight."

You look down at your empty cup, contemplating. You can feel the invitation to bring him inside your hotel room growing, but you decide to wait until after the walk to choose what you want to do. Who knows? Maybe he'll say something offensive and you won't have to worry about denying his advance and feeling bad.

Something tells you he won't, though.

And it's not the look that Choji and his other friends give him as you both leave the bar, Togame waving at them from afar.

Definitely not.

The walk home is relatively long; but Togame makes you feel like it passes in an instant. His hand moves to your back as you walk next to him, chattering away about what tourist attraction you're planning on seeing next. The heat from his palm makes your back feel warm, fighting away the chill of the night as you brush your hands along your arms, a shiver coursing down your spine.

"You cold?" he asks.

You shake your head. "No, it's fine—"

You're cut off with a squeak as he removes his orange jacket, emblazoned with a tribal-style tiger head on the back, around your shoulders. It's large, two or three sizes too big with the sleeves extending far beyond your hands. You push the sleeves up, huffing. "Well, just for the record, I didn't need this, okay?" you say, scowling, and Togame laughs, his head falling back as his hand leaves your back, being replaced by his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Silence falls again, the only sounds the buzzing of the street lights and the far off lapping of waves against the shore. The moon is high in the sky, bright and full, casting a pretty glow among the villas. It's ethereal; no picture you could take with your camera or your phone would do it justice. You'll have to rely on your memory to recall it again; however fleeting it may be.

You close your eyes for a moment, Togame's arm around you warming you along with the jacket around your shoulders. Salty sea smell stings at your nose, and his cologne (tastefully faint) drifts throughout your breath that you take.

"Oi, eyes on the road. You're gonna trip 'n fall doin' that."

Your eyes flash open, and you look up at him with a scrunched face, meeting his amused look. "I was just…" you trail off.

Do I tell him? That's way too fast, right? That's weird…right?

"Just what?"

Fuck it.

You sigh. "Just…capturing this moment in time. I'm…I feel happy. For once. Forgot what this felt like."

Togame doesn't respond, and you avert your gaze, terrified of the look you're expecting to find. Instead, you feel him grip you just a little bit harder, pulling you a little bit closer.

"Me too."

It's just words. He doesn't mean that. He just met you today, for heaven's sake!

But it still gives you solace. This is why you traveled solo here. Meeting new people, taking a chance, adventuring out…you feel free. You feel in control for once. In control of how this night will go, even at almost two in the morning. And who better to have around than the man that you've hit it off with? There's a sense of familiarity there, with Togame; it's like you've met somewhere else before, somewhere you don't remember or recall. He feels…

You blink.

He feels like home.

You don't bother shaking that feeling off anymore. Who cares if it makes you cling to him? Who cares if it makes you a little desperate as you walk up to your villa's door, his arm removing itself from his shoulder as he hangs back, eyes burning into the back of your neck. He won't say it, though; you've only known him a short time, but Togame doesn't seem like the desperate kind. You almost wish he was; but it feels refreshing to know that whatever choice you make, he seems to be happy with simply knowing you, even if only for a short time.

The key is in the lock before you pause, turning around. "Togame—"

You meet his eyes.

Whoa.

They're dark, a deep forest green as opposed to the emerald color you'd seen earlier. It's not want, necessarily; although you do identify it there. It's more wistful, more nostalgic. Longing, perhaps? Either way, it makes your thighs unconsciously press together.

And in that moment, you decide.

The song playing in your headphones from the beach echoes in your ears.

Live like it's your last day alive.

Now or never.

You gulp. "Did…did you want to come in?"

His eyes dart down to look at your lips, one of his hands brushing against your cheek. "Yeah," he breathes out, "but first…can I kiss you?"

Fuck it, you think to yourself for the second time. I deserve this.

You nod, and his lips crush against yours.

From there, it's a whirlwind. You can barely concentrate on what's happening as the door closes, his lips attached to your own, rum and blue raspberry and floral tones being shared between you as you stumble back to the bed. His arms wrap around you, one hand pressed against the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, dipping you onto the bed gracefully. You moan as one of his thighs gets in between your own, rubbing at your mound.

"Fuck."

His voice is raspy, shot through with want as he moves down to your neck, licking and nipping gently at the sensitive skin. Your breath hitches, fingers deep in his hair as you feel yourself unconsciously rutting against his thigh. It's huge compared to your own; he's strong, you can feel it in his muscles above you as he gently moves against you on the bed.

"Oh, fuck."

This time, it's you breathing a curse as his hand leaves your lower back, pushing your shorts and underwear down easily as his thick fingers gently move through your folds. Your clit begins to ache; everything feels so intoxicating right now, you feel like you're floating. Your head is light as Togame's mouth moves from his spot on your neck down to your chest, tugging your top down and his tongue darting out to brush against a hardened nipple.

He makes a noise as he runs his fingers through your folds again, all the way up to your clit, which makes your hips jolt and you let out a soft moan. His eyes are on you like a predator, sunglasses centimeters from falling off his face as he sucks and swirls his tongue around your nipple. "You're so wet already," he whispers against you, "wanna taste you so bad. Can I?"

You have a moment of confusion. This man, whose already gotten you mostly undressed, asking to eat you out? Not just…doing it? Asking for permission? The coil in your stomach tightens so quickly as you realize how attractive that is. How badly you'd wanted the people you'd slept with to just ask, instead of assume.

You can barely form words with so many sensitive points on your body being practically bullied, so you nod.

His hand moves up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple with his thumb as he dives down, tongue lapping at you.

It's electric, his sudden movement, and you arch up into his mouth. His other hand comes down to press against your hip, keeping you from squirming upwards as he devours you. It's insane how good he is at this; his tongue dances across your folds, flicking up to lap and suck at your clit, then down to prod at your sopping hole. It's maddening, you think to yourself as your nails dig into his hair. It's maddening how good he is at this; how much you've been missing.

What are the fucking odds you'd land such a gold mine? While traveling alone?

Your thoughts are interrupted by Togame's voice against you, rumbling. The vibration has your legs tightening around his head, and you just realize how close you are. "Fuck, 'm close," you say to him, and he nods, continuing his movements. "I know," he says, and your head falls back as you moan at the sheer confidence exuding from him, "I can feel it. You're fuckin' soaking, baby. All f'me, too. You taste so fucking good, you know that? So good—"

His tongue flicks against you just right, and the wave inside you crests.

Your eyes snap open. "Togame, I'm gonna—"

He rumbles. "I know. Cum for me, baby."

You've never been one to cum on command, but God, the way he says it has you gushing all over him with a cry. He happily laps it up, too, murmuring how good you are and how beautiful you look beneath him, twitching and squirming as your climax rips through your body like a freight train. You're seeing stars, your body feeling light as air as your muscles contract and relax, stuttering as your high abates.

All of his movements stop, and you feel him disappear. A whine escapes your throat at the loss of contact, but it's cut off as his mouth presses against your own, tongue rubbing against your own. You can taste yourself on him, the gentle tang sharp on your taste buds as he groans. His hard-on presses against your thigh, and you tense. It's big.

"Can I—"

"—fuck me?" you finish his sentence, out of breath as he pulls away.

He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. "No, I can't fuck you. That would be ruining the masterpiece underneath me."

You're completely unprepared for what he says next, your mouth ajar to retort back, some strength returning to you until his thumbs hook into the waistband of his pants. He gives you a knowing look; there it is again, that feeling of nostalgia. That feeling that he's going to take care of you. That you want him to take care of you.

The energy is electric. You don't want it to stop, and when he speaks again, your mind goes blank.

"I'm going to worship you like you deserve. Like it's our last day alive together. Like we've known each other for years. Like you're the only thing that matters to me."

You don't dwell on the implications of his statements—you're too fucked out to even try as his bare cock, a dusting of curly black hair around the base, nudges against your wetness. All you know is that you need him. You need him bad.

And as he enters you, his cock stretching you just right, it feels like coming home.

It feels like heaven.

taglist: @qichun @stunie @fuyuswifey @suyacho

divider credit: @/cafekitsune

networks: @pixelcafe-network

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

#togame jo x reader #jo togame x reader #wind breaker x reader #ari's fics -> memories...do not open #ari's autographs #twirls my hair cutely <3 teehee

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