#look there’s no way I’m going to tag all of these

[eddiesxangel]

She Said Fuck Me Like I’m Famous (I Said Okay) | E.M

WC: 5.9k

Cw: fem!popstar!reader, modern au, fluff, smut, dirty talk, kinda Dom Eddie, oral (m & f), p in v, reader is on bc, creampies.

Summary: when you invite your online bestie over to spend the week with you for the first time, you don’t know what to expect when her over protective friends tag along

Meeting Robin was a happy accident that life sometimes throws at you. Even though she was a stranger on the other side of the country, she was one of the most genuine friends you could have ever asked for. It all started slowly. You had both been on the same Discord server because of your mutual love for an author, and things went from there. After almost three years of friendship, you finally decided to meet in person!

You guys organized everything. She was flying to California and staying with you in your two-bedroom apartment for a little over a week. You had so much planned for the both of you, especially over the weekend, because it just so happened you were also to perform at this year’s Coachella.

It was your first big performance at a festival like this. It would do wonders for your career and hopefully bring you new fans.

Robin was your biggest supporter. She was so excited to see you perform live for the first time, not to mention the VIP passes you had promised her. It was hard to seek out genuine friendships in the line of work that you do. Everyone wants something, so you didn’t disclose your real name and what you did until you could trust her entirely. Robin was one of those people who you couldn't help but love; her bubbly personality and heart of gold were something you latched onto.

You were not taken aback upon receiving a text from Robin informing you that her two extremely protective male friends were adamant about accompanying her to ensure her safety. She had previously mentioned them, and from what she shared, they come across as genuinely great guys. Their concern for their friend's well-being is commendable, and you appreciate their commitment to looking out for her.

She also told you that the guys would rather stay in a hotel with her, but if they felt comfortable, they didn’t mind if she stayed with you for the rest of the week. You weren’t offended. It was unbelievable that you invited someone you’d never met into your home. Still, she was one of your closest confidants, even though you’ve never seen one another in person, primarily through texting and FaceTime.

-

The day was finally here, and you let Robin know that your assistant would pick the three of them up at the airport because you were in rehearsals until 2:00 p.m.

“See, Rob, this is exactly why we came with you!” Steve pointed at the text message as she read it out loud.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked with a scowl.

“She is sending a random person to pick us up? We are about to be human trafficked for all we know!”

Robin rolled her eyes and hiked up her carry-on over her shoulder.

“Men… so dramatic.” She whispered under her breath.

The three wandered down the corridor until they saw a small woman about 5'1" with a bright smile holding a sign that read ‘ Birdie + 2.’

That was cute; you used her Discord name.

“Oh, yes. Here is the woman who’s going to kidnap us,” she jesters, and the two men can’t help but roll their eyes.

“Hi! Are you Kelsey?” Robin approached the woman who she towered over.

“Yes, Hi! If you want to come with me, the car is waiting. She’s so excited you’re finally here; it’s all she’s been talking about.”

Kelsey opened the door for the three friends to get in and made her way to the driver’s seat.

-

It’s been a long wait, but your rehearsal wrapped up right on schedule. You made sure because you didn’t want to waste any time. You’ve been so antsy all day, waiting to go home and meet your best friend for the first time. You were so nervous; what if she thought you were annoying? What if the paparazzi ruined her time here? On your way home, the what-ifs circled your mind, but you tried to shake that all away when you got the text from Kelsey that they made it safely and were on their way to the hotel to drop off their things. Then she would bring them over to your apartment.

The minutes tick by as you wait for them in your apartment. You double-check the fridge to make sure you have refreshments and snacks. They must be tired and hungry from the flight.

Your manicured fingernails tap the cold marble countertop in your kitchen as you nervously scroll your phone, trying to distract yourself until the condo buzzer startles you. You run over and answer the speaker, telling them to come on up.

You anxiously count the seconds as you wait for them to approach the door. When the elevator bell dings on your floor, 17 stories up, you open the door eagerly to see Kelsey get off first.

You’re bouncing on your toes as you half-heartedly skip through the hallway, cheering as you see the freckled-faced girl enter the corridor.

“Birdie!” You clap, jump, and run to her with a smile so big your cheeks burn.

Cheers and squeals fill the small space as you take one another in your arms. If the people surrounding you had known better, your embrace would have made it look like you were lovers.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here!”

"I can't believe you're real." You step back to look at her in full. Finally, after all this time, you are united with your bestie. You tell one another everything. Robin confided in you about how she likes girls, and you said you were so scared that you're not good enough to be here. The imposter syndrome was extreme, but she put your mind at ease.

One of the men behind Robin had cleared their throat, reminding the both of you that they were also there.

“Oh my god, sorry.” Robin jumps.

“This is Steve, and this is Eddie.” Robin steps out of your way, and your gaze falls on the two handsome men standing behind her. Your heart flutters a bit, taking in both of them.

Steve and Eddie were complete opposites in their style. Steve had a preppy look, with a soft smile and gentle, kind eyes that reflected his warm personality. In contrast, Eddie's style was edgy and tough, but his eyes were surprisingly kind and strikingly beautiful, hinting at a depth beyond his tough exterior.

“Hi, I’m y/n, but you can call me Bunnie.” You stuck out your hand to introduce yourself.

“Damn, kinda disappointed you’re real; I had 50 bucks going that you were catfishing Rob this whole time,” Steve giggled as you shook his hand.

“Shut up,” Robin rolled her eyes.

“Me? A catfish? Never,” you giggled.

You moved to Eddie, and he stood there wide-eyed as he tried to speak, say hello, hi, or something, but he felt like his tongue was suddenly too big for his mouth. There was no way you were real. There's no way you were this pretty in real life. There was no way Robin was friends with a celebrity.

Unsurprisingly, Eddie had no idea who you were when Robin told him and Steve she was coming out to see you. However, Steve’s reaction made it seem like you were a big deal, so he googled you and looked at your Instagram beforehand. Never in his life did he see someone so beautiful. The attraction was instant, but now, seeing you in person, there was no denying his inevitable crush on you.

Eddie finally managed to choke out a “hi.” His cheeks heated up as his voice cracked like he was 12 again.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you smile but quickly turn to Robin.

“Come,” you say, linking your arm with hers as you return to your condo.

“Thanks for letting us tag along with Birdie here,” Steve smiled.

After the initial excitement, you had all settled down. You were lounging on your balcony, eating and drinking to your heart's content.

“No problem, the more the merrier,” you smile.

Robin had told you about her friends back home; you also felt like you strangely knew them.

“What do you guys want to do first? Eddie, any suggestions?” You ask, singling him out.

Eddie hardly knew what to say. It was as if his brain had stopped functioning when you spoke to him. He wanted to woo and get to know you and hoped and prayed that you were as good of a person as Robin raved you to be.

“W-what?" He stuttered and looked at you wide-eyed. "Uh, I'm not sure. What do you have in mind?”

Without a beat, you rambled off the list of activities you had in mind, and Eddie listened so intently to everything; he would go anywhere as long as he was in your company.

“He, man, help me get some more drinks,” Steve said, nudging Eddie’s knee.

“No, please, you’re my guest. Allow me.” You got to stand, but Steve insists.

“Take advantage, let them dote on us.” Robin giggled.

“Dude, you’re really into her, aren’t you?” Steve smirked once the two men were back inside and out of earshot.

“How could I not be? Hello, she’s like the perfect woman,” Eddie half whispered.

Eddie took you in one more time through the sliding glass door. Not only was your style darker and edgy, but you’re witty and funny and don’t seem too vapid for a Hollywood star. He had a preconceived notion about Hollywood starlets; however, you seemed so down to earth, and you loved talking music with him; even if you are a pop star, you know your shit when it came to writing and playing guitar.

“You should ask her out this week and see what happens.”

“No, she’s not into me.”

“Maybe not yet? But how could she not be? You’re a catch. You gotta be yourself; you’re too in your head right now. Just think of her as an extension of Robin.”

“An extension of Robin?”

“They’re practically the same person; just don’t think about how hot she is.”

That’s easy for you to say.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“How?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re King Steve, Steve 'the hair' Harrington, and you know how to flirt with girls.”

“So do you.”

“Not girls like that!” He points towards you and Robin, oblivious to the conversation, gabbing away about who knows what.

“You’re telling me that a girl who looks like that isn’t going to be attracted to a guy who looks like you? “ he raised a brow.

“I don’t know?” Eddie shrugged.

“Nah, dude, you’re being too hard on yourself. Listen to me, be yourself, and see what happens.”

“Okay,” he sighed, bringing the drinks out for you and Robin.

As the night wore on, Eddie became more confident speaking to you and less intimidated after the talk with Steve in the kitchen. When the night ended, you were all disappointed to say goodbye but excited about what tomorrow would bring.

-

The past few days have been absolutely hectic. Rehearsals for the upcoming show have consumed your mornings, followed by afternoons filled with various outings. It's a whirlwind from sound check to meeting up with your guests at their hotel or wherever they are.

Eddie’s crush was starting to take over his mind. Every night before he went to sleep, he thought about you and watched videos of you. He even went so far as to put your name on YouTube and “cute moments” afterwards.

Nothing could stop Eddie from getting you off his mind. He was so excited when you gave him your number, even if he was too nervous to text you. His excitement doubled when you followed him on Instagram, and he spastically went through all his posts to make sure nothing was embarrassing.

Today, you went to the beach. A relaxing day was much needed after your hectic schedule of rehearsals and entertaining your guests over the past few days.

You arrive to see your new friends secured a great spot by the water's edge. Robin is lying under the umbrella while the boys wrestle in the water.

“Is Eddie single?” you ask after settling down with Robin on the sand.

“The most chronically single person I’ve ever met; dude hasn’t been in a relationship since he confessed his love for a cheerleader in high school, and I wouldn’t even count that as a girlfriend.”

You stop and ponder this newfound information as you watch him from afar. As you observe him splashing around, you see him in a new light. He is lean but has some muscle. His various tattoos and how he looks in a bathing suit is giving you butterflies.

“What’s wrong with him?” You ask nervously.

“Nothing is wrong with him; he’s just… I don’t know how to explain it. The girls in our town aren’t into guys who look or act like Eddie. They’re all stuck up, snooty rich kids, you know? And Eddie has had it rough; he grew up on the poorer side of town and his parents. His uncle raised him, so everyone looked down at him.” Robin sighed, hating the way life had treated her friend.

“Trust me, I know about stuck-up assholes. I live in their capital.” You snort.

“So why are you asking about Ed? Any particular reason?” Robin peaks at you from under her sunglasses. ”

“He seems different from the guys in L. A” You twiddle with the strings on your bikini bottoms.

“Well, I know he has a big fat crush on you.”

“Really?” Your face lit up, giving away your motive for conversation.

“Seems like you do, too girl friend.” She nudged you, and you tried to hide your face under your beach towel.

“Ooooooooooo Bunnie has a crush on Eddie the Freak.” Robin teased.

“What did he do to earn that title?”

“There are many rumours; I’m sure you’ll find out soon.” She wiggled her brows suggestively.

Robins’s innuendo had you giggling so hard that you almost started crying.

You pulled Eddie’s attention when he heard your angelic laugh. Eddie stood distracted by watching you lay out with Robin, your tattoos on display, more than he had seen initially. Your teeny black-and-white bikini was a sight for soar eyes, being stuck with Steve all day and night. With the sudden distraction, Steve had the opportunity to body-slam Eddie into the ocean.

Eddie’s audible “oof” was heard, and before Eddie knew it, he was gasping for air. When he finally got his bearing straight, he saw you looking over, concerned at the two men, then gave a slight wave to ensure he was okay.

“Playtimes over, Harrington,” Eddie shoved Steve off of him.

“Oh, I think it’s just beginning for you, Munson.”

The two men exited the water looking too hot for their own good, like some personal Baywatch episode was coming at you in 3D.

“Like what you see?” Eddie smirked at you as they both approached the both of you.

“Absolutely.” You squint up at him, the sun catching your eyes.

Eddie plopped beside you and shook his head like a dog getting ocean water all over you.

You squeak at how cold the water is.

“Oh, sorry, Bunnie, let me get that for you.” He smirks.

He brushes the water from your face with his towel.

Oh, he knows what he is doing.

Your skin deceived you as the goosebumps arose when Eddie touched your face.

“You cold, Bunnie?” Eddie noticed and pulled you in with him as he wrapped his towel around the both of you. Your bare back pressing against his cold, damp chest wasn’t helping, but hell, you were not about to start complaining.

“Thanks”

Robin gives you a pointed look, then immediately grabs Steve’s hand to yank him up.

“Come, we are getting food.”

Steve leaves without protest, seeing what Robin sees- that you and Eddie should have some alone time.

“So a little Birdie told me you have a reputation back home.” You were leaning up against Eddie’s chest, basking in the sun.

“Oh, did she, now? And what might that be.”

“that you’re a little freaky,” you giggle.

“You sure you want to know about th-"

“Oh my god! It is you! Oh my god, I love you. Can I please get a picture with you?” A girl not much younger than yourself, clearly a fan of yours, looks down at you, and Eddie is cuddled up.

Without missing a beat, you get up and greet the fan.

“Can you take our picture?” She gives her phone to Eddie before he even agrees that he’s getting up to help.

You give him an apologetic look. This was not the kind of day he signed up for.

You pose with the fan and talk with her briefly before she asks, “ Is that your boyfriend?”

You look over your shoulder to see Eddie again sitting under the umbrella.

“No, no, he’s a friend,” you smile.

“Too bad, you guys would be a cute couple.”

You entertain her only a few more minutes before she leaves.

“Sorry about that.” You sit back down beside Eddie.

“That’s okay, I get it. You’re famous and all.” He smiles.

“I’m not that famous,” you sigh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart.”

“Well, maybe…” you shrug.

“You have strangers coming up to you complimenting your work; that’s sick as fuck if you ask me.”

“It's something I’ll never get used to.”

“Tell me more what it’s like?”

“What? Having a fan approach me?”

“Yea. I guess being a famous rockstar was all I ever dreamed of until a few years ago when I realized it wouldn’t be in the cards for me.

“What if it could be?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a crazy idea.”

-

Pictures of you and a “Mystery guy” were planted all over the tabloids the following day. Of course, no one stopped to take a photo when it was just you and Robin or the four of you sitting on the beach.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into my crazy.” You apologized while you were all out to dinner. Eddie was sat directly beside you.

“I think I like crazy,” he smirked and gently touched your knee.

You tried to hide your bashful smile while playing with the stem of your martini glass.

Robin and Steve instantly locked in on the chemistry between you. They tried to look at one another subtly, but you caught it.

“What are you guys up to?” You ask.

“Nothing,” Robin laughs, but Steve isn’t shy about the topic.

“You guys are cute,” he smirks into the glass before sipping the golden bubbly liquid.

“Steve!” You squeak.

“I agree,” Robin concurred.

You wanted to agree with them, but you hardly knew Eddie, but you yearned to know everything about him. The more time you spend with this group, the more you don’t want them to leave. You can’t imagine how it will be once they go home next week. You would kill for them to spend more time with, especially Robin and your newfound crush, Eddie.

-

As the sun sets on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Coachella stage, you feel the nervous excitement building inside you. In just five minutes, it would be your turn to shine. Every move, every step, every beat was etched into your mind. You had rehearsed and memorized everything, from the choreography to the cues. The anticipation was palpable as you prepared to take the stage. Eddie Robin and Steve were set up in the VIP section, and you had an excellent sightline. You felt the cheers from the crowd pulsing through your veins as you stepped under the spotlight.

“She’s incredible!” Robin cheered.

“I had no idea she could sing like that!” Steve was in shock.

“What do you think, Eddie?” Robin turns, but her friend is nowhere in sight. “Ed? Hey, where is Eddie?”

Steve looks around, and he has no idea.

“Maybe he had to take a leak or something?”

Unbeknownst to them, you had a little surprise for your friends.

“How are we feeling tonight!?” You ask the crowd from centre stage.

The crowd roared in response.

“I said, “How are we feeling tonight? “ you ask again, and the crowd cheers as loud as possible.

“Very good, Coachella! I’m so grateful for you guys having me! this is a crucial moment in my career, a highlight, really.” You paced the stage.

“I’m so grateful for you guys to take time out of your day to come out and see me. It means more to me than you ever know! You guys make me feel like a rockstar!”

The crowd cheers again, even louder, and you can’t seem to break the smile off your face.

“Now, before we get this party started, I need you guys to give a warm welcome to a new friend of mine.” You look over to the side stage and wave a hand.

“Everyone, put your hands together for this rockstar! The best guitarist I’ve ever encountered! Give it up for Eddie Munson!” The crowd cheers as you ask them to, and you swear you hear Steve and Robin above all else.

Eddie cannot believe he is standing on stage in front of a crowd with thousands of people in California instead of 6 drunks in Hawkins, Indiana.

Eddie never imagined this opportunity would come to him, but here he was as if a magical being had granted him one wish in life.

When you looked at Eddie, a smile spread across your face, etched into his memory forever. Eddie looked so hot that you couldn’t help but rake your eyes up and down, taking him in. He wore his black ripped jeans, boots, and denim vest, showcasing his many tattoos.

The way you looked tonight was so beautiful. Eddie didn’t think he could make it through the three songs he’s rehearsed with you over the last two days.

Your music wasn’t Eddie’s usual genre. However, it wasn’t as bubblegum pop as he expected. He appreciated many rock elements and would be an idiot to pass up this opportunity.

“Okay, let’s rock!” And Eddie started the first riff of the second half of the setlist.

The crowd was electric, and Eddie’s heart felt like it would pound out of his chest, especially when it came to the guitar solo he absolutely nailed.

“Thank you, Coachella! Goodnight!” The roar of the crowd doesn't die down.

You grab Eddie by the hand and run off stage. As you make it to the stage, Eddie wraps you in a high so tight it takes your breath away.

“That was incredible! Unbelievable!” Eddie howled in excitement. “I can’t believe that just happened!”

“It’s incredible, isn’t it!” You smile.

“Yes! God, I could kiss you!”

“Who is stopping you?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline or perhaps it was the fact that Eddie would be leaving soon, but you wanted it so bad that you threw all caution to the wind.

“What?” Eddie’s eyes winded.

“Kiss me, rockstar. I know you want to.”

You pulled Eddie in by the guitar strap, and your lips connected. The moment his plump lips made contact with your deep cherry-cola-coloured ones, you knew this was something more than physical attraction. You haven’t felt a kiss like this in a very long time. The both of you pull away regretfully, but you are standing in the middle of backstage, and techs and roadies are running all over the place; you can’t just make out with Eddie here.

“Come home with me to my place tonight? You ask bravely.

Eddie quickly nods his head, at a loss for words.

“Okay,”

-

Nothing could top this moment for Eddie. It was you and him alone for the first time. He was in your bedroom, and the height he was feeling was too much to contain. Eddie pulled you in closer, his lips crashing into yours harder as his hands grabbed the silver material of your mini dress. He pushed you up against the wall, and you felt his tight hold on your body. His hard body pressed up against yours, and the only thing separating you was four layers of thin cloth dawning you and Eddie.

“Fuck you’re so hot.” You moan.

Eddie’s head spun at your confession. You thought he was hot. You, the girl who made all of his wildest dreams come true and then some.

“I want you,” you mumble into his lips.

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice before his hand travelled up between the soft skin of your plush thighs.

The way your skin felt under his fingertips makes you shiver. Slowly, his callused tips found their way to the cloth of your soaked panties.

Eddie moaned into you as his kiss trailed down the side of your jaw to your neck, catching that sweet spot that makes your pussy weep.

Eddie’s fingers delicately stroke up and down your slit like he would break you, but you need more. You can’t help your hips rock back and forth into his touch.

Eddie didn’t think he would end up with a pop star grinding into his hand when he planned his trip to Cali with his friend, but he wasn’t complaining. He would be happy if this was the furthest the two of you got.

“More,” You plead, and your hand wiggles its way between the two of you to stroke his already hardening cock.

Eddie buckles his hips into your hand unwillingly, but the feeling of your hand on his cock had him acting on instinct. The two of you dry-humping one another against the wall wasn’t enough.

“Need you, want you so bad,” Eddie confesses.

You push up off the wall and drag Eddie to your bed. You push him back with a giggle, then fall to your knees before him.

“Holy shit,” he whispers under his breath. Your gaze meets Eddie, and it’s like a siren is looking back up at him, ready to drown him with your lust.

You quickly unbuckle and unbutton and unzip everything containing Eddie’s bulge from you, and you’re pleasantly surprised when you finally unwrap him. His tip was already crying for your touch, so red and shiny due to the precum that had been leaking ever since you kissed him when you both got off stage. His long, thick shaft taunted you as if it might not be able to fit.

“Want to teach me why they call you Eddie the Freak?” You smirk.

“Fuck Bunnie, you don’t know what you’re asking for. "

“That’s why I’m asking, big boy.”

You don’t give Eddie a chance to respond before wrapping your warm lips around his fat tip.

“Yes, sweetheart, right there,” he draws out his words as you take him in further.

His hands grip the roots of your hair, pulling them taught as your mouth takes him to the back of your throat.

“Oh god,” He moans again. The way your mouth feels around his cock is making him want to thrust up into you, but he holds back for your sake. He knows you asked him to share why he’s called the freak, but he’s not ready to scare you away with his kinks, not yet.

“Fuck baby, you’re so big” You pull off and replace your mouth with your hand so you can catch your breath. Your lung capacity may be suitable for singing, but you can only hold so much breath.

“You think so, pretty girl?” Eddie brushed a fallen piece of hair from your face, and you swore you had never been so hot and bothered.

You bite your bottom lip and try to grind yourself on your heels for any source of friction as you take him back in your mouth. His taste was addictive, and so was the way he was looking down at you with a look in his eyes that made you feel so wanted.

“Such good girl; you like being on your knees for me?”

You nod your head and hum on his cock in a reference, and that makes Eddie’s head spin. The way your mouth is sending vibrations through him has him pulling you up off of him because he would end the night early if you keep that up.

You giggle as he switches your positions and strips himself. Your head hits your pillows, and you sink into the plush mattress.

“You’re wearing too many clothes," Eddie smirks as his hands find the hem of your dress, pushing it up, up, up, until it meets the lower part of your breasts. Then you take over, folding the fabric over your head.

“Fuuuuuuuuck” Eddie draws out before letting his head fall between them. He presses his face into your chest, kissing and sucking on your tits before he finally takes one nipple into his mouth.

“Tonight should be all about you, Sweetheart.” he nips at your sensitive skin.

“Should worship you like you deserve.”

A low main leaves your throat before Eddie dips down to discard your sodden panties. Finally, he has you where he wants; needy for him and naked.

“Knew you’d have sucha’ pretty pussy, Bunnie.”

“Edddieee” you cry; it’s pathetic how riled up you’ve become.

“Don’t be a brat now,” he warns, but that only makes your pussy throb even more than it has been.

You’re dying to be touched; you craved him so badly that you couldn’t stand it.

Eddie’s mouth dips down to your lower stomach, long drawn-out mouth kisses trailing along your skin around your mound, your under thighs. His teeth nipped and bit at your tender flesh, not breaking the skin but enough to mark you up, to claim you as his own.

“Eddie, please, baby, touch me.” You ask as you stroke the fallen hair out of his face.

“Asking so nicely, good girl.” He purrs.

You can’t help but let out a long sigh as Eddie's tongue makes contact with your swollen bundle of overly sensitive nerves.

He tasers you fully as the flat of his tongue drags itself over your slit. Your slick coats itself on his lips and chin as he sends a rush of pleasure through your veins.

Eddie, the Freak Munson, should be renamed to Eddie the Munch for the irresistible way he’s eating you out. His hands push your inner thighs wider so he has more of you to consume. Your exposed pussy calls to him as he eats you like he’s enjoying it more than you are. He wants you to cum all over his mouth.

Eddie lifts his head and replaces his mouth with his fingers as he pushes up inside of your pussy while massaging your clit with his thumb.

“I know you’re close, baby; give it to me. I need to know how you taste coming on my tongue.”

His dirty words had your head spinning and your core tightening. He was right; you were so close, you wanted- no, you needed to come.

“Please, please, please,” you begged for him to let you have the wave of pleasure wash over your body.

Eddie had you right where he needed you, in the sweet spot of being so desperate that you’d agree to anything he asked. He loved being in control this way; he loved wanting to feel powerful but also loved how much you trusted him to do so.

But what Eddie loved most of all was how you were about to cum all over his face; he loves pussy so much he can’t get enough of it, so he dips back down and has you cumming on his tongue as he pushed it up into your hole and didn’t let up as his thumb rubbed on your clit.

He doesn’t let up until you’ve come twice before wanting to get to the best part.

“Did so good baby, you taste so good. I know you got one more in you for me.”

You can’t even speak; the way he just made you come so quickly, one after another, was mind-blowing.

“Want to teach me why they call you Bunnie?” Eddie mocks as he pulls you up to switch positions.

How were you to ride him after all that?

“Fuck Eddie, I don’t know if I can; my legs are like jello,” you giggle.

“I believe in you, baby,” he creases your ass as you align yourself over his cock.

“Wait, do you have a condom?” He stops you.

“I’m on birth control” You slowly rub your pussy over his shaft, teasing the head at your entrance, threatening to put it in.

“Shiiiiiit” Eddie’s head goes back. “You want to be my little Bunny? Hop on it raw?”

“Mmmmmmm, yes,” you hum as your hips rock back and forth.

“Fuck okay, okay.” And before the second okay is out of Eddie’s mouth, you’re already sinking on his cock. It feels so good that he stretches you until your hips are connected to the bottom.

The only thing filling the room was the sounds of skin slapping skin and the moans coming from each of your mouths. His hands roam your body, exploring the swell of your breasts, your nipples, down around your hips, your back and your ass giving it a tight squeeze.

“Fuck, that’s it. You’re such a good Bunny, bouncing and taking my cock so well.”

“So big.” Your legs were already burning as you worked yourself up and down on his body.

“You going to cum like that, huh?” His hips match your rhythm, and you work together to create the perfect pace.

“That’s my girl, that’s my girl, that’s my girl,” he chants like a prayer as your pussy clenches down on Eddie’s cock, making that your third orgasm of the evening. Your body shutters as your orgasm takes over you, the icing on the cake of the day you’ve had today.

“I’m close. Where do you want it.”

“In me, cum in me, please.”

“Fuck, you sure?”

“Yes!” You had stopped bouncing me, but Edie had you held in place as he fucked his hips up into you.

You can feel his balls slapping your ass and his cock twitching so deeply inside you that tiny ripples of post-orgasm spasms are still running through you.

With a grunt, Eddie collapses, and you fall on top of him. Your hot bodies pressed together, chests heaving, breathing in one another.

“Hey, you wanna stay?” You tentatively as as you curl up next to him.

“Sure baby, I can spend the night”

“No no-well yea, but no…I mean here in California… you can join the band” you bite your lip.

“You-you want me to join your band?”

You nod your head slowly.

“Woah…”

“I know it’s crazy! But you’re so good, and you love it. It wouldn't be exactly what you want, but it also puts your foot in the door, and I kind of don’t want you to leave.” You blab.

“All I heard was you don’t want me to leave, Eddie teases.

“I’m serious,” you playfully swat his chest.

“I’m going to have to call my boss in the morning,” he smirked.

“Really?”

“Id have gone an idot to pass up an opportunity like this sweetheart.

Tagging some mooties @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munson-blurbs @maisieisaloserr @ghost-proofbaby @littlexdeaths @take-everything-you-can @andvys @userchai @loserboysandlithium @floredaqueen @sexmetaleddie @strangerstilinski @myherometalhead

[jjenthusee]

Subtle Stitches

jason todd x reader

A/N: i had an idea then it kinda spiraled? idk if in a good or bad way but i kept adding more and more. i’m also so exhausted from day to day life so this is to comfort myself HAHAHA so ENJOY :D

Tags: fluff, domestic jason, silly jason, toxic jason if u squint but i’m blind to that 😌 and slight angst but all is well :)

You tiredly started putting clothes in the washer, throwing mixed pieces of clothing from your pile and Jason’s pile.

Colors were first, a mixture of fabrics placed in the machine.

After emptying the laundry basket, you remembered the shirt you threw on the floor from this morning. A bad habit you’ve started to pick up as you rushed to get to work on time.

Unsure of the precise outfit you wanted, multiple changes, then changing back into the original outfit, it gave you a pile of clothes thrown last minute.

You grabbed the shirt off the floor.

It wasn’t dirty necessarily, but now you wanted to wash it.

On your way back from the bathroom, you noticed a spare sock thrown sadly outside the door.

Then a completely different lone sock in your bedroom and a pair of pants you left to air-dry, but never bothered to put away still on the dining chair.

You gotta work on this bad habit you’ve developed, but after working all day and getting home late, you hadn’t been able to give yourself any down time, let alone complete any chores.

You hadn’t even seen Jason. Only giving him quick morning forehead kisses before work as he sleepily tried to cling onto your waist.

Wrapping a strong arm around you, locking you permanently to his side.

You had no idea how his sheer strength kept you in place as he lazily laid on the bed, but after much convincing that you had to fulfill your portion of the rent and several kisses to Jason’s face, did he finally let you go.

As much as it pained you to leave, you loved the wrinkled clothes left by his adamance to throw you back on the mattress next to him.

It felt like every weekday, he was getting closer to convincing you to drop everything, ditch the city, go off-grid and live deep in the woods surviving off berries and spring water, but alas you silently trudged yourself to the bus stop.

You left like a soldier going off to war, sworn to duty while their partner, like Jason, held their tears and waved a white handkerchief as the city bus wisped you away to 8+ hours of labor.

Both of your schedules, opposite of one another, never aligned. Jason swung the city in the peak of the night, under the stars and amongst the ongoing sirens, but you had the most torturous criminal in all of Gotham, a 9-5. It waited for you, forbade you from staying out too late.

You once joked to Jason over dinner that he should leave a small token of…warning to your boss, for a needed day off, but when Jason didn’t laugh and comfort you like you expected, you made sure to make him pinky promise he wouldn’t physically or mentally harm your boss.

When he wouldn’t wrap his pinky with yours, you refused to eat the warm meal he cooked. After dismissing every possible way he could make your boss beg, he reluctantly sworn the great promise of pinkies to not do any permanent harm in favor of you eating.

With a worrisome look, you took slow bites, watching Jason act like he didn’t create new torture tactics at a family dining table.

After another additional verbal reassurance from the man and an unconvincing sigh, he only agreed that if you promised to never miss a goodbye kiss before work, then he would follow any rule you set.

So far, no broken promises and no mass emails about a sudden company shut down due to threats, so it was a win?

Even then, they could force you to work remote, so unless Jason unrelentingly asks Tim to shut down all power and service in the area, you still had to be a working citizen.

The commute to and from work already took up most of your minimal free time, so it felt like you woke up to work, ate a quick meal, then fell asleep to wait for the next work day.

Luckily in the rare moments, Jason got to get a quick kiss on your shoulder before going out for patrol. Usually you were passed out on the couch, but with a beautifully handwritten note from your lover, you woke up on the bed thanks to Jason carrying you.

You needed a Jason recharge soon, but that had to be until the weekend and for work to even out before you got that luxury.

While the clothes were being washed, you started a small water to clean the dishes.

Soapy bubbles coating your hands as you washed the utensils that Jason used to make you daily lunches.

You almost cry at every lunch, adoring the beautiful meal that graced you, made with the scarred and gentle hands of Jason.

With the last pot placed on the drying rack, you sent one last text for the night.

You: clothes in the wash, was gonna put them in the dryer but i’m frog blinking and i need to sleep \(o-0)/

jay: ok, got the dishes when i get back :)

You: already washed them :(((

jay: how dare u be a responsible adult

You: i’ll repent 😔

jay: 12 years in the slammer, community service, and a lunch date with me on saturday

You: yes sir 🫡 i promise to reduce my sentence for good behavior

As you finished brushing your teeth, you noticed Jason’s jacket thrown on the couch.

You were surprised he didn’t take it out on patrol, but after the last stabbing incident there were relatively large holes in the sleeves and pocket.

You were grateful that most of the damage was in the jacket and not Jason, but he still kept it.

After looking at its sad state, you offered to shop for a new jacket together, but Jason was reluctant. Saying it could be fixed.

With a small smile, you grabbed the coat, grabbing your mending kit that you got for free from a hotel you stayed at a while back.

You messily stitched the first hole, but after finding the right pace, muscle memory kicked in and you finished up the stitching.

Not the best work, but you hoped the dark color would hide any mishaps and make it seamless.

When the handiwork was done, you left the jacket as you saw it and went to bed.

—

When work eased up, you almost got to see Jason for a full evening.

You cuddled on the couch, your legs over his, leaning on the pillows.

Engrossed in the movie, but time for patrol was near and Jason had to move your legs and get up to get his gear on.

When he reappeared from the bedroom, you saw the mended jacket back on his broad shoulders.

With a quick kiss goodbye, a quiet shut from the window, you finished the movie. Happy that you managed to save the jacket that Jason refused to let go.

After a couple nights, work was tougher on your body than usual and the jacket was back on the couch. A new tear on the sleeve that you closed up.

The several patchwork was starting to concern you.

You have to convince him that he needed a new jacket. One without tears preferably.

“Jay, I’m running out of thread. I think it’s time.” You tiredly held the worn out jacket in your lap. Poking the needle into the fabric, careful to not prick yourself.

“No, it’s still got some life. Since you’ve sewn it, it’s never looked better.” Jay washed the dishes.

“I’ve heard Roy ask if you tried to sew it yourself. I know it’s not the best work, but even you’re more meticulous than I am.” You knotted the end of the thread, cutting off the excess.

“Roy can’t even tie his shoes, so don’t listen to him.” Jason turned on the faucet, letting the water flow into the sink.

“I know we’re both busy, but I can run to the store after work to buy you one. I saw a really nice one that would look great, It’s not far and I can take the next bus—“ You tried to reason.

“Absolutely not, you already know how I feel about you taking that route so late.” Jason scrubbed the plate.

“I’ll go with a coworker, we do leave in groups anyway. It’s just once—“ You sighed, folding the jacket.

“No, this isn’t something you can convince me on.” Jason placed the glass plate down, a little more harshly than he wanted, but he grabbed a mug without stopping. “I have to meet Babs and Steph to talk about the recon tomorrow, I won’t be in the area.” Sternness filled Jason’s voice, unconvinced.

“Jason, we’ve talked about this, I can go—“

“I don’t want to risk it.” Jason held the cup, frustration in his eyes as he stared it down.

“But, I want to do this for you. We haven’t—“ You pushed, exhaustion making your patience thin.

“I said no!” Jason raised voice, shutting yours down.

The mug shattered in the sink. Jason flinched as if even he was shocked by his own reaction.

The faucet continuously ran water as all noise surrounding you stopped. Like it was inconsiderate to the tension that built in your apartment.

You sat for a moment before walking over to shut the water off.

“I’m—I’m so—“ Jason fumbled.

You looked into the sink, at the aftermath of the pieces of the mug that had snipped his fingers.

You calmly grabbed the sponge soaking up Jason’s blood as he stood there, letting you maneuver his body like a puppet.

You can rinse and sanitize the dishes later, but you grabbed a kitchen towel. Letting Jason sit at the dining table as you patched him up.

“I’m not mad, Jay. I was just surprised.” You disinfected his cuts, no reaction from Jason, probably from years of experienced pain. Years of trying to patch himself up.

It saddened you.

You didn’t realize the privilege of hating the pain of paper cuts and not stab wounds. Hating the sting of alcohol, not digging out bullets out of your skin.

“I know we haven’t seen each other and I’ve been missing you.” You cleaned up the miscellaneous bandage wrappers and sat in front of Jason. “But, you’re more stubborn than usual about this new jacket.”

You looked at Jason who was avoiding your eyes, rubbing at the bandages covering his skin.

With a sigh, he reached for your hand. A silent reassurance as he found the words.

“I’ve missed you too. That jacket—it’s been with me since I’ve met you. I’ve had it too long to just get rid of it.” He admitted, fluffy hair drooping the more he talked.

He continued.

“It’s just…hard to part with it. When I saw the new stitches, it felt good that a part of you was with me on patrol. We’ve also been so busy, I can only see you for a split second before one of us leaves. I know you wanna replace it, but…I need it.” Jason rubbed at your knuckles.

You put your hands on top of Jason’s, reciprocating the rubs as you listened.

“I didn’t know.” You gazed up to Jason, who hung his head down.

Vulnerability was a step that both of you had to learn. You focused too much on Jason, constantly forgetting about your own feelings and Jason still needed help in rightfully expressing his emotions.

You had barely made time to enjoy each other and despite living with one another, you weren’t updated in each other’s lives.

“I’m sorry.” You pecked Jason’s hands.

“Why are you apologizing? I raised my voice and broke a cup.” Jason leaned forward, hesitantly bringing his face and body closer to yours.

You stayed still, not to frighten his advances, to tell him it was okay.

“I would’ve known about this if I had made time for us. I’ve been so focused on work that I haven’t been able to even do simple chores.” You touched your forehead to Jason’s. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep in next to you and go for a lunch date. But even that’s asking for too much, I guess.”

The vulnerability covered the two of you in a single blanket. Protecting and helping both of you finally be honest.

“No, no, don’t apologize for that. I was ready to help you in any way I could.” Jason kissed your eyelids as you closed them, the exhaustion slowly easing from your bones as you kept contact with him.

He held your face, hands wrapped in bandages.

“All I ask is you take care of yourself.” Jason whispered. Watching your lips, watching your eyes.

“All I need is my Jason recharge. I’m on empty.” You lightly chuckled, sleepiness apparent in your voice.

“I think I could spare some time.” Jason teased, kissing the corner of your lips.

You nudged his shoulder playfully.

“Shut up and kiss—.” You breathlessly pulled at Jason’s shirt.

Before you could even finish your request, Jason leaned in, using his thumb to rest on your chin, opening your mouth for him.

The rhythm was slow.

Jason always started like that, letting you control how far and how soon you wanted him.

Your face heated, letting feeling take over.

Your grip on his shirt got tighter.

Jason pulled your chair closer.

When it wasn’t close enough, he grabbed you to sit on his lap.

Effortlessly, you rested yourself on his thighs, making your body flush with his.

Grabbing at the roots of his hair, you tried to inhale his hums.

Your imaginary battery was slowly filling, maybe you would need to take this a step further for a full recharge.

As Jason’s grip got stronger on your skin, your breaths louder, and the more you pulled at his hair, he got more restless.

In one lift, Jason got you off his lap, laying you onto the dining table.

He leaned his body between your legs.

You watched his beautiful flush face as he lifted your shirt, his hands just as flushed as he kissed down your abdomen.

“Jay, I think I’m too tired to help you.” You breath hitched.

“Relax, this is my recharge too.” Jason leaned his cheek on the inside of your thighs, kissing the sensitive skin before a call rung from his phone.

It vibrated repeatedly as Jason continued to keep his attention on you.

When the ringing stopped, you could focus again.

Then the same ringtone started again as Jason’s face scrunched.

“Dammit, I’m gonna kill whoever—“ Jason reluctantly walked away from the table you laid on.

“You better be on the verge of dying, so I can go over there and finish the job, Dickwad.” Jason watched you sit up.

Another huff came out of his mouth as he was not pleased that he wasn’t getting his alone time with you.

Then your phone rung from the chair you were previously on.

Your stupid boss had decided to call about some other task he thought was too important for him.

With reluctance, you answered.

Both of you were disappointedly looking at each other as you were both occupied.

When both calls ended, you silently stared at each other.

You sat on the edge of the table and Jason stood in front of you.

He offered you a hand and you slowly fell into Jason. Burying your face into his chest.

“Sadly, we’re both needed somewhere. I think we need to take a rain check.”

“Can’t believe I have to set up an appointment to get laid.” Jason sighed into you.

You laughed out loud.

“Maybe if a miracle happened tomorrow, but we have the weekend.” You kissed Jason one last time.

—

The next morning, you woke up passed your alarm. Jason’s muscular arms and his even breaths were too soothing that it blocked out the repeated ringing.

The bus was arriving in 15 minutes.

You rushed outta bed, grabbing your keys, putting on mismatching socks on the floor.

Jason lazily perched his head up at all your movement, absently watching you run around.

“Sweethe—“ He called out.

“Shit, did I finish the report?” You ran to grab your laptop.

“My lo—“

“My watch! Crap, I didn’t iron my shirt for the meeting today.” You grabbed your bag.

“What about—“ Jason tried to interrupt.

“I gotta go, but let’s eat out tonight? I’ll call you when I get off.” You ran out the door, blowing air kisses to Jason.

You barely managed to get on the bus before the doors shut and you were scrambling to get yourself in a seat.

After a deep breath, you were gonna make it to work.

A late start, but you made it. You stepped off the bus, walking to the large building that made your jaw drop the first time you laid eyes on it, but it didn’t seem all that spectacular after a couple years of seeing it.

As you were walking, several people were rushing out the building.

Crowds walking out in large strides, taking what they could as papers fumbled out the doors.

You watched in confusion.

What sick villain was wreaking havoc on your building at eight in the morning?

You were about to turn around when your coworker bumped into you.

“Thank goodness you’re out. I was worried when I couldn’t find you.” They grabbed your arm, giving you a once over as you stood there.

“What happened?” You looked up at the building. It seemed fine.

“We gotta go, they got the boss and I don’t wanna be next.��� Your coworker pushed you across the street, trying to get you farther from the sea of people shoving you outta the way.

“What?”

“I don’t know, but it all happened so fast, then all the alarms started and ya know when shit starts happening you gotta get outta there. One moment I was making scans, then the boss’ computer flew right by head and his glass walls were shattering. I saw the back of a big red guy and I just got this job, so I ran. I only need to see the back of Nightwing, if you know what I mean—“ You coworker rambled.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes widening at the realization.

“That son of a—“ You raised your voice before your phone rung from your pocket.

You angrily tapped the accept button before you were yelling at the invisible person, yanking your arm out of your coworkers.

“You crazy motherfucker—“ You swerved your body back toward the building, tension built up in your bones that you could only angrily walk back to the building in chaos.

Tons of employees dodging you.

“You forgot your lunch, so I decided to deliver it myself. I hope I got the right floor—“ Jason sung into the phone, walking past a suited man kneeling on the floor, glass digging into his knees.

“What are you doing?!” You marched to the front entrance, gripping your phone as you shoved the doors open.

Jason walked over to sit in the swivel chair, pushing himself to spin once and throw his boots on the overpriced desk. Not caring about dirtying the papers on it.

“Don’t worry, my love. We all make mistakes. We can all be forgetful.”

“What?!” You pushed the elevator button, waiting for the doors to open, but the wait only made you angrier.

“You broke a promise, sweetheart.” Jason spun a pen on his finger, letting gravity and motion balance the pen perfectly.

“What are you talking about.” You entered the elevator and pushed the button for your floor.

“You can’t even remember.” Jason glanced over to your boss still on the floor, motioning with his hands dramatically pointing to the phone. “What am I going to do? This is ridiculous, right?”

Despite your boss not being able to hear the conversation, he fearfully nodded his head quickly, not quite understanding why the Red Hood made a visit in broad daylight. Sweat beating on his forehead.

As Jason counted the elevator rings for every floor you passed, he smiled while on you stayed on the line.

Covering the bottom half of the phone, Jason looked at your boss, his helmet staring down the man.

“Beat it.” Jason commanded, not an ounce of the sweet playfulness he spoke with before.

Your boss was frozen, scared and confused as he looked back at the vigilante sitting in his chair.

In one motion, Jason nodded at the door, never saying another word as your boss ran out the door, throwing his body into the emergency exit stairwell, hopping down the steps.

Now with the man gone, Jason strolled to the elevator.

“You better be gone when I get there Jason Peter Todd—“ As soon as the elevator doors opened, Jason grabbed you, swinging you into his arms as he lifted his helmet and passionately kissed you in the aftermath he created.

In one woozy turn, you were back on your feet as you tried to process everything.

“Now that you fulfilled your promise, I would tell you to have a nice day at work, but, well…” Jason glanced around the office floor. Some lights burnt out and others flickered. You watched as glass littered the floor and chairs were thrown as everyone fled their way out. “You might be out for a couple days. The food is probably cold anyway, so let’s go out for lunch instead.” Jason grabbed you by your waist as he led you to a window he smashed open.

He smugly took your hand and swung your arms as he spoke, overjoyed.

“Watch your step, please.”

“You’re so dead when we get home.” You grabbed onto his arm, afraid to look out the edge of the building.

“What’s another death?” Jason held you tightly to his side. “If it’s by your hands, I’d face death any day.” He looked at you through the red helmet, his words modulated. It would’ve been swoon worthy if he didn’t just evacuate your entire work building, probably humiliated your boss, and costed you your job.

“I’m for sure fired.” You hit your head against Jason’s chest plate.

“Tim wiped all the service and power a mile out. Cameras stopped working before I even stepped in here. I tampered with the security myself, a personal touch. It’s like you weren’t even here, besides your boss isn’t so innocent, but Dick’s got him, he owes me for last night.” Jason’s gloves rested on your sides.

“How did you even convince him?” You couldn’t believe Jason would even ask for the help.

“Blackmail.”

You didn’t believe a second of anything that came out of Jason’s mouth.

After you gave a blank face to Jason, his helmet was looking back at you until he finally broke.

“Fine, it was a humiliating picture of Bruce I’ve kept for the perfect opportunity.”

“You risked all that because I forgot a goodbye kiss?” You raised an eyebrow.

“That you promised.” Jason emphasized.

You could only laugh out of disbelief.

“Fair enough.” You looked out toward the blue sky, wind picking up against your face at this height. “Your banned from any kisses for a week for this.”

“Sorry, wind is picking up!” Jason fell out the window with you in his arms. Grappling hook dragging your bodies across the city.

[hoshifighting]

— 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.”

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[fairlyang]

One more 🐺

w/c: 709

tags: 18+ smut. cunnilingus, sitting on his face, overstimulation, praise, teasing, tiny bit of brattiness, munch!logan, he jerks himself off, getting off at the same time

a/n: something small! wrote the first three paragraphs like two days ago for funsies. up next a request that’s so😵‍💫

logan gripped your thighs when you tried to escape from his grasp, yet again. he grunted against you and gave you a glare while he continued lapping at your folds like he has for the past hour.

he’s already made you cum twice but he wanted to pull one more from you just because he could.

you’ve been sat on his face struggling to get off because the overstimulation was too much but he wasn’t letting you. his arms were holding you still and you had no choice but to just shake and let him take another orgasm from you.

you were holding onto the headboard to stay steady while one of logan’s hands went back down to stroke himself. he didn’t even let you face the other direction so you could help him because he was stubborn on keeping you like this, writhing above him.

he had been edging himself the whole time just for the sole fact that he knew how much he’d spill when he reaches an orgasm. he knew there’d be no complaints from you after having all of it in your mouth but he just needed one more from you.

he pulled away for a split second and you thought you were free until he spoke, “c’mon pretty girl, just one more.”

you looked down at him and whined, “it’s too much-“

“haven’t used that safe word yet now have you baby?” he asked and you slowly shook your head.

“then? you just like to pretend you don’t like it, huh?” he teased making you moan.

he knew you too well.

“that’s what I thought princess.” he mumbled and with that he went back to savoring your sweet pussy since he knew you deep down loved it.

he knew you loved when your head was so fuzzy and all you can think of is his mouth plus all the pleasure he’s giving you is on another level when you’re overstimulated.

you’d be a little bratty but that was only so he could tease you about it or use it against you later.

you not so secretly loved it but luckily for you, he’ll occasionally indulge you.

he sucked on your clit with his eyes closed, focusing on the smell of your arousal and the sweet sounds of every noise that left your mouth. you were just so perfect in every way he could possibly ask for.

you then started to slowly ride his face making him groan against you, sending shivers down your spine, “fuck logan-“

your thighs shook as you moved your hips back and forth but he held onto you with that one hand, making sure you were up and going. his tongue perfectly outstretched so he’d be licking every inch of you with your movements.

by this point you felt so drowsy but you could feel so close to the edge again. with fluttering eyes and sloppy thrusts, you kept going, desperate to cum in his mouth for the final time.

logan could feel your pussy pulsing against his tongue so he quickened his pace on his dick, he needed to cum with you. he let you ride his face while he flicked his tongue back and forth with you, your orgasm already building in your lower tummy.

“baby i’m so close-“ you murmured, holding tightly onto the headboard.

you turned your head to look at him stroking himself, also desperate for an orgasm, “please cum with me baby.” you whined making him moan against you, sending you both right off the edge.

you watched as his load spilled and made it to his stomach as you came on his mouth. he slowed down and just left soft kisses on your slit as a way for you to ride your high.

meanwhile your legs were shaking and you couldn’t hold on anymore. he pulled his mouth away from you and quickly helped you throw one leg over so you could lay next to him.

he brought your body close to his, your head on his chest as his hand gently rubbed your head. “did so good baby, i’m so proud of you.”

you closed your eyes and smiled, content with his sweet praise and finally let sleep take over your body.

[corroded-hellfire]

I’m sorry for getting distracted like ten times before sending this but tbh it’s kinda your fault <3

Imagine you’re sitting in the backyard with Eddie while watching the kids run around and Eddie starts talking about how happy and thankful he is for the life he has now. He gets emotional with you and even starts to cry and I just wanna see him cry happy tears. LET MY BOY BE HAPPY.

Your wish is my and @munson-blurbs’s command our darling wife 💚

Words: 2.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Autumn in Hawkins is…well, like any other time in Hawkins, but with a crisp bite in the air. The leaves that budded in the spring and held a lively green in the summer are now beginning to turn brown, curling in on themselves as they fall off of the trees. The sun dips behind the clouds earlier and earlier, bringing many of the town’s residents inside their homes for the night. 

But not your family. 

You and Eddie sit side by side on the porch swing, watching your kids run around the backyard. All three of them—four, if you count Luke’s dog—are playing a rousing game of tag. Ryan and Luke have teamed up against Eliza and Patch. It isn’t much of a fair fight, considering your daughter is only three years old and the dog doesn’t have a clue about what’s happening, but no one is complaining. 

Eddie’s hand finds your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “This is pure chaos,” he whispers in your ear. 

“Insanity,” you agree. Eliza shrieks giddily as Ryan picks her up and slings her over his shoulder. There was a time where you could carry Ryan; now, he’s sixteen-years-old and turning into a young man. It was as though the years had slipped through your fingers without you realizing. “What were we thinking, adding another one into this mix?”

Instinctively, Eddie splays his palm over your stomach. You’re only a month along and aren’t close to showing yet, but he still feels that protectiveness over you. 

“Four kids and a dog,” he muses, shaking his head. “This is your fault, y’know?”

“My fault?”

Eddie nods, a serious look on his face. “Oh, yes. It was two against two when we just had the boys. But then you had to be so damn perfect, and so I had to give you a baby.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“And what about this one?” You glance at where his hand rests. “Is that my fault, too?”

“Absolutely.” Eddie grins. “I mean, you looked so beautiful pregnant with Eliza. How could I possibly let that be a one-time thing?”

You’re about to protest that it was actually a nine-month thing, but you’re interrupted by Patch barking excitedly. 

The brown and white puppy runs as fast as his little legs will take him, doing laps around the three kids. He seems content when Eliza is put back down on the ground, and he can go over and check on her.

“I’m okay!” Eliza comforts with a breathless laugh. 

She pets Patch on the head as he sniffs all over her small legs and feet. Luke snatches his little sister, and though he doesn’t pick her up off the ground, he holds her prisoner against his chest.

“Whatcha gonna do now, Patch?” he teases. “Remember, I’m the one who feeds you!”

Eliza squeals and wriggles against the fourteen-year-old’s chest. Ryan decides to take the attention off both of his siblings and plop down on the grass right next to Patch.

The plan works perfectly as the Australian Shepherd and Labrador mix abandons both younger Munsons and climbs onto Ryan’s chest.

Eddie chuckles from next to you. When you turn to look at him, an infectious grin has you joining in his laughter.

“We’re raising some great kids, huh?” he muses, still watching them.

“Let’s hope this next one turns out just as amazing,” you say, squeezing your hand over Eddie’s where it’s perched on your stomach. 

He turns his hand around to lace his fingers with yours before bringing your hand up to his mouth. His soft, yet slightly chapped lips press kisses from your knuckles all the way to the inside of your wrist. The two of you may have been together for over six years now, but the display of affection still makes you dizzy with giddiness. 

“I keep wondering about how they’re going to react,” Eddie says, nodding towards your children out on the lawn. “I think I’ve imagined them responding in every possible way.”

“Can I be the one to say it to them?” you ask. It feels a little silly, but the idea of getting to say the words “you’re going to have a baby brother or sister” to them fills you with glee.

“Of course, princess.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes as the two of you watch Eliza demonstrate to Patch how to roll over. Luke pretends to give his little sister a treat from his pocket and the girl playfully growls at him.

“Do you think Luke will wanna name this new baby?” you ask Eddie as his thumb lazily strokes the back of your hand.

“God, I hope not,” he admits with a breathy chuckle. “He’s been obsessed with WWE lately. We’ll have to name it John Cena.”

You giggle and rest your head on your husband’s shoulder. Man, this pregnancy was already hitting you with the exhaustion. 

“Well, Eliza would probably pick Hercules or Megara,” you point out. “Not much better.”

Eddie leans in and kisses your forehead. “Maybe we have to institute a ‘no wrestlers and no cartoon characters’ rule this time.”

“But then Eliza wouldn’t be Eliza,” you point out. It was Ryan who had chosen the name while watching The Wild Thornberries. “So, we might have to make an exception if needed.”

“Fair enough.” 

Before you can set any more ground rules, Luke calls out from the grass:

“Attention, lady and gentledad! The Amazing Eliza and her fearless pup, Patch, would like to perform their death-defying spectacular!”

You sit up a bit, watching as Eliza crouches on her hands and knees. Luke fishes a slice of bologna out of his pants pocket—you’re not sure how long it’s been in there, and you’re not sure you want to—and stands on one side of his sister. 

On her other side, Ryan holds Patch in his arms, the Aussiedor wriggling in anticipation of his snack. 

“And now,” Luke bellows, “we will release the beast!”

With that, your oldest son places Patch on the grass. Before all paws even touch down, the dog bolts towards Luke, leaping over Eliza with surprising grace. 

Eliza jumps up, excitement written all over her cherubic face. “Mommy! Daddy! Did you see that? Did you see me and Patch?”

“We sure did, sweet pea.” You look over at Eddie to gauge his reaction, only to see that his eyes are glassy. The kids are already plotting Patch’s next trick when you ask your husband what’s wrong. 

Eddie shakes his head, swiping at a tear that managed to escape. “I was just thinking about how much they smile,” he says softly. “Especially the boys. It wasn’t always this way.”

You lace your fingers with his. “I know.” You remember the early days of babysitting Ryan and Luke. They walked on eggshells around Brittany, always prepared to be dismissed or outright rejected. Each “I’m too busy to play with you,” extinguished a little more light in their eyes. 

“I love you,” Eddie murmurs. “I love you for so many reasons, but I love you most of all for bringing joy back into our lives again. For reminding us how a family should be.”

Another tear rolls down his cheek as he takes in the unconditional love that surrounds him. You reach over with your free hand and wipe the tear away with your thumb. 

“Every smile and little giggle from those boys has brought me so much joy ever since I met them. Seeing their general happiness grow over these last ten years has been a highlight of my life.”

You bring Eddie’s hand up and press a few soft kisses against the back of it. 

“And now there’s another infectious laughter added to the mix,” Eddie says with a teary chuckle as Eliza’s wild giggle floats over to you on a crisp breeze. 

“And another one soon, I’m sure,” you say, placing a hand on your lower abdomen. “I can’t picture this kid having less than an enchanting laugh.”

Eddie sniffles and nods his head. “We’re all so lucky to have you here. The best mom and the best wife.”

“Not to mention that loving and attentive father our lucky babies have. You don’t give yourself enough credit for how happy you make all of us,” you tell him. 

He tries to shrug it off, but you’re persistent. 

“It’s true! Every laugh and smile I saw from the boys in the early days was because of you. You’re the reason they had light in their lives those grade school years. And you’re the reason Eliza is as stubborn as a mule, but still the greatest kid who is full of love and laughter. And then there’s me.” You rest your chin on his shoulder and look up at him through your lashes. “I’ve never felt so safe before. So safe and loved. And I get to goof off and laugh everyday with my best friend. Cause I’m lucky enough that I got to marry my best friend.”

Eddie’s tears are coming in harder now. It brings a smile to your face, though, to know he realizes just how loved every single person in this family is. That the love only grows stronger every day and soon there will be a new little person to give and receive even more love in the Munson house. 

Your husband clears his throat and rubs over his eyes with the sleeve of his black zip-up hoodie. 

“Dad?” you hear Luke say, approaching closer. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie assures him as he tries to make sure any trace of tears is gone. “I’m okay.”

“Then why were you crying?” Eliza gasps out as she runs over to the two of you. 

“Just happy,” Eddie responds, picking the three-year-old up and setting her in his lap. “I’ve got the greatest wife and kids in the world.”

“And dog,” Luke adds as Patch trots his way over. “Patch is the best.”

“And Patch,” Eddie agrees with a chuckle. 

The puppy puts his front two paws on the porch swing next to you and you take the hint. You bend over and pick up the precocious canine, who happily makes himself comfortable in your lap. 

Ryan comes over and sprawls out on the grass at the edge of the stone patio. He stares up at the rest of you and lets out a content sigh. 

“Dad’s a big old softy,” the sixteen-year-old quips. 

Eliza climbs up on the porch swing and Eddie has to wrap an arm around her waist to keep her from falling as the seat bucks from her movements. 

“Daddy is not soft,” Eliza states as she pokes her father’s bony shoulder. She then rubs her hand over his stubble as if to further prove her point. “Hard and scratchy.”

“What about big and old?” Luke asks, doing his best to keep a smile at bay. 

“Everyone is big compared to Liza Bean!” you butt in, reaching over with one hand to poke her belly. “She’s so teeny tiny!”

Eliza nods once in agreement. 

“Right, Mama! And, yeah, Daddy is old.”

You, Luke, and Ryan can’t help but laugh at her casual words. Eddie’s jaw drops open, and he looks at all of his family members with an affronted face. 

“I am only 41!” Your husband defends. 

“Old,” Eliza reiterates. 

Eddie grabs Eliza and clutches him close to her chest.

“Listen here, little missy!” His fingers dig into Eliza’s sides, making her squeal out in laughter. “I’m young enough to beat you up!”

“I don’t know if anyone can win against Eliza…” Ryan mutters.

“No!” Eliza shouts through her laughter. “I younger! I stronger!”

Eddie ceases his tickling and holds the three-year-old tight against his chest. 

“You can never escape.”

“Bite him!” Luke suggests.

“I’ll bite back,” Eddie says. “And my teeth are bigger.”

“Don’t want to damage your dentures,” Ryan says, a smirk dancing on his face.

You and Luke can’t help but laugh, but Eddie only narrows his eyes as his oldest son and leans into whisper something in Eliza’s ear. Your daughter’s face breaks out into a grin, and she nods her head enthusiastically. 

Eddie lets her down and takes a wide berth walking around her brothers. Neither of them takes their eyes off her small figure as Patch jumps down from your lap and follows the girl. While Eliza distracts them with the direction she’s walking, Eddie silently slips off the swing and is able to pounce on Ryan.

“Hey!” Ryan calls through laughter.

Despite how hard your eldest son tries to get free, Eddie is able to hold Ryan’s arms behind his back. With him subdued, Eliza launches herself at him, quickly glomming onto her biggest brother’s torso. 

“We got you!” Eliza calls. 

Ryan manages to get all three of them laying down on the grass, all squirming around like exposed worms looking for shelter. 

Luke simply shakes his head as he sits next to you on the porch swing. 

“Such children,” Luke admonishes. 

He uses his heels against the patio to gently push the swing back and forth as the two of you watch the other three squabble. 

“Us mature ones would never act this way,” Luke says to you.

“Never,” you agree with a chuckle.

You have no doubt something diabolical is spurning in the fourteen-year-old’s head, but you know that nothing you do or say will be able to stop it. Instead, you just lay your head down on top of Luke’s as you watch Eddie and Eliza try to keep Ryan down on the grass. 

“Mature,” you repeat to yourself. “That’s definitely us.”

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: sweet baby boy drew whos willing to help u, nothing else rly

tropes: second chance, fake dating, one bed, forced proximity

authors note: i wanted to give it a sort of “the proposal” / “anyone but you” type of feel !! this is obviously going to be a series so let me know if u want to be added to the tag list from now on so u dont miss an update ! <3

your body freezes in place when you’re asked about the wedding. crap, you forgot. but it isn’t like you received any invite.

“theo sent you an invite through the mail. you got it right?” your friend, leila, asks you. leila and her fiancé theo have been your friends for years now, ever since leila applied for a job at your work. she’s been your closest friend, so theo naturally had to come along too.

“what? yeah,” you lie right through your teeth, and guilt punches you in the face when you stare right into her bright eyes. you raise the cup of coffee. “was literally jumping for joy when i got it.”

leila sighs in relief. “thank god we got the right address,” she says and you question what she means by that before she continues, “we didn’t know whether to send it to your apartment or drew’s.”

your breath is caught and you pause before your drink reaches your lips.

“drew,” you repeat, and she nods.

“yeah, but we figured you’ll both see it either way so, sent it to his place ‘cause theo said it was closer,” leila says, and you raise your eyebrows in amusement. “but anyway! before the wedding, i wanted to stay with our inner circle so if it’s possible for a little two-week vacation? the venue is close to my mom and her boyfriend’s house so we’d just be staying there. i would’ve picked after the wedding if theo didn’t already have the honeymoon planned. he’s too excited.”

“wait, two weeks?” you inquire, “who’s coming?”

she shrugs, “you and drew, libby, gia . . .” she trails off as she thinks about it, and you swallow as you set your cup down. “i forgot who else. i know it’s one of theo’s coworkers but i forgot who. let me text him actually.”

your face lights up at the opportunity to get away, and you nod. “i need to call drew actually,” you say, and she smiles and nods as you stand from your seat and make your way to her living room. “need to remind him to take the . . . fish . . . out.”

“fish?”

“we’re having fish tonight, yeah.”

you turn away to scroll through your contacts until you find his, then click on it. you settle down on the couch as you wait anxiously for him to pick up, and just hope that he does.

just before the call goes to voicemail, the line clears. “yeah?”

“you are such a—!” you hiss quietly, careful not to let leila hear you. “why didn’t you tell me leila and theo sent you a wedding invite for us?”

“i literally just checked my mail, alright? i would’ve said something about it as soon as i saw it,” he tells you. “i just flew in two days ago, y/n. i’m at the . . . i’m not at my apartment right now but my mail’s all on my counter. i’ll look for it once i’m home and then send you pictures of it, okay?”

you know that your situation with drew is slightly complicated. you were together for five years before ending things just a year ago.

because of your careers, you aren’t surprised that people assume you’re still dating. even close friends like leila and theo. everything was kept private. a year into the relationship was when fans even found out about you two.

you both have been looking for a time to address the breakup, to friends first for sure, but with your conflicting schedules, the time’s just never come up, and sending a “by the way, we broke up” text to an imessage groupchat wasn’t totally ideal.

even with the wedding coming up, having to be around everyone while you celebrate your closest friends, how are you either of you supposed to bring it up now?

“okay,” you tell him. “just text me when you’re free. any time before 10, please.”

“okay,” drew’s voice is soft and understanding. the line goes dead and you pull your phone away from your ear, seeing that he’s hung up.

your expected text comes around 8pm. drew’s sent you four different attachments. all are photos of the elaborate and detailed wedding invitation. the designs must’ve been leila’s idea.

you’re surprised to see an incoming call on your laptop right after. you hover over the accept button, then click on it.

his face fills a rectangle of your screen. he’s on his phone—“do you see it?”

“yeah wait,” you mumble, clicking out of the facetime to open your messages with him, then click the first photo. “leila and theo; rsvp by september twenty-seventh.”

“the letter’s addressed to my place but they put our names on the envelope,” drew tells you, and it looks like he’s ruffling through something before he flips his camera to display his counter. on it is the envelope in question, which is addressed to his apartment, but for y/n and drew, it says.

you hum. “are you going?” you ask him.

“of course i’m going. what do you mean?”

you shake your head, “nothing.”

drew only knows of leila or theo because of you, because leila works with you. maybe he’s made friends with theo but it’s not something you’ve personally seen, so you’re just assuming that maybe since you’ve broken up, there’s no reason for him to go? especially when he’s filming soon?

you stare down at your keyboard as you speak again, “leila wants us to come on a two-week pre-stay with her and theo. and others.”

there’s a brief pause from drew, like he doesn’t understand.

you sense it immediately and continue. “like, before the wedding, she told me today about how her mom has his house she wants us to stay in, just a few of us for two weeks, then they have her wedding— i don’t know, i need to ask her more about it. i think she just wants to fly everyone out and spend more time with us before she’s on honeymoon and living the wife life.”

“could be fun,” drew says. “i mean, i can’t even remember the last time i was out with theo or leila. it might be good for us.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him through the screen, and you try to read him to see if he’s joking. “there is no more ‘us’, remember? and by the way, neither leila or theo or anybody else knows that.”

drew hesitates as if he’s trying to justify your situation.

you rub your eye before resting the side of your head against your fist, “they addressed the invitation to both of us, drew. i feel like we should at least tell them the truth so that when we get there, they know.”

drew hesitates, his eyes moving around as if searching for the right words. “yeah, i know. it’s just . . . complicated.”

“complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you say, feeling frustration build up. “it just feels dishonest. they think we’re still together, and if they find out at the wedding, it’ll look like we’re hiding things.”

“we are hiding things,” he reminds you. “we’ve been avoiding the topic. do you really want to drop this bomb on them right before their wedding?”

you go silent as you think about it, because if telling them isn’t a good option then . . .

“what if we just kept up the appearance that we’re still together?” drew suggests. it draws your attention as you look up at your laptop. “for the wedding and the pre.”

you blink, taken aback. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” drew continues, “what if we act like we’re still together while we’re there? it might make things easier for everyone. seeing us apart will just create tension. people will feel like they’ll need to walk on eggshells around us.”

you give him a skeptical look. “acting like a couple isn’t the same as actually being one. i’m not sure i can just pull it off without it feeling fake.”

“we’re not faking,” drew says gently. “we’re just playing a part for a bit. we’re professionals. it’s literally our job. we can do this for a few days.”

you pause, considering his words. “but what if it just makes things worse? what if pretending just complicates everything?”

drew’s expression softens, and he speaks more earnestly. “look, we’ve been in tough spots before. there’s been so many times on set with you and i before that we’ve had to navigate headfirst. this is no different. think of it as a role we have to play for a short time. it doesn’t change what’s real.”

you sit back, processing his suggestion. “so we fake it for now and deal with the truth later?”

he hums. “it’s not ideal, but it could save a lot of awkwardness and stress. we can be civil and supportive for their sake, and then handle everything after.”

you let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the decision. “it just feels like a lot of work to keep up a pretense. but i guess if we’re going to do this, we need to at least figure out how to make it believable.”

“we’ll figure it out,” drew says, his voice a little more hopeful. “it’s not about being perfect. it’s just about getting through the weeks without making things worse.”

you nod slowly, still feeling uneasy but recognizing the practicality of his idea. “okay. pretend for leila and theo, and then deal with the fallout afterwards.”

there’s a faint smile on his face as he nods at you. “just two weeks, remember? we can do that,” he says. “i’m gonna head to bed. i’ll talk to you tomorrow about it, alright?”

“okay,” you murmur, and drew hangs up on you.

the facetime window closes and displays your last app that’s been open, your messages. you’re face-to-face with the photos of the invitations once more, and a part of you is overwhelmed with emotions—fear, excitement, guilt.

two weeks. that’s all it is. just two weeks with your ex-boyfriend. you can survive that . . .

right?

[kckt88]

A Heartbeat Between Us II

Summary:

Aemond learns about his impending fatherhood as things get a little heated in his office with Y.N and he seeks the support of his brothers before he confesses all to Alys.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Features a Flashback Memory, Swearing, Fingering, Alcohol Consumption, Infidelity, Mild Violence, Kissing, Oral Sex (F & M Recieving), P in V.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 7177

A.N - I used Zac Gabriel as the face claim for Daeron.

A.N - Most of the story is already written, as I start a new job on Saturday :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

Y.N stepped into Aemond’s office, her breath catching at the sight of him sitting on the edge of his desk, arms folded, his head cocked slightly to the side, a smirk playing on his lips.

Gods, look at him.

His fitted black suit clung perfectly to his lean form, the eye patch and his long silver hair tied half-up in that effortless way. Her eyes flicked down to his lips-those lips and the way they-

No. Not here. Not now.

“Y.N. What a pleasant surprise,” Aemond greeted, his voice smooth as he gestured toward the leather sofa. She smiled nervously, walking past him, aware of his gaze lingering on her.

She crossed her legs as she sat, and Aemond's eye darkened briefly with memory—of how her skin felt beneath his fingers, the taste of her, the way she came undone in his arms.

The way those perfect tits of hers bounced as she rode him.

His cock stirred involuntarily, and he had to shake his head to rid himself of the thoughts.

Aemond took a deep breath and sat next to her, trying to maintain composure. Silence stretched between them, the tension palpable.

“Y-You have a nice office,” Y.N. said, breaking the silence.

“Thank you-” Aemond replied, his gaze never leaving her. “-So what can I do for you?” His tone was light, but she could sense the underlying curiosity.

Oh gods. Here we go.

Y.N. took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I-I’m p-pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable. Aemond stared at her, stunned into silence.

His usually sharp mind blanked as he tried to process what she had just said to him.

He sat there, motionless, expression unreadable, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“Aemond?” Y.N. waved her hand in front of his face, concerned. “Did you hear me?”

Aemond blinked, snapping out of his daze. “D-Did you just say-that you’re pregnant?”

“Y-Yes” replied Y.N.

“How?” asked Aemond cringing internally at his own idiocy as he knew how babies were made.

What a fucking moron you are Targaryen.

 “Well, we didn’t use protection,” Y.N said quietly.

Aemond groaned in frustration, running a hand down his face. The reality of his actions settled over him like a weight.

That night had been intoxicating—too good, too overwhelming for either of them to think clearly. The alcohol didn’t help, and neither did her tight wet cunt wrapped against his cock. He had lost all control.

He was utterly shameless in his need to feel her like that again, but now wasn’t the time for that.

He took her hand instead. “Forgive me for asking, I know you and Jace broke up, but was there any-”

“-It’s not Jace’s,” Y.N. interrupted quickly. “I’m eight weeks along-and I haven’t been with Jace in months,” Y.N. continued. “-I haven’t been with anyone else either. You were the last”

A possessive thrill shot through Aemond, knowing she hadn’t been with anyone else since their night together.

Aemond swallowed, still trying to wrap his head around it.

A child. Their child. A piece of him and her together. Growing inside her right now. His seed had taken root inside her womb.

Fuck he was getting hard.

“I came to tell you because it’s the right thing to do,” Y.N. said, her voice steady. “But I won’t force you to be involved. If you don’t want anyone to know, then I’ll keep it a secret.”

Aemond’s grip tightened around her hand, his eyes flashing with anger. “You want me to forget you’re carrying my child?” His voice was low and dangerous. “That’s not happening”

“I can do this on my own,” Y.N. replied firmly. “I’m perfectly capable.”

“So, you’re keeping the baby?” Aemond asked, and Y.N. looked hurt by the question.

“Of course I’m keeping the baby,” she snapped, her eyes stinging with emotion. “Would you rather I have an abortion?”

“No!” Aemond quickly said, his tone softening. “That’s not what I meant-I just-I never thought I’d have children. And now-this-” He ran a hand over his face, overwhelmed.

His composure slipped as he reached up and wrenched off his eyepatch, throwing it on the sofa.

Y.N. stared at the sapphire in his eye socket, her breath hitching at the sight of him.

Even in this vulnerable moment, Aemond was breathtaking. His raw beauty had always left her speechless.

“We should get married,” Aemond blurted out.

Y.N. gasped, shocked. “We can’t. What about Alys?”

Aemond stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the office, frustration rolling off him in waves.

Damn it. He was in a relationship, and not only had he cheated, but now Y.N. was pregnant.

“I’ll tell Alys-” Aemond said, taking a deep breath. “But I want to be involved. In everything. The baby, the appointments, all of it. I won’t run away from my responsibility-”

Y.N. nodded, relieved that he wanted to be there. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the scan photo. “I only have one copy-” she handed it to him.

Aemond stared at the tiny figure, a smile tugging at his lips.

Their baby. His baby. A tiny person that he helped to create.

He handed back the scan photo as Y.N. took out her phone and seconds later, his phone buzzed with a message. He opened it to find a picture of the scan.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I mean it, Y.N. I want to be there. For you and our baby”

Y.N smiled and stood up, slowly smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt.

“Where are you going?” asked Aemond.

“I’ve said what I needed to say. Now, I’m starving, and I need pickles.”

Aemond grimaced “Pickles?”

 “The baby makes me want them” laughed Y.N

Before she could leave, Aemond reached out, gently placing his hand on her stomach. Y.N. smiled at the touch.

They were so close, and Aemond couldn’t resist as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a slow, passionate kiss. His hand slid around her body, pulling her close as the kiss deepened.

He slowly backed her up against the door, lifting her slightly as she moaned into his mouth, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing into her.

His hand slowly moving under the fabric of her skirt, skimming the soft flesh of her thigh before his fingers rubbed her pearl over the cotton material of her knickers.

“Already so wet for me” groaned Aemond.

“A-Aemond” breathed Y.N.

“Does it feel good baby?” asked Aemond.

“Oh-Aemond-yes-please” whimpered Y.N as he moved her knickers aside and slid two of his long fingers inside her.

“It’s been so long since I last felt you” whispered Aemond as he curled his fingers inside her.

“So long-oh yes” replied Y.N moving her hips in time with Aemond’s fingers.

“Are you going to come already? I can feel you clenching” muttered Aemond, his fingers still moving inside her.

“Yes-Yes. I-I’m going to-” whimpered Y.N

“Shhhh-” urged Aemond as he surged forward his lips on her muffling her scream as her peak exploded, her cunny clenching around Aemond’s fingers.

A sudden knock at the door broke the moment, and they pulled apart, breathing heavily.

Aemond lowered her gently back to the floor, his forehead resting against hers for a brief second.

“Let me if you know if you need anything,” whispered Aemond as he removed his fingers and then put them in his mouth, his tongue swirling around his fingers, savouring the taste of her.

“I-I w-will” muttered Y.N as Aemond pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

Aemond watched as she smoothed out her clothes and left the office a little wobbly legged.

Once she was gone, Aemond poked his head out of his office and barked at his assistant, “Hold my calls for fifteen minutes.”

With a heavy sigh, he pulled out a bottle of whisky from his desk drawer, taking a long drink.

Holy shit. He was going to be a father. Y.N. was the mother of his child and he'd just fingered her in his office.

What the fuck was he doing?

Aemond sat alone in his office, staring out the window at the sprawling city below, but his mind was far from the towering skyline.

His fingers drummed idly on the armrest of his chair, the familiar hum of work barely registering.

Instead, memories of that night played out vividly in his mind, as if they had happened just moments ago-

He leaned against the lower bar at the Dragon's Den, swirling his drink, trying to convince himself he was here to unwind.

Aegon and Daeron had practically dragged him out, insisting he needed to loosen up after weeks of work.

He had reluctantly agreed, not because he wanted to, but because the constant pressure at Targaryen Inc. had left him worn thin.

It was actually Helaena’s text that had first piqued his interest. She had casually mentioned that she was going clubbing with Y.N.

He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now, as he scanned the room and his eye landed on her, he felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

Gods, that dress-those legs. He wondered what it feel like to have his head between them.

She looked absolutely incredible, more beautiful than he remembered. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his grip tightened around his drink.

He had known Y.N. for years, ever since school. At first, she had been just Helaena’s annoying friend—always around, always talking.

He couldn’t stand her back then. Or so he’d told himself.

But then one day, something shifted. She stopped being annoying, and he found himself thinking about her far too often.

A stupid, insecure kid who hid behind sarcasm and cruelty because he couldn’t handle the fact that she made him feel something.

His eye injury had left him insecure about his appearance, and he’d been too much of a coward to admit how he really felt. Instead, he was a prick to her.

Always keeping his distance, always lashing out. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her constantly.

Didn’t stop him from fucking his fist at the thought of her, imagining what it would be like to touch her, kiss her, have her.

So pathetic.

But she’d gone off to a different college, and by the time she came back, everything had changed. He’d started working at Targaryen Inc., and Alys had entered the picture.

She had gotten involved with Jace, his strong-bastard nephew. Aemond clenched his jaw at the memory, the bitter taste of jealousy rising in his throat.

Of all the people she could have been with, it had to be him-

Aegon elbowed him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Stop staring at Y.N.,” he laughed, clearly enjoying Aemond’s discomfort.

Aemond scowled, pushing Aegon away. “I’m not staring at anyone. Get lost.”

But Aegon wasn’t buying it. He smirked, clearly amused by the whole thing. A group of girls walked past them, giggling, shooting flirtatious glances in their direction.

Daeron, who had been quietly sipping his drink, sighed. “There are some lovely women here tonight.”

Aemond barely registered his younger brother’s comment. His gaze flicked back to Y.N., who was still across the room, laughing with Helaena.

She looked radiant, so effortlessly beautiful it hurt. He wondered if she’d noticed him, or if she was too wrapped up in whatever she was talking about.

Daeron leaned closer. “Aren’t you with Alys? I’m not sure she’d approve of you staring at other women.”

Aegon chimed in with a chuckle. “You know Alys is all wrong for you.”

Aemond sighed heavily, the conversation grating on him. “Give it a rest.”

His brothers never missed an opportunity to remind him of how ill-suited Alys was. Maybe they were right. Maybe they weren’t.

It didn’t matter, not when Y.N. was here, looking like that, making it impossible for him to think of anything else.

Then Daeron had to open his mouth, “Isn’t Y.N. dating our nephew?”

Aemond muttered an insult under his breath, something about Jace’s strong parentage.

Aegon, ever the instigator, laughed. “I don’t see a ring on her finger.”

Aemond drained the rest of his drink, rolling his eyes. “Just because you have the morals of an alley cat doesn’t mean everyone else does”

But even as he said it, his gaze wandered back to Y.N. Then, their eyes met—across the dancing crowd, over the flashing lights.

For a moment, the noise of the club faded away. She looked at him, really looked at him, and the connection between them was instant.

There was something in her eyes, something that made his pulse quicken. And then he smirked, unable to help himself.

Daeron, clearly enjoying the scene, downed the rest of his drink. “Watch and learn brother” Before Aemond could stop him, he was already making his way over to Y.N., striking up a conversation.

Aemond watched, feeling the familiar surge of jealousy tighten in his chest as Daeron led her to the dance floor.

Damn that dress and how she looked in it.

All Aemond could think about was what she might be wearing underneath it—if anything at all.

He wanted her. Badly. Wanted to pull her close, kiss her, feel her body pressed against his, sink his cock into her.

Aegon leaned in, laughing. “Daeron seems to be making progress.”

Aemond scoffed, unable to tear his eye away from Y.N. “Not for long.”

He had seen it—her glances, the way she looked at him over Daeron’s shoulder. That look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Finishing his drink, he set the glass down with determination. He wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines any longer.

As Daeron danced with her, Aemond pushed his way through the crowd, locking his gaze on her.

That night, every sense of control he had possessed was gone. That carnal, desperate urge overtook him, and Alys—everything else—became a distant memory.

It was reckless, it was wrong, but he didn’t regret a damn thing.

The next morning, as he watched Y.N. walk around her kitchen in her little shorts and tank top, that fire ignited in him all over again.

Sure, he could blame the alcohol, but deep down, he knew the truth—they had always had something.

Something more than physical attraction. Something that went deeper, beyond lust.

She had always matched him intellectually, always pushed him, always knew how to get under his skin.

Even back in school, when she critiqued his every answer in class or challenged him, she had ignited something in him no one else ever had.

Not even Alys.

When he first started dating Alys, the allure had been there—an older woman, the mystery of it all. But it had eventually soured.

He’d wanted to end things, but his grandfather Otto had convinced him to keep her around, considering her ties to Larys Strong.

His feelings for Alys were muted and shallow. He’d settled because he never thought he’d have a real chance with Y.N.

But now, everything had changed. Y.N. was pregnant with his child. They’d kissed and gods help him he’d fingered her in his office, and if they hadn’t been interrupted, he was sure he would have had her bent over his desk.

She had infiltrated his mind, his body, his every waking thought.

Gods, he was so screwed.

Aemond sat across from his brothers at the dining table in his penthouse, the three of them surrounded by hastily opened containers of Chinese takeout.

For a while, they ate in silence, the occasional clatter of forks and slurping of noodles the only sounds in the room.

“So,” Aegon began, leaning back in his chair, “-What was the big emergency that you needed to invite us over for?”

Aemond finished chewing and wiped his mouth with a napkin, eyes flicking between his brothers. He let out a slow breath, bracing himself before speaking. “Y.N. is pregnant.”

Daeron, mid-swig of his beer, sprayed it everywhere in shock, while Aegon choked on his spring roll, coughing violently.

Aemond sat there, watching as they both struggled to recover, stone-faced.

When Aegon finally caught his breath, he croaked, “Are you being fucking serious?”

Aemond nodded. “Yes.”

Daeron blinked, wiping his mouth. “How did that happen?”

Aemond gave him a deadpan look. “Surely I don’t have to explain the dynamics of sex to you, little brother.”

Daeron wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Eww, no thanks-”

“So, she’s pregnant?” said Aegon his face a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Aemond, clearly growing impatient, shot up from his seat. “Yes, she’s pregnant! There’s a baby growing inside her, and I’m the fucking father!”

Daeron, still processing, blurted out, “Haven’t you heard of condoms?”

Aegon burst into laughter, nearly knocking over his plate. “Oh, for all the lectures I’ve had to endure from our mother over the years about safe sex, and it’s my little brother who didn’t wrap it before he tapped it. Now he’s having a baby out of wedlock—Mother is going to kill you.”

Aemond narrowed his eye at Aegon. “Try not to sound so happy about it.”

“I’m going to enjoy it because, for once, it’s not my fault,” Aegon shot back with a grin, leaning forward in his chair, clearly enjoying himself.

Daeron, laughing now, pointed at Aegon. “It was your idea to go to the club, so technically it is your fault.”

Aegon jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “Shut up”

Daeron, still grinning, shifted the tone. “It’s not just mother you should worry about. What about Alys?”

Aegon jumped on that immediately. “Maybe mother will be happy to have a grandchild, especially knowing Alys isn’t the mother.”

Aemond shook his head, not wanting to think about the impending confrontation with Alys. It was a situation that grew more complicated by the second.

Daeron’s expression turned curious as he asked, “Is that why Y.N. was at the office today?”

Aemond’s eyes sharpened. “How do you know she was at the office?”

“I saw her leaving,” Daeron shrugged. “She seemed a little flustered.”

Aegon’s face lit up, noticing the shift in Aemond’s expression. “What happened?”

“N-Nothing,” Aemond muttered, eye narrowing in warning.

Aegon, giddy with excitement, leaned forward, voice teasing. “Did you fuck in your office?”

Daeron, now laughing along with Aegon, added, “Did you?”

Aemond took a long swig of his beer, then sighed. “No. We didn’t, but we almost did. We kissed—and I may have had my hand under her skirt, but we were interrupted.”

Aegon raised his beer in mock sympathy. “Aww, how unfortunate for you. But come on, you can admit it now—you’ve got a thing for her.”

Aemond’s patience snapped. “I do not!”

Daeron chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, you do. You’ve had a face like a wet weekend since you slept with her, and now you’re positively glowing. Just admit it.”

Aemond set his beer down a little too forcefully. “I like that she’s intelligent and I like her smile.”

Aegon scoffed, almost choking on his drink again. “That’s not the only reason you fucked her. Let’s face it—she’s better for you than the wicked witch of the west.”

Aemond ignored Aegon’s jab, reaching for another beer with a sigh. “Hurry up and finish your food. Alys will be round soon, and I’d rather not have an audience when I tell her.”

Aegon made a dramatic face of mock horror. “Don’t be a spoil sport.”

Daeron nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you could at least video it, so we have enough evidence to give the police when she kills you.”

Aemond growled at Daeron, but his younger brother just exchanged a look with Aegon before the two of them burst into laughter.

Aegon shook his head, grinning wide. “I’m not rushing my food and giving myself indigestion just so you can panic over telling your girlfriend you’ve knocked up another girl—oh man, I can’t believe I said that. It’s so scandalous.” He laughed harder. “You dirty dog!”

“Aegon, duck!” warned Daeron.

Aegon moved just in time to avoid the remote that Aemond hurled at his head.

Laughing even harder now, Aegon got up, grabbing his jacket. “Perhaps we should go, Daeron. Mr. Sensitive over here looks like he’s about to have a hernia.”

Daeron stretched and stood up, finishing his beer. “Fancy a quick stop for a stronger drink before we head home?”

“Sure, why not?” Aegon slung his arm over Daeron’s shoulder as they headed to the door. “After Aemond’s baby bombshell, I think we both deserve one.”

Aemond, fists clenched, shouted after them, “Get out!”

Their laughter echoed through the hallway as they left, waiting for the lift, still teasing him as the door closed behind them.

Aemond stood in the middle of his penthouse, his heart racing as he received a text from Alys: “On my way over, be there soon. Can’t wait to see you. xx”

Panic set in immediately. The place was a mess after his brothers had left, the takeout boxes still scattered across the dining table and the remnants of their impromptu meal cluttering the space.

He could already hear Alys’s voice in his head, scolding him if she arrived and found the place looking like a pigsty.

Plus she would likley nag him about eating take out and not eating the proper food to keep his body fit, even though he worked out regularly.

Without wasting a second, Aemond rushed into action. He grabbed the empty takeout containers and tossed them into the trash, wiped down the table, and hurriedly washed the dishes.

The sounds of clinking plates and running water filled the otherwise silent kitchen. He could feel the pressure mounting, not just from the impending arrival of Alys, but from everything that had built up over the past few days—weeks, even.

Once the place was spotless, he sat down on the edge of the sofa, bouncing his leg anxiously as he waited.

His thoughts raced. How would he tell her? How could he possibly explain what had happened, not just with Y.N., but the baby?

He barely had time to dwell on it before he heard the familiar ping of the lift doors opening, followed by the clicking of heels on the polished floor.

The door unlocked, and in walked Alys, arms laden with shopping bags. Aemond immediately stood up, hurrying over to take the bags from her.

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips in gratitude and moved to sit on the sofa. Aemond placed the bags down beside her before asking, “Did you enjoy your shopping trip?”

“I did,” Alys replied as she slipped of her heels “I saw Helaena.”

Aemond’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, right. Everything okay?” He tried to sound nonchalant, but panic surged through him.

He prayed that Helaena hadn’t mentioned anything about Y.N. His sister didn’t know about the baby-yet, but she did know that he’d spent the night with Y.N.

“She was-muttering to herself and walked off before I could say hello,” Alys said, her tone dripping with mild annoyance. “Honestly, she’s so weird.”

Aemond’s patience, already stretched thin, snapped. “You know I don’t like it when you insult my sister.”

Alys smiled, standing up and walking over to him, her hands moving slowly over his chest as she offered an apology.

“I’m sorry darling” Her hands slid lower, and she pressed her body against his. “You seem-a little out of sorts. Maybe I can help with that,” she whispered before kissing him.

He kissed her back out of reflex, but it felt wrong, his mind, traitorously, drifted to Y.N.

Aemond remembered how she had looked in his office when he had his hand in between her legs, how wet she was and the sounds she made as she climaxed.

A flash of heat surged through him, and his cock began to get hard, and Alys mistook his sudden flare of arousal as desire for her.

She managed to undo his belt, but the instant her fingers began fiddling with his buttons, reality snapped back into place.

Aemond recoiled, pulling away from her.

“What’s wrong?” Alys asked, her voice sharp as she watched him hurriedly button up his trousers and wrench off his eyepatch.

He caught the brief look of disgust she gave when she glanced at his sapphire eye—so different from Y.N., who had told him he was beautiful, making him feel seen in a way Alys never had.

But he couldn’t think about Y.N. right now, not with Alys standing in front of him, waiting for an explanation.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of what he had to confess. Turning to the drinks cabinet, he pulled out a hidden pack of cigarettes, lit one quickly, and took a long drag.

“I thought I told you to quit that,” Alys said, her voice tinged with irritation.

“I need it” Aemond muttered, exhaling smoke, trying to calm his nerves.

“You’re acting strange,” she noted, suspicion creeping into her voice. “What’s going on?”

Aemond took another drag before stubbing out the cigarette, steeling himself. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Alys crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

He exhaled slowly, avoiding her gaze. “Do you remember when you were in America with Larys?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice guarded. “Why?”

“I went out with Aegon and Daeron while you were gone,” Aemond began, feeling the weight of the confession build in his throat. “Helaena was there-with Y.N.”

Alys’ expression darkened at the mention of Y.N. “What have you done, Aemond?”

He swallowed hard. “I had too much to drink. Alys, I’m sorry, but I-I slept with Y.N.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Alys stood frozen, processing what he had just said.

Then, in a flash of fury, she picked up a vase and hurled it at him.

“You did what?” she screamed.

Aemond ducked, the vase smashing against the wall behind him.

Before he could react, she grabbed another smaller vase and hurled it at him, her eyes blazing with rage.

“How could you do this to me?!”

He dove behind the sofa, barely dodging the second vase as it shattered on the floor.

“It was a drunken mistake,” he lied through gritted teeth.

The truth was that it hadn’t felt like a mistake at all.

It had been incredible, and he’d thought about it every day since. He wanted it to happen again, even though he knew it was wrong.

Gods, he was a terrible person.

Alys’ voice cut through his thoughts. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Aemond stood slowly from behind the sofa, his gaze hard. “No.”

Another lie.

He did have feelings for Y.N. He always had, even before Alys.

Alys stepped closer, her voice trembling. “Was it just once?”

“Yes,” muttered Aemond.

Another lie, he had his hand between her legs today.

She took a deep breath, her anger momentarily subsiding as she considered the situation.

“Maybe we can-work through this-”

Aemond cut her off, his voice low. “-There’s something else I have to tell you.”

Alys’s eyes narrowed in suspicion again. “What else could you have possibly done?”

Aemond took another breath, the words heavy on his tongue. “Y.N. is pregnant.”

In anticipation of Alys throwing something else at him, Aemond instantly dropped to the floor, hiding behind the sofa again.

He peeked over the back of the couch and saw Alys standing there, her face drained of colour.

“How do you even know it’s yours? She’s seeing your nephew.”

Your nephew too, if the rumours are true.

“No, she’s not,” Aemond replied as he stood up, feeling his frustration rise. “They broke up months ago. The baby is mine.”

Alys’ expression twisted with disgust and hurt. She pulled on her heels and reached into her bag, pulling out the keys to his penthouse, and throwing them onto the floor.

“I’m leaving.”

“Alys, I’m sorry. It was an accident—”

“Oh, what happened?” she snapped sarcastically. “You tripped, and your cock  just happened to land inside her?”

Aemond grimaced, unable to respond.

Alys’ voice cracked as she asked, “Is this because I can’t have children?”

Against his better judgment, Aemond stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “No, that was never an issue.”

She buried her face in his chest, sobbing. “How could you do this to me? I love you.”

Aemond rolled his eye, his inner voice immediately chafing at her words.

Loves my name more like.

After a moment, Alys pulled away, her face hardening.

“It’s over,” she said, her voice shaking but firm as she gathered her shopping bags and left without another word.

Aemond winced as she slammed the door.

Well, there’s no going back now.

Y.N. sat curled up on her sofa, watching Jaws on the television, the tension building in the movie as she readied to take a bite of her pizza.

Just as the shark loomed on screen, a loud knock at the door startled her, making her jump. She quickly checked the time—8:30 PM.

“Who the hell is visiting at this time?” she muttered under her breath.

If it was Jace, she swore she was going to kill him. She was sick of the barrage of text messages he’d been sending.

One moment, he was apologetic and sweet, the next, angry and demanding. She hadn’t replied to a single one all day.

Peering through the peephole, her stomach flipped when she saw long silver hair on the other side of the door.

“Oh, bugger,” she mumbled, her hand hesitating on the door handle.

What was Aemond doing here?

She opened the door, and before she could say a word, Aemond blurted out, “I told Alys.”

Y.N. blinked in surprise. “Oh-you’d better come in, then.”

Aemond stepped inside, and as he passed, she wrinkled her nose at the faint odour of whiskey that clung to him.

He didn’t seem drunk, just tense and slightly dishevelled. He flopped onto the sofa, immediately eyeing the pizza box.

Without asking, he reached over and snagged a slice.

“Oi! That’s mine,” Y.N. scolded.

“But I’m hungry,” Aemond shot back with a smirk.

“You have a perfectly good penthouse. Bugger off and get your own pizza.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a lazy grin. “Yeah, but you’re not in my penthouse.”

Y.N. couldn't help but smile at the awful attempt at whatever the hell that was supposed to be.

She sat down beside him, shaking her head. “Don't steal my chips.”

Aemond pouted dramatically. “Aw, come on. Don’t be stingy.”

With a smirk, Y.N. poured a generous amount of garlic sauce over the chips, thinking it would deter him.

Aemond laughed, stuffing a handful into his mouth. “Joke’s on you. I like garlic sauce.”

He licked the sauce off his fingers, and for a moment, Y.N. stared at him, feeling unexpectedly flustered.

She quickly cleared her throat. “So, uh-how did Alys take the news?”

Aemond sighed, leaning back against the sofa. “She threw a couple of vases at me-and then ended things.”

Y.N. felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Aemond shook his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who pursued you, even though I had a girlfriend.”

His gaze shifted to the flowers sitting on the side table. “Who are those from?”

Y.N. sighed. “They came today. From Jace.”

At the mention of his nephew’s name, Aemond’s eye narrowed, a spark of irritation flashing across his face.

“What does that twat want?”

“He keeps asking me to get back together with him,” Y.N. said, rolling her eyes. “-he knows about the baby-just not who the father is.”

“Oh, really?” said Aemond smugly.

 “Don’t you go telling him either.”

“Would I?” laughed Aemond wriggling his eyebrows.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how that conversation will go-” Y.N. sighed. “It’s not like I can call him up and say, oh, Jacey, you know that I’m pregnant? Well, your uncle Aemond is the father. Yeah, the same uncle who’s eye your brother carved out when you were kids, and the same uncle who you got into a fight with five years ago at a family dinner because he made a strong toast”

Aemond sniggered, remembering the altercation with Jace and the satisfying feeling of breaking his nephew’s nose.

Y.N. glanced at him and then at the pizza. “Want another slice?”

Aemond shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

Y.N. cheered and immediately began eating with gusto, “I’ve. Just. Been. So. Hungry. Lately” each word followed a bite of pizza.

Aemond sat there, watching her with a soft smile, thinking about how lovely she looked—even with a smear of pizza sauce on her cheek.

When she finished, Aemond grabbed the empty boxes and tossed them into the bin. When he returned to the sofa, he was chuckling softly.

“What?” Y.N. asked, confused.

“You’ve still got tomato sauce on your cheek,” Aemond said with a smirk.

Before she could wipe it off, Aemond leaned in and kissed her cheek softly, running his tongue over the sauce.

The unexpected gesture made Y.N. gasp, and when she looked at him, their faces were mere inches apart.

The air between them grew thick, hot, and charged with unspoken desire. There was no hesitation—no denying what had been building between them.

Their lips collided in a passionate, heated kiss. Aemond wrapped his arms around her, lifting her easily into his lap as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

Y.N.’s fingers tangled in his silver hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, fiery and intense. Aemond stood, still holding her, and carried her effortlessly toward the bedroom, their mouths never parting.

Aemond’s lips never left Y.N.’s as he lowered her onto the bed, their breaths ragged and hurried, the heat between them building to a fever pitch.

His hands roamed her body eagerly, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of her p.j shirt before slipping underneath.

Y.N. gasped into his mouth as his touch sent shivers racing down her spine, her own hands moving to tug at the hem of his shirt.

In a flurry of movement, Y.N. pulled his shirt up, and Aemond broke the kiss just long enough for it to come off before their lips met again, more demanding this time.

His own fingers worked quickly on riding her of the strappy shirt she wore. The cool air hit her chest as her shirt slid off her shoulders, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of Aemond’s body as he pressed closer to her.

Y.N. arched into him, her hands moving with purpose, her fingers deftly unbuckling his belt, pushing it aside with urgency.

Aemond groaned, feeling her touch so close to where he needed her, but his focus was on her now.

His hands slid down to the waistband of her shorts, pushing them down in one smooth motion, her legs helping to kick them off entirely.

Fuck she wasn’t wearing any knickers.

The intensity in his gaze as he looked at her, bare beneath him, made her heart race even faster. She pulled at the waistband of his trousers, and he quickly complied, standing just long enough to let them fall to the floor, his shoes kicked off hastily.

As soon as he was back over her, their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, Y.N. let out a low moan at the feeling of his warmth, the weight of him against her.

His lips moved to her neck, kissing and nipping gently, while his hands slid down her sides,

“Let me take care of you” muttered Y.N as she placed kisses along Aemond jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.

She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Do you like that?” asked Y.N as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same

“Oh. Gods-” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.

When she reached the trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.

Aemond lost his senses the moment Y.N’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his swollen cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Y.N!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

Y.N ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Y.N’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around him.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted.

Y.N smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

Y.N responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of Aemond’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his balls.

“Shit-Y.N. I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

Y.N took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Y.N’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking?” asked Y.N.

“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.

“Are you sure?” whispered Y.N

“Get up here-now” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.

Y.N hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty pussy" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Y.N’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Y.N her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it. Let me hear you” 

“YES. It feels so good” whimpered Y.N.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond-just like that” shrieked Y.N.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Y.N, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Y.N "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds, his nose bumping against her pearl.

“Oh" whimpered Y.N; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond.

Y.N was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that surely her neighbours would hear.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. Come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Y.N’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Y.N’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at Y.N’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged her to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.

Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.

“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerked involuntarily.

“But it feels so good” replied Y.N as she slowly moved down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.

“P-Please” whimpered Aemond.

“Uh-uh” said Y.N shaking her head from side to side.

After a few minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized Y.N’s hips, before sheathing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Y.N.

"Gods. You feel so good-missed you-missed this-" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Y.N, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of Y.N squeezing his cock.

“P-Please” whined Y.N as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“That’s it-take all of me”

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Y.N.

“You like that?” groaned Aemond his other hand grasping her hip.

"Faster, please" begged Y.N.

“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Y.N.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Y.N" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Y.N "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me”.

Aemond knew exactly what Y.N was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Y.N wanted faster, and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from Y.N’s luscious lips as he thrust into her.

“Aemond-I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Y.N.

Y.N looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond then withdrew, ignoring Y.N’s whimper of protest as he rolled her onto her back and quickly sheathed himself inside her again.

She wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, drawing him closer as he began to thrust inside her, his cock reaching deep inside.

“I-I’m going-to come” moaned Aemond.

“Yes-oh don’t stop-please Aemond” whined Y.N.

That, combined with how glorious Y.N felt, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed.

Aemond shifted slightly, adjusting his position so he could wrap an arm around Y.N.'s waist, pulling her closer.

His hand instinctively splayed across her stomach, fingers resting gently against the tiny curve there, a silent acknowledgment of the life growing inside her.

He stared down at her in the dim light, watching as her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing softening into the slow, rhythmic pattern of sleep.

For a moment, Aemond couldn't move. He could still feel the lingering electricity between them, the intensity of their passion moments ago still hanging in the air.

But there was something more now—a quiet sense of peace as he held her, his thumb absentmindedly stroking small circles on her stomach.

His mind wandered to the future, to the child they were now tied together by, to the uncertainty of what would come next.

Y.N. shifted slightly in her sleep, turning toward him, her head resting against his chest. Aemond closed his eye, letting out a slow breath, feeling the weight of everything, yet feeling more grounded than he had in a long time.

He held her a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before resting his cheek against her hair.

TBC

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Giving the nerd a chance

tags: nerd!nanami/fem!reader, college!au, nsfw, dirty talk, asphyxiation, size kink, mdni!!

a/n: this one’s a long one :) pace yourself and enjoy!

Kento Nanami is a social enigma. He is a total outlier but in the weirdest way possible.

This man is conventionally attractive. Some would even go as far to say Nanami’s handsome, almost in a filthy way. His looks are sneaky too. He’s not someone you’d immediately notice in a room, but once you did…

You would notice his sculpted jaw line first. Then, his naturally high cheekbones that gave way to his soft hazel eyes. He had a serious look on his face always, but his eyes told a different story. Maybe you’d notice his blonde hair that sat neatly on his head, styled with an undercut. Yeah, Nanami was fucking hot.

But that’s not the weird part. No, you haven’t heard him utter a single word except to answer the professor’s unanswered questions once the silence was unbearable.

That’s not exactly weird either. There are tons of people who go through college without the intention of making friends… but Nanami has friends. He doesn’t just have like one friend. No, he’s apart of a friend group.

The weirdest part was he seemed to be close with the most popular guy in your university, star quarterback Satoru Gojo. Gojo was seemingly every college girl’s wet dream. He’s the type to stand out in a room. His looks and personality demand attention.

He’s the complete opposite from Nanami.

Then, there was Suguru Geto… Geto was also a strange friend for Nanami to have. Geto was smart, funny, and well-mannered… when he was in class. But you’ve seen how Geto acts at parties. He smokes cigarettes, shotguns whiskey, and keeps up with all of Gojo’s antics. Shoko was the exact same way, except she didn’t care enough to keep up with Gojo’s buffoonery.

They were the complete opposite from Nanami as well.

Yu Haibara was a cutie patootie. He’s also a sweet social butterfly. Another one of Nanami’s friends that just didn’t seem to be his type.

You caught yourself staring at the friend group as you’re sitting on a couch at a frat house. Your college team just won the game, so Satoru had invited a whole slew of people over. You somehow made it on that list. Your friend, Utahime, is begging you to leave, but something is telling you to stay.

“Go on without me, Uta. I’ll be fine, promise.” You say over the music as you flash her a small smile to assure her.

“I really, really, really don’t want to leave you here alone, yn. I don’t want you to end up on the front page of the news.”

“Don’t wish that shit upon me.” You laugh as you gently nudge her arm, urging her towards the door.

“I’m serious, yn. Please text me. If you’re not back in the dorm by midnight, I’m calling the cops.” She says as she grabs your shoulders, forcing you to face her directly.

You admire your friend’s caring demeanor, but she was being a total cock block for you right now.

“I will text you. I promise.” You assure her once again. “Go back to the dorm. Love you.”

She sighs deeply as she lets you go. She’s still not comfortable with the idea of leaving you here, but she can’t force you to leave. “Love you too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, that’s all I’m gonna do.” You smirk as she flips you off and leaves the frat house.

You take a drink from your red solo cup to gather your nerves. Nanami has been sitting in the corner of the kitchen all night. He’s alone, but he doesn’t look lonely. Sometimes, Satoru will drunkenly slouch his weight onto the blonde and slur something inaudible to him. From what you can see, Nanami just rolls his eyes and shrugs his friend off his shoulders.

You want to approach him, but you’re still too afraid he won’t talk to you. As you sit down your cup, an intoxicated Satoru is standing over you.

“I’m sorry- I don’t remember your name.” He gives you a slanted smile as he crouches down a bit so you two are face-to-face.

“That’s okay. I don’t remember yours either.” You snip back with a small grin. Something sparkles in his eyes as you give him a little bit of a challenge. He finds it to be endearing.

“Cheeky. Give me your number.” He demands, keeping his smirk on his face.

“Why should I give it to you?”

“Because it’s not for me.” He slurs as he leans in close to you. He nods his head towards the kitchen. “I’m doing this for my pussy friend over there.”

Your eyes dart towards Nanami. His eyes are glaring holes into Satoru with more anger and emotion than you’ve ever seen from him. Your stomach swirls with butterflies.

“That is a really good reason.” You murmur as you quickly type your number into Satoru’s phone.

*** *** ***

It had been days since the frat party and not a single word from Nanami. Your excitement had honestly fizzled out into sulking. Were you not good enough for him? Did Satoru lie? Was it all a sick prank?

Not even Utahime could get you in a good mood.

“Yn. This is so ridiculous. If you like him that much, just go up and talk to him.” She chides

“Noooo.” You groan into your pillow as you turn onto your stomach in your bed. “He’s too cool. Out of my league.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Kento Nanami? The nerd who barely ever talks? The know-it-all in class?”

“Utahimeee.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Let me wallow in my self pity.” You gripe before you hear your phone buzz. The sound of your phone notifying you doesn’t even excite you anymore. It’s always some lame ass notification.

Unknown Number: Is this yn?

Your eyes widen as you stare at your phone in disbelief. Your body involuntarily sits up in bed, startling Utahime.

“Jesus Christ. What? What happened?”

“He texted me!” You beam proudly. You are embarrassing. Utahime scoffs and walks away from you, unable to take the second-hand embarrassment.

Yn: Yeah, that’s me :)

Unknown Number: This is Kento Nanami. I’m sorry Gojo felt the need to disturb you at the party. 

Yn: No need! He didn’t disturb me too much.

Nanami: That’s good to hear.

God. Now, what do you say? Of course Nanami is a dry texter. You stare at the text conversation for a while, trying to think of something.. anything to break the ice.

Yn: Did you ask him to get my number, or did he do that on his own volition?

Nanami: Gojo does things on his own volition.

Yn: Ah.. I see.

He left you on read.

Goddammit.

You had your chance, and now, you blew it. Sighing, you lock your phone and try to forget he even ever texted you in the first place.

*** *** ***

I mean, who even needs Nanami? He’s really not even that handsome or mysterious. You keep telling yourself as you get ready to go to another party Gojo invited you too.

Oh, also, Gojo kept your number for himself as well. He mostly asked to copy your notes when Nanami refused to let him copy his notes. He would also send the occasional invitation to one of his signature parties.

This one was apparently labeled as “exclusive”. You had no idea what that meant, but you weren’t allowed to bring a plus-one this time.

Luckily for you, Utahime was visiting back home for the weekend, so she couldn’t scold you for going out to another party this weekend.

Black eyeliner was smeared across your waterline, and you puckered your lips as you carefully applied some sheer gloss. You decided to be casual with your outfit, wearing a basic off-shoulder black top with some jeans.

As soon as you got to the frat house, you quickly understood what “exclusive” meant. It was only their closest friends in the house. Satoru and Haibara were on the couch, lounging. Suguru and Shoko were sitting by the window, sharing a cigarette. Nanami was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, looking as stoic as ever. Immediately, you were grateful for going with a more casual look.

“Yn! So glad you made it!” Satoru grinned in a more sober voice than the last time you spoke with him.

“Am I imposing on something?” You ask as you close the door.

“Of course not, silly. I sent you an invite for a reason.” Satoru says casually as he pats the spot between him and Haibara on the couch. “Come have a seat. Get comfortable. We’re just hanging out tonight.”

You stare at the seat between Gojo and Haibara, and you decide to sit in the open chair next to them instead.

“Afraid that we might bite?” Gojo grins as he leans over the arm of the chair towards you.

“Stop it, Satoru. You’re going to scare her away.” Shoko scolds before taking a drag off her cigarette.

Your phone gently buzzes in your pocket as Satoru and Shoko begin to bicker about his social skills. You sneakily check your phone.

Nanami: You look pretty tonight.

OH. We are so back, baby.

Yn: Thank you :) You look as handsome as ever.

Nanami: Oh yeah?

It is so small and insignificant, but that little “oh yeah?” makes your stomach flutter with excitement.

“Yn?” You snap your attention up to Shoko and realize she has been trying to talk to you.

“Shit- sorry. What’s up?”

Your phone lightly buzzes again, and you quickly glance down to check.

Nanami: You’re blushing.

“I was asking what your major is.” Shoko smiles calmly as she’s sat upon the windowsill. She flicks her cigarette outside before blowing out a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore how your heart is skipping beats right now.

“Oh, I’m just in general studies right now. I’m kind of indecisive. What about you?”

“I’m pre-med right now.” Shoko answers.

“I thought you swapped to nursing.” Haibara asks as he shifts his body to face her. The two start conversing together, giving you a chance to check your phone.

Nanami: Are you ill, or do my words just affect you that much?

Yn: I’m actually ill.

Nanami: You’re also apparently a liar, sweetheart.

How the fuck was this man so bold over text, but wouldn’t speak to hardly anyone in person?

Yn: Sweetheart? I didn’t know we were on that sort of level yet.

Nanami: Does that make you uncomfortable?

Yn: No

Nanami: Good. Then don’t complain.

The throb your cunt just did should’ve been illegal. There was no reason for you to be so turned on by that, but you were.

Yn: What would you have done had I said that it did make me uncomfortable?

Nanami: I would’ve found you a nickname you were more comfortable with.

He was being sweet, and you were over there clenching around nothing like a whore.

You had been so caught up in your phone that you didn’t realize Yu had went and gotten everyone a beer out of the fridge. You decide to risk a glance at Nanami. He looked calm and composed. You wondered if he even knew the effect he had on you truly.

“Shoko, when are you finally going to get some bitches?” Satoru asks with a laugh. Your eyes widen as you notice Suguru is on his lap now. You had really been so distracted by your phone…

“At this rate, I think Nanami will beat me.” Shoko laughed as she took a drink of her beer. You shift slightly in your seat as Shoko cuts her eyes towards you with a small grin.

Nanami: I will

Yn: Will what?

Nanami: I will beat her.

Yn: Confident or competitive?

Nanami: Both.

Yn: You didn’t strike me as the type.

Nanami: You don’t think I can do it?

Yn: I never said that.

Nanami lays his phone on his lap, and you can feel his eyes trailing up and down your body. Feeling your heart skip a beat, you decide to look up at him. Your breath hitches in your throat as you glance over him. He looks relaxed. His head is propped up in his hand, and he’s almost giving you a lazy smile.

Knowing more about Nanami, you recognize it as a cocky smile now.

The rest of the “party” goes without a hitch. You decided it was time to leave once Suguru and Satoru were obnoxiously making out, Shoko was asleep on the floor, and Haibara wouldn’t shut the fuck up about the intricacies of anime.

“I’m gonna head back to my dorm now. Thanks for inviting me.” You say quickly as you stand from your seat.

“Hey yn-!” Satoru says as he tugs from Suguru’s lips. The dark-haired male made quick work of moving down to his neck. “Thanks for coming. You should come out here more often.”

“Oh um, I’ll think about it.” You smile politely as you head out the front door. The cold night air nips at your skin. The only light was from the moon high up in the sky. The dorms were a few blocks away.

You never like walking alone at night, but you try to remember that college campuses have security patrolling at all times. Taking a deep shaky breath, you step off the porch.

The sound of the door closing again immediately startles you. You quickly flinch and look towards the frat house. Nanami was calming walking up to you.

“Let me walk you back.” His voice was calm and steady, just like his presence. He really wasn’t phased at all by your subtle flirting earlier?

“Thanks.. I was actually kinda scared.” You mumble as you two walk side by side on the pavement. Your arms hug your body, trying to hide from the snippy air.

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to walk you home then?” Nanami asks as he slips his coat off from his shoulders. He then loosely drapes it over your shoulders. You feel your heart skip a beat as you mumble a quick thanks. Your body snuggled into his coat as it swallowed your frame whole. It was the first time you realized… Nanami is a big man. He’s not just some scrawny nerd. He’s actually pretty well built.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” You answer quietly, noticing how Nanami shoves his hands into his pockets while you two walk.

“That’s foolish. We invited you. The least we could do is make sure you make it home safely.”

“We?”

Nanami goes silent, and he looks away from your shorter self. The wind blows harshly, making the leaves crinkle and hiss on the trees.

“Yes, we.” He finally answers your question. You smile softly as you look down towards the ground. It seems like Satoru wasn’t the only one who wanted you around.

Standing in front of your dorm door, you slowly slip the coat off from around your shoulders and try to hand it back to him. “I don’t want it.” He answers calmly, making no effort to take the jacket back from you.

“It’s yours, silly.”

“And?”

“Take it.” You gestured the coat to him once more

“No, I want you to have it.” He says as he towers over you. You subconsciously take a step back to create space, and your back hits the door. He leans over you, having to angle his back to see eye-to-eye with you. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your cheek as he cocks his head towards your ear and neck. “Text me.” He murmurs lowly before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You were left against your door blushing madly as he casually sauntered away.

*** *** ***

You almost think you dreamt that kiss up come Monday morning. You hadn’t texted him all weekend, not even knowing what to say. You felt scared about messing things up and taking his advances the wrong way. He hadn’t reached out to you either.

You were sitting in Neurology, half-ass paying attention as the professor lectured about neuron pruning. Nanami sat a few rows over. He always appeared to he intently listening when you glance over at him. You perk up as you feel your phone buzz on your thigh.

Nanami: You’re not going to do well if you don’t pay attention.

Yn: I could say the same for you.

Nanami: Could you?

Yn: …. point taken

Nanami: You know, you could’ve at least texted me if you didn’t like the kiss.

Yn: Who said I didn’t?

Nanami: So, you disobey my request for fun?

Yn: Disobey is such a strong word. You told me to text you, and I just.. haven’t yet.

Nanami: We’ll come back to the disobedience topic. Why haven’t you texted me “yet”?

Yn: Nervous.

Nanami: You’re adorable. What’s there to be nervous about?

“Can anyone name an example of synaptic pruning?” The professor’s sudden loud voice catches you off guard. You hadn’t been paying attention at all, and you feel your heart start to race at the thought of being randomly called upon.

“Anyone?” The professor asks once again. “Yn-“ She almost says your first name before Nanami interrupts.

“Crown thinning.” He answers the question, saving you from total embarrassment.

“Very good. Thank you, Kento.” The professor praises as she turns back around to start lecturing from the powerpoint again.

Yn: You totally just saved me.

Nanami: Pay better attention.

Yn: Then stop texting me.

Nanami: No.

Nanami: Answer my question. Why were you nervous?

Yn: I just didn’t want to say the wrong things.

Nanami: You’re hopeless.

Yn: You’re starting to sound like Utahime :(

Nanami: Will you coo to me that you love me if I act like her?

You feel your heart start to race as you read his text over and over. He was way more observant than you gave him credit for. You couldn’t even think of a time where you told Uta that you loved her in front of him.

Yn: Is that what you want?

Nanami: That does sound nice. Though, I think I’d rather hear you breathlessly professing your love to me.

oh…

oh.

You sat your phone down. No way were you going to let some simple words over a screen let you get horny in class. You didn’t dare to glance in his direction as you suddenly decided to start paying attention and taking detailed notes on Neurology.

Nanami: You’re blushing again.

Damn him and his observant personality. Damn him and his filthy words that make you squeeze your thighs together to soothe the ache.

Yn: I’m well aware.

Nanami: It’s cute. Makes me want to say more things just to get a reaction out of you.

Yn: Please don’t

Nanami: Why? Scared you might like it?

Nanami: Scared you might like the thought of being beneath me, begging for more?

Jesus. There was no misinterpreting that. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared down at your phone, rereading his message over and over. It painted a picture in your brain.

Yn: As if you could make me do that.

Nanami: I can, and I will. Come over tonight.

Yn: To the frat house?

Nanami: No, to my room. I’ll tell Haibara to not come back until late.

Yn: That seems rather rude.

Nanami: It’s far better than the treatment you’ll be receiving later.

Your head feels like it’s spinning as the professor dismisses class. The rest of the day drags by painfully slow as you feel every little heartbeat and flutter in your chest. Nanami talked big game for someone who seemed too shy to really speak to you. It made you feel intrigued. How could he be so confident in his ability to make you beg?

You took your time once you were back at your dorm: going through your everything-shower routine. You wanted to make sure that every inch of you was soft and smooth just in case! It’s not like he’s actually going to make you do anything.

Knocking on his door, you feel your stomach churn with anxiety. You two seemed to be doing better at keeping up a conversation, but you were still deathly afraid of that awkward silence sinking in.

The click of the lock gains your attention, and Nanami opens the door for you. “Come in.” He says flatly, moving out of the way of the door so you can squeeze past him. He’s wearing his usual button-up shirt with black slacks on. How does this man even relax?

Of course his room is completely clean. His bed was even made military style for crying out loud. What the fuck does this man know about making women beg?

“Your room is nice.” You compliment, trying not to sound too awkward.

“It’s a room.” He shrugs nonchalantly before his eyes travel your body.

“How did you tell Haibara not to come home?” You ask, and he gives you a slightly puzzled look.

“I told him the truth.” He says as he loosens his tie from around his neck.

You swallow harshly as you watch his slender fingers pull at the fabric. His jaw is perfectly sculpted along with his neck, and his adams apple bobs as he steps towards you.

“Which is?” You reluctantly ask.

“I told him not to come home unless he planned on watching me fuck a pretty girl to tears.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you stare up at him with almost a frightened gaze. His movement feels much more predatory now as if he’s been watching you for a while, sizing you up. He had observed and stood by, waiting for the prime opportunity to pounce.

“What is it? Cat got your tongue?” Nanami asks as he steps forward again. The back of your knees hits his bed, and his smile shifts to a lopsided grin.

“No. I just…” You had no idea what to even say to that! You weren’t use to a man so confidently bolstering about his skills without sounding like a total idiot. Nanami was a rarity. He could talk the talk and walk the walk.

“No. I just..” He mocks you. “You’re awfully nervous for someone I haven’t even touched yet.” His fingers gently caress over your collarbone, before he carefully nudged you back. You tipped over and found yourself sitting on his bed, looking up at him with big round eyes.

“Christ. Have you ever even done this before?” He asks as he leans over you. His hand press down on the mattress at both of your sides, effectively trapping you beneath him.

“Yes!” You exclaim with a huffy attitude that makes him chuckle. “Have you?” You ask, trying to even the score.

“No.” He responds before closing the distance between you two. His lips press against yours and move delicately. Your eyes widen before you realize what was going on, and you slowly melt into the kiss.

Lips smack together as he takes the lead on the kiss. His hands gently cup and caress their way down your body before resting upon your hips. His knee finds it’s way between your thighs, and he applies pressure to your core.

Stifling a small whine, you entangle your fingers through his blonde hair. It’s softer than you imagined it to be. His kisses are growing more and more demanding as he’s pushing you back onto the bed more and more.

He gently bites at your lip, and he applies more pressure with his knee. As soon as you let another another small whimper, he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He’s taking complete and utter advantage over your body while you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact he said “no”. He’s claiming to have never done this before.

His thumbs dig into your hipbones before he makes you grind against his knee.

“That’s right. Use me.” He purrs lowly, encouraging for you to keep rolling your hips. Once you found a steady rhythm, rubbing yourself against his knee like a desperate slut, he releases your hips and grabs your wrists, pinning you down to the bed.

“Ken..” You gasp out lowly, and he immediately eats up your words, forcing his lips right back upon yours.

The grinding was slowly making you feel all dizzy in the head as you slowly start to mess up your rhythm. He immediately notices your messy state. His hands leave your wrists to grab back ahold of your thighs to make sure you don’t stop. If his slacks weren’t black, he was sure there would be a small damp spot on his leg from your delicious juices.

“Hah~” You gasp as you lean your head back.

“Does that feel good?” He questions lowly before carefully nipping at your neck.

“Yes… Yes, Kento.. more..”

“Oh, what was that, darling? I didn’t hear you.” He taunts as he bites his way down your neck.

“M-more!” You whimper out as you grow impatient.

“So greedy…” He murmurs before his sucks a small hickey on your neck all while he’s still making you grind your pitiful pussy against his thigh. “Beg.”

You feel that defiant nature wanting to kick in. You were needy for him, but you weren’t to the point of begging yet.

“Did you hear me? I said beg.” He demands as he forces you down on his leg harder. Your legs tremble around him as he’s making you rock hack and forth.

“Please-“ You finally choke out against your defiant nature. “I-I.. want more, please… I need you to.. to ruin me.”

“Ruin you, hm?” He asks as his hand carefully trails upwards to your neck. He applies just a bit of pressure. “A pretty girl like you asking for me to ruin her… How could I say no?”

He removes his leg from between your leg, and he quickly replaces it with his hand. His fingers rub firm circles around your clit through the cloth of your leggings. You immediately shudder from the new stimulation. You hold his gaze as he lightly chokes you.

“I think I want to see you come on my fingers first.” He says as he’s quick to shove your leggings and panties down. You gasp quietly as you look down at him. He shuffles himself down between your legs, and he has a determined look on his face. He was set on making you come with his hand.

You push your thighs together with a small whine as he gives your glistening cunt an amorous gaze. Nanami places his hands on both of your knees as he forces your legs back apart. “Now, you know why you came here. What are you running from?”

“I- … You’re looking at me like…” the words ‘like you want to eat me’ die upon your tongue. His aura is just so.. almost intimidating. Not in a scary way, just in a he’s-not-here-to-play way.

“You’re so pretty, but gods, you’re so confusing.” He shakes his head as he carefully drags his tongue up your slippery folds. “Just sit still and let me take care of you, darling.” He mumbles before he laps at your cunt again. He purses his lips and gently sucks on your clit. It almost feels like he’s making out with your pussy.

“Oh.. f-fuck..” You gasp as you lean your head back into his mattress. Your hands fist at the blanket beneath you, ruining his perfectly made bed.

Nanami continues to lick and suck. The sounds in the room were nothing short of erotic. The wet sounds of his lips and tongue smack and almost slurp at you. His hands hold your thighs up, practically wearing them as earmuffs as he eats you like a starved man.

His fingertip gently traced over your opening before he carefully slipped a finger in. He continued to lap at your cunt as his finger pumped in and out and prodded around.

“Oh my-! .. N-Nanami.. ah~” You pant out. In his eyes, your entire body was flushed. You were so subtly grinding yourself against his tongue. In his eyes, you were a goddess in touch with her sexuality and femininity. You just needed a small nudge to get there.

He adds a second finger, and he so carefully curls them upwards to gently press right on the spot that made you see stars.

Your hands abandoned the bed, and you grabbed onto his hair. His hazel eyes flutter up at you, and his glasses were pushed up onto his head.

Your orgasm was building quicker than it ever had before. “Nanami-! fuck, I’m gonna..” You try to warn, but he’s already a step ahead of you. His fingers start pumping a big more aggressively, and he’s pointed with his tongue, focusing all his attention on your clit. His tongue swirls in tight circles around the small bundle of nerves.

Your orgasm washes over you as you clench around his fingers, spasming on his face. He continues to thrust his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm on his face and hand. Pressing a few more small kisses to your overly sensitive cunt, he slowly pulls away. “Good girl.” He praises lowly.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you recover from the best orgasm you’ve ever received. Your eyes flutter open weakly to see Nanami ditch his glasses. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and chin dry.

He then places the fingers he so deliciously used to fuck you into his mouth, and he sucks them clean with a satisfied groan.

“You taste so sweet.” He mumbles as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. It falls to the floor as he starts to unbuckle his belt. You can already feel your arousal building up again as you see the absolute tent in his slacks. Of course the nerd was absolutely hung.

Without another word, his pants and boxers are on the ground. His dick stood hard at attention. It was too heavy to press all the way up towards his stomach. Speaking of stomach, he was absolutely fucking built. He had well-defined solid abs and a broad chest.

You watch carefully as he fists his length a few times. You admire the way the veins bulge from his hands and arms. He wastes no more time: climbing up on top of you. He guides your legs up onto his shoulders, and he leans forward, putting you in a mating press.

His hand suddenly covers your mouth. “Spit.” He orders bluntly.

“W-what-?”

“I didn’t stutter. Spit. Unless you want me to go in dry.”

The thought of that sounded like a nightmare, so you gathered as much saliva into your mouth as you could, and you spat into his hand.

He doesn’t look phased in the slightest as he lubes himself up with your spit. He lets out a soft breath as the wet sounds of him gliding his hand up and down his cock fill the room. He then wipes his hand off on the bed, and he covers your mouth tightly with his hand. “Try not to be too loud, darling. I don’t want anyone to come and bother us.”

He was so fucking confident that he was going to make you noisy. It almost pissed you off, but Nanami was a man of his word.

He aligned himself up with your entrance, and with one deep motion, he buried himself all the way to the hilt. You let out a silent scream into his hand, and your back arches up off the bed. His eyes darken as he lets out a guttural growl.

Your cunt was just too precious to him, squeezing him so perfectly. You were absolutely sopping wet and so goddamn warm. He actually had to bite his tongue to not come prematurely. Once he tasted the hint of metal in his mouth, the urge to finish subsided.

“Shhh, shh. Be a good girl. The pain will subside soon.” He assures you quietly as his hips gently rock back and forth shallowly.

“Mmmnnf~ K-kento!” You moan into his hand. He hates having to muffle your pretty noises, but he really can’t risk getting a noise complaint right now.

“That’s right, darling.. Take it..” His hips start to roll with a bit more conviction. His thrusts are slow but powerful. Each time he buried himself deep in you, you went all dizzy in the head.

“Oh fuck, you’re so pretty like this.” He praises as his other hand holds one of your thighs up for you. Your body is almost slack from how harsh his hips are snapping into you. His leaking tip was bruising your cervix with each brutal thrust.

Nanami wishes he could take a picture right now. Your eyes are all glossed over. Your face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, and your lips are all puffy and slightly parted. Your babbling utter nonsense as your greedy pussy takes him in with each thrust.

“F-fuck..! So big.. can feel you right here~” You moan as you point towards your lower stomach.

Nanami looks to where you’re pointing, and as if this man needed anymore courage, he begins to fuck you harder.

Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Yeah? Y’feel me in your womb, darling?” He groans. Noise complaint can be damned. He lets your mouth go and grabs your hips as he continues to pound your pretty pussy.

Tears involuntarily spring into your eyes from the sheer intensity. When Nanami said he was going to fuck you to tears, you thought it was just a figure of speech. Nah, you were lying in his bed, crying because the dick was so good.

“Look at me.” He demands as he grabs your blushed cheek and forces you to look up at him. “This pussy’s mine from now on, understand me?”

“Y-yes!” You cry out to him. Your stomach starts to coil with white hot pleasure as your orgasm builds up again.

“Tell me you love me when you cum on my cock.” He demands lowly. You’re too fucked stupid to argue.

The bed squeaks and wails in agony as he his thrusts are growing more erratic and sloppy. You could feel him getting closer and closer to his release as he gets more vocal and noisier too.

Your eyes cross as you feel your body gyrate on him. Your second orgasm crashes over you so suddenly you didn’t even have time to warn him. Your soul nearly floats away from you as you feel warm juices flood out from you. “Fuck~.. I-.. I love you, Nanami!” You whimper out. In the heat of the moment, it does feel like love.

Such pure pretty words being uttered during such a lewd time. Nanami is instantly emptying himself into you. His dick throbs as he shoots ribbon after ribbon of cum inside of you. His hands are shaking as they hold onto your hips. “Ngh.. I love you, darling. Take it.. All of it. Don’t waste a drop.” He lowly growls.

The room is quiet as both of you pant softly. After a few moments, you realize you had professed a love to him that you weren’t even sure about. Yes, Nanami was attractive physically and mentally. Sure, he was apparently a god in bed, but love???

What if he wasn’t even being serious when he told you to say that? He probably didn’t even mean it when he said it back. What if you made things weird? Is that why he’s being so silent?

Nanami leans down and presses a small kiss to your forehead. “That was intense. Are you alright, darling?” He asks affectionately.

You nod weakly, not wanting to frustrate him with your insecure thinking style.

“Are you sure? I’m not only talking about physically.” He murmurs softly as he slowly allows for your thighs to slip down to around his hips. His hand carefully strokes your cheek.

“I told you I love you..” You murmur out quietly, avoiding his gaze.

He exhales softly in amusement. “You did do that. It was very sexy. Do you regret saying it?”

“I.. I don’t know.” You confess quietly. “You said it back too…”

“I did. Seeing your body in such a vulnerable state as you were trusting me with your very essence made me feel full with love.”

You look up at him as he just said the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t think I regret it.”

“I’m glad. I don’t regret it either.” He smiles and presses another small kiss to your temple.

*** *** ***

“Was that really your first time?” You giggle as the hot water coats your body. Nanami’s fingers are attentively massaging shampoo into your scalp.

“It really was.” He laughs quietly. “Why is it so hard to believe.”

“You were too good for a virgin.”

“I’m glad my darling thinks so.” He smiles and carefully leans your head back, so the water can rinse the shampoo from your hair.

“Where did you even learn that stuff from?” You ask curiously, wondering if Nanami just had a secret raging porn addiction.

“I have the horniest friend group. They don’t understand the concept of too much information.”

Ah. That makes sense.

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can't seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: I'm going to a physio today for the first time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is quiet as you come out of your room. The single floor is just enough room for you and your mom. You’ve never needed much else and all your life, you’ve made do with what you have. It’s just the way it is.

You stretch your arms and arch your spine as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. You yawn. You fell asleep reading outdated discussions about your most recent syndicated obsession. You should know better by now, that thorn in your neck is only driving deeper. 

You bend at the elbows to rub your neck and drag your feet over the cold tile. Your nipple poke rigidly against your cropped tank top and goosebumps raze up your bare thighs. You open the fridge and pull out the bottle of orange juice, your panties riding up with your movement.  

Before you can stand straight, a sharp strikes snaps against your ass and radiates through your flesh. You yipe and grip the bottle by the neck as you jump and turn to face the culprit. The strange man stares back, his brows twitching. 

“Mm, you’re not Gail,” he mutters. 

“No, I’m not,” you press the juice to your chest, overly aware of your barely covered body.  

You don’t ask who he is. You stopped doing that in middle school. She’s another one of her ‘callers’. You don’t usually see them more than once, if at all. Most leave before you’re awake. 

“Was takin’ a piss, heard you skittering around, thought...” he trails off into a shrug. 

He’s shirtless too. He only wears a pair of briefs as he stands shameless before you. A dark tattoo covers half his chest and extends around his shoulder and down his arm. It’s the typical snake and skull aesthetic sported by men like him. 

“Nope,” you reach for the fridge door and step to the side as you close it.  

He doesn’t move. You go to dip around him and he moves with you. 

“Taking all that with you?” He points at the bottle. You look down and sigh. You push it towards him. “Here.” 

He puts his hand under it and you let go. You skirt around his other side and squeeze through the door behind him. You don’t look back as you flee to your room. You resist the urge to reach back and cover the bottom of your ass, not wanting to draw attention to it if he is watching. 

You shut your bedroom door and cringe. Great. You can’t really complain. Your mother hasn’t kicked you out. Yet. Not like half your friends’ parents. She just asks for half the rent and you can manage that. With the rent around here, you’d be on the street otherwise. 

You cross the room and flop on the bed. You pull out your phone and go back to scrolling the old discussion boards. It’s funny. The more recent posts are totally contrary to the ones when the show aired. You’re not sure who you agree with. 

You roll onto your back and drop your phone to the mattress. You have to work at noon. So much for a relaxing morning. You’ll just be hiding in your room until that man leaves. 

A knock jerks you up and you roll your eyes. You search the floor and pull on the wrinkly pajama bottoms. You go to the door and crack it open an inch. It’s him. 

“Uh, hi?” You utter dully. 

“Got you a glass,” he offers one of the cups in his hands. You squint at it then look him in the face. 

“Thanks?” You go to take it but he doesn’t let go as you wrap your fingers around the cold glass.  

“There a problem?” He asks. 

“Uh, no,” you scrunch your nose. “I said thanks.” 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

You let go of the glass and retract your hand. His eyes flick down and yours do too. The white tank does little for your modesty. You cross your arms. 

“Okay? Well, never mind,” you go to close the door and he steps forward, digging his elbow into the wood as he blocks you with his body. 

“Your mom said you’re a nice girl,” he looks you up and down again. “Coulda fooled me walking around like that.” 

You frown. It’s your house. Why should you worry about what you’re wearing? Besides, if you knew he was there, then you wouldn’t wander around in your panties. 

“Thanks for the orange juice but you should just give it to my mom. That’s why you’re here,” you shrug. 

He scoffs. “Got a smart mouth.” 

“No, I—I didn’t do anything.” 

“There you go again. Disrespectful.” 

“Huh?” You shake your head in confusion. 

“That way you talk. Low and flat, like you don’t give a fuck. Maybe you don’t. Would explain why you’re grown living in your mommy’s house,” he mockingly pouts. 

You blink, “you don’t know me.” 

“I know girls like you. Pretending like they don’t care. You care. We both know you do.” He moves a glass closer, “say thank you. Like you mean it.” 

“I don’t want it,” you insist. 

“Don’t want to waste it. Was it you or mommy who paid for the bottle?” He taunts. 

You grit your teeth. What is his problem? Why won’t he just leave you alone? 

You deflate. You really just want him to go. You look at the ceiling then back to him. He’s the kind of man you would avoid on the street. His blue eyes are as cold as ice and his hair is shaved, but a little longer on top, and he sports a goatee amid the short stubble on his jaw and cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you reach for the glass again. 

“Thank you, sir,” his voice grizzles as he corrects you. 

You steel yourself and your lips slant. You really just want him to tell him to fuck off but like you always do, you don’t say what you think. You keep it inside. Put on that face that keeps you safe. 

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat after him. 

“Now smile,” he demands. 

You flinch and look away. You take a breath. That’s you’re least favourite, when they tell you to smile. It happens often at your job and it always sours your day. 

You force a smile. 

“Come on, you can do better,” he snickers. 

Your cheeks tremble and your smile falls. You tuck your chin down. 

“Can you please just leave me alone?” You mumble. 

“Excuse me, girl? I can’t hear you.” 

“I said...” your throat locks up and your eyes singe. God! When you get angry, you don’t get bold, you just get teary. You hate it. “I said ‘thank you, sir’.” 

You grab the glass so abruptly that it sloshes over the side. You don’t stop, you just spin and throw your weight against the door. He lets it close and it slams. You spill most of the juice down your front. 

You hear the friction of his fingers dragging down the wood. It sends a chill through you. You slowly pull away and put the glass down, juice dripping down your arms and chest. 

He’ll be gone soon, just like the rest. 

💀

Your mom’s still asleep when you leave for work. As you sneak out of your room, you listen for any sign of life.  If the man’s there, he doesn’t make himself known. You step into your shoes and leave through the front door without looking back. 

You head down the street with your earbuds in, a podcast about an old show you watched in high school droning on, as you take the shortcut behind the house at the end of the street. It’s almost four blocks to work but you save money on bus fare. You try to only waste the change after dark. 

The ice cream shop is never very busy outside of the post-soccer game crowds. You take your vigil behind the cold counter and bob along with the radio station’s Top 10 countdown. Miley leans in the corner by the till as she chews gum and scrolls through her phone. 

You’re fidgety to do the same, but you hate just letting your eyes glaze over. You pace a bit back and forth until her shift is up. When she’s gone, you feel a little less on edge. You always prefer being alone, you don’t have to worry about performing. 

Customers come and go. You greet them with the usual ‘how can I help?’ You’ve never been very good at the customer service part but you’re not rude. You just do your job, which it to scoop ice cream and toss some sprinkles around. 

You’re entitled to one cone a shift. You rarely have it. You don’t need the extra sugar or the brain freeze. That day, as you close up, the chocolate peanut butter entices you to go outside your routine. You put the lids on all the canisters except for that flavour and do yourself up a waffle cone before you lock up. 

You lick the softening cream and turn to face the dark plaza, lit only by the overhead marquee. There’s a car idling just by the curb. You ignore it. A few neighbouring businesses close up around the same time. 

The engine revs, and it jolts forward. The horn nearly has you throwing your cone. You fall back into step and keep walking. The Trans Am continues to follow you and honks again. The window rolls down as someone whistles. Only your name stops you. 

You turn and bend to see through the window. What the heck? It’s him. The man that invaded your house and threatened you over orange juice. 

You exhale through your nose and stand up. You turn down the pavement and keep going. The bus will be there any moment. 

“Hey,” he barks, “get back here.” 

You keep going. Why is he there? Because of the orange juice? 

The car door opens and closes. You speed up as you hear him following you. 

“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” he says. 

You snort, “sure she did.” 

“Really,” he says as his footsteps echo yours. 

“She doesn’t even know when I work,” you keep going and he catches your arm, yanking you back. 

You spin to face him and yelp. Your scoop shifts precariously in the cone. You try to pull away but not too hard as you selfishly want to keep your treat intact. 

“Alright. I offered. I heard you leave. Figured you could use a lift.” He squeezes and you whimper. “I can be a nice guy.” 

Can be. 

You wince and flutter your lashes, “can you let me go... please?” 

He opens his fingers sharply and lifts his hand, showing his palm. “Since you said please...” 

You look over your shoulder then back at him. Finally, you glance at your cone. You weigh your options. You’re not a quick runner. 

“I appreciate the ride but--” 

“I appreciate the ride, sir. Like I said, I can be nice, but respect is earned, girl.” 

You swallow tightly, cheeks pinching. 

“Sir, I appreciate the ride but I have money for the bus--” 

He clucks and points over your shoulder, “that bus?” 

You turn and watch the headlights blow by the stop. You flick your eyes to the sky and face him again. “Mmhmm.”” 

“So, is that a ‘thank you, sir’ on your lips?” He challenges. 

You slant your lips back and forth. You fight back a wave of hot frustration. You’re used to feeling powerless but he is suffocating. You nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” you choke out. 

“See, not that hard to be a good girl.” 

He waits until you move. You head back towards his car, and he gets in the driver side. As you claim the passenger seat, he huffs. He looks at you as you try not to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t like food in the car. Try not to get it all over,” he snarls. 

“I can--” 

“Just be careful,” he snips. 

Just be quiet, you tell yourself. You pull the seatbelt down and stare through the windshield. You lick around the cone as the cream threatens to melt onto your fingers. The car idles and you glance over. He watches your tongue as you lap up the trickle.  

You sit back as his eyes cling to your lips. He lifts his chin and turns straight. He grips the wheel and cranks the volume on the stereo. He speeds off and you struggle to keep from doing just what he warned you not to. You’d tell him to slow down but not only will he not listen, but the sooner you’re home, the better. 

[idiotgojo]

eye fucking satoru <3

tags; gojo x reader | fluff, suggestive (?) | jealous (?) insecure (?) reader

note; here's some comfort before the next chapter leak... gojo comeback 😩

"I'm not jealous, I'm just—" you waved your hands in frustration, unable to put words to match what you were feeling. That was all you could manage. Gojo, on the other hand immediately understood. He smirked, narrowing his eyes at you.

"You really don’t realize the effect you have on me, do you?"

And that was how you ended up on top straddling him, both of you still fully clothed. The heat of his body radiated through your thighs as you sat on top of him.

“What are we even doing? I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed,” you sighed, trying to lift yourself off his lap, though a part of you wasn’t entirely convinced.

"While my princess is mad at me? I'd rather die than let you sleep upset with me," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His hands tightened on your waist, keeping you locked in place, as his gaze softened just a little with a pout.

Suddenly, a wave of insecurity hit you out of nowhere. You were usually confident—quick-witted, and perfectly aware of your beauty. But something about the way that other woman had flirted with him earlier stirred doubts. She was a contrast of you—different hair, a niche style, a whole different vibe. Was Gojo craving something new? Was he tired of you?

Just as your mind began spiraling, his palm faintly tapped your thigh, bringing you back to the present. You bit your lip, refusing to meet his eyes, knowing if you did, you might just fall apart in front of him.

"Look at me," Gojo said softly, yet firmly, as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes remained fixed on your fidgety hands in your lap. But Gojo wasn’t the type to let things go so easily. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered,

"I dare you to look into my eyes and see what happens."

You hesitated, but curiosity, or maybe just him, got the best of you. Slowly, you met his gaze.

In seconds, you felt it—him hardening beneath you, unmistakable and sudden. You gasped, instinctively glancing down at his growing length pressing against the thin fabric of your clothes. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you blushed furiously.

Gojo chuckled, reaching up to grab your chin with one hand, tilting your head up to meet his eyes again. His other hand slid up your thigh, teasing.

"Now do you see the effect you have on me?" he asked, his voice loud with excitement, eyes locked on yours that sent a shiver down your spine. The corner of his mouth lifted in a sly smile as he waited for you to respond.

Words failed you, your brain fuzzy, buzzing with the intensity of the moment. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a searing kiss. His lips claimed yours, biting gently on your lower lip, eliciting a moan from you. The pressure of his body beneath yours, the friction as you rocked your hips against him—it all made your pulse race, drowning out every thought but him.

Both of you groaned softly into each other’s mouths, hands roaming feverishly. The heat between you was undeniable, and the tension finally snapped as you deepened the kiss, tongues tangling, breathing ragged and needy.

That night, Gojo didn’t just show you his desire—he made it clear that you were the only one he ever wanted. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word left no room for doubt. You were his one and only.

disclaimer (?); a lot of ??? in the whole post, which is probably because I'm not even a real writer. I just write for fun, a place to collect and keep my scenarios I create in my head before I go to bed lol. This is my first written piece! Enjoy :)

© idiotgojo 2024 do not steal or translate. if you wish to use the idea and create a better fic please tag me :)

[chanceofwhat]

Aroace positivity to outnumber the bots in our tags:

1. First of all, you are valid. Aroace, aroallo, and amatoace people are all inherently LGBTQ+ enough. It’s stupid to say otherwise. The queer community is (generally, and I’m v sorry if I miss anyone here,) for anyone who experiences attraction or gender differently from the current default social norm of cishet. Experiencing it not at all is plenty different enough.

2. This stuff is SO CONFUSING. It’s OKAY if you don’t understand your own feelings. Feelings are WEIRD. I’ve felt what I can only describe as strong queerplatonic attraction 3 times in my life, and in hindsight I can even identify my “type,” but I’m 20 so 3 isn’t very many and also I was equally happy dating them and not dating them.

2.5. (Story) I recently told my dad that my roomie and I are planning to still live together after college, and his response was “so you guys are officially a couple now?” ?????bro WHY would I do that? WHAT part of “living together” necessitates DATING?? That sounds STRESSFUL! Which brings me to,

3. AmatoAllos are going to struggle to understand. This is normal, fine, and not your fault. They can’t conceive of someone not experiencing sensations that are such a notable part of their lives. Be patient and don’t try to force them to get something they just don’t get, but also, that struggle is NOT an excuse to treat you poorly, NOT an excuse to try to push you into dating or copulating when you don’t want to, and NOT an excuse to not listen to you or to invalidate your experiences.

In summary: You’re not wrong, you’re not broken, you’re just different. Different is a neutral trait. If I could choose to stop being aroace right now? I genuinely don’t know what I’d do. Sure, sounds easier to fit into society, and I’d like to stop stressing about what my life will look like without that expected piece, but if I’m all distracted by crushes and wet dreams, how am I ever going to take over the world?! Also the ace and aro communities are some of the kindest and most accepting and more comforting I’ve ever seen, so I wouldn’t wanna give that up. I love myself exactly the way I am.

Love yourself the way you are. I know it can be hard sometimes, but we have to try. Eventually, you get used to loving yourself and it becomes second nature, or a habit at the very least.

I rambled a lot here and it ended up long and wacky, but I’m not sorry because ADHD is part of who I am and I love who I am so. Deal with it. But yea the point is no bots can get in the way of our powerful community and we’re going to eat cake and garlic bread and take over the world.

[eden-djarin]

The Rain Song - Chapter 1 "Spring"

Summary: You met Joel Miller by chance. Getting on his good side isn't easy, but maybe with the help of Ellie, you can get closer to him.

Word Count: 1.2K

Pairing: Pre-Jackson!Joel Miller x Female Reader , Jackson!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Chapter Warnings: no physical description of reader, mild angst, sadness, reader is bad at expressing emotions, unspecified age gap, Joel has a hard time being nice

A/N : This is my first time trying to write a longer chapter/multi-chapter fic, so I hope y'all like it. Also, very minor proofreading lol :) - Eden

It is the springtime of my loving The second season I am to know You are the sunlight in my growing

You had met Joel Miller in the springtime. Everywhere you looked, blazing stars and milkweed were blooming due to the newfound warmth in the air. Budding leaves on new branches filled the trees around you.  The pastures were green, and the meadows had a gold spilling through them.  Too busy finding some peace in the day, you hadn’t noticed that two unexpected strangers were coming up on your back.

Your soon-to-be friends hadn’t been paying attention to their surroundings, that is until the man heard you humming to yourself. He quickly grabbed the girl, shoved her behind his back, and put his finger up to his mouth, silencing her before she could say anything out loud.  The man reached for his gun, silently cocking back the weapon.

“Hands up,” the man yelled loud enough for you to hear through your humming

Quickly turning around, immediately lifting your hands into the air, you yelled back, “I’m unarmed! I only have a small tactical knife in my back pocket!”

As your hands remained in the air, Joel immediately started walking towards you, grabbing your hands and placing them behind your back, searching you for any weapons. He found the knife that you had put in your back pocket and chucked it to the ground, well out of your reach.

After he was convinced, you weren’t any harm to him or the girl, he let you go and asked, “What would a young girl like you be doin’ in the woods all alone? Hmm?”

You had escaped the Chicago QZ about a month ago. It was a last option for you, finally having enough of the constant abuse you had endured. You were not sure where you were planning to go.

“I left the Chicago QZ. I thought it would be better to be by myself than with people who didn’t care for me or my well-being.” You stated.

Finally being able to turn around and look at the people who had bum-rushed you, you could see that it was a man in his mid-50s, tall, and stocky. There was also a smaller girl, who barely looked more than 14.

Allowing yourself to have some courage, you asked the new people what their names were and where they were going.

“I’m Ellie! This is Joel. We’re going to- “Ellie was silenced by the older man immediately, him not wanting you to find out where they were going.

“Where we’re goin has no concern to this young lady, Ellie. Now, if we could be on our way. “Joel tossed you a quick side glance, not wanting you to bother them any more than you already had.

Silence was something you were good at. Staring back at them, you could tell that Ellie didn’t mind you tagging along, but Joel didn’t want you to be a burden on their team. Ellie started talking to Joel in a hushed tone, not allowing you to hear the full conversation. Joel kept glancing back and forth at you and Ellie, not wanting to back down from his previous statement.

Looking fully at you, Joel stated, “You can come along. You better not cause any problems, or we’re gonna have issues.”

Running towards them and silently thanking Ellie for putting up a fight for you to join them on their journey, you started along the path to wherever they were going together. As you start to walk away with them, you mumble under your breath, telling them your name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Learning to be around others for longer than a few days is deemed to be more difficult than you had initially thought. Joel was hard to read. He didn’t trust you, and you could tell. He was always around when you were with Ellie, to the point where you were a little scared to be the real you. You never intended to harm anyone. Battling with your past, you thought it best to be quiet, and not try to set Joel off.

Ellie was great at breaking the mood. Always telling her jokes, was a way for you to take your mind off Joel and his brooding stature. Joel would joke along with Ellie, but he would never give you the time of day.

Being alone at night was the hardest part for you. You weren’t truly alone, but you felt far away from any resemblance of friendship, or trust with the man that laid ten feet away from you. Turning to face the opposite way of Joel and Ellie, allowed you to finally let yourself feel your flood of emotions that had been bottling up all day.

As you silently sniffled to yourself, trying to get comfortable in your sleeping bag, Joel turned over to look at you. He hadn’t noticed before how you would turn yourself away to not look in his and Ellie’s direction. He knew he was being harsh to you. He was not easy to trust others, and you unexpectedly coming into their lives was certainly not what he wanted. Secretly, for the past few months, you were growing on him. He loved that it was easy for you to get along with Ellie, and it seemed like Ellie liked you too.

Quietly, Joel whispered, “Everything alright?”

Freezing in your spot on the ground, you whispered back, “Yeah, everything is fine. Just a little cold I guess.”

Joel didn’t take that as an answer. Getting out of his sleeping bag, he walked in front of you and saw your red eyes and runny nose. Going to sit on the ground, he lowered his knees to the ground, making a slight popping noise. “I know you’re upset. I know I'm cold to ya. ‘S not my intention. I’m just tryin’ my best to protect Ellie. Ya get it, right?”

“I suppose.” You said while looking up at him blankly.

“If you want, I can sit with you for a while if you want. I know it can be a little scary being in the woods for a while with nobody else around.” Said Joel, while looking into your eyes.

“If you want. I don’t want to be a bother. I promise.” Starting to close your eyes again.

Joel moves to lie down next to you on the ground. Willing his heart to slow down a bit, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You fell asleep surprisingly fast with Joel there, and Joel fell asleep within mere moments.

Ellie woke first in the morning, looking to see if both of you were still there. When she fully looked at you and Joel, you had moved to where your head rested upon Joel’s chest, and his arm was wrapped around your waist. Ellie chuckled to herself, laughing about how this whole time, Joel seemed like he could care less about you, but Ellie knew. Ellie could sense how he was starting to change his thoughts about you, even though Joel was not aware himself.

So little warmth I've felt before It isn't hard to feel me glowing I watched the fire that grew so low, oh

[wickedscribbles]

whoever makes my baby cry (is gonna lose some teeth tonight) ch. 3

Masterlist

Ch. 1, Ch. 2

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: flirting, anxiety, insecurity, drunk background characters, canon-typical violence, communication issues, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff

Word Count: 4.4K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

In theory, it's been a good day.

At the very least, it’s a lot less terrifying than Logan had built it up in his mind to be. Wade never really let him in on what his plans were, so he’s just along for the ride as they travel across the sprawl of the city. Interestingly, he notices that Wade keeps their hands linked as they wait for the next bus – not an unpleasant experience by any means, but something they’ve never really done before. Though each of them often remains close enough to crawl inside the other when within the privacy of the apartment, PDA isn’t something they’ve ever really done.

For Logan, general proximity has always been enough. Knowing where Wade is, having his heartbeat and scent to go off of. An occasional brush of fingers isn’t unusual, a playful hip knock. Being more visible as a couple out in the public eye is new, and Logan wonders if it has anything to do with Wade’s insistence on going out looking…well. The way that he currently does.

His gut is telling him yes.

But Wade’s humming contentedly to himself as they’re squished into a seat, shoulder to shoulder. His mind can’t help repeating back to him how much going out like this seems to mean to Wade, and Wade has somehow come to mean a hell of a lot to him. So he keeps his mouth shut and explores the hand-in-hand situation, rubbing his thumb in small circles over the skin of Wade’s palm. Turns out, the man’s got a whole itinerary for the day. Which makes sense, considering it’s Wade. Logan can’t imagine him taking them out for lunch and then going right back to the apartment after all the fuss he’s already kicked up.

“So,” Wade starts, in a tone that Logan’s grown fond of. “I was thinking we’d start with lunch – I don’t know about you, but I worked up an appetite from this morning –”

Logan promptly elbows him in the ribs.

“Wade –”

There’s a pint sized kid in the aisle across, staring at them with curious blue eyes. Wade turns to see what he’s looking at, then shrugs.

“Okay, slow down, Mr. Pervert. You think I’m handing out details of my personal life for free? And to minors, no less? If they want that sort of information they can lie about their age, like the rest of us did when the internet was the wild west of all things freaky.”

He looks over at something Logan can’t see. “And like some of them still are. Don’t think I don’t fucking see you.”

“See what?”

“Nothing, kitty cat. Anyway,” Wade continues, excited.

Logan listens patiently as he’s given every last detail of what they’re going to do and where they’re going to go. Does it sound like a lot of interaction with the general populace he wouldn’t normally seek out? Yeah. But does it also seem like Wade put a ton of effort into making sure it’d be a combination of things they’d both enjoy? Also yes.

“Sounds nice,” Logan tells him when he’s through explaining, and Wade gives him a tentative smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He puts an arm around Wade’s shoulders, and it doesn’t take heightened senses to catch the obvious delight emanating from him at the new contact.

So they meander through the massive sprawl of the city, venturing to places Logan’s never had a reason to go. If he’s being honest with himself, his circles are pitifully small. He likes to stay within certain neighborhoods if he can help it, places he already knows, close to home. The only time he really strayed from that trend was when he was trying to figure out what home was. Once he has a routine, he likes to keep to it.

Wade tends to veer toward the opposite. He likes a little spontaneity – hell, impulse may as well be his middle name. Logan’s not surprised when they go off path from one part of the day to something unexpected that catches Wade’s attention. He’s known him long enough to just accept that that’ll happen sometimes, doesn’t mind it.

It’s actually nice to be somewhere he’s not used to. Logan didn’t realize that he’d been growing a little restless himself until given the opportunity to see something outside of the daily to and fro, as comforting as that had become. The cheerful spring weather holds as Wade takes him to walk through some of the biggest trees Logan’s ever seen in his life, and later still as they weave their way through a public market.

They’ve been walking all day by the time Wade points them in the direction of their final destination, but Logan doesn’t feel (that) overwhelmed or at all bored. It’s…it’s nice. Seeing more of the city was probably good for him.

Dusk brushes across the sky, tentative. They walk together down the sidewalk, sometimes dodging to the side for a passing crowd. There’s more going on here in terms of entertainment than where they’re living – probably why he’s never been out this way.

Logan can’t help but take an occasional glance at Wade. The makeup’s become smudged throughout the day, and it’s a relief to see the actual Wade beginning to poke through a bit.

“I’m still waiting for it,” Wade says, looking at Logan wryly.

That makes him nervous. “Waiting for what?”

“Waiting for you to say, ‘huh, jeez, Wade, guess living here doesn’t suck the absolute balls that I always say it does.’”

He rolls his eyes. “Those the exact words you think would come out of my mouth?”

Wade nods, his expression solemn. “Verbatim. You’ve picked up some very unbecoming slang from hanging around Al so much, I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“More like from hanging around you.”

“See, this is what I’m talking about!” Wade brings them to a stop. “The Logan that I dragged home would have just growled all sexy for the camera and stabbed me somewhere. He didn't banter like this.”

“Sooo…you’re saying you’re a bad influence.” He smirks.

They’re right outside the bar Wade wanted to poke his head into – some little hole in the wall joint Ellie, Laura, and Yukio won’t stop talking up called The Spork. Even from outside, Logan can hear and feel the pulse of the music. He can already tell that it’s going to be zero percent like the bars he’s frequented in the past. That’s probably for the best.

“Well, you did take off your chastity ring for me, didn’t you, sweetheart?” His voice dips lower on sweetheart, eyes roaming Logan’s chest through the strain of his shirt.

Fuck, he’s seriously starting to regret not taking Wade up on his offer this morning. They could have gone another round in under thirty minutes, right? (Wrong.) Logan can feel his cock stirring with interest, and though the street is growing dark now, it’s not something he wants to advertise.

“We goin’ in or not?” he mutters instead, fully aware that he’s lost the ability to quip back.

Sure, yeah, maybe he’s gotten better at keeping up, as Wade had said. But there’s no topping him when it comes to having a smart fucking mouth. He’s half-convinced Wade could just talk him to orgasm – and he wonders if it’s something they’ll ever try.

Wade chuckles a little at him.

“Don’t have to,” he says. “I know those dad shoes have seen more traction in the past eight hours than they’ve probably gotten in the last six months, so if you want to head home, we’ll head home.”

Again with this shit! Between him and Laura he’s never going to get away with any choice of footwear without getting roasted like he’s standing on the fucking sun.

“They’re literally just –”

“White New Balance, baby, I know.” Wade’s still grinning a little. “After you.”

He holds the door, and it only takes seconds for the two of them to become engulfed in sound. The bar is crowded with people he’d guess are probably around Laura’s age, a flurry of bright hair colors and crop tops, makeup on every kind of face. Queer couples whisper and laugh with each other, nursing drinks. Groups of friends pose for pictures. Lights dance from the ceiling, and the speakers are blasting a voice he’s become all too familiar with as Laura’s started turning the album on every time she’s in his car.

You know what they say – never waste a Friday night on a first date.

But there I was, in my heels with my hair straight, Logan finishes in his head, led by Wade to the bar by their connected hands.

“Be right back,” Wade says near his ear, careful not to yell. “You getting anything?”

Logan shakes his head. “Not if we’re just in and out.”

“Gotcha.”

He watches as Wade melts away into the crowd, side-stepping and inching through far more gracefully than Logan could until he slips into the restroom.

It’s easy to see why The Girls – as Ellie, Yukio, and Laura have come to be known in his mind – like it here. Inclusivity comes easier in cities, he knows that. But it’s still not perfect. Even harder when you have supernatural abilities you never asked for on top of it all.

Logan wonders if there are any more mutants in the crowd tonight.

Wade is taking a very long time. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, Logan glances back to where he’d last seen him. Is he being too paranoid? Should he just wait and give it another minute? Fuck. He wished his brain wouldn’t turn everything into a disaster. It occurs to him that the bar is getting louder and louder and he can smell so much sweat and cigarette smoke and weed in here.

No, actually, fuck it, he’s going. There’s no harm in just walking in and seeing if he’s alright.

Anxiety spiral! Jess says cheerfully in the back of his head. He ignores her.

With one hand placed on the bathroom door, he’s just in time to almost fully collide with the man he’s looking for.

“Shit,” they say at the same time, getting out of one another’s way.

“No, it’s fine,” Logan says first, squinting as a flash of light from the overhead rig shines in his face. “You okay, bub?”

Sometimes eating genuinely does make Wade sick. Logan doesn’t know if it’s the cancer or a side effect of how his regenerative ability works for him, but there are days when food just doesn’t do it for him. Usually they can both tell when that’s going to happen, though. They’ll hole up in the apartment, turn on some good movies, and just be together while Logan rubs Wade’s back all day. He’s happy to do it for him; he’s prepared to take him straight home and do it now.

But Wade doesn’t smell sick.

When Logan blinks the last of the light away, he’s left looking at Wade, who is definitely not looking at him. In fact, he’s staring at his shoes, looking like he wants to crawl through the floor.

His face is clean, all the carefully applied makeup scrubbed away.

Logan opens his mouth to say something like okay, I’m glad you took that off, I like your actual face, but Wade beats him to the punch.

“Sorry,” Wade says softly. “It was getting all smudged, and…sorry.”

Tears gather hot and burning in the back of Logan’s throat. Out of nowhere, he’s furious, fucking outraged that Wade could feel this way about himself when it’s so clearly untrue. It’s the kind of emotion that he’s not sure he can shove down or redirect this time. Part of him knows that if Wade sees the look on his face, he’s going to read it the wrong way. And he needs to get out of this bar, right now.

He's like a string pulled too tight. Even the pressure of a breath could make him snap.

“Can we please leave.”

That’s all he can make himself say, the words coming out all taut and emotionless. It makes him feel like shit, but that’s all he can manage to get out.

Wade nods, and Logan offers his hand once more. A meager consolation prize compared to what he actually wants to tell him. Logan hates how lacking his brain-to-mouth output is. Whatever he ends up saying always sounds so inarticulate. Right now he’s staring at Wade’s profile in the gentle pulsing of the colored lights, thinking a million things. All of them thrum within him harder than his own heartbeat.

I love you.

You’re beautiful.

I hate that you thought you had to change for me.

I would kill for you.

I would live for you.

Ten feet until they’re outside – he can do that. Then he can fix this.

Logan’s eyes are fixed on the door, on the cool air drafting in as it opens and closes, when he’s shoved hard from the right.

“My bad,” says a voice at once. “Shit, my bad man, my bad.”

Logan grits his teeth so tight he feels one of them crack. He swallows the loose piece.

“Don’t worry about it.” Shut the fuck up and let me leave.

The man who bumped into him is so obviously wasted that he might as well be wearing a flashing neon sign. He sways a little on his feet, supported only by the sweet-looking woman he keeps bumping back into, as if she's the only thing keeping him upright. Brawny and dressed like he's just walked straight from his fraternity house, he squints at Logan and Wade like he's seeing double. Shit, maybe triple, at this point.

“Jake, maybe you need to sit down,” the woman says to him softly.

Her face is flushed, more from embarrassment than alcohol. She's staring up at the guy, one small hand on his arm, but Jake is looking at the two of them like he's never seen gays over thirty before. Hell, like he’s never seen a queer in general, which is astounding, considering the bar he’s currently standing in.

Logan can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It’s a rare occasion when someone who’s looked at him like that didn’t end up pissing him off, and he’s already one step away from wanting a good excuse to tear into someone. Anyone.

“C'mon, just sit down with us, I'll get you some water.”

The guy isn't interested. He's too busy looking at Wade now, and Logan can see the thought forming on his face before he dares to speak it.

“Jesus, man, you're kinda ugly, did you know that?”

To Wade's credit, he says fucking excuse me? at the same time Logan's fingers close around the asshole’s throat.

For someone who'd been wobbling around only seconds before, Jake tries to pry them off with surprising accuracy. It only makes him squeeze tighter, watching with brutal satisfaction as his face turns darker shades of red.

That’s better. This, he can understand. For Logan, actions are almost always easier than words, especially when tinted with violence. Especially if he’s needed it for weeks now.

In his periphery, he can tell that several things are going on. The college girl is touching his elbow, asking him to stop, something like I’m so sorry please let him go I know he’s had way too much. Wade is standing back a ways, hands in his pockets, grinning more broadly than Logan’s seen all day. A small crowd is starting to gather.

Their faces are only inches apart. He knows he should walk away, just take Wade and go home.

Somewhere behind him, Wade is having the time of his life calling this frat boy a piece of shit. Logan can’t even keep up with half of what’s coming out of his mouth, but he hears something about getting his haircut off of a middle schooler’s Tiktok FYP but having his dad’s mental health issues, and those both seem like pretty deep cuts. He doesn’t fail to mention, of course, that Logan’s about to turn him into the wet food that they make for cats.

“C’mon, fuckface,” Jake wheezes, trying and failing once more to loosen his grip. “You mad your boyfriend ain’t pretty or–”

That’s all it takes. Logan curls his free hand into a fist and punches the other man so hard his nose breaks with a tidy snap. Blood pours out of him like a busted faucet as he punches him twice, three times, and in seconds he’s howling and pleading for him to stop – he didn’t mean it, he promises he didn’t mean it.

If it were up to Logan, he’d stay there and beat him until the fucking punk was barely capable of stringing a sentence together, then make him say thank you for letting him live. As the situation stands, however, several people are definitely calling the police – and that’s not something Logan has the patience for.

“Hey, Testosterone Tommy, we gotta go,” Wade calls, reading his mind.

Without another word, Logan turns his back to the mess he’s made, and they make short work of disappearing into the street.

By the time they’ve ducked through enough alleys and carved a confusing enough path that they don’t think they’re in danger of being pursued, Wade lets out a breath.

“Thanks for uh, defending my honor back there, peanut.”

Logan shrugs, still tense from the weight of the conversation he knows they need to have.

“It was nothin’. He needed to shut the fuck up. I was happy to provide the service.” He looks over at Wade in the soft light of a street lamp, who chuckles a little at that. “And I knew you woulda hit him yourself if I didn’t get there first,” he adds.

Wade's answering silence makes him wonder if he would have just taken the insult and kept walking, or turned it into a joke even if it made him feel like shit.

When they arrive back at the apartment, Laura opens the door, a wriggling Puppins in her arms, and scrunches her nose at the sight of Logan.

“Thought it was a date, the hell?” she says. “You’ve got blood on you.”

“Don’t all your dates end in bloodshed?” Wade says, shrugging. He turns to let the dog inspect his face with her mouth, which she does with excruciating enthusiasm. “Hi Puppins! Hi baby!! Did you miss us? You did! Anyway, we can’t go to your bar anymore.”

Laura doesn’t look that surprised. “What did you do?”

“Logan tried to kill a guy ‘cause he called me ugly.”

“I did not try to kill him,” Logan growls, passing Laura her phone as she goes to collect her things. “I just shook him up a little.”

“In a very heroic, brash, and manly way,” Wade sings, putting an arm around his waist. “The other guy really did gush, Laura, you would’ve loved it.”

She only shakes her head and sighs. “If you say so. I gotta get home, I work at six tomorrow.”

“Thanks for dogsitting! And catsitting, too, I guess.”

“Haha, I didn’t even see him.”

Logan walks her to the door while Wade wanders deeper into the bedroom. Every time Wade tells him stories about the Other Logan, and this Laura, he tries to imagine if he can feel that connection. It’s not the same as what he feels for her now – not as massive and deep as that love had to have been – but he still cares for her. He wants to see her do well. Growing up the way she had wasn’t easy, he knows that much. And she’s a good kid. Logan knows she’s trying to do her best – even if she sometimes gets into scraps of her own.

“Thanks, kid,” Logan says as they hover in the doorway. “Have a good shift, yeah? Try to behave yourself.” From the stories he’s heard from her working as a lead at a grocery store, people aren’t always the kindest.

“Could say the same to you,” she fires back, smiling before she turns down the hallway.

He watches until she’s gone before shutting their door and locking it. When he turns, Bonnet is staring at him from the little nook under the far left kitchen cabinet, his favorite place to hide.

“Hey, buddy,” Logan calls softly, bending down. Bonnet comes to him at once, tail lifted. “What'd you do today, huh?”

The massive tabby answers him with a quiet mrow, butting his head against Logan's hand. They stay like that for a moment, each of them comforted by the other.

When Logan makes his way to the bedroom, he finds Wade already in pajamas, scrolling on his phone. Wade glances up at him with a soft smile, watching him unbutton his shirt and toss it into the hamper.

“So…overall, was it an okay day?” he asks as Logan shuffles into bed beside him in only his boxers, landing with a heavy sigh. “Worth repeating, sans the whole dramatic knockout bit towards the end?”

His hand is already carding through Logan’s hair. Wade shuffles closer to let Logan sling a leg over his hip the way he wants to, recharging after a long day of being on the go.

“‘Course,” Logan mutters. The gentle way Wade’s touching him makes his whole body go limp and relaxed almost at once. He didn’t realize how much the day had weighed on him until he felt that weight lifting. “‘Course I’d go out with you again. Didn’t really know it was that important or we coulda – coulda gone a lot sooner.”

He feels Wade shrug. “Well, it took me a minute to learn how to get all the stuff right, otherwise I might have –”

Logan sits straight up in a way that makes the bed jolt. He looks Wade right in the eye, taking in the surprise, taking in every inch of his face, aching that Wade doesn’t think he’s good enough to go out without slathering shit on.

“Wade. For once in your life, shut the fuck up and let me say something. Please.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re kind of leaving me no choice, but okay.”

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Logan pauses to think. Everything he’s itching to say will come out angry, or make him want to cry. He doesn’t want either of those options to happen – he wishes he could just fucking say hard things without it being like this. Like his heart’s going to explode out of his chest.

“Fuck,” he says, dragging his hands across his face. “Fuck, Wade.”

“What?” He feels a hand on the side of his neck, feels Wade’s heartbeat pick up. Nervous. “Peanut, what’s the matter?”

“I didn’t want – I didn’t ask you – it wasn’t – you’re not – fuck.”

He can’t breathe. Wade notices.

“Just take a minute. I’m not going anywhere.”

Feeling very small and stupid and embarrassed the entire time, Logan closes his eyes and does as Wade asks. Forcing himself to breathe in and out until his chest doesn’t feel like it’s caved in on itself. Hating that this is so fucking hard. Other people don’t have to do this. Why is he like this?

Finally, he finds his voice again.

“Wish you didn’t go out looking like that,” he admits at last. “You didn’t need to do that for me. I didn’t want it, Wade. Wanted you.”

Logan peers up at Wade, who has a small, bitter sort of smile on his face. It’s probably one of the farthest things he’s seen from his genuine grin in some time.

“As the Irish forest man himself would say, you’re too sweet for me,” he says. “But you’re used to me, bud. You don’t get it.”

Exasperation roars like fire in Logan’s mind. “What the hell don’t I get? Wade. I’ve been lookin’ at you for a year now. I like it. Haven’t I made that clear enough?”

There are fucking tears in Wade’s eyes, though he blinks them back fast, and Logan’s own throat burns in instant empathy.

“I said, you don’t get it,” he says again. “You didn’t know me before. You didn’t see what I looked like then. And if you had, you sure as fuck wouldn’t be sticking around now.”

They’re both bolt upright in the bed now, tense, facing each other. Logan can’t tell whether he’s more angry or hurt that Wade would still cling so tightly to thinking about himself like this, but whatever held him back from speaking before is long gone now. It’s time to be mad.

“News flash, jackass,” he barks. “I did see you. And yeah, maybe you were cute, but you weren’t all that. So pull yourself out of this fuckin’ –” he throws his hands up “-- hole of self pity. I love you the way you are right now, not some fake version you feel like you have to slap on.”

Wade stares at him.

He can only hold the tough act for a half second before he wonders if he’s gone too far. Because getting Wade Wilson speechless? That is a rarity, and a cause for concern.

“Sorry,” Logan says lamely, after another long beat. “If that was too much, then sorry, I just don’t want you to think you’re not good enough to –”

“You mean it?” Wade says, his voice small. “The – the love thing.”

Oh. Oh shit. He’d fully said that.

“Yeah,” Logan answers, laughing a little. “Yeah, I do.”

And fuck, he does. There’s no use pretending it’s not true anymore. He loves the stupid little songs he sings in the morning and the way he hums when he’s sleepy and how much he loves the dog. He loves how much he cares about the people in his life. He loves how fucking smart he is and how he can crack a joke with absolutely no effort. He loves his weird taste in music and how he looks in his clothes.

He loves.

He loves.

He loves.

“I really do,” Logan tells him, cupping Wade’s cheek, pulling him in to kiss him. The way Wade kisses him back is so soft, and he’s laughing too, a breathless little sound against Logan’s mouth. He climbs into his lap and wraps his arms tight around him, and they stay like that for a long time, rocking back and forth, close, warm.

“Sorry it took so long,” Logan tells him after a while. The fact that Wade had said it first, and so much earlier, still fills him with guilt.

“S’okay,” Wade answers. “It was worth it.” He places more kisses to Logan’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks. “So…can I fuck you to celebrate this little revelation? Like, a lot?”

“Yeah, please.”

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Interruption | Part 04

-> Pairing: mafia husband!Kim Hongjoong x mafia wife!Reader

-> Sypnosis: Things go to hell for Y/N.

-> Warnings: mafia au. Italics are flashbacks. the other korea is mentioned. talks of being a spy. alludes to someone being told to kill themselves. guns. someone gets shot (but spoiler: they don't die).

-> Word Count: 1487

-> Taglist: open. Leave a comment on the masterlist post, send an ask or fill out the taglist form.

Interruption Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist | Tag List Form

As they make their way to the restaurant, Y/N flips through the folder that Wooyoung had given her earlier. “Ha-Na’s mother isn’t blameless in all of this,” she remarks, her eyes scanning the pages before she passes them to Hongjoong. Several sheets are filled with old photographs and documents related to the woman and her daughter. The folder starts to feel like a ticking time bomb, each page a revealing something that could unravel the carefully constructed facade Ha-Na’s and her mother, Ahn Soo-Ah have created for themselves. “She was troubled well before she got involved with Mun and my father.”  

She pauses when she sees the face of the man who had tormented her mother after her father abandoned them. His cold, calculating gaze seems to pierce through her, rekindling the rage she felt the last time she encountered him. Her fists tighten as she realizes that this woman not only played a part in her father leaving but also in the hell that ensued afterwards.  

“Ha-Na and her mother have no clue who they’re up against,” she mutters, mostly to herself, but Hongjoong nods in agreement. He’s seen firsthand the consequences of someone pushing his wife too far and feels no sympathy for anyone who might provoke her. 

“We need to be more careful this time,” Hongjoong advises her. “This isn’t just about someone trying to take over our empire. It’s much more personal than that,” he says taking the folder from her.  

Y/N pulls out her phone and calls Yunho. The man picks up immediately. "We're on our way," he informs her.  

"I need to know if you found anything about my father?" she asks.  

"I was just about to send you his details and address," he replies. “You should also know Ha-Na's mother is with him.”  

"Forward it to some of our men and have them bring them to Mun's restaurant," she instructs. "Make sure to warn them that if they try anything, they'll be dead the moment they step through those doors." 

With that she ends the call as they pull up outside the restaurant. 

“Sorry, my mother couldn’t make it. She was murdered not long after our father left her, but you already know that,” Y/N glances at her father and doesn’t find an ounce of remorse but she can see the fear in them. “Now sit,” she orders all of them. San forces her father to sit down as Soo-Ah quickly sits in the chair next to him, feigning being terrified.  

“You too, Ha-Na,” she says waving her gun at her before pointing it at her mother. “I don’t want to kill her before you hear what I have to say.” 

Wooyoung comes closer, snatching the gun from Ha-Na, glaring at her and forces her into the chair next to her mother. With the gun pointed at her mother, Ha-Na abides and doesn’t make a fuss. Now that Soo-Ah was brought into it, Ha-Na calmed and the situation became more controllable. It was all the proof she needed to know that the woman who had broken her family is her half-sister's weakness. 

“Do you know why your mother stayed with Mun and our dear father had to wait all those years to be with her?” she questions Ha-Na, leaning in closer to her. “I’m sure you do since you’re all in this together,” she says waiting for Ha-Na to reply. The younger woman shakes her head but her quick glance towards her mother tells Y/N that she’s lying. “That’s what I thought. You two are close right?” she asks looking between the two women. They both nod. “That must be nice,” she mutters and steps back from them while Yeosang hands her the folder she’d been going through earlier. She opens it and drops it, its contents spilling on to the table, showing photos of a younger version of Soo-Ah, with a man dressed in military gear. Some of the photos she has a large belly, and some of them have her with a baby.  

Y/N observes as Soo-Ah's fake look of fright, turns into one of anger showing where Ha-Na gets her terrible acting skills from. 

“You didn’t think I would find out that you were enlisted as a spy?” She taunts. “Or that Ahn Soo-Ah is not your real name? Ri Mi-Rae.” 

Upon hearing her real name, Soo-Ah's face darkens. If looks could kill, Y/N would be six feet under. The atmosphere shifts, the air thick with unspoken threats. Hongjoong steps closer to Y/N, sensing the tension. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but his eyes remain fixed on Soo-Ah. 

Soo-Ah hisses, her voice low and dangerous, "You have no idea what you're dealing with." 

"I know exactly what I'm dealing with, Ri Mi-Rae,” Y/N straightens, her resolve hardening. “You’re nothing but a con-woman who leaves destruction everywhere she goes. I’m truly surprised the North hasn’t caught up with you, yet. Maybe I should send you back myself.” 

“She would rather kill herself, than go back there,” Ha-Na retorts, while their father continues to sit there scared for their lives. 

“Should we test that?” Y/N says, taking a gun and handing it towards Mi-Rae only when everyone of her mens guns were pointed at her. “Try anything and they’ll end you quicker than you can blink. Now go on, prove your daughter right,” she urges, her tone a mix of challenge and provocation. 

Mi-Rae's eyes flickered to the gun, then back to Y/N. With her head held high, she silently refuses to take the gun. "You think you can intimidate me?" Mi-Rae finally spoke, her voice steady. "You have no idea what I’ve survived, what I’ve done to stay alive. You, little girl, don’t scare me. I’ve faced worse than you."  

Y/N's grip on the gun tightens, her resolve unyielding. "This isn't about fear. It's about choices you’ve made and how you’ve involved me in them,” she says her voice rising. Aiming the gun at Ha-Na while keeping her eyes locked on Mi-Rae, she pulls the trigger, ending Ha-Na’s life in an instant. "That was for my mother." 

Mi-Rae looks at her a mix of shock and fury in her eyes. Ha-Na's body crumples to the ground, lifeless, letting Mi-Rae and her father, Ha-Joon know that she is no longer playing around.  

Ha-Joon, filled with fear and confusion as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him, finally finds his voice. "You're a monster."  

"Is that so? And who do you think turned me into this, father?" Y/N retorts, allowing her emotions to spill over towards the man who had abandoned her all those years ago. Just hearing his voice brought back memories long forgotten about and she was transported back to being that little girl, lost and alone. 

Seizing the moment of distraction, Mi-Rae quickly grabs a gun and fires shots as she dashes out towards the back.  

"Get her!" Y/N yells at her men as they duck for cover. Four of them make chase after Mi-Rae as she looks around to make sure no one was hit. 

That's when her eyes land on her husband, bleeding from his chest and gasping for air. Her heart sinks into her stomach as she hurries to his side, and covers his wound with her hands trying to stop the bleeding as she yells at the others to help. Tears began to sting her eyes as she felt the warmth of his blood seep through her fingers.  

"Stay with me," she begs, her voice shaking as panic grips her throat. She has never felt this terrified in her entire life. 

"Y/N," Hongjoong's voice emerged weak and raspy as he lifted a hand to gently caress her cheek. "You need to get out of here. This isn’t safe for you." His eyes, usually so full of life, were clouded with pain, and Y/N could see the flicker of fear in them, not for himself, but for her.  

"I won’t leave you," she cries, her heart racing as she presses harder against the wound, trying to will the blood to stop flowing.  

"Y/N, listen to me," he gasped, his breath coming in shallow bursts. He winced, his hand slipping from her cheek to grip her wrist, his fingers trembling just as badly as hers. "I love you, Y/N. No matter what happens, remember that." His eyes locked onto hers, he calls for Wooyoung, “Get her out of here.” 

Before anything more could be said, San pushes his way in, replacing Y/N’s hands with his own as Wooyoung pulls her up and rushes her out of the building before she has time to process what’s happening. 

As she sits in the car with Wooyoung at the wheel, a chilling numbness envelopes the Mafia Queen’s body. Her voice, icy and determined, sends shivers down Wooyoung's spine as she declares, "I’m going to kill all of them. Her and everyone she cares about is dead." 

@do-you-remember-summer-127 - @staytiny2000 - @rainydayteacups - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse -

@alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea - @rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson -

@yeonjunnie – @hollxe1 - @laylasbunbunny – @deltamoon666 - @skz1-4-3 -

@everythingboutkpop - @oddracha - @http-gyu - @skittyneos - @pinkpunkdynamite -

@keshivibes - @katsukis1wife - @jjoongstar - @arki-sha - @forever-atiny -

@lixisoul99

[phant0mth1ef]

chapter 9: mannn

looking down the table at the crowded bar, your eyes landed on a familiar head of blonde hair. one you knew all too well as you’d downed the rest of your martini.

the bags under your eyes were prominently on display as you’d been unable to get a good night’s sleep since the night you’d both shared in your bed.

truth be told, you did always sleep better whenever he was around.

he’d spotted you when he first walked in, you’d been with your bandmates as you all took turns taking shots. but now as the night was winding down, your friends were nowhere to be found. likely off dancing with someone, or in kyouka and denki’s case, dancing with each other.

they’d never confirmed it, but you knew they were sleeping together.

bakugou took a look at you, you’d looked so defeated as you sat there waiting for another drink.

with a sigh, he rose from his bar stool as he made his way over to you just in time to tell the bartender to cut you off. it was obvious you’d had one drink too many.

“the fuck are you doing?” you’d looked up, his vermillion eyes staring back at you.

they’d always find a way to make you melt at his feet, no matter how upset you were with him.

“what’re you doing here?” you mumbled as you diverted your gaze, staring back at the granite countertop.

your words were nearly slurring together, and your hair was a frizzy mess. yet in this very moment, he’d only thought about how pretty you’d looked.

“i dunno. just thinking about how you wrote a whole song about me. you creep.” you snorted, and he was positive you were drunk.

you wouldn’t be having this interaction with him if you had been in your right mind.

“haha. very funny.” his face never changing from his blank expression.

“but seriously. what’re you doing here?”

“i literally slept with someone and he left me a note saying it was a mistake. i think that constitutes me being at the bar. just leave me alone, katsuki.” ah. there you were.

“i can’t just leave you drunk and alone.”

“you’ve left me alone before.”

the two of you sat in silence as he contemplated his next move.

“come on. i’ll take you home.” his hand reached for your wrist, but you’d quickly retracted your arm.

“i’m not leaving with you.” you spat.

“at least let me walk you home then if you don’t trust me.”

“no. fuck you.” his hand wrapped around your wrist again, his grip strong as he tugged you off your seat.

“katsuki, what the fuck?! let go of me!” you’d protested as he dragged you outside the bar, the fresh air invading your lungs as you’d been able to see him in decent lighting for the first time that night.

-

he’d done it. he’d really done it.

he’d dragged you all the way to your apartment, and by now you’d almost sobered up fully as you’d handed him your keys.

about halfway into the walk was when you’d given up, his physical strength outmatched yours. the walk was silent the whole way, and you couldn’t believe how he was acting right now.

truth be told, he couldn’t either. some could say it was liquid courage. some could say it was just the type of person he was.

he’d walked you to your bedroom. waited for you to comfortably get in bed as he made sure you were okay.

“..” the silence enveloped the both of you.

“stay. please, ‘suki.” you’d mumbled, and he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

this wasn’t right. whatever you had been both doing. it wasn’t right. and yet he’d stayed until he heard your breathing even out, and snuck out of your room quietly.

your head was pounding the next morning, and the only words you could muster out was “mann.. not again.”

-

tags!: @bakuettes @the-hangry-otter @ch3rryjampi3 @therealsatorugojo @twinnintwink @napbatata @redgie-69 @that-one-fangirl69 @kanvis @starlitrays @raendarkfaerie @pretty-sparkle-bomb @candiiee @mirophobic @altgojo @ita606 @djlance-rock @drxgonspine @simp4myself