#so behind on my Asks but trying to catch up now

[feelgoodinct]

nsfw, mdni.

simon becomes an absolute dog when he sees you in his shirt.

cw: possessive simon, sex on carpet (ouch), unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink (?).

simon is a good roommate. he’s organized, clean, pays rent on time, and minds his own space. the only thing is—roommate is hot. stupidly hot. you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend and he’s never once brought back a girl let alone mentioned one. you figured your little crush on him would pass like all the other (it does not). you start dropping hints that you find him attractive. like wearing your tightest tops, brushing your ass against him while reaching for a cup, even leaving one of your lacy thongs to mix in with his laundry. he never bites the bait. you start to think that maybe he just doesn’t find you attractive or even worse he finds you creepy. so you tuck your schoolgirl crush away into the cavity of your chest.

you close the washer with your hip, cradling your laundry basket back to your room. you hear the familiar turn of your front door lock letting you know simon is home from his morning gym session.

you pad into the living room to ask simon if he needed any clothes washed. simons back is turned from you when he begins to slip off his trainers, dropping his gym at the foot of the door.

“need any clothes washed? i’m starting a load up right now.” you ask eyeing the movement of back muscle underneath his compression shirt.

he finally turns to you and starts to respond “nah don’t think-“ before he snaps his mouth shut when he sees what you’re wearing. “that mine?” his voice gruff, it’s his army issued shirt that is long enough to cover your shorts. a deep green color that frays at the hem and has his last name in bold at the back of it. you notice he’s staring at the worn fabric waiting for an answer.

you look down, “oh yeah. sorry was doing laundry found this in hamper. my clothes are in the wash. hope that’s okay?” you sound apologetic like you just did something unforgivable. jesus christ what were you thinking wearing his shirt without asking. you shift trying to ease your embarrassment.

he’s on you in three short strides. making a noise between a growl and snarl. you don’t know how or when you both ended up on the living room floor. frankly, it’s the last thing on your fucking mind now that you’re on your knees cheek pressing into the shag carpet. you can feel the heat of his stare between your legs. you get a glimpse of your shorts and panties strewn across the floor leaving you in his shirt. you wait with bated breath for him to touch you. you wiggle your hips in a silent plead to get him to do something, anything…everything.

he gives the flesh of your ass a heavy smack that has you clenching around nothing. “be good now.” is all you hear before the sting leaves an angry red mark that you know is gonna leave you wincing for the next week. simon smooths a hand over the back of your (his) shirt making a noise in the back of his throat.

you hear shuffling behind you before you feel the head of him catch on to your opening making your mouth gape like a fish out of water. he groans at the contact, kneading the fat of your hips, before he presses in painfully slow with a hiss. you whimper into the carpet, fists balling, feeling hot all over. your cunt pulses trying to make room for him inside your womb.

“i know. i know, pretty girl. almost there.” simon bites back a hiss when you clench at his words. you think you might die like this. laid out on ugly apartment carpet trying to take simon’s cock. you could cry with relief when you feel simon’s balls meet your clit letting you know he’s all the way in. simon lets out a guttural sound bordering on animalistic at the sight of you speared open on his cock, last name across your back, absolutely crying for it.

he fists the bottom of the shirt to keep you still and eases his hips back just to sink back in slowly. the pressure in your navel hurts so good it’s starting to make you dizzy. simon sets a pace that has you trying to cant your hips back to meet his thrusts. he lays a heavy palm in the middle of your back, just under the boldened ‘RILEY’, keeping you pinned giving you no choice but to take what he gives you.

“prettiest fuckin girl i ever seen. gonna give this cunt the proper treatment she deserves, yeah?” he bends his left leg, somehow sliding in deeper. there’s no doubt that you can feel him in your lungs. “s’deep simon.” you slur, reaching a hand back to weakly press against his stomach. he chuckles at the act taking both wrists into one of his hands pressing them at the small of your back, forcing you into a deeper arch. you sob at the change in angle. your nipples being rubbed raw by the friction of his thrusts.

“needed this real bad, huh? don’t worry baby. i’ll make sure you don’t go without it again. wearing those tiny tops think i didn’t notice.” his voice rough and deep behind you. “uh huh.” you reply without a second thought, you don’t even care that you’ve been drooling into the carpet or that you’ve been caught. simon gives a deep chuckle at how pliant you’ve become just from some good dick.

he knows your close by the increasing volume of your sounds. he never lets up his pace determined to give you his all. “where?” he asks in a quick breathe. you take a few seconds to register his words. “huh?” you manage to squeak out. “where do you want me, pretty thing?” he says in an almost pained voice. the gears turn in your head before you speak up “inside. want it inside. m’clean. pill.” resorting to short clipped words. you beg, as if you have to, simon thinks.

your orgasm comes hard and fast leaving you sobbing out garbled version of please and simon. simon is not far behind burying himself as deep as your bodies will allow and comes inside with a pinched “oh fuck.” he pulls out with a pop and watches his spend leak down your slit leaving a small puddle on the floor that he knows he’ll have to scrub out later.

simon pats your backside affectionately. “don’t think we’ll be doing any laundry today” he says with a grin that make you giggle. “yeah, don’t think so.”

[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.”

[sceletaflores]

woo, my baby's got me all mixed up!

feat. logan howlett & wade wilson contains. 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, swearing, a bastard doomed polycule, more of 'why have just one bf when you can two bf's and why have just two bf's when you can have two bf's that are also each other’s bf's???', p in v, double penetration, one (1) single use of daddy, creampie(s), fingering...kind of (fem!receiving), oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, straight up nasty porn w/ zero plot, no use of y/n. a/n. this is a shorter one-shot but i can't not format it like a full fic i have to or i'll get hives. this is also just pure freak nasty gross actually probably the filthiest thing i've ever written that i thought up off too much nyquil pm last night. kisses!

"You're killing me babe," Wade groans lowly, cheek pressed to the slick skin of your inner thigh. "If my balls didn't feel like they just got the shit beat out of them in a back alley I'd be as hard as David Hasselhoff watching David Hasselhoff on Baywatch."

His hand is at work between your thighs, thick index finger slipped into your sensitive, puffy pussy.

It should gross you out that he loves doing this so much. It should make your stomach twist with all the unpleasant feelings a normal person might get.

It should, but it doesn't.

The familiar stretch is lost from taking Logan and Wade at the same time, a rare thing in your sex life because of how big they both are. But you were in a mood tonight.

Your pussy still clenches around him, trying in vain to tighten up, not used to feeling so empty.

The subtle pressure of Wade’s finger toes the line between pleasure and the sharp burn of 'almost too much' as it swirls along the sensitive walls of your pussy.

The first time he did it you were too fucked out of your mind to do anything other than ask what the hell he was doing.

"Gotta mix it up babe," was his reply, as easy as anything. "Don't want the baby batter to curdle, if you know what I mean."

Your heart stopped, flames lapping their way up your body as Wade scooped the thin line of come trickling from your abused hole to fuck it back in, back where it belonged.

It was so filthy, so depraved that it made you go liquid between your legs.

Your eyes almost immediately slid over to Logan, ready to see him shaking his head in irritation like he usually did whenever Wade ran his mouth in bed. You found nothing, no deep grimace or raised brow in sight.

There was an unmistakable heat in his gaze that matched your own, the inky black of his pupils blown so wide you could hardly see the hazel of his irises.

The casual raise of his right shoulder when he met your eye was undermined by the way his cock started to harden where it laid against his thigh, effectively tattling on him.

It told you all you needed to know about how he really felt watching Wade between your spread legs. That alone was enough to get you ready to go all over again.

It sort of became a thing after that.

"I'm not even doing anything..." you mumble breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't have to baby," Logan purrs from behind you, lips pressed to the top of your head. His hand skimming down the side of your body is enough to make goosebumps pebble along your skin, "Look perfect just like this."

It's been hours now, but they're still going. You're convinced that the two of them are the world's biggest horndogs, just once is never enough.

You lost track of tonight's rounds sometime after number five, not counting mouth and hand stuff of course. And it's starting to catch up to you, you’re tired, spent.

Wade curls his finger just right, brushing against the spot inside you that has a broken whine passing through your grit teeth. Your thighs start to tremble as a smug grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah, there it is," he teases, his voice low. He keeps the tip of his finger snug against that spot, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nerves. "That's that spot ain't it, gorgeous."

"Wade," you mewl, hands fisting the sheets as you fight to keep still. You're worried too much squirming will make their come start dripping out around Wade's wrist, and you can't have that.

There’s a sudden silence to your right, the heaviness of it pulling at your attention. You shift slightly, catching the faintest rustle of movement from Logan.

His breath is warm against the crown of your skill, his strong chest still plastered to your back—but he's too quiet, too still. You tilt your head just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and the sight alone is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Logan is leaning against the headboard lazily, arm that isn't circled around your waist snaking down his own with the hard length of his cock in his hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, red and leaking pre-come all over his knuckles each time he twists his fist over the thick head. Your hips grind down unconsciously, a needy moan falling from your parted lips. The wet sound of it has your cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the way his heavy balls bounce with each rough tug, still so full.

"Fuck, that's it," Wade murmurs, slipping a second finger inside you while he presses a shit-eating grin to the soft skin of your lower stomach. "You like it when daddy jerks off while I'm knuckle deep in you?"

"Watch it," Logan mutters warningly, tone gone low and dark as spilled ink. His hand doesn't slow, the loose grip of his fist slipping up and down his dripping cock in time with the slick squelch of your pussy.

Your hips buck up against Wade’s hand, a loud whine tearing from your chest at the dirtiness of this whole thing. The familiar heat starts to stir in your belly, your pussy drooling more mess over his wrist the longer he plays with you.

Wade barely muffles his chuckle against your hip, dropping a quick kiss there before pulling his soaked fingers from your velvety warmth. You whine at the loss, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

You’ll both get what you want soon enough.

"Alright, we should all know the drill by now people," he announces to you and Logan with a loud clap, pulling away from between your thighs to roll flat onto his back.

“Time to hop on the saddle, John Wayne,” he finishes, giving your ass a loving tap.

Logan snorts into your hair, dropping his cock to grab your hips and gently manhandle you until you’re situated directly over Wade’s face while Logan kneels in front of you. The jut of his cock bobbing inches away from your mouth.

Wade’s greedy fingers pry your swollen lips apart to watch the way his and Logan’s come starts to seep out from you, falling to drip onto his bare chest. He blows over the wet length of you, the cool air from his mouth has your hips twitching down in search of any friction you can get.

“Not so fast,” he scolds lightly, grinding his knuckle against the wet seam of you. Your nails dig crescent moons into his scarred shoulders, threatening to break the skin.

“You’ve gotta savor this moment, hot stuff,” he says slowly, leaning up to press a kiss directly over your throbbing clit. “You got the best seat in the house, don’t take it for granted–”

"Enough," Logan grunts, heavy hands falling on your shoulders to push you down on Wade's face, fully closing the gap. "Quit runnin' your damn mouth and make our girl feel good, red."

Wade's hands tighten their hold on your thighs, his hips bucking up off the mattress like he can't help it. His surprised moan rumbles against your clit, loud and shameless.

You cry out at the first drag of his tongue over your aching pussy, hot and wet as it slides through your dripping slit. You pitch forward, too caught up in pleasure to think clearly as you take Logan’s cock into your mouth. You take him all the way down to the root in one swift move, burying your nose in the dark hair surrounding the base. 

"Fuck," Logan bites out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He takes your hair in his fist gently, just holding it as you swallow around him. 

Your hands move to rest on his thick thighs, nails scratching over the hair scattered along his skin. His breath shutters in his chest, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly, chasing the tight heat of your mouth.

The mix of your tongue tracing along the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock and the low, wet sounds of Wade devouring you has him pulsing in your mouth.

Your thighs shake on either side of Wade's head, the steady grip of his hands the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into a boneless heap on the mattress.

Your hips twitch the tiniest bit, rocking forward enough to grind your clit over the slope of his nose. He groans under you, squeezing the meat of your thighs in encouragement as he swirls his tongue through the mess dripping from your hole.

“That’s a good girl,” Logan praises gruffly, his hips speeding up. “Shut him up, baby. Make him fuckin’ eat it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dragging your pussy along Wade’s mouth faster. You moan desperately around your mouthful, brain going hazy around the edges.

The frantic pace you set only makes their come leak from you faster, dripping down Wade’s face faster than he can keep up, and there's just so much.

A steady, thick stream of it that feels almost never ending thanks to Logan coming like he busted a pipe and absolutely flooding your insides every single time.

Wade doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest though, swirling his tongue along you with a new sense of urgency. His hands grip your hips tighter, his blunt nails digging into your skin deliciously as he slurps and sucks with unbridled enthusiasm, chasing every drop of come.

He’s sloppy with it, come sliding down his cheeks and chin in thin rivers of white.

Logan’s rough breath hitches above you, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes. His growl sends a thrill down your spine.

"C'mon, Wilson," Logan grunts, his hips speeding up. When you peer up at him, you can see the goading smile that just barely tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Spitters are quitters, you know that."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[fushitoru]

i can't stop looking at his d—d—d—d—FACE!

pairings ⸺ (SEPERATE) boy next door!gojo x reader, wrestler!toji x reader, gym trainer!sukuna x reader, pizza delivery boy!choso x reader, husband's boss!nanami x reader, perv on train!geto x reader

summary ⸺ jjk men as overused p0rn/h3ntai plots! inspired by this awesome post by the talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular @/osamucide! pls check it out and the rest of his work :3

warnings ⸺ SMUT (mdni), consent is pre-established in all scenarios (but dub con just in case), everyone is of age (or older), exhibitionism, infidelity in nanami’s, pussy drunk men lol, not edited (as always), cowgirl, missionary, creampies, VERY public sex in toji’s, lmk if I’ve missed anything!

a/n lolll i'm ngl this was so fun to write. some of these scenarios are so funnny hELP. this one is also for some of the anons who are so obsessed w choso and sukuna in bridgerton au. wrote them for you 🫡 choso’s is my fav hehe

general masterlist

SUKUNA RYOMEN ⸺ HOTTIE'S PERSONAL TRAINER HAS A VERY HANDS ON APPROACH!

“Brat!” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Watch your back. You’re supposed to be hinging your hips back, not whatever lazy shit you were doing.”

He steps around to your side, the heavy thud of his boots on the gym floor adding to the oppressive weight of his presence. Squatting down, he sets his hips back in one smooth motion, demonstrating with sharp precision. “Like this. Not whatever the fuck that was.”

You glance at him, your legs trembling under you. Sweat clings to your skin, a thin sheen that feels heavy after the grueling thirty minutes with your personal trainer. Sukuna definitely takes the "tiger mom" approach, every tattoo on his body echoing the sharp, uncompromising authority in his eyes. Right now, those eyes bore into you, narrowed with impatience, his hands on his hips. His scowl is practically carved into his face—stone-hard and unmoving.

Breathing hard, you slump forward, hands gripping your knees as you gasp for air. Your heartbeat drums loudly in your ears. “Sukuna, g-give me a sec. I just—fuck—” You can barely string a sentence together between gulps of air. “I just maxed out. My legs are literally shaking.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment, but his voice softens—just a little. “Fine. Catch your breath. But as you do that, let’s practice proper form.”

You nod exhaustedly, not being able to think very clearly. Wiping the sweat to prevent it from getting into your eyes, you put your legs hip width apart as Sukuna gets behind you to observe your form. You bend down, trying to sit back onto your hips as best as possible, but as soon as your ass grazes Sukuna’s crotch, you lose the form in your back in surprise. “Sorry—”

“That was wrong.” Sukuna’s voice is in your ear as he puts his hands on your hips, and you are dizzy with the contact. “Here.” Both of you squat down, Sukuna’s hard body moving right behind you, and at the lowest position, Sukuna’s thumb roves over the fat of your ass, and they leave your hips to trace up your back. “Your back should be neutral, otherwise you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“O—okay,” you breathily reply, dizzy with the way he was touching you. If you listened closely, it almost sounded as if you were whimpering. Unfortunately for you, it seemed like Sukuna was more observant than you had hoped because he was looking at you in suspicion, eyes raking up and down your figure to observe your appearance. Disheveled, chest rising rapidly, sweat dripping right in the middle of your breasts—

Sukuna, out of nowhere, grabs your hand and begins walking away. “Come with me. You’re not doing them right.”

Soon, you’re led into one of the gym’s stretching rooms—the private ones, the ones meant for Sukuna to help you after the workout. 

“Sukuna, what are we—” you breathlessly ask, but you’re quickly shushed by Sukuna as he hoists himself on the massage table.

“Come here,” he motions to his lap, and you wordlessly follow his directions, sitting directly on top of his lap, gasping as you realize there’s a bulge making contact with your pussy. “We’re going to try an alternative way of doing squats, one that involves a bit more cardio.” He pulls down his sweatpants, blushing, furious cock springing out as he pulls down your yoga pants.

Soon, you’re moaning as you slowly take in his cock, sliding down as his precum and your copious amount of slick mix and drip onto his pelvis. Your feet are on either side of his legs, making you squat every time you lower yourself down on his length.

“Fuck! You’re so tight.” He slaps your ass as you bounce yourself rapidly on his cock. “Pretended to not know how to squat just for me to put this fat cock in you, isn’t that right?”

You didn’t have the capacity to answer, just moan as his cock hits your spot. Unsatisfied with your pace, Sukuna flips you both over until your back is on the table. 

“Oh fuck yea,” Sukuna pants, hips pistoning into you rapidly, effectively fucking you into the table, and his quads are bulging in sheer strength as they clench and unclench in reflection of his pleasure. “Didn’t know my client had such a sweet pussy.”

KAMO CHOSO ⸺ SHE ORDERS BIG SAUSAGE PIZZA AND GETS HER DEEP DICK CRAVINGS FILLED! (the title is so ridiculous im crying)

“Your total’s $14.93. You’re five bucks short.” The delivery boy—an emo looking guy with hair in space buns—responds to the wad of cash and coins you had just given him. He couldn’t look any less bored than he was as he stared down impassively at you, hot, steaming pizza in one hand.

"Wait, but I ordered a small?" You ask him in confusion. "I couldn't possibly finish a large one by myself!"

He pulls out your receipt from where it was tucked into the pizza box. "Your order said a large." Upon glancing on it, you look that he was indeed correct—right next to your pizza, the size LARGE glared at you through the sheen of the reciept's paper.

"Oh," You said, dumbly, blinking in confusion. "Well, I can pay the rest in card if that's okay."

You get an impassive "I don't have a card reader."

"Oh, okay," you laugh nervously, hand going up to scratch the back of your head and fiddle with the rest of your fingers. "Okay, well," you squinted at his nametag, "Choso, let me just check the remaining cash I have. You can come inside if you'd like." 

He comes inside, dropping off the pizza you ordered on your kitchen counter as he makes his way to sit on your couch. You go to your bedroom, checking your desk drawer for any loose cash you may have stored but to no avail. Heart racing and nervous, you frantically search the upper shelf of your room, on your tiptoes as you look for your money jar, praying that there was a 5 dollar piece of cash lying around. Instead, your fingers crash against some book propped on it, tumbling down onto the floor with a large thud!

You hear footsteps coming up to your bedroom door. Choso, standing near the door. "You good?"

"Yea," you strain, still reaching up high to grasp at the jar. "I'm just trying to find somethi—”

The heat of Choso's body surrounds you as he presses closer to you, reaching up effortlessly to grab at the money jar. His groin presses against your backside, acutely aware of his breaths as he passes you the jar. 

Which is empty.

"Fuck!" you curse. You turn, looking at Choso in anxiousness, as you notice he hasn't backed away at all. "I'm sorry, but is there any alternative way to pay for the pizza? Again, I'm really really sorry for the hassle."

"You have to pay for the food in some sort of way," he says with a stony face. Your mind is racing, thinking of ways you could pay but coming up short.

As a result, you end up with your face stuffed against your pillow, the hot delivery boy plowing and drilling his cock into you. 

"Fuck, so irresponsible. Couldn't even pay for the pizza she ordered without a stranger's cock inside of her." At his dirty talk, you whimper and squeeze his pussy, Choso groaning as a result.

"What was that?" He grabs your hair and pulls your face up as his tongue traces the frame of your ear. "What were you trying to say, you cockslut?"

"'M sorry!" You squealed and babbled, eliciting little ah! ah! ah!'s as he continues bumping his cockhead against the gooey spot inside your pussy.

"Yea, you better be. Wasting my fucking time. I'm going to come inside, got it?" Choso growls as he continues pistoning his hips inside.

GETO SUGURU ⸺ ANIME GIRL GETS HER PUSSY FINGERED ON PUBLIC TRAIN!

He pulls you in for a deep kiss while rutting inside you. "Aren't you my good girl? Taking this cock for me like a good girl?" You squeal, blabbering nonsense as he fucks you into next Tuesday…

You read the smut from your favorite author on Tumblr, devouring each word while remaining stony faced as the train rocked underneath your feet. In the corner facing the doors, you made sure that you were angled in such a way that no one would be able to see the filthy things you were reading on your screen. 

However, the metro was slowing down and you looked up quickly—which was painful, considering you were so invested in the story—to make sure it wasn't your stop. As the rush of foot traffic simultaneously populated and vacated the metro, you paid no attention to the people behind you. After all, other people would be too busy on their phones to see what you were reading, right?

"You're going to take this cum, right? I'm going to breed you, my sweet, sweet girl." He laughs.  You take a moment to take in his pretty features. Long hair, beautiful face, all filled with lust for you...

You scan the words, blush evident on your face as your favorite writer has done it yet again. Adjusting, you squeezed your thighs for relief and toyed with the hem of your skirt, failing to notice the soft breaths trailing down the back of your neck just because of how enthralled and taken you were with the plot.

And then, a hand trailed up your thigh, catching you by alarm. You almost drop your phone in your rush to turn and look at the creep that was touching you, ready to beat the shit out of him. 

But when you do turn, you stop and widen your eyes. The man in front of you seems even prettier than the fictional man you were reading about, and you take him in as he rubs circles on your thigh. His sultry eyes rake down your figure, his lips pulled back in a knowing smirk. "That's some filthy shit you're reading."

Looking at him, your heart starts beating faster solely because of the promise of what his hands would do as they were currently softly stroking your thighs, getting closer and closer to going under your shirt. "I—I—uh sorry—I—"

"It's okay, pretty girl." He gives you a kiss on the side of your neck. "Continue reading it. Can you do that, baby?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Coincidentally, you're at the part where the man helps the girl masturbate, rubbing and teasing her pussy up and down. The man behind you does the same, teasing your lips while refusing to delve inside your panties, no matter how badly you want him to do.

"That feel good?"

You whimper. "Yes—ah—it feels good. Please touch me on my pussy directly. Please."

The man behind you chuckles, and your knees buckle at how rich his voice is. You would join a cult for this man. "Since you asked so nicely, I will. Call me Suguru."

His fingers pull your panties aside and enters, soon knuckle deep inside your cunt, and as quietly as you can, you moan his name as he continues fingering you in front of all the strangers on the train. His hips press closer to your ass, and you throb even more at the huge bulge he’s sporting. He’s sloppily licking on the outside of your ear, right where you’re sensitive, and you shiver and lose yourself in the pressure even more.

The pleasure was building in you steadily and Suguru groans. “That’s right, take it all.”

You almost jump when the PA sounds. "The next stop is Shinjuku."

“That’s my stop. You have to cum before then, or you won’t be able to cum,” Suguru whispers in your ear, speeding up and hitting your g-spot with precision. There are tears forming in your eyes as you make an effort to stay quiet, especially with Suguru giving seductive kisses to your sensitive neck. 

“Fuck, you got so tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum?” He uses his thumb to rub fast circles on your clit, and you see stars. 

“I will—I will,” you cry, as the throbbing and pulsing sensation grows faster and faster until finally, you cum with a muffled cry, because Suguru has his fingers in your mouth to ensure you don’t scream out on this very, very public train.  “Squeezing my fingers so much, relax,” Suguru laughs, popping his slick-coated fingers in his mouth. “You gonna do that to my dick next?”

NANAMI KENTO ⸺ BEAUTIFUL WIFE HAS TO FUCK HER HUSBAND'S BOSS! (NTR)

“Mr. Nanami,” you scrape a hand through your hair and clear your throat. “You wanted to see me?” 

For a moment, your husband’s handsome boss eyes you down, catching on the top button of your blouse currently unbuttoned. You mainly did it because of nervousness, the heat of the room escalating with Nanami Kento’s presence. After a long bout of intimidating silence, he finally speaks. “I assume you can guess why you are here?”

You bounce your knee as you sit across from the man, and you suddenly start sweating. Of course you can guess. Your bum of a husband—the one currently under your charge—neglects to do his deliverables, choosing to take comfort in the fact that you were his higher-up to trust that he would not be getting terminated for his lack of responsibility. 

But what he doesn’t know is that you’ve been begging Nanami not to fire him, despite the propelling and clear reasons to do so. And you fear the day he finally chooses to stop listening to you. 

“Team leader, I’m going to need much more convincing. Your team has been decreasing in productivity ever since your husband joined, and it’s hindering the company,” he reminds you stoically. “I’ve seen you working overtime far too frequently to cover up for your spouse’s negligence.”

You wish time would speed up just to get this difficult conversation with. “I—I’m going to be honest, Mr. Nanami. I don’t have much warrant to continue having him on the team, but it would put my family in much…emotional conflict if this were to happen.” The said emotional conflict would really only be from your husband. You’re sure he’s going to take this as an excuse to drink himself silly, blaming you for not being able to keep him employed. Your throat dries as you finally meet eyes with your boss, silently pleading him to come up with a solution.

“I see.” Nanami crosses his arms. “I suppose there is a…favor you could do for me.”

At that, you perk up and nod your head frantically. “Of course. Anything.”

Which is why you find yourself bent over Nanami’s desk, his cock drilling inside you. He’s ripped your stockings, pulled up your miniskirt, and put your panties to the side as he moans about how sweet your pussy feels. “I’ve been waiting for this forever. Tell me, is my cock better than his?”

“It is!” you squeal. “You’re so—so big!”

Nanami moans as he ruts inside you, your walls squeezing him tight. “Darling, I c—can tell he doesn’t treat you right. You are so tight around me, pussy’s been waiting for a while for a real man.” 

You moan and curse, blabbering affirmations while his dick impales you. Even though Nanami is the one who’s owed the favor here, his hands wind their way around your body to rub at your clit, simulating you even more, making you sob. “Please don’t stop!”

“I won’t ever, sweetheart,” he pants. “I’m going to finish inside her, okay? Make sure to keep it in when you go home and greet your husband.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI ⸺ BABE GETS IMMEDIATELY DESTROYED IN NAKED WRESTLING (WITH AN AUDIENCE)

Cheers surround you as you step into the arena. You know who your opponent is—-Fushiguro Toji. Even when you looked at his pictures earlier, you knew you were doomed. No matter what angle the photographer took the photos in, his muscles seemed to be bulging, effectively spelling out the sore defeat you were about to face today.

And there he is. Him in the flesh. He’s leaning against the boxing ring’s outer borders, head tilted back lazily while his manager, Shiu, was informing him quickly (and intensely) about the rules of today.

Nothing crazy. Only fuck when all clothes are off of her.

The way his neck is tilted back, compression shirt showing off his upper physique made you weak in the knees already. Additionally, judging based off of the bulge he seemed to be sporting in his grey sweatpants, you knew you were doubly fucked.

Shiu seems to be done talking, so he steps back and takes a seat. Toji leans his head back, rolling his neck to stretch it out, and in the middle of doing so, catches your eye.

You almost drench your panties.

His eyes darken, giving you a sultry look as he cheekily winks. While his cocky demeanor was warranted (he was much stronger and bigger than you), your cheeks heated up in both arousal and irritation.

The sound of a whistle is heard as music starts to play. The stadium’s screens flashes the cocky image of Toji, who saunters in the middle of the ring, flexing his muscles to his screaming fans.

When your signature theme plays, you do the same, to no shortage of fans yourself. You can feel everyone in the stadium, especially your male fans, rove over your figure. You’re wearing a very low cut top that displays the swell of your boobs and even tighter shorts that squeeze your ass and show off the shape of your pussy. As you walk towards Toji, you can feel his heavy gaze on you as you nervously shake his hand.

“Try to last long, okay?” Toji smirks, patting your shoulder. “I’ll try to drag this out as much as I can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

You glare at him, but there’s not much intensity there. “Yea, yea,” you huff. “For all I know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

And the fucker’s smile widens. “Let the games begin.”

Soon enough, the sound of the whistle draws you towards each other, keeping each other in a lock to tackle the other down in an objective to take off layers of their clothing. Your fans cheer when you have Toji underneath you for a split second, only for female ones to become more riotous as he easily overtakes you, pins your hands down, and wrenches your shorts off of you.

“Toji is currently in the lead!” The announcer’s voice in the stadium echoes of your defeat as you flail around, now bottoms only covered by your panties. Deciding to pull out your signature move, you maneuver so your thighs surround Toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. This momentarily distracts and weakens Toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. You quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. The whole stadium, in fact, can his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

Your attention is back to Toji as he chuckles darkly. “You’re going to regret that. I was going to drag this out, princess, but I gotta fuck the brat out of you.” With that, he puts his whole body weight on you and strips you down one by one.

The arena cheers as your lace bra is uncovered, your sweat shining on the screen as your breasts are displayed. Toji then unhooks your bra, and the roars get even louder as your tits pop out. He takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “What a sensitive girl,” he coos. “Too bad she was too weak. Now she’s going through to have to take my cock.

With that, he finally unveils your glistening pussy for all eyes to see and the crowd goes wild, chanting for Toji to finish inside you. Toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees and pulls down his pants.

You don’t look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Fuck.” And Toji’s slowly entering you, the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “The fuck this pussy’s so tight for? Thought you were a slut?”

You’re tearing up, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “You’re not turning me on, small dick.”

He did not like that very much.

Toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “Yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? Why is she dripping? Just for that, I’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.”

The crowd chants cum, cum, cum! and Toji just does that. Ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear Toji declared as winner.

GOJO SATORU ⸺ GIRL GETS FUCKED BY PEEPING TOM NEXT DOOR!

You sigh, extending your back and un clipping your bra, letting your tits bounce free after a long, long week of college. It was finally Friday night, and with no one in the house due to a party the rest of your family was attending, you could finally enjoy your time home on the holidays, starting with a solo session.

You clench your thighs in anticipation as you scrolled your phone, seeking an audio you could masturbate to. And you were close to finding one, until you felt eyes on you.

These eyes were nothing new. The boy next door, Gojo Satoru, has also been your crush since middle school. Even though neither of you have ever made a move, you’ve made bold moves since starting college, stripping with the blinds open to give him a show. You had kind of had a sixth sense as to when the fucker would start watching you, and it flared as you slowly dragged your hands down. Bending over and shaking your ass, you slipped your skimpy shorts down your legs, giving him a clear view of your wet pussy.

But masturbating wasn’t enough for today. None of the college frat bros could make you cum, no matter how much they boasted about their fuckin roster, and you were tired of Satoru just watching. Just seeing him work out shirtless in his lawn, sun shining his sweat to give him a golden halo, was enough to make you sick, hungry for his dick. The way he was so shy and the mannerisms he had (as a loser) let you know he had a big fucking dick.

Needless, to say, you were tired of just fantasizing and speculating about his dick. Turning around, the moonlight allowed you to see the silhouette of his wrist moving up and down his length, even if he had tried to make his best effort to darken his rooms. Putting on your best show of an angry face, you grab your phone aggressively and dial his number.

The line rings, and he picks up. “Hey,” and you can tell he’s a little breathless. “long time no see. What’s up?”

“Cut the fucking act out,” you spit. “I know you’ve been fucking watching me, perv.”

Satoru’s panic is comically obvious over the phone as he rushes his words. “Wait, wait—listen, I—I can explain.”

“On how you’re being a peeping tom?” You glare at his window. “Come over, Gojo. Then I’ll listen to your fucking explanation.”

One thing leads to another, and now you’re spread out on your childhood bed, Gojo whimpering and whining as he plows his dick into your pussy. “You feel so—so good. M’ sorry—sorry for doing that. Your pussy is too good for me to look at.”

You laugh meanly and grab his chin. “You feel sorry yet, you pervert?” And Satoru can only cry out as you yank his head. “Remember, this is the only fucking thing you’re good at. Being my glorified dildo. Got it? Now, you’re going to fill me up only after you make me cum at least two times.”

a/n yea this was depraved….lmk what yall think tho 😭

comment and reblog I’d love to hear your thoughts! (also, requests are open heheh)

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

hiii! can i get a #47 (I thought it was a one-night-stand...and now we’re married…) with Quinn?

I am so sorry this took me like a week to answer. But yes of course I love writing little blurbs for Quinn. Also another person requested this prompt with Quinn but wanted smut, so I hope you don't mind I put them together.

Drabble Challenge Drabble Masterlist

"I thought it was a one-night-stand... and now we're married...."

Quinn couldn't keep his eyes off of you since he saw you take your first step down the aisle. Now with you across the room from him at the reception he's having a hard time focusing on what Jack and his dad is talking about too focused on watching you across the room talking to a family member. He watches you smile and laugh as you listen to one of your aunties stories. All he can think about is that now your his wife and you have his name and for some reason that makes him feel warm inside. Then he glances down your backside, and sees how your dress hugs your curves in all the right places and now all he wants to do is steal you away and consummation the marriage. Not even giving his dad or brother an excuse he leaves them and heads to you with one goal in mind. Finally reaching you, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you towards him so that your back is against his chest. He says "excuse me ladies, but can I steal my wife for a dance." As soon as your aunt nods her head, he grabs your hand and starts pulling you against towards the dance floor, but he makes a sharp left towards the hallway with the bathrooms.

"wait I thought you wanted to dance Q?" you ask curious as to where he's taking you.

"we will. but after." he speaks soft against your ear kissing right below it before he continues to guide you down the hallway. It seems like he finally got what he was looking for when he stopped at a storage closest smiling when he realized it was unlocked. Pulling you in and closing the door, he quickly closed and locked the door behind him. He kissed you abruptly, as if he was scared he was going to run out of time. Pulling away slightly to catch your breath you whine his name, as his hands that are your neck try to close the gap of space between you again. His teeth gently nip at your bottom lip causing you to gasp in surprise allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth taking complete control of the kiss.

His hands leave your neck moving down to your hips pulling you closer to him even through the layers of your fabric from your wedding dress you can still feel his hard cock forming causing you to gasp at the same time he says "please." in a soft voice.

"hmm" you respond still in a daze from the kiss. Going down to suck gently on your sweet spot on your neck he speaks again. "Please baby." moving a little lower on your neck and softly kissing. "You look so beautiful and sexy in your dress." Now gently sucking on where your neck and shoulder meet gently biting you can't help the moan that escapes as he continues to plead. "I can't wait till were back at the hotel and we can't really leave our own wedding early." Now kissing gently on the only part of your chest exposed in your sweetheart cut grown. "Please."

All you can do is laugh. "Quinn. How are you gonna fuck me in this dress, I can't even pee without a bridemaid helping me."

"Is that a challenge?" he asks in a cheeky tone.

"Maybe.." you smirk at him. In a flash, his lips are on your again and his hands pull the bottom of your dress trying to get to your pussy as fast as humanly possible. Finally giving up and getting on his knees, he goes under your dress, you lean back against the shelvin for support as you feel Quinn swipe his tongue teasingly over your underwear.

"hmmm. please. Q" you beg.

"Fuck I love when you beg. God your so fucking wet, who makes you this wet?" he asks his fingers moved your underwear aside, sliping his fingers into your pussy, slowly pumping them in and out.

"ahh you" he starts pumping a little faster and sucking gently on your clit then you get an idea. "my husband." immediately his fingers stop and you whine because your idea back fired you hear him mumble a string of curse words under his breath. He takes his fingers out of your pussy and you whine at the loss of contact. "shhh baby, hold on. turn around." He demands as he comes back to you and lifts your dress up. From behind you can hear him undoing his belt buckle.

"shit." he mumbles sounding annoyed.

"what?" you ask.

"I don't have a condom."

"I don't care Quinn were married if I get pregnant I get pregnant." as you push your butt towards him. That's all it takes for Quinn to gently push himself into your core, both of you sighing at the feeling. Quinn gives you a couple of seconds to adjust to be full before he starts rolling his hips slowly.

"Faster." you beg He picks up the pace slamming into you, hititng your g-spot with every thrust.

"Oh yeah, am I not being good enough, god your such a fucking slut." grabbing your neck and squeezing it, you close your eyes and moan at the feeling. "Only you would beg for more as I'm already fucking you." he bites out. All you could focus on was the feeling of entire body tightening.

"ahh Quinn I'm close." you pant out.

"no not Quinn. What's my name?" he asks squeezing a little tighter on your throat.

"hu- husband." you moan and with that Quinn quickens his pace, both of you cuming shortly after. Quinn stays inside of you for a minute catching his breath his head resting on your shoulder.

Gently kissing the side of your neck he whispers, "you did so good baby. you okay?" he asks and your heart swells at how kind Quinn is always espically when it comes to aftercare always making sure he didn't cross some limit and hurt you. All you can do as you feel this overwhelming feeling of love you have for Quinn is chuckle to yourself. "what baby?" he asks a mix of confusion and concern.

"It's that when I met you I thought it would a one night stand." you admit both of you chuckling now at the realization. "and now I'm standing here in a wedding dress."

"and were married." Quinn finishes your thought for you. "I'm really glad you gave me your number that night." Softly kissing your neck.

"me too."

[mechaknight-98]

Road Trip Part II (NSFW) FT Sana, Tzuyu and Dahyun

Operator’s notes: I got asked to write Sana so I did you all can blame @smutoperator for her personality though

It's late afternoon as we check into the new hotel. You were resting in Nayeon’s lap when I walked up to you. Tzuyu leaned into me as we sat next to you two.

“How's the search going for a new camera guy?”

You groan. “Yes thankfully he should be meeting us here soon.” I nod and say

“Great here’s hoping he's “normal””

“Me Too,” Nayeon says.

The grand lobby of the hotel buzzes with life as guests shuffle in and out, dragging suitcases, talking in hushed tones, and checking in at the sleek marble reception desk. Twice is no different, blending into the backdrop of tourists, businesspeople, and vacationers. The group chats amongst themselves, some yawning after a long flight, while others, like Sana, seem energetic and eager for new experiences.

As they wait for their room keys, Sana restless as ever, absentmindedly wanders away from the group. She’s preoccupied, glancing at her phone when suddenly—

Bump.

She walks straight into the back of a man, causing her phone to slip from her hands. A small gasp escapes her lips as it clatters onto the floor. Before she can react, the man turns around swiftly and kneels, picking up her phone with surprising grace for someone so imposing. She notices his camera pack before she saw the rest of him

"Sorry about that," his deep voice echoes.

Sana blinks, momentarily speechless. The man standing before her is tall—towering, really—broad-shouldered, and muscular, like a wall of strength. His skin glows with a healthy brown, and his eyes, though sharp, soften when they meet hers. A mischievous grin spreads across his lips as he hands her the phone.

“No, it’s my fault,” Sana giggles, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. She looks up at him, and for a brief moment, it’s like no one else exists in the bustling hotel. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well, I’m not complaining about the distraction,” he says with a charming smirk, his voice low and smooth. “I'm Broly, by the way.”

“Sana.” She bites her lip, trying not to look too flustered. She doesn't even process his name. There’s something magnetic about him, the kind of confidence that turns heads.

They stand there for a beat longer than necessary, the chemistry between them palpable.

“So, are you staying here too?” Sana asks, tilting her head playfully.

“I am now, Got a gig and was told to meet the client,” Broly teases, glancing back toward the reception. “What about you?”

"Just for a few days, on tour with my group." She gestures toward the others, where Tzuyu and Nayeon are busy chatting with you and I, oblivious to the scene unfolding nearby.

Broly's eyes follow her gaze and he raises an eyebrow, clearly recognizing Twice. "Ah, so you're famous."

Sana laughs, waving it off. "Something like that."

Before either of them can continue, Jihyo calls out, “Sana! We’ve got our rooms!”

She turns back to Broly, reluctant to break the moment. “Looks like I have to go. Duty calls.”

Broly gives her a slow nod, his smirk never fading. “I hope we bump into each other again.”

Sana grins, her playful side shining through. “Careful what you wish for.”

As she walks back to join her members, she sneaks a glance over her shoulder, and sure enough, Broly is still watching her, his eyes lingering with amusement. She can’t help but smile to herself as she catches up with the group, who immediately start teasing her.

“Who’s that?” Momo asked intrigued.

Sana gave a flirty smile as blush crept onto her cheeks, “oh just some cutie I bumped into,”

Chaeyoung hopped from behind Momo, “he's tall.” she exclaimed. The rest of twice nodded.

“What’s his name?” Jihyo asked curious.

“Broly,” Sana answers we all look at her and I say the words on everyone’s mind except Sana.

“There’s no way that's his name,” I say incredulously.

Sana shrugs and says, “That's what he told me.”

Chewy and I look at you and Nayeon trying to process what Sana is saying until you roll your eyes.

It’s been about 45 minutes since check-in, and we’re scheduled to meet with the rest of the camera crew. The meeting room is modest but well-equipped, the faint aroma of fresh coffee lingering in the air as you walk in, clipboard in hand. A few camera crew members are already seated, including me, adjusting our equipment and chatting in low voices.

You step up to the front of the room, scanning everyone before tapping the clipboard to get their attention.

“Alright, listen up! We’re finalizing our crew for the next couple of days, and I’ve just confirmed our last addition. He should be joining us any second now,” you announce, glancing at the door.

As if on cue, the door swings open. In steps Broly, his tall, muscular frame immediately commanding attention. He walks over casually, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, exuding a cool confidence. My eyes lift from my camera bag, and recognition flickers across my face.

Sana’s mystery man.

“Oh no,” I mutter with a smirk.

You glance between Broly and me, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Wait, don’t tell me—this is the guy from earlier?”

I nod, barely containing a laugh. “Yep, that’s him.”

You turn to Broly, amusement dancing in your eyes. “So, you’re the new camera guy, huh?” You eye him up and down with playful skepticism. “And your name’s… what again?”

Broly doesn’t miss a beat, his signature smirk forming as he confidently replies, “Broly.”

There’s a brief pause, then you chuckle, exchanging a glance with me.

“Broly? Seriously?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “That’s... not what I was expecting.”

I chime in, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah, same here. When Sana told us, I thought for sure she was joking.”

Broly crosses his arms, grin widening as if he’s heard it all before. “It’s a strong name, what can I say?” His tone is light, unfazed by the teasing.

You shake your head, still smiling. “I guess it’s fitting. You do look like you could bench press this entire room.”

I add with a laugh, “Honestly, though, we thought you’d be an anime character or something with a name like that.”

Broly laughs, shrugging. “Well, that’s a story for another time.”

You wave a hand, trying to regain some professionalism. “Alright, alright, enough with the name-roasting. You’re officially on the team, Broly. Let’s see if you can handle the cameras as well as you handle bumping into our members.”

I laugh, leaning forward. “No promises he won’t ‘accidentally’ bump into Sana again.”

Broly shrugs, that smirk still intact.

You roll your eyes, though a grin remains on your face. “Okay, let’s get down to business. We’ve got sound check and prep work for tomorrow’s concert. I’ll be assigning each of you specific members to cover.”

“Dibs on Tzuyu,” I joke, raising a hand, which earns an eye roll from you.

“You’ll have Dahyun,” you retort with a smirk, ignoring my playful pout. You continue giving out roles to the other camera crew members until you get to Broly.

“And as for you, Mr. Davis, you’ll be covering Sana.”

I burst out laughing, unable to contain myself. The timing is just too perfect. You shoot me a glare that shuts me up—mostly.

“Is that it?” you ask, eyebrow raised, and I nod, a dumb grin still plastered on my face.

You wrap up the meeting by establishing a group chat for all the camera crew and their assigned members. As the room starts to clear out, I gather my things and make my way to the “school meal club” room to meet with Dahyun, already thinking about how to bring up her good angles and preferences for the shoot.

As the meeting wraps up, the rest of the camera crew trickles out, and I head down the hallway to meet Dahyun. I pass a couple of Twice members along the way—Chaeyoung and Momo chatting quietly by the elevator. As I walk, I can’t help but replay Broly’s introduction in my head, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. Sana’s going to have a field day when she finds out he’s part of the crew.

Reaching the “school meal club” room, I knock lightly before poking my head in. Dahyun is already inside, lounging on one of the chairs, looking through her phone. She glances up with a bright smile.

“Hey! Ready to make me look good?” she asks, half-joking.

“Of course,” I reply, stepping into the room. “But you make my job easy, Dahyun. No bad angles.”

She laughs, waving off the compliment. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

I notice Tzuyu pout slightly as she's stares at Dahyun and I. I set down my camera gear on the nearby table. “So, let’s talk angles and shots. Anything specific you want me to focus on?”

Dahyun tilts her head, thinking for a moment. “Honestly, I trust you. But… maybe some close-ups during sound check, especially when I’m at the piano. I want the fans to really feel the energy in those moments.”

“Got it,” I nod, scribbling a note on my phone. “I’ll make sure to catch the big moments. Anything else?”

She stands up, stretching a little. “That should cover it. Oh, and maybe if you can get some cool behind-the-scenes stuff when we’re not performing. The fans love that.”

“I’ll get some candid shots for sure,” I promise.

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. I turn around to see Broly standing in the doorway, hands casually in his pockets. His broad frame takes up most of the door, but there’s that signature smirk on his face again.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Bench-Press-the-World,” I quip, giving him a mock salute.

Broly chuckles, stepping inside. “I thought I’d come by and get a feel for how things are running here. You're the only other American and I asked Mark. he might’ve mentioned you were up here.”

Dahyun perks up, glancing between the two of us. “Wait, this is the new guy? You're the guy Sana was already talking about you earlier.”

Broly raises his hands in mock innocence. “Can’t help it. People talk.”

I shake my head with a grin. “Yeah, and you’re already causing quite the stir.”

Dahyun crosses her arms, looking him up and down with an impressed nod. “Well, welcome to the crew, Broly. I hope you’ve got some serious camera skills to back up that name.”

Broly laughs, the sound deep and unbothered. “I think I can manage. Just let me know if I need to ‘accidentally’ bump into anyone for a better shot.”

I roll my eyes, shooting Dahyun a look. “See? This is what we’re dealing with now.”

She giggles, obviously entertained by the banter. “Honestly, I think you’ll fit right in. We’ve got plenty of personalities around here, so don’t worry.”

Broly nods, his playful demeanor never faltering. “Good to know. But speaking of fitting in,” he glances at me, “we’ve got sound check in a bit, right? Might be a good time to test out those camera angles.”

I check my watch and nod. “Yeah, we should head down soon. You can get a feel for the layout, and I’ll start grabbing some of those behind-the-scenes shots.”

Dahyun claps her hands together. “Perfect! Let’s make this tour look good!”

With that, the three of us head toward the venue. As we walk, I glance sideways at Broly. Despite his larger-than-life presence, he’s surprisingly easygoing, the kind of guy who could charm his way through any situation. And as much as I teased him earlier, I can’t deny he seems to fit in with the team already.

When we arrive at the concert hall, the stage is being set up for the sound check. Twice is scattered around, some testing their mics, others chatting with staff. The air buzzes with the pre-concert energy, a mix of anticipation and professionalism. I spot Tzuyu adjusting her earpiece and wave over to her before setting up my camera. She smiles before doing The TT pose and fake crying as she gets ready. I smile and mouth, “it will be fine,” which makes her smiley

I catch Dahyun’s eye and nod toward the piano setup. “Ready when you are,” I call out.

She gives me a thumbs-up, and I get into position, carefully framing the shot. As I start snapping photos, I hear Broly chuckle beside me.

“Not bad, huh?” he says, watching the scene unfold.

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Just wait. This is the easy part. Let’s see how you handle the chaos later.”

Broly just grins, his confidence radiating as he slings his camera strap over his shoulder. “Bring it on,” he says, his tone light but competitive.

I narrow my eyes, smirking. “Alright, tough guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Without missing a beat, I position myself to capture Dahyun, who’s testing her mic and casually chatting with some of the staff. She looks up just as I snap a shot, and I catch the perfect candid smile. Broly, not to be outdone, turns his attention to Sana, who’s adjusting her earpiece while chatting with Momo. The race begins—both of us moving fluidly around the stage, clicking away with our cameras as Twice moves through their pre-show routine.

It starts subtle—just a friendly rivalry between two photographers, trying to outdo one another. But it doesn’t take long before Sana and Dahyun catch on.

Dahyun, ever observant, notices me darting around, trying to get the best shots. A mischievous smile spreads across her face. She sidles up to me, her gaze twinkling with playfulness. “You working hard or hardly working?” she teases, her voice soft and lilting.

I laugh, glancing down at my camera. “I’m working, but you’re making it hard to focus.”

She giggles, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. “Well, let’s make it interesting, then.”

Before I can reply, Dahyun blows me a kiss, her hand lifting to her lips before sending the playful gesture in my direction. My heart stumbles in my chest, and for a moment, I forget to take the next shot. Was I falling for her? That innocent charm of hers was disarming, and the way she looked at me made my pulse race. I try to refocus, but she’s already got me flustered, and she knows it.

Meanwhile, across the stage, Sana is upping the ante with Broly. She’s never been one to shy away from playful flirtation, and with Broly, she’s in her element. Her eyes lock onto him, sultry and intense, and she flashes him a smirk as she adjusts her hair. With the subtlety of a seasoned flirt, she begins to move just a little slower, letting her hips sway in a way that makes Broly visibly stiffen, his camera shaking ever so slightly.

“Enjoying the view?” Sana teases as she passes him, her voice low, a hint of laughter behind it.

Broly coughs, caught off guard for a moment, but recovers quickly, shooting her a grin. “Just trying to capture perfection,” he replies, the smoothness of his words hiding his flustered state. But Sana can see right through him.

Dahyun, not one to let Sana out-flirt her, ups her own game. During a break in the sound check, she takes a seat on a speaker, swinging her legs playfully and sending me a sweet, almost shy smile that makes my knees go weak. “Am I doing okay?” she asks in the softest voice, tilting her head just slightly.

“You’re perfect,” I mutter, barely realizing I said it out loud until Dahyun’s smile turns into a victorious grin.

Just as the playful flirting intensifies, Sana goes all-in. She drifts behind Broly during a quiet moment, her eyes lingering on him with a smoldering intensity. Broly tries to stay focused, but Sana isn’t making it easy. She leans in just enough so her perfume lingers in the air between them, her lips curving into a sensual smile as she glances over her shoulder at him.

“How’s the shot from back here?” she asks, her voice sultry, as she takes a slow step away, her hand brushing against his arm.

Broly’s eyes widen for a second, and he quickly lifts his camera, trying to hide the fact that he’s completely flustered. “It’s, uh, great,” he stammers, though the way his camera fumbles slightly betrays his nerves.

The competition between Dahyun and Sana escalates—both playing to their strengths. Dahyun’s innocent, cute approach makes my heart race as she flirts with subtle winks and shy glances, while Sana goes full-on seductress, leaning into her confidence and charm to completely disarm Broly.

The tension builds, and it doesn’t take long for the other Twice members to notice. Momo nudges Jihyo, pointing subtly toward Sana and Dahyun, who are now so wrapped up in their playful competition that it’s almost distracting the whole crew. Jihyo, ever the leader, raises an eyebrow, clearly amused but knowing she needs to step in.

Jihyo walks over, her hands on her hips, shaking her head with a half-smile. “Alright, you two. I know you’re trying to give these poor guys heart attacks, but we’ve got work to do.”

Dahyun, in mid-flirt, blushes slightly, biting her lip to hold back a laugh. Sana, on the other hand, just grins mischievously, shrugging as if she’s innocent in all of this. “What? We’re just having fun,” Sana says, her voice playful.

Broly and I exchange a glance, both of us trying to maintain our composure, but it’s clear we’ve been thoroughly rattled.

“Fun is great, but I don’t need my camera crew passing out before the concert,” Jihyo says with mock sternness. “Save some of that for later, maybe?”

I cough, finally regaining my voice. “Yeah, I think we’ve had enough flirting for one sound check.”

Dahyun giggles, standing up from her seat and giving me one last playful wink. “Alright, alright. I’ll be good.”

Sana, ever the provocateur, shoots Broly one final look. “For now,” she teases, before sauntering off to join the other members.

As they both walk away, Broly lets out a low breath, shaking his head with a grin. “Man, you weren’t kidding. This job comes with a whole lot more than just taking pictures.”

I laugh, still trying to shake off the effect of Dahyun’s flirting. “Yeah, welcome to the team. Good luck surviving it.”

The rest of the sound check goes smoothly, but in the in-between moments, Dahyun and I can’t help but chat. As we talk, I discover we share more in common than I expected. Both preacher’s kids, both passionate about our art, and we even have a similar sense of humor. Every time she laughs at one of my jokes, it feels like a little spark, pulling me closer to her.

“Did you ever have to perform at church?” I ask, curious about her upbringing.

“All the time!” she replies, her eyes shining with excitement. “I think I was born on stage. My dad used to drag me up to sing when I was, like, five.”

“Seriously? That’s adorable,” I say, grinning at the thought. “I can imagine you stealing the spotlight even back then.”

Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, and she looks down, playing with a strand of her hair. “Well, I might have been a bit of a show-off,” she admits, glancing back at me with a playful smile.

Just then, Sana and Broly approach us, interrupting our moment. “Hey lovebirds,” Sana teases, her voice dripping with mischief as she leans into Broly, who chuckles at the playful jab.

Dahyun and I exchange a quick, embarrassed glance, our faces heating up. “We’re not—” I stammer, but Sana cuts me off with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, please, you both are practically glowing. It’s cute.” She nudges Broly, who smirks knowingly.

Broly grins, crossing his arms. “If they are lovebirds, does that make us a flock?” He leans closer to Sana, who laughs and playfully kisses his nose, leaving him momentarily stunned.

“Broly is definitely the strong, silent type,” Sana says, smirking at him. “But he can definitely be charming when he wants to be.”

“Charm is overrated,” Broly replies, a playful challenge in his tone. “I prefer to let my actions speak for themselves.”

Meanwhile, Dahyun leans closer to me, her eyes sparkling. “So, DJ, do you have any secret talents we should know about?” she asks, her voice soft but teasing.

I chuckle, feeling the heat rise again. “Well, I can juggle, but only when I’m nervous,” I reply, glancing at her with a playful grin. “Maybe I’ll show you later.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that!” she giggles, nudging me lightly with her shoulder.

As we continue to banter, I notice Sana and Broly leaning into each other, their chemistry undeniably electric. Broly catches Sana’s gaze, and without missing a beat, he says, “I bet I could out-juggle you anytime, Sana.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Sana replies, her eyes twinkling. “You might want to think twice about that.”

“Bring it on,” he smirks, clearly enjoying their playful competition.

Amidst all this, Dahyun suddenly leans in a bit closer to me, her shoulder brushing against mine, sending a jolt through me. “So, DJ,” she says, her voice dropping slightly, “how do you feel about working with a bunch of divas?”

I laugh lightly, meeting her gaze. “I think I’m in over my head, but I’m here for it,” I reply, the tension between us palpable.

Just then, as I watch Dahyun’s playful smile, I see her blow me a quick kiss, and my heart skips a beat. Was I really falling for her?

In contrast, Sana’s flirtation with Broly intensifies as she begins to dance behind him, giving him sultry looks that make him chuckle and blush. Their playful competition fills the space with energy, drawing the attention of the other members, who watch with amusement.

However, amidst all the fun, Tzuyu stands a little farther away, observing the scene unfold. As she sees Dahyun and I laughing together, an unfamiliar feeling stirs in her stomach. It’s a mix of warmth and something else—something she can’t quite place, but it reminds her of the way she feels about DJ. A hint of confusion flickers in her eyes as she watches, unable to shake the sensation of jealousy and intrigue.

After the soundcheck, I meet up with Tzuyu who bears an expression that is a mix of confusion worry, and something I can't place. She drags me back to my room and says,

“I saw you with Dahyun today,”

Instantly I felt scummy bit Chewy’s eyes flickered with a heat that I didn't recognize. She kissed me and the heat in the kiss is fiery. Chewy pauses for a bit and says, “Please tell me you won't leave me,” I see the pleading in her eyes before confidently saying never. Chewy smiles before kissing me again and removing my clothes.

“Good!” Tzuyu moans as she undresses. She pins me to the bed and mounts me. She slowly grinds on me and I watch as rides me with poise and precision. Her modest tits bounce and I reach up to grab them Tzuyu’s eyes focus on me as she smiles while I massage her breasts. Her walls tighten around me as she continues her “joyride” A moment later I bring Tzuyu in for a kiss as I cup her face. Tzuyu smiles and moans into the kiss.

“You always make me feel so special,” she rasps and I smile before confirming that she is special.

Tzuyu then decided she'd had enough of the slow stuff before she picked up the pace. She rides me faster and faster as she chases her high then when it crashes into her she moans out “Dahyun.” I am so confused that I instantly go soft on her. Tzuyu smiled and then said that was so good before kissing my cheek and cuddling next to me. She got a comfy good night’s rest but I was up the whole night.

The next morning I get up early to talk to you hoping to make sense of last night. as I go looking for you to discuss what happened last night I bump into Sana.

“Hi Dj. How are you?” she asks happy. I shrug which Sana takes notice of.

“Trouble in paradise with Chewy?” she asks. I shake my head and explain,

“No Sana its just weird. I was with Tzuyu last night and she called out for Dahyun. Sana looks at me confused until it clicks.

“Oh I guess it's time again.”

“Time for what?”

“Okay so this may be hard to believe but Tzuyu might have a crush on Dahyun,”

I nodded at Sana’s words stunned, “You are right that is hard to believe.”

“Well neither will admit it but they both have massive crushes on each other, and I think you are their full manifestation of that, because what Chewy likes about Dahyun she sees in you and what Dahyun likes in Chewy she also sees in you. So have fun and enjoy the roller coaster ,” Sana explains then teases which confuses me even more. Sana notices this confusion laughs and says, “Don't worry about it DJ too much. I think you should just go with the flow and let them figure their feelings out.”

I nod confused still and Sana smiles before giving me a big sister-type hug.

“It's okay Dj no matter what happens you'll be fine I promise. Now if you'll excuse me I have a photographer to unravel. Do you know which one of these rooms is Broly’s?” Sana says with a hungry look in her eye. I point to Broly’s room and she smiles before saying “fighting” to encourage me before knocking on his door.

As I walk away to grab food for myself and Tzuyu, I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Sana's excitement. Moments later, I hear the faint sound of a door opening and then a playful voice.

“Hey, Broly!” Sana greets as she steps into his room.

Broly blinks at her, still slightly groggy. He notices she’s wearing an oversized hoodie that swallows her frame, the fabric hanging off her shoulders in a way that’s both cozy and inviting.

“Huh? This is a surprise. What's with the hoodie fit?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as she skips over to the couch.

Sana’s eyes sparkle with mischief as she plops down, watching him with an intensity that makes him sit up a little straighter. “I like you, and I want you to be mine,” she declares, her voice playful yet earnest.

Broly blinks, taken aback. “We just met,” he exclaims, confusion washing over his features.

“And in that short time, I realized I like you and want to date you,” she continues, sensing his hesitation. Quick to reinforce her words, she leans in, her doe eyes wide and earnest. “Do you not like me?”

Caught off guard, Broly’s defenses drop a notch. “No, I’d love to date you. It’s just… why me?”

Sana suppresses a smirk, pleased that her charm is working. “Well, you’re funny, tough, and handsome. You give me good vibes, so why not?” Her smile is bright and infectious, but there’s a glint in her eye that suggests something deeper.

Broly laughs, clearly flattered. “Okay then, sure.”

Sana beams at him, a triumphant grin lighting up her face. “Yay!” But then, as if a switch flips, her expression shifts. The playful spark in her eyes deepens, and she leans forward slightly, her posture suddenly exuding confidence and intent. “First, some ground rules. I won't be sharing you with anyone.”

The atmosphere in the room thickens, and Broly’s brows furrow, taken aback by the abrupt shift. “Uh, okay…”

Sana’s voice drops to a sultry whisper, her eyes locking onto his with a predatory focus. “I’m serious, Broly. I don’t do love triangles or sharing. If we’re together, it’s just us.” The way she leans in makes Broly feel both exhilarated and slightly uneasy, the intensity of her gaze making his heart race.

He nods slowly, processing the sudden depth of her request. “Right, noted.”

“I want to go on cute dates as often as we can,” she continues, her demeanor oscillating between playful and commanding. “But I also want you to know that if anyone tries to come between us, they’ll have to deal with me.” She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that sends a shiver down Broly’s spine.

“What do you mean by ‘deal with you’?” he asks, half-laughing, half-worried.

Sana straightens up, her playful facade slightly cracking as she leans back, letting the intensity linger. “I’m not afraid to fight for what I want, Broly. I’m serious about this.”

The air between them crackles with unspoken possibilities, and Broly finds himself both fascinated and intimidated. This isn’t the playful girl he met earlier; this is someone entirely different—assertive, confident, and fiercely determined.

As Sana inches closer, her playful smirk returning, he realizes that he’s drawn to this side of her, even if it’s a bit daunting. “Okay, I can handle that,” he replies, though his voice wavers slightly.

“Good,” she says, her tone lightening again, but the underlying tension remains palpable. “Just remember, I’m not just a cute girl in a hoodie. I know what I want.”

Broly nods, feeling the weight of her words settle in. “I get that. I’m just... surprised.”

Sana leans back, crossing her arms with a satisfied smile. “Surprised is good. Keeps things interesting, right?”

He can’t help but grin at her, feeling a rush of adrenaline. This playful game between them is becoming more intriguing by the second.

Sana stood up and removed her hoodie to reveal a dark black and crimson lingerie set with a garter belt.

“And lastly I need you to keep up when you fuck me.” her voice was dripped with lust and desire. She sashayed over to Broly who sat stunned as she started grinding her crotch on Broly’s before giving him a whorish kiss

She pulls Broly’s shorts down revealing his cock that eagerly plops on her face. Sana’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, I knew you were big Sana moans,” as she palms his BBC. She can't even fully wrap her hand around it. She smiles as she starts stroking him. Her pace is deliberate and intense as she wants to get him as big and as hard for her as possible. Broly groans surprised and horny as Sana has her way with him. As she pushed him to the bed she noticed that Broly had a very specific air

“Oh, are you a virgin?” Sana asked as she slowed her pace. Broly nodded and Sana’s eyes widened.

“Oh my gosh you're telling me Im the first to touch you like this?”

Sana licked her lips as the burning hunger she felt in her womb began to drive her feral. She lined up her dripping pussy with Broly’s cock and sinks down on it.

“Oh fuck you’re gonna split me in half,” Sana moans. Broly is helplessly overwhelmed by all these new sensations and immediately cums inside of Sana. She howls as his semen fills her. She looks down seeing his blissed out face and runs her hands over burly brolic body and cooes “oh I’m gonna have so much fun with you,” she says before getting off of him. Broly apologizes for cumming so early and Sana sweetly whispers to him

“It’s okay baby. We’ll work on our stamina together because I could barely get you inside of me how big are you like 7 inches long and 3 inches thick?”

Broly chuckles and replied “9 by 4 inches.”

Sana’s eyes widen and she says “I’m gonna start calling you Anaconda because fuck your huge.” Broly smiles as Sana kisses his cheek.

The rest of the day goes smoothly, with another practice session scheduled in the late afternoon. I’m tasked with taking more photos, my camera hanging around my neck as I move quietly around the room, capturing the group’s energy. Everything is supposed to be professional—just another day on the job.

But then there’s Dahyun.

She’s dancing near the back of the group, her usual bright energy filling the room. Every now and then, I catch her glancing my way, her eyes sparkling with mischief. It’s like she knows exactly how to pull me in without even trying.

I focus my lens on her, zooming in as she takes a break to adjust her hair. Through the camera, I can see her smile slowly creeping up when she notices me aiming at her.

"Are you sure you’re supposed to be photographing me this much?” she teases, her voice playful but quiet enough not to disturb the others.

I lower the camera slightly, giving her a grin. “You keep finding my lens. Hard to resist a good shot.”

She laughs softly, crossing her arms with a mock-serious look. “Are you saying I’m your best subject?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool even though my heart skips a beat. “You do make my job pretty easy.”

Dahyun’s smile grows as she tilts her head, giving me a cute pout. “Hmm, are you flirting with me again, DJ?”

I freeze for a moment, but then I chuckle. “Who, me? I’m just stating facts. You’re always flirting first.”

Her eyes widen in feigned innocence, her hand lightly pressing to her chest. “Me? Flirting? I’d never!”

I raise an eyebrow, lowering my camera entirely now. “Uh-huh. Like earlier, when you asked me to ‘get your good side,’ knowing full well every side is your good side?”

Dahyun giggles, taking a step closer to me, her eyes bright with amusement. “I can’t help it if I’m photogenic. But I think you just like taking pictures of me.”

I smirk, leaning in just slightly, my voice lowering to match her teasing tone. “Maybe I do.”

For a moment, our eyes lock, and I swear the rest of the room fades away. She’s standing just close enough that I can smell her perfume, something light and sweet that messes with my focus.

Before I can say anything else, Dahyun leans forward, her voice soft but dripping with playful intent. “You know, DJ, if you keep flirting like this, people might start talking.”

I laugh nervously, trying to keep my cool. “Let them talk. I’m just trying to get good pictures.”

“Is that all you’re trying to do?” Dahyun asks, her voice smooth, eyes sparkling as if she knows exactly what she's doing to me.

I blink, caught off guard by her boldness. She steps even closer, her playful expression giving way to something a little more sincere.

“Relax, DJ,” she whispers, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just messing with you.”

I swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. “Oh, I know. I just... wasn’t expecting you to be so good at it.”

Dahyun winks, biting her lower lip playfully. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

The moment stretches between us, the banter flowing so naturally that I almost forget where we are. I lift my camera back up, trying to break the tension, but it doesn’t work. It’s still there, hanging in the air between us—undeniable.

I snap a few more shots, but my mind isn’t on the work anymore. It’s on her, on how easy it is to talk to her, to joke around like this. We just *click* in a way I can’t explain, and that thought both excites and terrifies me.

She catches me looking at her again, and this time, her smile is softer, almost shy. “Careful,” she says, “you’re gonna run out of film if you keep snapping pictures of me.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Good thing this camera’s digital.”

She laughs too, the sound light and infectious, and I can’t help but join in. Every word, every laugh—it feels effortless. Natural.

As the practice winds down and the members start to pack up, I tell myself I’ll keep it professional tomorrow. I’ll keep my distance, focus on the work.

But then Dahyun throws me a wink as she heads toward the exit, and I know that’s not going to happen.

It’s late afternoon, and Twice has just finished rehearsing for the day. The members slowly filter out of the practice room, some heading to the hotel while others linger to chat or stretch. Tzuyu, her heart heavy with a mixture of emotions, lingers behind, eyes darting toward Dahyun, who is laughing with me as Broly and I gather our camera equipment.

Tzuyu’s chest tightens as she watches Dahyun’s bright smile and carefree nature around me. She takes a deep breath and approaches Dahyun just as I excuse myself to adjust my camera for the next shoot.

“Dahyun,” Tzuyu calls out, her voice soft but firm.

Dahyun turns around, her usual playful energy dimming a little at the seriousness in Tzuyu’s tone. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Tzuyu hesitates, not quite sure how to begin. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “Can we talk? Alone?”

Sensing the tension, Dahyun frowns but nods. “Of course.” The two of them move to a quieter corner of the room, away from the lingering staff.

“What’s going on?” Dahyun asks, concern evident in her voice.

Tzuyu takes a breath, her gaze dropping to the floor before she finally speaks. “Can you... stop flirting with DJ?”

Dahyun blinks, surprised. “What? What are you talking about?”

Tzuyu clenches her fists at her sides, struggling to keep her composure. “I see the way you look at him, Dahyun. The way you’re always laughing and... it just feels like you’re...”

“Like I’m what?” Dahyun’s brow furrows, her confusion growing. “I don’t flirt with DJ. We’re just—”

“Friends?” Tzuyu cuts in, her voice rising in frustration. “That’s not how it looks to me!”

Dahyun’s expression shifts, a mixture of hurt and defensiveness crossing her face. “Why are you getting so worked up about this, Tzuyu? DJ and I are close, sure, but that doesn’t mean anything. Why are you suddenly acting like this?”

Tzuyu’s heart pounds in her chest, the jealousy she’s been trying to suppress bubbling to the surface. “Because I care about him! And... I don’t know if you’re just playing around or if you’re serious, but it’s confusing. For him and for me.”

Dahyun’s eyes narrow, her voice soft but pointed. “Is that what this is about? You’re worried about *him*? Or is it something else?”

Tzuyu falters, her resolve crumbling as she struggles to articulate her emotions. “I just... I don’t want you to hurt him.”

Dahyun’s voice is softer now, but there’s a sharp edge to it. “Tzuyu, I wouldn’t hurt him. He’s a good guy, and I like spending time with him. But why are you acting like you’re the only one who cares about him? What’s really going on here?”

Tzuyu shakes her head, biting her lip. She feels the weight of her unsaid feelings, pressing against her chest, threatening to spill out. She turns away, not wanting Dahyun to see the tears welling up in her eyes.

“Tzuyu...” Dahyun steps forward, her tone gentler now, almost tender. “Why are you so upset?”

“I don’t know!” Tzuyu exclaims, her frustration boiling over. She turns back to Dahyun, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know why it hurts so much when I see you with him! And I don’t know why I care so much about who makes him happy. Maybe because... because...”

Dahyun steps closer, her own heart racing now, as if some unspoken truth is on the verge of breaking free. “Because why?”

“Because *I’m* the one who’s confused!” Tzuyu blurts out, her voice cracking. “Not about him... about you!”

Dahyun’s eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat. “Tzuyu...”

“I don’t know when it happened,” Tzuyu continues, her voice shaking. “But suddenly, it wasn’t just DJ anymore. I started... I started feeling something for you, too, and I don’t know what to do with it. It scares me, Dahyun, because I don’t know how to handle it. And I—”

Before she can finish, Dahyun closes the gap between them, cupping Tzuyu’s face in her hands. “Tzuyu, stop.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re not the only one who’s been confused.”

Tzuyu’s breath hitches as she stares into Dahyun’s eyes, the world around them fading away.

Dahyun’s thumb brushes Tzuyu’s cheek gently. “I’ve been feeling something too. About you. I just... didn’t know how to say it.”

The weight of Dahyun’s confession sends a rush of relief and disbelief through Tzuyu. “You... you feel the same way?”

Dahyun nods, her gaze never leaving Tzuyu’s. “Yeah. I do.”

For a moment, neither of them moves, both caught in the raw intensity of the moment. Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Dahyun leans in, her lips brushing softly against Tzuyu’s. The kiss is tentative at first, delicate, but it quickly deepens as they both realize the depth of their unspoken feelings.

Neither of them notices the door to the rehearsal room opening. Sana and Broly freeze just inside, their eyes widening as they witness the two girls lost in their kiss. Broly clears his throat softly, but Sana quickly shushes him, grabbing his arm and dragging him back out into the hallway.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Broly murmurs once they’re outside, his tone amused.

Sana grins mischievously, her eyes twinkling. “I knew it. They’ve been dancing around each other for ages.”

Broly raises an eyebrow. “Guess DJ’s in for a surprise.”

Sana shrugs playfully, already plotting her next round of teasing. “Oh, he’s got a *lot* to process, but... I have a feeling he’ll be just fine.”

Back inside, Dahyun and Tzuyu pull apart, their foreheads resting against each other as they catch their breath. Tzuyu’s heart feels lighter than it has in weeks, her confusion slowly melting away in the warmth of Dahyun’s presence.

“I’m sorry for being so jealous,” Tzuyu whispers, her voice barely audible.

Dahyun smiles softly, pressing a kiss to Tzuyu’s forehead. “You don’t have to apologize. We’ll figure this out... together.”

Tzuyu nods, her heart pounding but filled with a quiet certainty that whatever comes next, they’ll face it side by side.

[sillyuin]

Silly Puppies. Svt reacts (97 line).

Genre: Fluff, crack (kinda).

Pairing: 97'z x reader.

Summary: You're on you aparment spending time with your puppy as they hear you calling him "your soulmate". How will they react to this statement?

Divider by @cafekitsune

Minghao. He doesn't say a single word and his face is out of any expression. Obviously, you catch his attention, but not in the way you’d like; he knows you very well and understands that you just want to provoke him, and that's a game that two can play.

“Hao,” you hummed to catch his attention as he raised his gaze from his cell phone to you. “Don’t you think our puppy is adorable?”

His response was nothing more than a hint of a smile, then he turned back to his phone screen.

“See? He doesn’t pay attention to me,” you whisper while hugging your pet, who responds by wagging his tail joyfully. “That’s why you are my soulmate.”

Hao shifted his eyes from the phone to look at you while you gaze at him with wide, contemplative eyes; his face remains calm. You’re eager for his reaction, but he knows your intentions and what’s hiding behind those innocent eyes, so he’s not going to be fooled so easily.

“Excuse me, were you talking to me?” he asked, placing a hand on his chest to emphasize the question.

“No, I’m talking to him.”

He clicked his tongue and got up from his seat. “Then you can stay here with your soulmate” he gestured with his hand to shamelessly point at the puppy in your arms, “there’s surely enough space for you both on the couch.”

“Hao, wait!” you stretched your hand to reach him, but he had already turned his back to walk away.

“Sorry, I’m going to MY room to sleep in MY bed.”

Dokyeom. Breaking his heart should be a crime, and you’re the one to blame. How could you do that? Now you must face the consequences.

“Have I told you that you are my soulmate?” you patted your pet's head while he remained seated. “Yes, you are.”

“y/n, the bathroom is all yours,” Dokyeom entered the living room with a towel on his shoulders and wearing pajamas.

“I’m going, I was just telling to my soulmate how beautiful he is.”

“But,” he chuckled softly, “you haven’t said anything to me.”

“It’s not with you,” you leaned down to give the puppy a kiss on the head. “It’s with him.”

“Then I… I won’t…”

“Come on, don’t take it too serious…” You stood up to give him a hug, but Dokyeom rejected you by turning his back to walk away. “No, Seokmin!”

You followed him to the room’s entrance, calling him with desperate voice, and you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw his downcast face, his dark eyes like a sad puppy. You swallowed hard; it was the first time you saw Seokmin that sad.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” You approached to give him a hug, gently stroking his back, and he reciprocated the gesture.

“Well…” His voice sounded a bit more cheerful. “… If you give me a kiss, I might forgive you.”

“Lee Seok Min!” You quickly pulled away only to find him laughing in your face. “Why are you playing with me like this!?”

“You started it! Don’t run away, don’t get mad at me!”

Mingyu. He is not someone who gets upset with you, but bringing him down from that position, from HIS position, is something very personal, no matter who it is, and he will not shut up about it…

“Gyu,” you said as you entered the kitchen. Mingyu turned his gaze from the stove to you, a tender smile forming on his lips when he saw you with your pet in arms. “Can I come in?”

“Go ahead,” he returned to what he was doing; whatever he was cooking smelled very good and had him quite busy. “Don’t worry, I’m all ears.”

“Did you buy food for him?” You tilted your head, pointing at the puppy. “My soulmate can’t go hungry.”

Those words fell heavily on Mingyu’s ears, who slowly turned his head toward you, his eyebrows raised in surprise, but not in a good way.

“Did you just say… that…?”

“That my soulmate can’t go hungry,” you repeated, bringing the puppy closer to your face, trying to make a cute expression.

Mingyu turned off the stove and left everything he was doing as if an emergency had occurred.

“Take that back,” he said in a half-serious, half-joking tone while pointing his finger at you. “Take it back right now.”

“Come on, I was joking.” You bent down to let your pet stay on the floor. “Are you really going to get angry…”

“That title is mine, and mine only.” There was a rather strange silence, which ended when you burst out laughing loudly, and he continued. “Hey, don’t laugh at me!”

“I'm sorry,” you wiped the corners of your eyes, filled with tears. “It’s just… it’s just a puppy, don’t get jealous!”

“Jealous?” Mingyu wrapped you in his arms and started kissing your cheeks repeatedly. You tried to break free, but the more you struggled, the harder it was to escape. “You are mine, and I’m not sharing!”

“Alright, you win!” you exclaimed between laughs. “Just let me go, Mingyu!”

[archangeldyke-all]

more plug sev pls ☹️ it can be like almost anything just pLEASE

heheheheheh gonna combine this

giving Sevika sloppy head 🙂‍↕️ under a desk...or.....in a public space

men and minors dni

sevika looks so fucking good right now.

she's got enough regular customers for her to not need to go to parties to sell much anymore, but from time to time she'll get an invite to a party she just can't turn down.

she's dragged you along-- insisting that she's horrible at socializing without you, despite the fact that she's got a crowd of partygoers cackling at her jokes and stories right now.

you're watching from the couch, a small smile playing at your lips as you watch your girlfriend easily work a crowd. her henley sleeves are tugged up around her forearms, her hair is loose and brushing her cheeks, and her fingers are quickly rolling up a few joints for the crowd.

she looks up, her eyes finding yours across the room immediately, a shy smile on her lips when she catches you staring. she nods her head, trying to summon you toward her, and you go easily, moving through the crowds of people to wrap your arm around her waist while she wraps hers around your shoulders.

"what're you starin' at, huh?" she asks. you snort.

"there's a really hot weed dealer here."

sevika grins and ducks her head. "shut up." she mumbles. you giggle and kiss her cheek.

for a few minutes, you help her roll joints and count cash, snatching one for the pair of you to share, the two of you getting gigglier in the corner as you slowly smoke it between customers. but as the night gets later, more people start dancing and drinking, and pretty soon you and sevika are all alone in your little corner.

"so..." you start, trailing your hands up sevika's arms to grope her biceps. she smirks at you.

"so?"

"so... you think i got a shot with that dealer?" you ask. sevika giggles and swoops in to kiss you. it's far too sweet and chaste for your taste-- but you'll change that soon enough.

"baby, i think you got that dealer wrapped around your finger." she says. you grin and kiss her again.

"you look way too fuckin' good tonight, y'know." you mumble against her lips. she chuckles.

"yeah, my girlfriend helped dress me." she says. you smirk.

"she's got good taste."

you've both started swaying to the music, and you trail your hands down to grab sevika's hips, slowly pushing her further and further away from the crowd. "and where exactly are we going?" she asks. you giggle.

"well... you've got a few options. we could go out to the back patio, there's a few people out there you haven't met yet."

"or?" sevika asks. you grin.

"or we could go to the bathroom so i can get my fucking mouth on you-- show you how crazy you drive me."

sevika gulps, then she grabs your wrist and drags you down the hallway. you cackle the entire way.

it takes a few tries to find an empty room. there's couples hooking up everywhere-- drunk girls crying in the bathroom and people making out in the supply closets-- but eventually you find an empty bathroom.

you pull sevika in by her belt loops, slamming her against the door as you fiddle with her belt buckle, launching forward to slam your mouth against hers. sevika whimpers against your mouth and you sigh sweetly. "i fuckin' love you." you say.

sevika smiles as you start to kneel before her, tugging her pants and boxers down her thighs. "fuck. i love you too, baby."

for a moment, the weed and the sight of sevika's wet cunt overwhelm you. you're stuck in place, your mouth going dry and your head getting fuzzy as you admire her.

"take a picture, it'll last longer." sevika giggles. you huff and pinch her thigh.

"i have pictures-- none of them are as pretty as the real thing."

"fuck off." sevika shudders, pulling a joint out from behind her ear and putting it between her lips. you kiss her happy trail, your eyes locked on hers while she lights up, watching in fascination as she blows the smoke out of her nostrils.

"gimmie a hit." you demand. sevika chuckles and rolls her eyes, but places the joint between your lips regardless. you take a quick hit, then kiss her knuckles.

"thought you wanted to get your mouth on me." she mutters as she pulls the joint back up to her mouth. you giggle.

"feelin' needy?"

"'course i am. got a beautiful girl on her knees in fronta me." she says, gently swiping your cheek. you smile.

"i'll take care of you, sev. you just stand there 'n look pretty." you say with a wink. sevika snorts, then cuts herself off with a moan when you dive forward and start eating her out.

fuck she tastes good. she's soaking wet too. you groan against her and she lets out a curse, her head falling back against the door and her hands threading through your hair.

"shit, baby, you're so fuckin' good at this. couldn't wait 'til we got home, huh?" she teases. you giggle a bit.

"not when you look so good." you say before diving back in. sevika moans.

with the weed in your system and sevika in your mouth you easily lose yourself in making your girlfriend fall apart above you. the sweet moans and grunts she's letting out are like music to your ears, and you can feel her cum and your drool starting to trail down your chin. you don't care. all you care about is the sweet twitch of sevika's thigh as she gasps and bucks into your mouth.

"f-fuck, baby, you're makin' me all messy." sevika whines.

you groan against her cunt, nodding up at her. "i love it." you mumble between kisses and sucks. sevika huffs.

"shit, i'm gonna cum. you look so fuckin' cute on your knees-- my cum all over your face-- fuck baby, you've been wantin' this all night?" she asks. you moan and nod against her.

there's a knock on the door and sevika jumps. you don't stop, just diving back in for more of her as she scrambles to get herself under control enough to shout. "just-- just a minute!"

you chuckle against her and she smacks a hand over her mouth to muffle her moan, flicking your forehead.

"i gotta pee!" a drunk voice calls through the door.

"well do a lap around the house and find a different bathroom!" sevika growls, her voice squeaking halfway through when you sink a finger inside her. she glares down at you. you just chuckle and press against her g-spot, smirking as she shivers.

"some fuckin' people." the drunk outside the bathroom huffs as they walk away.

sevika snaps her head back as she cums, her skull hitting the door, her fingers scratching your scalp, the joint falling from her parted lips and landing on the bathroom floor. you chuckle, dodging the joint to lick up every drop of cum that you can.

sevika's got hearts in her eyes when you finally pull away with a gasp to blink up at her.

"you okay?" you ask with a giggle.

sevika doesn't respond. instead, she swoops down, grabs you and the joint, and pulls you up into her arms, kissing you passionately. you gasp against her lips, and she groans at the taste of herself.

"let's get outta here. i made like six hundred bucks tonight-- i'll take you anywhere you like."

you giggle. "home? for some cuddles?" you request. sevika melts at your request and wraps you up in a hug.

"'s long as i can repay the favor once we're in bed." she mumbles against you. you laugh and nod, and pull the bathroom door open.

there's a line of about five people waiting when you stumble out into the hall, and they all boo and groan as you and sevika walk out.

you just laugh as sevika flips them off. "you're just mad none of you have a girlfriend like mine!" she yells.

you muffle your cackles against her shoulder.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom

[hajimesh]

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐skyfall. geto suguru

part one. sunrise (her)

⥅ word c. 4,411

⥅ warnings. fem!reader, non sorcerer au (suguru is a grad student), established relationship (suguru and reader live together), mentions of drinking and smoking, domestic fluff, unreliable narrator

𝄢♭bloom ‐ the paper kites / not about angels ‐ birdy / beautiful baby ‐ elizabeth

Before meeting Suguru, you never understood the hype behind sunsets. People often label them as 'majestic' and take endless pictures of the same orange sky when it should be general knowledge that the real beauty resides within the quiet mornings, the world stirring awake and the sky tinting itself in soft hues of blue and pink like a Monet painting. No sunset could ever compare to the crisp and refreshing air that comes with the break of dawn. 

So, if someone were to ask you, you’d pick sunrises in a heartbeat.

Perhaps what makes sunrises better is that you get to see him and his dark hair —that puts the night sky itself to shame— as soon as you wake up, walking down the street with his characteristic hunched over frame as he kicks the rocks standing in his way. He hasn't seen you (which is rare, he's always trying to catch your attention as soon as he rounds the corner of your street), sitting by the open window just two floors above him. But when he finally does, purple eyes stare blankly at you.

"Who–" You watch him squint his eyes, stopping abruptly, and your grin only grows. It takes him two ragged breaths and a gasp to finally address you by your name, "what are you doing up there?"

You wave at him as you lean over the windowsill. He can't be serious, you think to yourself, "I live here, Suguru."

He seems tired, rubbing at his eyes before rushing to the building’s entrance and disappearing from your sight. It wouldn't be a surprise if he had a rough night, suddenly making you feel bad for not making sure you had a warm cup of coffee to welcome him back.

The apartment door opens and Suguru's silhouette slips through, his keys hitting loudly the porcelain bowl by the entrance. You don't even have to think twice, standing up from your spot by the window and meeting him halfway in what has to be the tightest hug you have ever gotten from him.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

He's nuzzling his face against your neck, breathing in the fresh scent of your body wash and leaving a kiss on your skin. His hold on you is so tight yet comforting, just as the silence of the world at six in the morning.

“I know,” your fingers thread through his hair, realizing it's longer than you remembered, “would you like to sleep now or have breakfast first?”

“Cuddles.”

You roll your eyes and tug the hairs at the nape of his head softly, “That wasn’t an option.”

Still in his arms, he guides you towards the bed placed at the corner of the apartment, and once you're under the covers, it's you who now hides your face in his neck.

“Why are you still up?” he asks with his lips against the crown of your hair.

For a moment, you choose to focus on his warm breath caressing your skin. If you tell him you were waiting for him, it's very likely that you’ll end up being scolded.

Shrugging, you nuzzle closer to his chest, seeking more of his warmth, “couldn’t sleep without you.”

“Is your insomnia back?”

“Think so,” you mumble, “but I got to greet you back, so I don't mind.”

It's silent for a while, the only sounds coming from your breaths and the noise of cars driving down the street. The world is slowly waking up, clouds that resemble cotton candy floating in the sky and a light, chill breeze coming through the open window.

“Sugu, you should sleep.”

“I will,” he breathes out, his hold on you tightening for a moment, “now that I have you in my arms.”

“Oh my god, that was so cheesy!”

His chest reverberates with his laugh, lips tugging upwards as he sweeps his tongue across his teeth in a cheeky way. There's no way your heart can watch and not melt as he does that. 

“You never complained before," he tries to defend himself, his smirk coming back as he leans closer to whisper in your ear, "and I know you love it.”

You look up at him, eyes gleaming under the sunlight, and you swear you haven't felt this happy in weeks, “I love you.”

A mix of emotions seems to swirl in his eyes, staring back at yours weirdly. It's hard to pinpoint what's going through his mind, but you can tell that whatever it is, it's troubling him.

“I love you so much more.”

—

It's almost eight pm, and Suguru hasn't woken up.

“Sugu,” you whisper, leaning closer to his face as you search for a sign of consciousness, “you’ll be late.”

“Babe, c’mon… five more minutes?” he groans, voice throaty and laced with sleep.

“We've been sleeping all day!”

His arms circle your waist, pulling you on top of him, “s’all your fault, I was dreaming of you,” he mumbles with his eyes still closed.

“How is that my fault?” you bite back, but when you don't hear a reply from him, you lift your head and rest your chin on his chest.

He fell asleep again.

Removing yourself from his hold, you crawl on top of him until you're so close that your lips brush against his. 

“You'll be late for work,” you start littering kisses all over his jaw and watch as his brows furrow slightly, “I shouldn’t have let you nap after we had lunch.”

Still half asleep, he cups your face between his hands and pulls you down for a kiss. It's lazy and a bit clumsy, you blame it on the fact that he just woke up. But after getting a taste of him, you're tempted to ask him to stay.

With his hands still at the sides of your face, he pulls your mouths apart and gazes lovingly at your face, brushing a few strands of hair away from it. Suguru's eyes always make your knees falter, and your heart tremble, especially when they focus on yours.

“How did you sleep?” he asks before squinting his eyes at you, “wait– did you even sleep?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did. No need to start nagging at me.”

He yawns, stretching his arms above his head while you climb off of him, “I need to shower.”

“Yeah, you stink,” you fake a gag only to squeal a second later when he pinches your sides.

Finally, he gets on his feet, and you watch your boyfriend get closer to you. Sometimes you forget how imposing his presence can be, his height and large frame suddenly making you feel small under his stare.

“Shower with me,” he rasps out in your ear, hands grabbing you by your hips as he begins to nip at your neck. 

“O-Oh?” with a raised eyebrow and warm cheeks, you nod bashfully and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, “lead the way.”

The sound of your giggles fills the small apartment as he carries you bridal style towards the bathroom, his own laugh joining yours.

—

“Don’t forget your wallet!”

He's running late, just as you predicted. 

With his hair still damp from the shower, he runs from one side to the other collecting his stuff, “what would I do without you?”

Shaking your head, you watch as he finally makes his way to the door and picks up his coat.

“Work hard! I'll be waiting for you.”

Suguru stops abruptly, his hand already on the doorknob as he grimaces, “I should probably tell you not to, but… ugh fuck it, I’ll be selfish.”

He leans forward to kiss you, his free hand holding you by the back of your neck as the other remains on the door knob. Unfortunately, the kiss ends as quickly as it began.

In your daze, you barely have a chance to smile back at him as he waves goodbye.

“See you at sunrise!”

“Again? ”

You grimace when Suguru’s loud voice disrupts the peaceful morning. It’s still pretty early, the streets empty and void of other souls besides nature blooming around you, waking up to another spring morning. 

But besides the white cat climbing down the roof and the trail of ants on the wall, it’s just you and him.

Your heart warms up in familiar delight, and you wonder if there will ever be a day in which your chest won’t feel like expanding and shrinking at the same time just at the sight of his handsome smile. A small fit of giggles escapes you as you shake your head disapprovingly, a finger placed on your lips signaling him to be quiet.

“Again.”

Blowing him a kiss from your spot, you snicker as you watch his grin widen, his long legs moving faster towards the building. Good thing he seems as eager as you are, you’ve always hated how long it takes him to reach the front door of your apartment.

As soon as he gets inside, he comes face to face with you and immediately goes for your lips, both mouths meeting in a soft kiss as you stand at the door.

Your surroundings seem to blur around you, his scent invading your mind and his touch melting your skin. The emotions stirring in you are so strong that almost have you in tears. It’s becoming too much, and yet you refuse to part from his lips, knowing that it would only make room for the emptiness again.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, eyelashes fluttering as you slowly open your eyes and gaze at him, his tender gaze already fixed on you.

“I smell food,” he murmurs against your lips, pecking your nose afterward, “waffles?”

Humming, you bury your face in his chest, allowing his warmth to envelop you, “you probably haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

His hand rubs circles on your back as he chuckles. You really don’t want to let go of him, but the food’s growing cold. So, against your will, you squirm away from his grasp and start dragging him by his hand.

The kitchen is just a few steps away, a small white table sitting in the center with a fake succulent on it, and two plates full of freshly cooked food. It took you a quick trip to the grocery store since there only seemed to be pizza leftovers in the fridge (quite unusual of him, you’re actually planning on asking him about it later).

“What do you think?”

His eyebrows raise slightly and his mouth parts in quiet awe, his purple irises shining with hues of amber thanks to the sunlight filtering through the window. Those same eyes suddenly switch from the food to your face, and your knees falter, there’s a glee in them that you haven’t seen in a long time, and it fills your insides with butterflies until they threaten to spill out of your mouth.

“I fucking love you. You know that, right?” he says after cupping your face in his hands, his gaze unwavering and refusing to look away from you.

The laugh that bubbles in your chest only makes his grin widen, raw adoration and happiness emanating from the both of you. You leave a light peck of affection on his jaw and then push him toward his seat.

“You’re gonna love me even more once you taste it.”

“Impossible.”

The dumb smile refuses to leave your lips, your cheeks hurting and muscles cramping, but that’s Suguru’s effect on you: his mere presence is enough to make you smile in a love struck daze.

He groans after taking the first bite, “this,” he says after swallowing, pointing at the half-eaten waffle with his fork, “tastes heavenly. I missed your cooking so much, baby.”

Taking the compliment with a bashful smile, you choose to focus on your food and begin to eat as well. 

“I noticed you’re walking to work now. Did something happen to your car?” you ask trying to start some small talk and at the same time, it was one of the many questions you have sitting at the back of your mind.

“I'm trying this new thing called being eco-friendly.”

A loud gasp leaves your throat, “You’re such a hypocrite! If you cared about that, you wouldn’t ask for straws at restaurants!”

“Hey,” he points a finger at you, “that’s for the turtles, not the planet.”

“Huh? Even worse?!”

The amusement in his features only enhances his attractive looks, even if it’s so early in the morning and right after having a night shift, he always manages to remind you what a handsome man he is. You huff and pout involuntarily, it truly isn’t fair.

“Relax, I use the metal straws you gave me,” he reaches out across the table to pinch your cheek, “I'm not that evil.”

Still with a slight pout on your lips, you stand up and go to the fridge in order to fill your drinks. 

“Could you pass me a Red Bull?” he calls from behind you, and you frown.

“Suguru, it’s seven in the morning.”

He hums, “Yeah, and I don’t want to fall asleep during my 9 am lecture.”

“Then drink cold water,” you offer, closing the door of the fridge after fetching the jar of juice for you and filling his glass with water, “you’ll get an arrhythmia one of these days.”

You see him sigh once he sees you return with no sight of a Red Bull in your hands, but you aren’t backing down. With a pointed look, you silently stand your ground until he seems to give up.

“Fine, no energy drinks.” 

You nod, relieved that he’s finally listening to you. God, when did he become that stubborn? 

He takes a sip of his water, a tiny smirk stretching his lips around the rim of the glass as he stares at you, “I’ll just buy a coffee on my way to class, then.”

“Suguru!”

“What?”

—

Watching Suguru sleep has always comforted you. A dreamy sigh leaves your lips as you observe the way his dark eyelashes rest above his cheekbones, hiding those beautiful eyes you fell in love with just a few years ago.

It hasn’t been long since you woke up, the room dark and barely illuminated by the setting sun. The shadows of the trees dance all over the walls as they sway thanks to the wind, a low whistle coming from the windows as the wind picks on its strength and clashes against the glass.

You don’t think it can get any more peaceful than that.

In a matter of minutes, the sky begins to turn darker, which means he has to be up soon so he can make it to work on time. Moving closer to his side, you peck his cheek and whisper a soft ‘hi’ once you feel his arm drape over your waist.

“Hello, pretty girl,” his voice is hoarse and heavy with sleep, a lazy smirk gracing his lips. That is until he notices the pendant hanging from your neck, “where did you find that?” 

Your hand automatically wraps around it, smiling to yourself as you look down to examine it, “Oh! It was in your drawer. So weird because I thought I had it with me.”

“You must’ve left it.”

His tone turns dry, which makes you look up from your chest and notice the distant look in his eyes, immediately confusing you. Weird, he seemed fine just seconds ago?

“Do you remember when you gave it to me?” you shuffle closer, wanting to keep at bay whatever thoughts he’s having since it’s clear they aren’t pleasant, “honestly, I still had my doubts about you… back then, I mean.”

“Why?” His lips turn into the cutest pout you’ve ever seen, and it almost makes you lose your train of thought.

How is he so cute? You think to yourself. Even after three years since you met, all it takes is a smile from him, and you’re putty in his hands.

“I never thought you’d like me back, and I was waiting for someone to tell me it was a bet or a dream.”

And it had truly felt like one. As silly as it sounded, it all seemed too good to be true, which meant you were bound to have your doubts. The good morning texts, walking to class together, and spending hours in his dorm studying for your exams; Suguru behaved like a true gentleman, through and through.

Falling in love with him has to be the easiest thing you've ever done. He captured your heart in a matter of weeks, and a year later, on your first anniversary, clasped a necklace around your neck—giving you a piece of him to carry with you.

He caresses your cheek lovingly, bringing you back from the lovely memories before speaking, “I know I was a broke college student, but I wasn't that broke to make our relationship a bet.”

You quickly stand up to pick up a pillow and throw it at him, laughing as he scrunches up his face before he receives the hit. 

“Asshole.”

Suguru laughs and watches you walk away once he removes the pillow from his head, answering back with that sweet voice of his, “sweetheart.”

“We should do something special,” you say as you turn your head over your shoulder to look at him, the last rays of sun hitting your body and casting an ethereal glow around you, “our anniversary is coming up.”

He seems to be in a daze for a second, his stare fixed on you and an emotion you had yet to see from him brimming from his eyes.

“Yeah, we should.”

“Alright,” Suguru looks so funny with his hands on his hips while standing in the middle of the empty street, “as much as I love coming home to you waiting for me, you need to get some sleep.”

You dismiss his comment with a wave of your hand, focusing instead on the hues of blue shining behind him.

“Whatever.”

Less than two minutes later, he’s finally in your arms, his embrace tight as he rocks your bodies softly to the tune of your morning playlist.

“If I'm asleep, I can't give you your good morning kiss, y’know?”

He’s getting tired of your excuses, and it’s so easy to tell by the way he no longer fights you. However, that doesn't stop him from punishing you for it. 

Your vision turns upside down as he throws you over his shoulder and carries you to bed, blatantly ignoring your complaints.

“I think it’s time I tell you the story of a woman that refused to sleep at night,” he settles you under the covers, his arm resting under your neck while the other pinches your cheek, “so the devil himself came to visit her.”

“Suguru…” you trail off, a sense of dread quickly creeping over you, “don’t.”

Ignoring you, he continues, “she liked to sit by the window–”

“Noooo, stop! I'll sleep, I promise!”

“Don’t be rude and stop interrupting me,” he squishes your cheeks together and stares at you with fake anger, “also, I don't believe you anymore.”

There's nothing else for you to do but pout, knowing he's going to use your fear of ghosts to his advantage.

“As I was saying, she sat by the window until one night a group of people stopped by. They gave her a box and told her to keep it, and that they’d come back for it the next day.”

By now, you have your face tucked against his arm, hiding half of it, while the blanket covers your ears.

“However, in the morning, she opened the box and found a dead cat,” he doesn’t even need a dramatic pause to have you gasping in surprise, a cold chill running all over your body, “a priest told her that the dead were trying to curse her since she was disrupting their time to roam the living world, so he advised her to get a living cat in the box and return it.”

Where does Suguru get all his crazy stories? You have no idea. But this one took the ball out of the park.

His face is still serious as he finishes the story, “they showed up that night, three in the morning sharp, and asked for the box. She returned it with the cat inside, and luckily they left her alone.” his tone quickly switches to a chirpy one and smiles, “that’s why you should sleep at night!”

“Suguru, you’re so mean,” you whine, “what if they show up? You know I like staying up at night!

“Not my problem.”

A slap to his shoulder with your hand comes as an immediate response.

“Ow! Who’s being mean now?” he rubs the spot you hit, but he’s so close to losing it, his eyes crinkling as he tries not to laugh.

“You asked for it,” you reply in a low mumble, and he finally gives in to the hilariousness of the situation.

“C’mere, baby. Let’s sleep,” he sees your cheeks squished against the pillow and pinches them, cooing at you at the same time, “so cute.”

Like a spell, you feel your eyelids become heavy, and you find yourself wrapped in his arms, his scent lulling you to a state of calmness.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

—

Suguru's hoodie sits on the bed as he gets ready for another shift. You’ve been watching him get ready for the past ten minutes, and you don't think you'll ever get tired of it.

“How’s 'toru?” you ask, not remembering when was the last time you saw your boyfriend’s best friend. Just like him, he also worked the night shifts at the bar while balancing his last year in grad school, “I don’t think I've seen him around.”

Satoru practically lived in your apartment, loving how you always spoil him and side with him. To this day, Suguru says he regrets introducing him to you.

He leans down to your level and whispers, “you know how he gets during finals,” his fingers grasp a few strands of your hair to play with and doesn't say anything else.

“Well, tell him to come visit, so he can rest a bit. Also, he promised to watch a romcom every Saturday with me.”

This finally gets his attention, his eyebrows raising in interest, “why can’t you watch it with me?”

“You said you didn’t want to,” you shrug, “too cheesy for your liking or some shit like that.”

Suguru stands up to his full height again and grabs his hoodie, almost ready to go to the bar, “I'll bring popcorn when I get back, how’s that sound?”

You follow him to the door, watching as he slips his shoes on before turning around to face you, “are you sure? I know it's not the kind of genre you usually like to watch.” 

“I won't let a movie stop me from spending time with my girlfriend,” he smiles and kisses your lips with a long and noisy peck that makes your heart happy, “and we are playing Mario Kart after.”

“But I suck at Mario Kart!” 

“Exactly.”

—

It’s almost time for Suguru to come home and since the last few days have felt like the honeymoon phase when you moved in together, you decide you should spoil him with warm tea and a few of his favorite pastries. 

As you make sure to turn off the stove and place the kettle safely on top of it, you hear the familiar jiggle of keys at the door. He steps in with his shoulders slumped and his eyes red, a very unusual sight that, truthfully, scares you a bit.

You walk up to him with the intent of helping him get rid of his clothes, to comfort him, but a particular smell catches your attention.

“You smoked,” it wasn’t a question.

He grimaces in return, “I'll go brush my teeth.”

You follow him to the bathroom, observing him splash water on his face before picking up his toothbrush.

“Rough night?”

He looks at you through the mirror and stares at your reflection for what feels like an eternity, but then he just shrugs, places his toothbrush back next to yours, and exits the bathroom.

“You could say so.”

“Can you believe you’re almost done with your master's? You're graduating this semester, right?”

As soon as you see him nod, you beam and clap your hands together.

“We should celebrate! Is the bottle of white wine still in the fridge?” but with a shake of his head, you have your answer, “then let’s go to the store, my treat! I'll get you your favorite beers too.”

“Isn’t it too early?” he takes a look at his watch and indeed it is early, barely past seven in the morning, “and I don't drink.”

Your smile falters a bit, confused at his last statement, “since when?”

“A few months ago,” he kisses the top of your head before pouring the boiling water in a cup.

You drop the subject and choose to focus on something else, excited to see his new future approaching, “what's the plan, then? Moving to a bigger place?”

His smile turns into a sad one and shakes his head, “I want us to stay here.”

It feels like someone just threw a bucket of cold water at you, your senses sharper than ever and your mind free of the fog that clouded it. It's unsettling how it's all laced with a hint of dread, no longer being able to smile until you make sure he faces your reality.

“You can’t.”

The answer is immediate, his body turning rigid and the defensiveness radiating off of him almost palpable.

“Why not?” he retaliates, his tone harsh and cold, “we’ve been living here since we graduated, you like this place.”

So that was the reason? A fond smile settles on your lips, and a bittersweet feeling takes over you. Pushing his cup aside, you move closer to him, your hands cupping his cheeks and making him look at you.

Like a switch, Suguru’s eyes fill with tears, glistening like the prettiest amethyst, even though the sight breaks your heart. You have never seen him so broken, your own heart aching at the sight of your boyfriend on the verge of breaking down in your arms. 

But you can’t drag this on and keep fooling yourselves.

“It's time to let go, Suguru.”

End of part one.

[straykidsftw]

Daddy Daycare | dad!bang chan

genre: fluff

summary: chan looking after his kids for the first time as 4

ages: joey = 8 / leo & dan = 6 / jemima = 2 months

warnings: none (purposeful use of lower case cause i cant be bothered with capitalisation anymore)

______________

“are you sure you’re going to be okay?” you asked, cupping chan’s face in your hand, his sleepy eyes blinking back at you; the time on the clock too early for him to properly register the words you were saying.

you were leaving for a weekend away with the other skz wives, all flying over to jeju island, as paid for by your husbands. and that meant leaving early to make it to the airport (so you could make the most of your time).

chan swatted your hand away, making a ‘pshh’ noise, “it’s fine, y/n. i’ve been a dad for 6 years, i think i know what it takes.”

“yes but you’ve never looked after four kids, chan. i’m telling you, it’s a level up,” you pleaded with him.

chan rubbed his eyes before getting out of bed, placing his hands on your shoulders and walking you to the door of your shared bedroom. “y/n, please. i know what i’m signing up for, i know our kids. now go, have fun, and stop worrying.”

you smiled, turning round and hooking your arms around his neck, chan’s hands holding onto your waist firmly as you pressed a kiss to his lips.

“okay, go,” he mumbled into the kiss, “you’re gonna be late.”

“okay,” you smiled, getting your bag and beginning to walk down the stairs, waving to chan as you went, “bye kids!”

the kids, who chan hadn’t known were awake, all responded with choruses of goodbyes from their respective rooms, chan’s eyes widening at all four of his kids being awake at 5:30.

“oh god,” he grumbled, hearing jemima’s cries start up as the front door slammed behind you.

he walked into the nursery, now forever jemima’s room, to see his little girl stood up in her crib, gripping at the bars and bouncing up and down slightly, laughing happily now that she’d gained someone’s attention.

“hello princess!” chan cooed, running over and pulling her out of the crib, cradling her in his arms, pressing kisses all over her face, “oh my little girl, how did you sleep? hmm?! hmm?!”

jemima’s screaming laughter bounced off the walls, chan chuckling alongside her as he got her out of her pyjamas and put her on the potty. potty training was almost done, but jemima still had to be put on the toilet routinely, in case she forgot to ask.

“good morning dad!” joey yelled, chan barely seeing a flash as he ran out of his room and down the stairs.

“woah! woah! woah!” chan called after him, trying to keep an eye on jemima at the same time. he could hear banging and crashing happening downstairs, wincing every time another loud noise echoed.

“i done daddy!” jemima smiled up at him, chan grinning and bringing her off the potty, cleaning her up and putting her in a fresh set of clothes, before carrying her downstairs. “i don’t need carry, daddy! i walk!”

“okay, okay,” chan laughed, placing her on the ground, jemima immediately starting to run to her older brother, who was still zipping around the kitchen. “woah, woah. joey, bud, please. what’s happening?”

“i’m making something!” joey exclaimed, gathering bits from all over the kitchen up into his arms before beginning to make his way back upstairs, chan catching him before he could.

“hey, hey. i could really do with your help today, buddy. do you think you could continue this project at the dinner table? then we can both keep an eye on your sister as i make breakfast, hmm?”

joey smiled with the big brother responsibilities, nodding firmly, “i just– i– i need a few bits from upstairs, okay?! i’m coming back!”

“okay,” chan laughed, peering into the living room to find jemima perched happily on the sofa, her mop of curls a mess atop her head. “mima, do you want some milk?”

jemima looked at him and nodded with sharp motions of her head. chan smiled, nodding back before heading to the kitchen to prepare some formula in a bottle. as he stood against the counter, stirring the bottle sleepily, he suddenly felt a rush of air as someone ran past him again.

“joey!” chan stopped, looking at his twins running round the back garden. “huh, not joey.”

“i’m here dad!” joey exclaimed, his grin displaying a couple of lost teeth, as he sat at the dining table and continued his arts and crafts project.

“yo! leo! dan! come here,” chan called, standing at the back door, “what’s happening here?”

“we’re pirates, dad!” leo yelled, shoving his pretend sword up at his dad, “argh!”

chan played along, pretending to be afraid as he backed off, going back to jemima’s formula. the little girl in question now stood by the dining table, watching her brother in curiosity.

“do you want to sit in your high chair, mima?” chan asked, beckoning the little girl over as he put her milk on the tray. he lifted her up with a fun noise, sitting her in there as she happily drank her milk and watched her brother. “what do you guys want for breakfast this morning?”

chan was mindlessly asking as he looked through the fridge at all the banchan and regular ingredients stacked up. he gasped, “wow, mum left us some beef from last night! and some kimchi jeon, do you guys want that with some banchan?”

joey nodded, jemima staring at her dad with an amused look. chan pulled a face so she started giggling, her feet swinging back and forth.

“joey what this?” she asked, her attention going back to her older brother.

“its for mummy,” he smiled, whispering the words as he glanced to his dad, chan too pre-occupied with cooking to hear him, “she’s away for two days so i’m making her a sign for when she gets back.”

“mummy gone?!” jemima exclaimed dramatically.

“hmm?” chan called, absentmindedly, “yeah mummy’s away for the weekend, mima. but we’re gonna have fun, aren’t we?! yay!”

“what are we doing today, dad?” joey asked, his colouring pencils scribbling against the page.

“um, i thought we could meet up jiyoung and haein today,” chan said, “me and your uncles have a little bit to do but we don’t have to go to the stud—”

“oh please can we go to the studio?!” joey begged, looking up at his dad with a pleading look in his eye.

chan laughed, shocked, “yeah, of course we can, bud! wasn’t expecting you to want to, but of course!”

“just more to do there, you know,” joey shrugged.

chan nodded, “yeah, i’m sorry you don’t have any cousins your age, joe.”

“it’s okay,” he hummed, “it’ll be fun when we’re older.”

chan smiled at his son’s maturity, plating up the food, “yeah, it will. and at least you know they all look up to you, right?”

joey smiled bashfully, not looking up from his work. chan placed a plate down in front of him, as well as two more for the twins, placing a plate of extra banchan in the middle of the table. he pulled up a chair beside jemima, starting on his own food while keeping an eye on the littlest member of the family.

“twins! food’s on the table!”

the boys, still in pirate mode, ran into the kitchen, crashing into the table as they started eating.

“thank you for the food,” joey said, before tucking in, the rest of his siblings following, despite the food already bulging in their cheeks.

“you’re welcome, babies,” chan cooed, playing with dan’s hair gently, “see? we don’t need mummy, daddy’s got everything covered.”

[violetlichen]

nobody puts my bald baby in a corner

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen / Named Atreides wife A little nsfw but that's not the point. Domestic family life. They have five kids and Feyd desperately wants another. Wifey won't oblige. Don't pay attention to the other characters and Houses I included, I don't know anything about Dune and I just pulled from the fandom wiki or made them up. Their son is not the Kwisatz Haderach either!

****if you're somebody who works at tumblr hq reading this because i accidentally reported my own fic im really sorry****

It has been five years since Feyd-Rautha last saw his wife swell with his child.

It is entirely by her design, and certainly not for lack of trying. He ravages her senseless almost every night, but after five children, the ever infuriating Diana Atreides refuses to give him another. As a Bene Gesserit, it is within her power to do so; the witches are able to bend their own reproduction to their will, and Feyd-Rautha believes she likes his methods of convincing her too much to give him what he wants.

Tonight, he almost has her hooked. He kisses her knee and up her bare thigh, licking and sucking the plush skin there. She barely acknowledges him and lets him fondle her as he pleases, lost in her own thoughts. 

“She’s too old for him. He’s just a boy.”

They are currently hosting several of the Great Houses. Earlier at dinner, he and Diana were approached by the Duke of Ginaz, who suggested they betroth his daughter to their oldest son, Aleksei. Diana had hidden her frown behind her glass of wine, but Feyd-Rautha had seen it and filed it away for later, thanking the Duke for his time.

He hums against her thigh, tongueing over the faint bruise he made. He can use this.

“He will be a man soon,” he reminds her. He pulls her leg over his shoulder as he shifts up the bed, now eye level with her weeping cunt. His mouth waters. “Even if we refuse this proposal, there will be others.”

He knows his wife wants to say more, but the words die in her throat when he shoves his nose against her, inhaling her scent and releasing a shaky breath. He pretends it is for her benefit, but really, this is all for him. With his fingers pulling apart the seam of her, his tongue lolls out, and Feyd-Rautha feasts. 

When he has had his fill of her pleasure, he crawls up the length of her body. She pants underneath him, back arching and eyes squeezing shut like a satisfied cat, her neck exposed and vulnerable. He licks off the sweat there.

“It will not stop with Aleksei,” he says, leaning over her.

Diana scowls. She shoves him, but he does not yield. He grasps her hand, pulling it away from his chest and up to his mouth, where he kisses her fingers.

He knows he is being cruel, rubbing salt in her wound. Her children are growing. At twelve years old, Aleksei is admittedly still too young to seriously consider for marriage, but the coming years will go by in a blink. First it will be Aleksei, then Nikita shortly after, and then Maxim – although their youngest and most unstable son will be difficult to pawn off, Feyd-Rautha thinks. 

His girls are another story. Sasha and Grisha were both gifted their mother’s beauty, but it is Grisha, their youngest, who takes after Feyd-Rautha the most. She is the only one of his children who did not inherit those dark Atreides curls. She is perfect; wholly Harkonnen, like her father. He knows he will feel how Diana does now when it is time for Grisha to leave his side.

It is why he fucks into his wife now, flexing his hips slowly and purposefully, so she feels every inch of his longing. He staves off the urge to empty himself inside of her prematurely, already aching to see her breasts swollen and leaking. 

He stops, trying to catch his breath. He pulls back from Diana to thumb over her pearl, grinding his length into her. “Shall I leave you like this, wife?” he asks her.

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her hips chasing his fingers.

“I can give you what you want,” he taunts. “I will pump you full of my children happily. What is one more?”

Diana does not answer, but he sees her breaking, just as he is. He holds her legs open, jutting into the apex of them, growling as he stares her down, willing her to change her mind. She hides her fears behind her pleasure, hides the tear sliding down her cheek by turning her face into the pillow, taking what he gives her.

What is one more child? Certainly not the solution to her problem. It is only a delay of the inevitable, that one day they will all grow up and no longer need her. Feyd-Rautha knows this. But he hopes to delay his wife’s suffering, just as he will delay her gratification if she does not give him what he wants.

When he pumps his load into her, he knows she is not satisfied. He breathes through his own satisfaction, nose flaring like a bull, but she does not complain like he expected her to. She does not roll him over to claim him, or bring her fingers to her cunt to finish what he started, his eyes on her hole, full of his spend.

Instead she buries her face in her hands. Feyd-Rautha leans his weight onto her and pulls her hands away, revealing her face to him. She blinks at him, her lashes wet and clumping together.

He knows what she is feeling. “I feel it, too,” he says. “Let me give you another, my darling.”

Diana nods and looks away, breathing out a held breath. “Alright,” she says. Her eyes soften fondly when they focus on him again. “Alright.”

They lay together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Feyd-Rautha does not know if tonight will be the night, but he hopes. He hopes she sees it the way he does -- a continuation of their happiness, not the eventual ending of it. He kisses every part of Diana he can reach, and she cuddles into him, their limbs a tangled mess. 

A little later into the night, a knock on the door breaks their comfortable silence. Feyd-Rautha grunts, already irritated, and removes himself from her, slipping on a robe and his pants.

When he opens the door, he finds a wide-eyed servant. “It is the children, Baron Harkonnen.”

Feyd-Rautha frowns and widens the door, panic souring him. “Where are they?”

“They are safe, Baron Harkonnen, but there has been a bit of trouble.”

Diana appears behind him, wrapping her robe around her waist. "What sort of trouble?" she asks, brow furrowed.

“It will be best if you follow me to the drawing room within the guest wing, Baroness.”

Diana whips past Feyd-Rautha and the servant, not waiting for either of them to lead her to the guest wing. Feyd-Rautha follows after her, and he knows to expect his boys. It is not the first time he was awoken by something they have done when they should have been sleeping, but it does concern him that they were found in the guest wing.

Although he is the youngest son, Maxim is the instigator of all things. Not as bright as the others, he is aggressive and impulsive, often letting his hands speak for him. He acts before he thinks, and it frustrates Diana greatly. Many nights Feyd-Rautha has been brought before Maxim in the kitchens, where he sticks his grubby hands into pies and picks at berries meant for the morning’s breakfast. The guards know not to let him out of his room at night without their explicit permission.

But as explosive as Maxim is, it is Aleksei who reminds Feyd-Rautha the most of his own brother, Beast Rabban. His oldest son is proud and quick to anger, easily riled by Maxim and his sisters who poke and prod at him in the ways only younger siblings can. Feyd-Rautha does his best to temper Aleksei, to show him the value in patience, in choosing his battles.

Nikita, self-sufficient boy that he is, waits until the battles are over and won to pick at what remains. He watches. Feyd-Rautha suspects Diana favors him over the others, though she will never admit it. 

All of them dote on their sisters. Sasha has them carry her around on their backs, even when they are tired and sore and agitated from their training. They still treat Grisha like she is their baby, although she is almost six years old now and loathes the comparison. 

Each of them, in their own ways, bring honor to their House. It is not something he had ever imagined for himself when thinking about his future. Feyd-Rautha is proud of his children, and he would not be disinclined to have another.

The chaos they find upon entering the drawing room is enough for him to change his mind.

The lord and lady from Zanbar, whose names Feyd-Rautha has forgotten, fawn over their young daughter, who sits upon an ottoman in front of the fireplace, her face red and streaked with tears. She cries as she pulls at what remains of her blonde hair. It has been crudely chopped off, the ends blunt and jagged like it had been sawed with a knife.

Their boys stand sullenly in front of the governess, disheveled in her bathrobe and still flustered from being awoken in the middle of the night to collect them. Aleksei folds his arms over his chest, his head full of curly dark hair held high. Next to him, Nikita remains calm in the face of their impending scolding. He very likely had done nothing wrong but bear witness to the antics of his rowdy brothers. Meanwhile, Maxim openly glares at the small weeping girl. She deserved what she got, and he is waiting for a reason to give her more to cry over.

“What happened?” Diana asks, dismayed.

“Your sons snuck into my daughter’s bedchamber and cut her hair off while she slept!” the lord’s wife snaps, borderline hysterical. “Where were her guards? How was this allowed to happen?”

She is reaching an unnatural decibel, but withers under the glare Feyd-Rautha shoots her. They were pulled from their bed for this? His darkening expression does not fully quell the lady's anger, and she gawks at her husband, willing him to say something.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," the lord offers unhelpfully, averting his timid gaze.

Diana stills, taking in the sight of the poor girl’s hacked hair. With a deep inhale, she turns to the boys, her hand finding her hip. “Explain yourselves.”

“She was mocking Grisha, mother,” Maxim says, scowling. “We heard her at dinner.”

Aleksei nods, more self-righteous and refined in his anger. “She laughed at Grisha and made her cry because she doesn’t have hair.” He sneers when the lord’s daughter wails a little louder at this, because she, too, does not have hair now. “She called her ugly.”

Diana looks heartbroken over this, but her Bene Gesserit training helps to quickly neutralize her face. She looks to Nikita. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I told them not to.”

Feyd-Rautha believes him. Nikita is no less ruthless, but he is also a diplomat by nature, preferring more uninvolved methods of justice or revenge. This boldness is certainly the work of his brothers.

Feyd-Rautha cannot wait to reward them handsomely for it.

Diana believes Nikita as well, for she turns back to the other two. “Apologize to Lady Rosalind.”

“But mother, she–”

“Enough,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, growing tired of the spectacle. “Do as your mother says, so we may all retire to our beds.” He shoots another glare at the lord and lady, who bluster under his attention, too afraid of him to protest again.

Aleksei and Maxim step forward and bow to the young girl. “We’re sorry,” they echo, not meaning it at all.

Knowing that is the best she will get from them, Diana exhales deeply and dismisses them back to their rooms, escorted by their governess to make sure they get there and do not take any more detours. Nikita follows, ever their solemn shadow. 

Diana kneels down beside Lady Rosalind. “Don’t fret. Hair grows back,” she soothes. The girl hiccups, and Diana gently brushes the hair out of her eyes before standing up to face her parents again. “I apologize on behalf of my sons. As you can see, they love their sister very much and do not take kindly to those who upset her.”

The lord and lady of Zanbar try to hide their grimaces. They know their indignancy is unfounded now that they know their daughter had started this. “Baroness, I must apologize–” the lord starts.

“That won’t be necessary,” Diana interrupts, putting a graceful hand up to stop him. “Let’s put this unpleasantness behind us. My husband and I will question our guards to understand how this was allowed to happen. Those responsible will be thoroughly punished.” She looks at Feyd-Rautha. “That includes our sons.”

This seems to satisfy the lord and lady enough to gather up their snot nosed daughter and leave, perhaps vowing to never step foot on Giedi Prime again. Feyd-Rautha will not miss them.

He and Diana walk back to their bedchamber in an agitated silence, until she breaks it.

“Still want another?” she asks him, deadpan.

“Not particularly. Would you still like me to thoroughly punish them?”

“Not particularly.”

Feyd-Rautha hums, and he reaches for her hand. 

The next morning, Feyd-Rautha walks over to Grisha where she sits on the wide stone fence, her little legs dangling over the side. The boys train in the yard, and she watches with her dolls, acting out the sparring techniques she sees with them. He kisses her head, smooth like his. She ignores him, too caught up in supervising the training of her dolls.

Feyd-Rautha smiles. “Who is winning?” he asks.

One of the dolls headbutts the other. Their yarn-like hair swings around violently. It is hard to tell under the light of the black sun, but he thinks one of them is blonde. That one plops to the ground, landing in the sand.

Grisha raises the hand of the victorious doll the way she sees her father raise his in the arena. “This one,” she tells him.

“Well fought,” Feyd-Rautha says proudly. He bends down to pick up the doll and hands it to her. He watches her run her fingers through the doll’s hair, brushing the sand out of it with great care.

One day, his daughter will train alongside her brothers. She will have no need for hair then. It would just get in her way, and make her easier to grab by her opponents. She will see the use in this, and appreciate what makes her Harkonnen.

For now, Feyd-Rautha cups her head and kisses her again. He calls her his beautiful girl, and returns to the yard, picking up where he and the boys left off.

[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. 

[mustainegf]

HIII can you please write a reader making a sex tape with 1999 era load kirk🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽i loved the one with james now so much 😛😛😛

I love ur writing so much btw !

I KNOW THE BANNER HAS EARLY 80s PICS!! I PROMISE ITS STILL SET IN ‘99

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐎 ¹⁹⁹⁹

We always joke that we're too pretty for porn, so we decided to shoot ourselves instead. In the bathroom, it's over before you can blink; but behind closed doors, we take all night. My boyfriend Kirk is sweet and shy, and when I asked him if he wanted to film us having sex, he was unsure... but eager to try.

"Smile for the camera," Kirk giggles, that dorky sound I always loved. I give a soft laugh and wiggle my fingers into the lens.

Both Kirk and I were naked, bare and warm as he slipped into bed with me, hands already taking what they desired.

It's just us and the camera, in our bedroom; a space where he knows I'm his and I'm secure enough to let myself be touched.

Kirk's hands glide up my bare stomach, reaching to cup and knead my breasts, just gently though.

He always knew how to take it slow, like he was reluctant to rush things and waste his time. It makes me grin with affection, and he laughs with relief that I appreciate his effort.

"I want you to see me looking at you, right now, baby,” Kirk murmurs, in such an adorable way. I nod, knowing he meant every word of it.

How else could I not, if he wasn't staring down into my eyes? His thumb gently grazes across one nipple, rubbing over its hardened flesh until it stiffens to attention beneath his touch.

The other hand reaches up, running down my cheek in such a sweet gesture. Kirk leans down towards me, catching my mouth with his own in an unyielding kiss, and my body naturally twists itself around his own.

I press closer against him as he holds onto my hips with both of his hands, lifting me from underneath and into the air as I wrap my legs around him without hesitation.

Kirk takes full advantage of this opportunity, as he slips himself inside of me in one swift motion.

My gasp at the sudden penetration echoes in our ears, along with a moan of approval from Kirk. I bite my lip in bliss, as he begins moving inside of me with ease, slowly pumping away. "Eyes on the camera..." he panted.

I obediently lifted my head upwards, smiling softly into the lens while still biting my lip with pleasure, and Kirk seemed to enjoy it as much as I did.

His movements are already making me wetter than ever, teasing me in the most delightful ways.

"That's right, show them how good my cock feels." Obviously, nobody else would get ahold of this video but us, though the fantasy was thrilling.

Kirk's hands gripped my ass, watching flesh spill between his fingers before kissing up my spine. I was melting at the warmth of his breath.

I gave a soft whimper, letting him know that I enjoyed this particular touch of his. Kirk groaned deeply, feeling himself harden further within me.

"Oh god..." he mumbled, under his breath. Kirk slid out completely from me, before pushing back in again with more force than before.

My knees shook as he continued to thrust, helping me support my weight as leaned, eyes stuck in the camera. "That's it... look at the camera, let me hear that pretty voice."

Kirk pulled out once more, spreading my legs apart before returning deep inside me. I shuddered and moaned loudly, as I felt myself clench around his thickness.

"Come on, my love... let me hear those pretty words," he mumbled into my ear, then kissing my bare shoulder.

"Oh, fuck! That's it... ohh.." I couldn't stop my hips grinding up into him, finding that rhythm which drove me wild. Kirk smirked proudly, nuzzling into my neck as his hands roamed freely across my body.

"Show them how good your pussy gets fucked." His dirty tone filled my mind, so dirty yet so genuine.

"Mm!" I nodded eagerly, lifting my chin upwards as he went deeper inside me. Our bodies pressed together as he began picking up speed, rocking his hips forward as far as possible.

"Make sure the camera can see your pretty face when you cum.." Kirk whispers.

"Yes..." I mumble, agreeing with anything he wants.

I close my eyes, blushing at the thought of him being proud of what we were doing. "Good girl..." Kirk smirked.

"Yes..." I mumble, agreeing with anything he wants.

I close my eyes, blushing at the thought of him being proud of what we were doing. "Good girl..." Kirk smirks.

He lifts his hips up and slams back inside me with a louder grunt than before. This time, it hit the spot, sending chills through my whole body.

The next thing I know, my back arches as I feel myself clench tightly around him, shivering in orgasm. Kirk doesn't even hesitate, pulling out and slipping his fingers in, still giving me some simulation while he jerked himself to finish.

His fingers curled and then suddenly froze, just as he gave his shaft a final squeeze, coaxing the creamy ropes of cum over my back and ass.

We sat for a few seconds, breathless and grasping into the edge of reality. It wasn't long before we started giggling, collapsing into the mattress and kissing. We didn't bother to turn the camera off yet.

I ran my fingers through Kirk's dark curls and he chuckled. It was just because I loved him so much, and I wanted him to know that.

Kirk groaned as he sat up, leaving me disappointed. "Baby?" I whine.

"Shh sh sh... it's alright, I'm just getting a rag to clean you up okay? Just relax," Kirk cooed, leaving a kiss on my temple before quickly going to retrieve the item.

A minute later, he returned to me with a warm washcloth. He cleansed me delicately, taking extra care around the area where he ejaculated on me. I moaned, arching my back slightly as he touched me.

I smiled weakly up at him, too tired to do anything else. Kirk kisses my lips softly before sitting down on the bed next to me. "Let's watch this later," he whispered, nodding toward the camera.

"I want to see myself fucking you."

[thewickedjazzy]

Artificial Paradise ➵NSFW MDNI ˎˊ˗

➵Pairing: soft dom! fyodor x afab! reader.

➵Summary: fyodor helps you with your studies, but things start to get a bit heated between you two.

➵Tags and word count: 1.8k nsfw, minors dni, fluff, smut, soft dom! fyodor, teasing, explicit language, rough sex, gentle aftercare, light biting, praise, mutual desire.

➵A/N: @charkvc 's request, sorry pookie, i accidentally deleted the ask by mistake (｡･-･), but hyg, thank you for the sweet request i'm always down for fedya's big brain.

you sigh in frustration, rubbing your temples as you stare at the dense pages in front of you. how on earth are you supposed to write an entire analysis on hamlet in just one day? the play feels like trying to run a marathon in quicksand, and hamlet’s constant overanalyzing seems to stretch endlessly.

you notice your lover's presence in the room immediately, feeling his slender fingers gently resting on your shoulders. his touch is ever so gentle, soothing even as he begins to knead the tension away.

“fedya, how am i supposed to finish this?” you murmur, glancing back at the daunting stack of papers scattered across the desk.

his lips curve into a soft smirk that you can feel more than see. “you’re overthinking it, my love. hamlet is just like you—burdened by choices, unsure of the right path.” his fingers press into a knot in your shoulder, and you exhale in relief, the stress momentarily forgotten.

“you’re making it sound too easy,” you sigh.

he hums, lowering his lips closer to your ear, his warm breath brushing against your delicate skin. “let’s start with the basics. what does hamlet fear the most?”

“death?” you answer, almost instinctively.

“not quite.” he gently holds your arms from both sides, rubbing them softly. “it’s not death itself he fears… it’s the uncertainty. the unknown.”

you pause, your mind working to decipher his words while he continues to massage you, each touch making your skin tingle.

“he fears what comes after?” you murmur, leaning your head back to look up at him. he looks ethereal in his black half-sleeved turtleneck, his hair tied back in a low, messy ponytail, with a few strands softly framing his face and one resting between his eyebrows. his amethyst eyes, half-lidded, gaze tenderly over you.

he chuckles lightly, his soft tune ringing in your ears. “exactly. now, let’s use that. how does it relate to his indecision? and how does shakespeare weave that into the soliloquy you’re struggling with?”

“well, uh..” you mumble, feeling your mind finally beginning to understand the coded texts, “he’s caught between acting and inaction because… he doesn’t know what’s worse—suffering or the unknown suffering that may follow.”

fyodor smiles softly. “excellent my dear. now, why don’t we dig a little deeper into that?”

his hands move along yours as he leans slightly from behind, hovering over your seated form. slender fingers gently take hold of the pen between your fingers, while his other hand rests on your left shoulder. he guides the pen smoothly, highlighting a few key lines.

“let’s explore how this fear of the unknown impacts his decisions,” he says, “look at how shakespeare contrasts hamlet’s contemplation with his actions. the more hamlet fears the future, the more paralyzed he becomes. we see this tension play out in the soliloquy.”

you nod, trying to follow up with him as he writes 'action' and 'inaction' in a beautiful cursive handwriting. the connection between his fear and his hesitation starts to become clearer, and the analysis begins to take shape.

but as you work, you can't help but find yourself distracted by how close he is. the way his body leans against yours and how his expensive cologne filling your senses. you gaze at him, admiring how effortlessly beautiful he looks. his features seem almost ethereal, and you can’t help but think how perfect a kiss would feel right now, completely forgetting the assignment.

“you’re distracted,” he says suddenly, glancing up and catching your admiring gaze. “focus on the text, my love. we need to get this done before 7 pm tomorrow.”

you try to shake it off, your attention returning to the marked passages, but it’s futile. the way the soft candlelight flickers against his skin, the delicate curve of his lips, the slow rhythm of his breath—it’s too much. your heart flutters every time his fingers brush against yours, guiding the pen, and the assignment feels like a distant memory.

he notices that you’re still not responding to his questions, and his smirk returns, teasing yet knowing. “you’re still distracted,” he murmurs, his voice lower this time, more intimate. his eyes, a deep shade of amethyst, meet yours as he pauses his explanation, leaning in just a fraction closer.

you swallow, pulse quickening, your gaze drifting to his lips. screw the assignment, you think, as the temptation becomes unbearable.

“fedya...” you whisper, the sound barely escaping your lips as your hand moves instinctively to his cheek, pulling him gently toward you.

he doesn’t resist. in fact, his smirk widens, as if he knew all along that this moment was inevitable. his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you in as his lips press against yours—soft, warm, intoxicating.

the pen slips from your fingers, forgotten, as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer. his other hand finds your waist, gripping you firmly. the world feels like it’s spinning, and all you can think is that you never want it to stop.

your hands clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer as if you’re trying to fuse your bodies together. the taste of his lips against yours makes your mind fuzzy. the soft brush of his tongue occasionally meeting yours in a sloppy slow kiss. you feel his fingers tightening around your waist, his other hand cupping your cheek, completely getting devoured by him.

the candlelight flickers casting erratic shadows on the walls, mirroring the rare intimate moment. your focus narrows to the sensation of him—his warmth, his taste, the way he clutches you as if you’re the only anchor in a storm.

he pulls back just slightly, his lips brushing yours as he pants softly, orbs completely dilated with lust. “milaya,” he murmurs, “this isn’t helping with your assignment.”

you laugh breathlessly, “i think… i think we’ve found a new way to procrastinate,”

he grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “well, at least you’re not distracted by the texts anymore.”

he smirks before gently closing the gap between you, cupping both sides of your face as he presses his lips against yours again.

with ease, he lifts you and places you on your desk, the papers crumpling beneath you and pens tumbling to the floor. the fact that he rarely gets aroused like this only heightens your arousal.

you both share a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses, tongues exploring and breaths mingling in a heated exchange.

he slips his hands under your shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head tossing it aside. he leans down, kissing a trail down to your breasts, humming in delight as he inhales your sweet scent—flowers mixed with a hint of fruity lotion—oh how he adores the way you smell.

his soft, wet kisses continue down your skin as he expertly unclipped your bra with on hand, while the other holds you closer to him, the warmth of your body presses against the cotton fabric of his turtleneck shirt.

you press your hips against his moving in tight circles that elicit deep groans from both of you.

his hand that was holding you tight slides down to tug at your pants, and you eagerly help him get it off of you.

“this needs to come off,” you say with a half-chuckle, gesturing toward his turtleneck.

“giving orders now, milaya?” he replies, a teasing smile on his lips as he lifts the shirt over his head, revealing his pale, perfectly soft sculpted body. unable to resist, you lean in, kissing and licking along his chest and neck, your warm breaths brushing against his skin. soft mewls escape his lips as you explore every inch of him.

taking his time, he slowly removes the rest of your clothes, revealing your bare skin to him. soon, both of you are completely naked, your bodies molded together as you share another heated kiss. the warmth of your skin against his makes him harder every passing second that he thinks he might just cum from just being this close to you.

you feel his hands glide teasingly over your drooling cunt before he chuckles and pulls away slightly. "oh my love, look at you— hardly need my preparation"

before you can utter a word, he swiftly lifts you by your ass, sliding you along the desk and sending the remaining papers cascading to the floor. at this point, you hardly notice. he carries you to your shared bed beside the desk and sits down, pulling you to straddle his lap.

"my lovely darling, are you going to take your pleasure and ride me?" he murmurs against your lips and you whine softly humming in response.

his slender fingers guide your hips to grind against him as soft mewls escape your lips burying your face into the prominent crook of his neck.

you lift your hips to guide his tip into your slick entrance. even though he slips in easily, your walls stretch around him, yearning for the fullness you haven't felt in nearly two months.

sweet sweet soft moans escapes his lips, as your legs tremble trying to hold yourself up, only to sink down more on his cock. he spreads your ass cheeks with both hands helping you slide down on him easier.

you pull your head away from his neck, only to see the blissful sight before you—his eyebrows furrowed, eyes tightly shut, and jaw slack. as you quicken your pace, your moans blend with his soft mewls, and you both glisten with sweat while you bounce up and down on him.

"ngh- moya lyubov, let me hear your sweet voice," he murmurs, "ah- I missed you so much, milaya," his soft moans—oh those lovely soft moans, how he mumbles in his native tongue when he's too spent.

he starts thrusting up into you as you bury your face again but now into his chest, moaning against his skin feeling his cock twitch and pulsate before a sharp groan leaves his mouth.

his thrusts quicken, each one leaving you breathless for a moment before the next one knocks the air from your lungs again, your body rendered completely paralyzed by the picked up pace, his tip brushes against your g-spot repeatedly, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body.

then you feel the familiar heat coiling in the pit of your stomach, your ears growing muffled by the sound of your heartbeat. "fed-yyaa i- i'm coming aahh-"

you can’t help but grind against him, striving to keep pace, feeling him twitch inside you before he shoots thick streams filling you completely, throwing his head back with a deep moan. "bozhe! chert voz'mi da da" (translation: jesus! fuck yes yes)

he collapses back against the sheets, trying to catch his breath. you slide off him and join him, stretching your arms before resting your chin on his chest.

“you look so handsome with your hair in a ponytail like that,” you say, biting your lower lip to stifle a teasing giggle.

“ah, it has grown a little indeed... I’m thinking about trimming it down a bit.”

you lightly hit his hand, exclaiming, “don’t you dare!!!”

he giggles, pulling you closer to place gentle kisses on your hairline. “anything for you, milaya.”

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Stirring the Quiet - Brewin' Between the Lines

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: Y/N is still reeling from her run-in with her favorite actress, Jenna Ortega, as she tries to keep things cool in The Daily Grind. Between casual conversation and a shared love for horror novels, the lines between star and stranger begin to blur. As the café empties out and the night winds down, an unexpected moment catches them both off guard—proving that sometimes, the best connections are brewed in the quietest of moments.

Word Count: 1.5k

As I poured the caramel syrup into the iced coffee, my mind raced, replaying the moment Jenna Ortega pulled down her mask. My hands were slightly shaky, trying to maintain focus as I finished off the whipped cream swirl on top. It wasn't every day your favorite actress sat just a few feet away, waiting for you to bring her a drink. The—Jenna Ortega. It wasn't just any celebrity—this was her. I'd admired her ever since her performance on Wednesday. A week ago, I was geeking out to my friends after watching her take on the role of Astrid Deetz in Tim Burton's Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. When she appeared as a cameo in that recent Sabrina Carpenter music video, I was convinced she could do no wrong. I'd followed her career for years, through every role, every transformation. And now here she was, casually sitting in my café, probably just wanting to be treated like anyone else.

But it wasn't just anyone else to me. This was the actress I had looked up to for years, and I was the one making her coffee. I could already feel my face growing warm with the realization, but I pushed the thoughts aside. Stay calm, Y/N. It's just coffee. As I finished the drink, placing it neatly on the counter next to a napkin, I took a deep breath and reached for the tray, trying to look like I wasn't about to freak out. Just as I turned to deliver the order, Wilma emerged from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She gave me a sideways glance, then noticed the look on my face. She smirked, walking over with a bounce in her step. "So, how's Hoodie holding up?" she asked, leaning against the counter, clearly entertained by whatever she thought was happening. "You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

I tried to play it off. "It's nothing—just another customer, you know?" Wilma wasn't buying it. Her smirk widened as she crossed her arms. "Uh-huh. Just another customer? The same one who's been looking over their shoulder thrice this week? Oh, please." She leaned closer, her voice lowering like she was about to spill the juicest secret. "You're acting like your celebrity crush just walked in or something." I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and quickly shook my head. "Wilma, seriously, it's nothing. Just another order." But Wilma raised an eyebrow, completely unconvinced. She wasn't going to let this go. "Just another order, huh? You've got that look, Y/N. I know that look. Spill it." She glanced toward the booth, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Wait a minute...don't tell me. Jenna Ortega? Oh my God—it's her, isn't it? I shot her a desperate look, hoping to shut her down before she made a scene. "Wilma—" But she was already grinning ear to ear, loving every second of this. "Holy crap, Jenna—freakin'—Ortega is in our café! And I threw you right into it! This is too good." I sighed, knowing there was no way I could stop her now. "Wilma, keep your voice down! She's just trying to be left alone." Wilma's eyes sparkled, totally unfazed. "Well, aren't you the lucky one? Getting to talk to your celebrity crush? And here I thought you'd hide behind the counter all day." She gave me a playful nudge, clearly enjoying herself. I huffed, trying to control the blush that was now spreading across my face. "I didn't have a choice. You practically pushed me into it." Wilma laughed, crossing her arms, satisfied with how things had turned out. "Well, looks like my plan worked. And now, you've got a story to tell." I glared at her, though I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the assist, I guess." "Anytime," she replied, still grinning. "Now go deliver that coffee before it melts. Don't want to keep Jenna waiting, do you?" I took one final breath to calm my nerves, grabbed the tray with Jenna's iced coffee, and shot Wilma one last look as I headed toward the booth. "You're enjoying this way too much." Wilma winked. "Oh, absolutely."

With the tray in hand, I made my way toward Jenna's booth, taking slow, deliberate steps, trying not to trip over anything that could make this moment even more awkward. My heart was still hammering in my chest, and I swore I could feel Wilma's eyes burning a hole in the back of my head as she watched me. Jenna hadn't noticed me yet. She was sitting in the booth, quietly absorbed in a book. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of the page as she read, the soft glow from her phone resting nearby. For a second, I hesitated, not wanting to interrupt her peaceful moment, but I had to deliver the iced coffee she was waiting for. I cleared my throat quietly, just enough to catch her attention. "Your iced coffee," I said, setting the tray down gently on the table. She blinked, looking up from her book, pulling her hood back slightly as she met my gaze. A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips. "Thanks," she said softly, closing the book but keeping her finger between the pages to hold her place. "No problem," I replied, stepping back and clasping my hands in front of me, trying to act casual. My eyes flickered to the book in her lap; the title was just barely visible. I recognized it immediately— it was a classic horror novel I'd read a few years back. Of course, she's into horror. She caught me looking, and instead of feeling awkward, I smiled. "So...do you come here to escape, or is this just your go-to spot for caramel iced coffee?" Jenna smirked, taking a sip before answering. "A little bit of both. It's hard to find places like this in Hollywood—where people don't care who you are." "We're not big on the whole celebrity worship thing," I replied. "I mean, everyone needs their coffee fix, right?" "Exactly." She smiled again, this time wider, her eyes lighting up. There was something refreshing about the way she relaxed here. It felt like she wasn't just Jenna Ortega, the star of the screen, but a regular person looking for a little peace. I noticed the book still resting in her lap. "is that The Haunting of Hill House?" Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and she was clearly surprised I recognized it. "Yeah, it is," she replied, glancing down at the cover. I've read it before but thought I'd revisit it."

I nodded, a bit of my nervousness fading. "Good choice. Shirley Jackson really knows how to mess with your head, right?" Jenna's smile widened a little as she leaned back in her seat. "Exactly. It's one of my favorites. Creepy, but in a subtle way." I found myself relaxing, the conversation flowing more easily than I expected. "Yeah, the tension in that book...you just feel it building, and you don't even realize you're holding your breath until something happens." She chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Right? I love that feeling when a book gets under your skin." For a brief second, I forgot she was Hollywood's it girl. She was just another person who loved horror novels, just like me. "Well, I'll leave you to it," I said, realizing I'd been lingering too long. "But if you need anything else, just let me know." Jenna picked up her iced coffee and smiled. "Thanks. I will." I turned and headed back to the counter, feeling Wilma's eyes follow suit the whole time.

The second I made it behind the counter, she sidled up next to me with a wide grin. "Sooo? How'd it go, mascot?" she teased, elbowing me. I huffed, rolling my eyes. "I didn't die, if that's what you're asking." Wilma laughed, leaning against the counter. "Oh, come on, spill. Did you chat with her? Did she say anything?" "Yeah, we talked a little," I admitted, feeling the blush creep back onto my face. "She was reading The Haunting of Hill House—you know, classic horror stuff. I tried to keep it cool." Wilma raised an eyebrow. "And?" "And she was super chill about everything. We even geeked out over Shirley Jackson." Wilma's grin widened. "Looks like Jenna approves of your horror knowledge and barista skills. You must be so proud." I groaned, shaking my head. "Please stop." She shrugged, smirk, plastered. "Hey, who knows? Maybe she'll come back just for you." I sighed, rolling my eyes. "If she does, I'll need more than coffee to calm my nerves next time." Wilma chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Nerves? More like butterflies." I shot her a look but couldn't help smirking. "Yeah, and hopefully, I don't spill anything on myself next time." Wilma nodded, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough, superstar. Just remember me when you're living the high life." I glanced back at Jenna's booth one last time. She was already back in her book, occasionally sipping her iced coffee with a relaxed expression. "I guess we'll see in the future."

Three hours until closing, the café had settled into a familiar lull. A handful of customers lingered in their cozy corners, sipping the last of their drinks and enjoying the quiet, low hum of conversation around them. I busied myself behind the counter, wiping it down out of habit, but as I worked, I couldn't help but feel proud. This is exactly the vibe we had hoped for when Wilma and I opened The Daily Grind—a safe haven for anyone who wanted to escape the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, whether they were famous or not. Our little café has become a sanctuary where the pressure of being judged is nonexistent. It was calm, cozy, and welcoming—a little quiet in a city of lights, cameras, and action.

The cafe itself radiated that comforting atmosphere. The evening sun filtered through the tall windows, casting a warm amber glow over the space. The walls were painted in soft, earthy tones—warm beige and deep mocha—creating an atmosphere that wrapped around you like your favorite blanket. String lights twinkled gently overhead, casting a soft, golden light across the mismatched cushioned chairs and rustic wooden tables. Above the tables, lush green plants dangled from the ceiling in macramé holders, their vines cascading down like little waterfalls of greenery, adding a fresh, earthy scent to the room. The plants brought a touch of nature inside, softening the edges of the café's industrial-chic décor. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the faint scent of vanilla candles that burned on the windowsills. The rest of the evening went by quietly, with a comforting rhythm of soft chatter and the occasional clink of mugs. I was leaning over the counter, enjoying the calm, when Wilma came up beside me, holding a pink box. "Hey, mascot," she said, nudging me gently. "It's three hours to closing. Why don't you take this over to Prima?" She lifted the lid to reveal a perfectly frosted strawberry donut with rainbow sprinkles. "Prima?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at the nickname. Wilma smirked. "Yeah, Prima. It means 'first' in Spanish—like the top of her game. She's Hollywood's leading lady, right? It fits." I rolled my eyes but took the box from her. "You and your nicknames." "Hey, it's fitting. Now go give her the donut before I eat it myself," Wilma replied with a chuckled.

As I made my way over to Jenna's booth, I could feel the familiar flutter of nerves returning. She was still engrossed in her book, oblivious to the world around her. I cleared my throat softly as I approached, setting the box on the table. "Hey, I thought you might like this," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's on the house." Jenna looked up, blinking in surprise. "A donut?" She smiled, peeking inside the box. "With sprinkles?" "Strawberry frosted with sprinkles," I replied a little too quickly. "One of my favorites." Her smile widened, and she closed her book, giving the donut her full attention. "Thank you. This is...really sweet of you. Literally." I laughed softly, suddenly feeling a bit less nervous. "Well, we figured you could use a treat, seeing as you've been hanging out here for a while." Jenna nodded, taking the donut from the box and tearing off a piece. "This place is a perfect hideaway. I don't think I've ever felt this...relaxed in public." "Well, that's exactly what we aim for," I said, smiling as she took a bite of the donut. Jenna smirked and raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting playfully. "And here I thought you were going to spill the sugar again." I chuckled, feeling the heat creep up my neck. "Hey, I managed to keep it together this time. Progress, right?" She smiled. "I'll give you that. But if you need a backup plan, I think the sprinkled donut would cover for any future spills."

Fifty minutes before closing. I was wiping down the counters when Wilma came up beside me, pulling off her apron and holding her bag. "Hey, mascot," she said, glancing at the clock. "I've gotta head out. Time to pick up the little monsters from soccer practice." I raised an eyebrow. "The twins?" She nodded, rolling her eyes. "Yup, those two can't stay out of trouble. If I don't get there on time, they'll probably have convinced the coach to let them play goalie...at the same time." I chuckled. "Good luck with that. Go, save the day." Wilma gave me a dramatic sigh. "You know me, always the hero. But seriously, are you okay with closing up tonight?" "Yeah, I've got it. It's a quiet night." Wilma smirked. "Alright, just don't let Prima keep you past closing. She's still over there, right?" I glanced over toward Jenna's usual booth and shrugged. "I think so. She's been pretty quiet. Probably lost in her book." Wilma, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Well, don't let her charm you too much. I'll see you tomorrow, mascot." With that, she gave me a quick wave and hurried out the door, leaving me alone to finish up the last stretch of the evening. The café slowly emptied out, and as I tidied up, I assumed Jenna had left too. After all, I hadn't noticed her in a while. But as I wiped down the tables and put the chairs up, I glanced over at the window and froze.

She was still there

Curled up in her hoodie, her head resting against the window, she looked peaceful, completely engulfed in her book. Her iced coffee was finished, and the remains of the sprinkled donut sat on the napkin, crumbs scattered on it. It was only twenty minutes until closing, and I realized I'd have to get her attention. I changed from my apron and walked over. "Jenna?" I called softly, not wanting to startle her. She didn't respond, enthralled with the pages. After another unsuccessful attempt, I reached out and gently tapped her shoulder. She jumped slightly, eyes widening in surprise as she looked up at me. "Hey," she said softly, clearly shaken out of her book-induced daze. I chuckled, stepping back. "Sorry, I hate to bother you, but it's closing time." Jenna blinked, glancing around the now-empty cafe. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink as she realized she was the last one there. "Oh, wow, I didn't even notice. Sorry about that." "No problem," I said, giving her a reassuring smile. "Take your time packing up." I tried to make the situation less awkward as she gathered her things. "You know, I've really enjoyed watching you in... well, everything," I admitted, feeling a bit shy. "Especially Wednesday and Beetlejuice 2. But I've been a fan of your work for a long time." Jenna smiled, her expression softening. "Thank you. That means a lot."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and paused, glancing at me curiously. Actually, can I ask you something?" I blinked. "Of course." "What's your honest opinion of my acting? I always like hearing what people outside the industry think. It's...different." Surprised by the question, I hesitated for a moment, but then I nodded. "Honestly? I think you're amazing. Every time you're on screen, it's like... all eyes are on you. You make it look so effortless like you become the character. It's impressive." Jenna's cheeks turned a little pink again, and this time, I knew it wasn't my imagination. "Wow," she said softly. "That's...probably the nicest feedback I've heard in a while. Thank you." We walked out of the café together, and I didn't realize she'd been walking with me to my car until we reached the lot. We stood there, lingering momentarily, both of us realizing simultaneously. Jenna giggled lightly. "Looks like I walked you to your car instead of the other way around. Guess you've got me charmed after all." I laughed, feeling my own cheeks heat up. Before I could respond, two men in casual clothing approached us from the side, startling me. I froze, eyes wide, but Jenna remained calm. "Don't scare her like that," Jenna said, scolding the men. "Apologize." "Sorry, ma'am, one of the men said quickly, looking genuinely sorry. "They're my bodyguards," Jenna explained, turning to me. "They're with me 24/7, but I told them to give me space in the café. Guess they couldn't resist checking in." I let out a breath, feeling relieved. "That makes sense. We've got a security guard next door at the boutiqué, so I get it. I've also seen bodyguards hang out in the café, keeping an eye on things." Jenna nodded, smiling. "I'll have to bring them in next time for a coffee." I grinned. "Yeah, and I'll have to tell you about the crazy stuff I've seen. We've got some funny bodyguard stories." Jenna raised an eyebrow, her smile playful. "I'll hold you to that. Sounds like a promise," "It's a promise," I said, trying to keep my voice steady though my heart was racing. As Jenna opened her car door, she paused.

"By the way, I never got your name." "Oh," I stammered. "It's Y/N. But everyone calls me Y/N/N." "Nice to meet you officially, Y/N," she said with a smile. "I'm Jenna, but you already knew that." I laughed. "Oh, you're Jenna Ortega! No way you looked familiar!" She laughed, waving as she climbed into the car, her bodyguards following suit. I watched them drive off, and once she was out of sight, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I climbed into my own car, pressing my hands to my face and letting out a small squeal into the steering wheel. "I guess Wilma was right again...she's never going to let me live this one down," I muttered dreamily, starting the engine with a grin still plastered on my face.

[wanderingsoul6261]

Credit for gif goes to dailyflicks

Tyler Owens x Reader

PART ONE OF TWO (too long-hehehehe- to post in one. Do we are doing it in two, so fasten your seat belts for a long ride)

Warning: swearing, I think? I'm too lazy to check. Nothing else really I think.

Y/N walked over to the overly rigged up red truck, two cups of stale gas station coffee in her hands. She was very well aware of the rest of StormPar watching her, most of them probably glaring holes into her back as she approached the man none of them seemed to be able to stand.

She watched as the man peeked up over the bed of the truck, flashing her a cocky grin as he saw her advancing towards him, closing the distance in the matter of only seconds.

Two of his fingers moved up to tip his hat in greeting, his eyes having moved past her only briefly as he took in the group of StormPar employees watching them, Javi and Scott being two of them.

“Mornin’ Sugar.” his southern drawl came out, the sound of scraping on the truck bed filling the air between them as he reorganized a few things.

“Morning cowboy.” Y/N peeked around him, catching sight of Boone on the other side of the truck fiddling with the camera, Lilly next to him. “Boone. Lilly.” The two looked up at the mention of their names, tossing a wave in her direction before going back to their task.

“They really don't like you hanging out with us.” Tyler pointed two fingers behind her, tilting his head slightly as he climbed out of the back of the truck. He graciously accepted the coffee from her, a thank you falling from his lips as Y/N replied.

“I’d like to see them try and stop me. I can do what I want. It's fun seeing them getting all riled up.” Tyler's eyes crinkled at her antics, a chuckle escaping his throat as he leaned against the truck, Y/N standing in front of him. “it's half the reason why I do it.”

“You’re a little hell raiser.”

“I like the term fun. Or spontaneous. Captivating. Those are all good ones.” She said, her voice slightly muffled by the cup pressed to her lips, but a grin present behind it. Tyler's grin turned wider, taking in her appearance, her hair slightly disheveled, as if she only partially brushed it. The flannel she wore fell nicely around her body, the jeans she wore accentuated her curves wonderfully, and her eyes shown with mischief as she looked up at him.

“They don't know what they are missing.” He claimed, his eyes roaming over her face. The grin remained.

“They don't, do they?” Y/N glanced up at him. “If I wasn't good at what I do, I would have been off the team by now. Most of them think me a nuisance. Problem maker. Javi is the one always saving my ass.”

“Well you guys are old friends.”

“Well, with Kate now, if they can get her to stay beyond the week, I'm not so sure my space is safe.” She said honestly, the chaoticness leaving her tone and was now filled with a sense of unsureness.

“You’ll always have a place with us. I'll kick Boone to the back seat. Shotgun will be yours.”

“He’s been waiting.” Boone shot over, causing Tyler and Y/N to turn around and look at him.

“I figured.” She chuckled, a hand coming up to pat his chest. “It's okay cowboy. Your secret's safe with me.” She teased, her eyes filling with mischief once again. Tyler rolled his eyes, appreciating the way her hand felt against his chest before she retracted it.

“So this Kate chick?” He asked, taking another sip of his coffee. Tyler adjusted his stance against the truck, turning more of his body towards Y/N. Her smile faltered, but remained.

“Old friend of mine and Javi’s. All went to college together. Me and her didn’t leave on good terms.”

“I'm sorry.” He sounded genuine.

“Not your fault. Things just didn’t go as planned.” her smile faltered as she spared a glance back in the direction of StormPar. A few of them still watched her while others started to load up the vehicles. Javi and Kate seemed in deep discussion, the two sparing glances at Y/N and the renowned Wrangler every few seconds.

When she turned back to him, he looked at her with a small smile. The two were silent for a minute before her eyes filled with a mischievous fire as she took another step closer to Tyler. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“I know that look on your face. And I think I'm gonna like what's going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Oh I know you will. You like getting on StormPar’s nerves right?”

“All but yours,” He said honestly, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

“I think it would really irk them if something was going in between us.” Tyler’s grin grew wider, and Boone’s and Lilly’s giggles could be heard. “they like the idea.” She pointed out.

“and how do you suppose we do that?” He asked. Her smirk widened, setting her coffee down on the side of his truck, fished two fingers between his belt, and pulled him forward slightly, catching him by surprise.

“Do I have their attention?” His eyes moved from her to behind her, swallowing as he nodded.

“Sure do, sweet thing.” his eyes moved back to her just as she got the idea to steal the stetson off his head and put it on hers. Tyler’s eyes glazed over, his lungs jumping into his throat.

“You know what that means Darlin’?” He asked,his voice sounded husk, a hand settling on her waist as he pulled her impossibly closer.

“You must forget I'm also from the south.” She grinned wickedly. “I am well aware of cowboy etiquette. I like you, Tyler Owens. But you're gonna have to work for it.” She whispered, tapping his chest. “Not going to make it easy for you.” Grinning, she moved forward as if she was going to kiss him, but instead grabbed her coffee and turned away from him, walking back towards her group.

“What was that I called you? A little hell raiser?” He called out to her. Y/N turned around so that she was walking backwards back towards StormPar. Her eyes found his own from underneath his stetson and she used two fingers to tip it in his direction, the grin still present on her face. Then she turned back around, her back once again to him.

She didn't miss the heavy groan that fell from his lips, the grin on her face growing impossibly wider.

“You're going to just let her take your hat, man? That's like, your emblem.” Boone spoke up, earning a mumble of agreement from Lilly.

“I'll collect it.” He said, the second part added under his breath. “One way or another.”

Tyler watched her as she finally reached the group. He watched the interaction, as Mr. MIT said a few things before turning around, Y/N head snapping immediately to him. Tyler's eyebrow raised as Javi and Kate stepped in, between the two of the him before Y/N stomped over to Lion, climbing into the front seat.

“Someone has a temper to her.” Boone whistled as he stood next to Tyler. Tyler clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Something like that.” The two of them watched as the StormPar vehicles started to roll past them. Tyler trained his eyes on her, her own eyes meeting his as they drove by. Regardless of her interaction with Scott just minutes prior, she smirks at him, stetson still on her head, pointing two fingers in the air and twirling them around in a circular motion.

Tyler smiles, watching as the StormPar storm chasing caravan left him and the others in the dust.

—---

The rest of StormPar begrudgingly joined Y/N as she entered the bar, a large and cocky grin on her face, her eyes immediately catching sight of Tyler and the rest of his group.

Kate, Javi and Scott, along with some others of the StormPar crew, found a table in the corner, eyes watching Y/N as she walked to the bar to buy the first round of drinks. To say she immediately caught the eyes of a Mr. Tyler Owens is an understatement. It was like he knew she was coming, eyes constantly trained on the door and waiting, waiting for the woman that plagued his mind to walk into the dingy bar for a couple of drinks after a long day of chasing tornadoes.

The two locked eyes as he stood over the pool table, body bending at the waist as he leaned over to take a shot, a crack resounding through the bar as he easily beat Boone at a game of pool. Y/N grinned, her eyes flickering to the StormPar group, who all gave her disgruntled looks, watching as she walked over to Tyler.

He straightened his body, a slight smirk on his face, eyes not once, moving from her as she strolled over, leaving Javi to collect the drinks from the bar.

“Cowboy.” His flickered up to watch her fingers as she tipped his stetson.

“Sugar.” Tyler greeted her back, eyes moving back to her face as he leaned against the pool table, pool stick in one hand, a tall glass of beer in the other.

The two stared at each other for several moments, grins growing wider on their faces as both groups watched them.

“You like putting on a show don't you?” Tyler asked. “ the Wranglers are getting A kick out if us. But darlin’, I'm afraid MIT and Boss man aren't enjoying it.”

“They just don't like me conspiring with the enemy.” Tyler set his glass on the edge of the pool table, using two fingers to find a belt loop on her pants, pulling her towards him.

“Is that how you see me?” He asked.

“That's how they see you.” Tyler looked her in her eyes, moving briefly to her lips and then back up, the grin growing softer. Something about those words coming from her stirred something inside of him. The words were genuine, sounding almost like a promise for something more in their future.

“Are we still making them believe that there is something between us?” He asked suddenly. Y/N grinned. Her eyes were full of a challenge from beneath his stetson.

“I told you that you had to work for it.”

“What if I felt I worked for it long enough?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “How long have we known each other?” Tyler asked. She looked up at him, amusement in her eyes as she accounted for the time that they knew each other. It's only been a few weeks, having met him just shortly before the start of Tornado season. She couldn't help it when her eyes dipped down to his lips.

“Play a game of pool with me.” She insisted. “Then maybe I'll think about it.” A teasing lilt to her tone. His fingers slipped from her belt loop, his eyes moving to the StormPar crew watching them, his smirk widening as he looked back at her and nodded.

“You got yourself a game then, Sugar.”

Y/N smiled, amused as she brought a hand up to his chest, her fingers slipping underneath his shirt where it was unbuttoned. His breath became stuck in his throat as she gently grazed her fingers across his skin, walking past him to get a pool stick. His eyes followed her as she walked past him, turning his body slightly to unashamedly watch her back side, and she knew it. He then turned his head to look at the StormPar table, winking at them as he turned his body to set the game, his eyes catching the knowing expressions of his own friends.

“Oh, want your hat back yet?” She asked, putting chalk on her pool stick. He shook his head, letting her catch his gaze as he grinned at her.

“Nope. Looks better on you anyways.” She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile on her face as she tread towards him, her eyes remaining on him as he moved to make the break, his own on the pool balls on the table.

“Is that the only reason?” She asked. Her eyes watched his form, watching as he got into stance and as his muscles seemed to push against the sleeves of his flannel. Y/N kept her eyes on him, even as he made his play and made the break, standing up and turning to her, a cocky smirk on his face as he turned to her, leaning dangerously close.

“I'll come and collect it when I'm well and ready. What was it you said?” He asked, pretending to think about it, her grin increasing. “Oh that's right. Making you work for it, because I'm not going to make it easy for you.”

Y/N was surprised to have her own words used against her, but it increased the fun of the game. Tyler winked in her direction. And then the pool game started.

The game started easily enough. One or the other was sometimes able to land a ball into a pocket, other times they were not. There was a lot of looking though, from both parties, as they either took in each other's techniques, or they were staring just to stare. The Wranglers found it amusing, knowing instantly that this charade was only a charade to both Y/N and Tyler, and that the feelings were definitely real and mutual.

Tyler watched as Y/N, by some luck of the draw, was able to land three balls in pockets one after the other. This now put her above by two, as she was previously down only by one.

As the two looked at the playing field, they seen that Y/N now only had three balls left, whereas Tyler had five. His eyes had moved to her, already catching the amused look from Y/N after she missed what would have been her forth score in a row.

He couldn't be upset though. Tyler was losing, yes, but something about getting his ass handed to him in a game of pool, especially by her, entertained him. Dare he say he almost found it hot.

“Your turn, Cowboy.”

Tyler moved around her to take his next shot, pleased to find he had an easy one.

“We should make this a bit more interesting.” Tyler leaned over to line up his shot, sparing a glance at Y/N. She was leaning against the pool table, a coy smirk on her face as she stared at him. Clearing his throat, he looked back towards the cue ball, paying more attention to that than her. She would in fact be the death of him.

“How so, Owens?” She asked. Her sweet sounding voice, even if she was anything but that, filled his ears and he faltered his movements, getting the ball into a pocket, but the cue ball unfortunately followed behind it, once again, making it her turn.

“A bet.” He didn't revel in the unfortunate moment, but instead turned to her with a smirk, eyes moving quickly to glance between the two groups, before finally landing back on her. She had an eyebrow raised in curiosity, almost begging for him to continue.

“What kind of bet?”

Tyler strolled slowly to where she stood, standing between her and the pool table, so that he blocked StormPar's view of her. His hand settled on her waist, fingers slipping underneath her flannel as he pulled her closer and leaned over her. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, the pool stick falling and hitting the floor, her breath hitching as she stared up at him. Tyler caught the action, grinning mischievously as he looked down at her, his head tilting slightly, making it look as if they were in the throes of a heated kiss. The rest of the Wranglers hoot and hollered, throwing out whistles.

“Whoever wins gets to pick who chases which storm tomorrow.” he said.

“Deal.” She whispered, unable to help it when her eyes drifted to his lips again. It only boosted Tyler's ego, his grin widening as his grip on her waist tightened briefly. He clicked his tongue, before letting her go so that she could take her shot. She let a mental groan, closing her eyes briefly before she continued the game.

Y/N ended up winning, but she was almost certain that he let her. Her eyes narrowed slightly at him, knowing he didn't seem to do his best towards the end. And the sheepish grin he gave her as he strolled over to her almost confirmed it.

“You let me win.”

“Did No such thing. You won fair n’ square darlin.” Her eyes narrowed more as she stared at him. He leaned closer to her, a playful smirk across his face as he watched her. His eyes moved to his stetson, adoring the way it sat upon her head. Tyler could get used to it sitting on her head.

Then his lips were on hers.

It shocked the poor man at first, as he wasn't expecting it. Boone, Lilly, and the others let out whistles and cat calls, and Tyler relished in the way her fingers scratched at his beard scruff and wove into his hair, finally kissing her back with as much as she gave. His hands trailed down to her hips, pinning them against the pool table, before his hands came to rest on her cheeks.

Remembering they needed to breathe, the two pulled away, lips barely brushing as he cracked a smile.

“That will really get your people goin’.”

“Then when you come to my motel room tonight, will kill them.” She said, her breathing heavy as she poked his chest. Tyler swallowed, his lips barely brushing against hers as he spoke.

“It sure will.”