#still. i try to be polite and at least ask in the tags as i rb a smaller note post. like. ill delete if someone wants ofc

[streamdotpng]

Quick sale till... march? Maybe? Who knows, i'm trying to get verified in Vgen so i'll keep the sale going until i reach that or if there's too many orders

If you'd like more examples of my works, feel free to check the tags commission work, rendered, my art or ask for more in DM’s!

You can either commission me through Vgen or here. I'd appreciate it if its through vgen so i can get verified but if you don't feel like it, shoot me a DM and we can talk there.

Now, read everything below first before commissioning me.

🗐 COMMERCIAL RIGHTS

⚲ IMPORTANT!

Upon commissioning the artist, the client automatically agrees to the terms of service provided, as it is assumed they have read them. If there are any questions or concerns, feel free to reach out through DMs or my other socials.

No additional payments are required for the following, as long as credit is given with my handle "@streamdotpng" whenever used:

✔ Icons, Banners, Thumbnails, and Posts used for streaming or other content purposes.

If the art is used for commercial purposes, with the artist’s consent, the artist will receive an agreed-upon percentage of the sales profits.

✒ GENERAL

The Artist has the right to refuse a commission if they are not comfortable or confident about the request.

The client is allowed to ask for progress updates every 2-4 days and are freely given.  If it is a rushed commission, feel free to ask for more frequent updates.

By commissioning the artist, the client acknowledges that the artist is a student and this is not the artist’s full-time job. The client should not expect the artist to treat it as such.

Communications will generally be done in Vgen Chats (Please check your emails for chat notifications). Unless you prefer to communicate in other applications, that is also allowed as long as you let me know. Scroll down to see the end of my Terms of Service for my contacts or check the links in my profile.

Under any circumstances, Clients are not permitted to use any part of the commissioned artwork for non-fungible tokens (NFTs), blockchain, cryptocurrency platforms or AI Training. Such usage is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action taken.

✎ᝰ. CAN, MIGHT & WON’T DRAW!

╰┈➤ CAN DRAW !

Fanart

Shipping [GL, BL, Straight, Yumeship]

Original Characters

PNGtuber Models (e.g Blinking, Speaking)

Character sheets

╰┈➤ MIGHT DRAW ! (We’ll need to talk more about these requests)

Anthropomorphic animals

Heavy Armor

Excessive Gore

Comics

Complicated backgrounds (e.g. Detailed interior, buildings etc)

Honestly, if it isn’t in the "Can Draw" list, let’s talk about it!

╰┈➤✖  WILL NOT DRAW !

Depiction of suicide and self harm

Depiction of any type of hateful/political art

Anything that crosses my personal boundaries 

⏱ TIMELINE & WORK PROCESS

Work completion will take at least 1-2 weeks minimum, depending on the amount of commissions worked on. 

My work process simplified: Draft and Line Art ➤ Colouring ➤ Final Touches.

My work process expanded on: Draft ➤ Line Art ➤ Flat Colours ➤ Shading ➤ Final Work.

After completing each stage, I will contact you for either payment or revisions and thoughts. 

$ PRICING & PAYMENT

Prices vary depending on the commission. I’m flexible, but here are some base prices:

$5-10 USD depending on the background

$10-15 USD per person added

Note: There can be additional charges due to PayPal fees.

Half the payment is expected to be paid upfront Post-Draft or Post-Line Art. The rest of the payment will be paid fully after the Flat Colours are seen and approved. If payment hasn't been received, the Artist will not continue until then.

The option to fully pay upfront is allowed but must be talked about before sending over the money.

No refunds are allowed after the draft has been sent.

You can pay through PAYPAL, KOFI or VGEN

↺ REVISION POLICIES

Once the coloring stage begins, the only major revisions permitted are details that the artist may have missed and was specified by the client while the commission was still in the sketching/lineart stage (e.g. a missing tattoo that’s essential to the character’s design).

If the client is unsatisfied with the commission Post-Line Art, the artist is willing to discuss and make minor edits as stated prior (e.g. adjusting colors). However, the artist will not redraw the piece and expects full payment, as the client should have specified in the sketch stage the changes they wanted to be made.

The client may not hire another artist to adjust the image without the artist’s consent.

The artist is willing to edit the image post commission for the commissioner, but may charge a small fee depending on what is being asked of them

🛈 RUSHED COMMISSIONS

Rush Fees apply. Contact me first to discuss how much you’re willing to pay for the rush fee.

The fastest turnaround time is 1-2 days (maximum 4 days) with the same quality as my usual work.

For short deadlines, you must be responsive when it comes to communication. It'd save us both the headache and worry.

▸ DISCLAIMER!

Breaking or disrespecting the rules of the Terms of Service will lead to a permanent ban and you will be blacklisted. It means, users who break the Terms of Service will lose the rights to commission me.

However, I may allow second chances. Blacklisted users can contact me with proof of improved behavior to request removal.

---

…and that’s about it? Just don’t expect me to be obligated to draw something and we’ll figure something out. Not to mention that depending on how much commissions i’m getting and how busy i am, the art will take atleast a few days to a week!

If you got references, provide them! It’ll help alot. You can also ask for progress updates, just don’t mind me accidentally not seeing the message bc this is tumblr and I don’t get notifs for some reason.

That’s about it, thanks for seeing this yall. Again, If you want to see more examples, simply look at my art tags in my account or send a DM and i'll send some over there.

[rewatching-sam-and-dean]

I normally try not to weigh in too much on the actors themselves, but fandom is being hysterical (not in the funny way) as usual after The Boys promo video with J2 and Misha.

Here are some facts:

Jensen went to Kripke and asked if he had anything for him after SPN ended. Kripke helped him craft his audition until it would be acceptable for the other producers. We know this happened because Jensen told us, and he talked about it multiple times. There is nothing wrong with him going to Kripke for work. This is networking, and it’s what actors should do.

Jared never once publicly asked to be on The Boys. At most, he answered fan questions when asked what kind of character he’d like to play, but he never actually hinted he wanted a part. In articles, when asked if he’d join, Jared essentially said he was too busy filming Walke, in a polite way. Also fact, Kripke has hinted at wanting Jared on The Boys before Walker was cancelled, and he did so publically. Then when Walker was cancelled, Kripke really ramped up the public pitches to get Jared on the show, and was publicly psyched when Jared finally agreed. Jared never, publicly at least, even asked or hinted at wanting to be on The Boys, never mind begged.

Misha hinted multiple times publicly, including tagging Kripke on social media directly, that he’d like to be on the show. Kripke never said anything publicly, as far as I’m aware, about wanting or trying to get Misha on the show prior to the announcement from yesterday. When he talked about getting the biggest SPN Pokémon, it was when Jared finally signed on. When he talked about breaking the internet again, it was in reference to a J2 reunion on screen. When he talked about reuniting the SPN trio, it was in reference to JA, JP and JDM, not Misha. Was Kripke always planning to include Misha once he finally got Jared? Maybe. Is it possible he wasn’t going to bother with Misha until or unless he got Jared too? Yes. He could have hired Misha on at any time before and never did. Misha definitely publicly begged to be on the show, and Kripke never said anything in return to, or regarding, him being on the show until now. Kripke probably only brought him on because he thought of something funny/gross/trolling to do with J2 and him on screen.

Ultimately, I would have preferred not to have Misha in The Boys because when I finally get to see J2 on screen together, I didn’t really want him there, too. It feels like trying to shoehorn Castiel in with the brothers again from forced SPN scenes. But, I’ve also lost interest in the show itself, so I’ll probably pick and choose what moments I bother to watch anyway.

That being said, The Boys has a whole cast beyond Jensen being a regular in Season 5, never mind it being a giant J2 reunion that will take up a bunch of screen time. So, adding Misha to the mix isn’t exactly robbing fans of long and significant J2 moments on screen. (Though I’d still be happy for him not to be in their scenes at all).

Honestly, Kripke probably wanted Jared so bad, at least in part, so he could bank on free publicity in social media from Jared and J2 fans. He already had the Jensen fans on board. Similarly, he probably decided to add Misha for the same reason. Happy or not about his addition, people are talking about it on many social media platforms, this bring free attention yo the show.

Kripke just wants publicity.

What I want is to get out of this is at least one solid (hopefully more), Misha-less moment between J2 on screen.

But people are really losing their shit over what might amount to like 5 minutes of screen time from Jared and/or Misha. Jensen’s Soldier Boy isn’t even one of the main cast members, even either him being a regular this season, so I doubt there will be a lot of room to expand on a character for Jared (never mind Misha) and then interacting, on a show that’s on its final season and has many storylines to wrap up.

Anyway, in conclusion, only one member of J2M begged for a part in The Boys, and Kripke is using all of them to generate buzz. Simple as that.

[love-songs-for-emma]

‼️ VAMPIRE QUESTION TIME ‼️ [MORAL DILEMMAS ALERT🚨]

if your significant other/best friend were turned into a vampire, would you want them to turn you into one too?

and, vice versa,

if you were turned into a vampire, would you want to turn your significant other/best friend into one too?

[jejewonster]

Training Wheels

i love everything you do, when you call fucking dumb for the stupid shit i do ⋅˚ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆˙

˚₊‧⁺˖ pairing: jeon wonwoo x f! reader ˚₊‧⁺˖ genre: dubcon, smut (MDNI 18+ ONLY) ˚₊‧⁺˖ wc: 3.2k

— wonwoo is sick of your childish crush on him. unforutunately his friends are assholes and forces him in a room alone with you.

˚₊‧⁺˖ smut tags & warnings: mean!wonwoo, obsessive!reader, asshole!wonwoo, corruption kink, DUBCON, creampie, fingering, spanking, multiple postions, innocence kink. seungcheol and mingyu are mentioned, wonwoo finds reader annoying, wonwoo is a huge asshole. ˚₊‧⁺˖ a/n: read my guidlines. don't like don't read. block me if this isn't your cup of tea. thank you @discoverhansol for beta reading ♡.

a sequence of familiar dings of wonwoo’s ringtone silences the middle of his conversation. seungcheol and mingyu send him a knowing look, their smiles cheeky as if they already know who’s blowing up his phone. 

[@/yourusername]  hi wonu!! have a good day at school >.<  lmk if u received the pastry and latte i got u hehe  i had to give it to gyu cuz i couldn’t find u :(((  see u during econ :3 <3  [read at 12:37 p.m. ]

wonwoo frowns at his phone; he doesn’t understand why you keep trying to get close to him or why you even like him, but it’s starting to piss him off. the teasing from both seungcheol and mingyu doesn’t help either. wonwoo is on the brink of insanity and you won’t let go of your stupid crush on him. 

sure, he’s popular, he’s hot, and girls are gonna like him. but for some reason you have a knack for getting under his skin. in his three years of university, no girl has ever been so diligent in pursuing him, not like you. just the ping he gets from his instagram dm’s ticks him off, because no one else sends him more texts in a row, not like you. he hates how you’ve gotten his friends to do your bidding, like the smirk on mingyu’s face when he hands him your meaningless gifts. 

“another text from your girlfriend?” cheol snickers, leaning over the dining hall table to peek at wonwoo’s phone. 

blood rushes through wonwoo’s body with vigour. he’s red with anger, not embarrassment. he hates when dumb and dumber refer to you as his girlfriend. god forbid. 

“fuck off. she wishes she was my girfriend,” wonwoo yanks the phone to his chest, not wanting to have new material to tease him about. 

“whatever you say man, she’s still hot,” mingyu interjects, popping a fry into his mouth. 

“who cares how hot she is, she’s fucking nuts,” wonwoo scoffs, rolling his eyes at mingyu. 

“you’re an idiot. if someone like her was obsessed with me i’d at least hit it once,” mingyu argues. 

wonwoo can’t even fathom the thought of fucking you. not when you’re constantly in his dm’s trying to get his attention. the desperation you display practically reeks off his phone. it repels any thought of finding you attractive from his mind. 

“really? you haven’t thought about once?” cheol asks him, an expression of disbelief painted on his face. 

wonwoo tries to recall a time when he found you normal. at the beginning of the semester, there was a slight chance. slight chance, that he found you cute. but after the one project you two did together, his opinion on you changed drastically. 

you became irritating, texting him randomly throughout the day. he was polite at first, replying with curt responses. but then came the unsolicited gifts. first, it was coffee, his favourite. how you found out his usual, he’s unsure. then came the matching items. overly cute couple's phone cases that went into the trash immediately. then it was the homemade baked goods and food. at first, he tried not to let it get to him, but it became too much. you were so obviously obsessed and no matter what he did, you would find a way to shower with him with unwanted attention. 

the thought of you under him makes him shiver. flushed cheeks, long lashes fluttering under the dim lights, the sounds of your moans. wonwoo takes a sip of his water. what the hell is your problem? 

“no. and i’m not going to. ever.” 

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆˙

the moment wonwoo walked into seungcheol’s house, his smile dropped. the moment he walked through the door, his eyes found you standing alone, sipping at your drink while the party patrons didn’t bother to even glance your way. of fucking course you’re here. he doesn’t know how you even found out about him attending, but he wasn’t about to let it ruin his night. 

“wonwoo!” mingyu hollers from across the living room. 

the deafening bass of the speaker stabs at his eardrums, but that's not his highest concern at the moment. you are. 

he attempts to ignore how he can feel your eyes flit to him the moment you hear mingyu call his name. your stare is so intense that goosebumps begin to raise on his skin. 

“bro, what the fuck! now she knows i’m here,” wonwoo curses his idiot friend out. 

with his jaw clenched, he can still feel you watching him. it creeped him out, but there's nowhere to hide. stupid rich seungcheol and his stupid open lay out mansion. 

“so? who cares, it’s not like she’s actually gonna–” mingyus words are cut off the moment he looks over wonwoo’s shoulder. 

“hi wonwoo!” your voice is too cheerful for his liking. 

there are so many things running through his mind. whether he should curse you out, completely ignore your existence, or if he should just go home. how is he supposed to enjoy the one weekend where he actually has free time if you keep bothering him? 

“oh, hey! we were just talking about how wonwoo wanted to talk to you. privately,” mingyu brings wonwoo out of his train of thought. 

his eyes widen, a silent attestation to whatever mingyu was planning in that fucked up brain of his. 

“wait, really?” 

wonwoo still had his back turned towards you. from an outsiders point of view he can only presume that anyone could see how he was shaking with anger. what the fuck, kim mingyu? 

“yeah! anyways, you guys have fun. i gotta find cheol,” mingyu’s smile drips with fraudulence. 

if wonwoo was angry then, he’s seething now. mouthing a ‘you’re dead’ to mingyu as he feels your fingers grip onto his bicep, waiting for him to whisk you away like some phony princess. 

before mingyu leaves him, he whispers one last remark, “just fuck her, man. she’ll forget about you once she gets it out of her system.” 

his voice is low but just loud enough for wonwoo to hear. he almost punches mingyu right then and there, but for some reason, something in him decides to just go with the flow of the situation. 

at least he’ll get something out of this, right?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆˙

the door locks with an audible click. fuck it. if wonwoo was gonna do this, then he might as well make sure no one catches him. 

“what did you want to talk about?” you break the silence, wonwoo almost jumps at the sound of your voice. 

“you like me, right?” wonwoo turns to face you. 

your eyes are doe-like, looking up at him like he’s the answer to all your problems. pathetic. 

as he crosses his arms, he strides towards you until he can feel your breath brush against his chest. the look you give him almost has him wondering if this isn’t as a bad idea as he initially thought. 

“i-i mean yeah. i guess you could say that,” you mutter, avoiding eye contact as wonwoo bores holes into your skin. he can feel the swirl of annoyance begin to manifest within his stomach. 

now you wanted to play coy? as if he can’t sniff the desperation that leaks through your pores. it’s pitiful, if anything, how much of a slut you are for his attention. god, wonwoo can’t stand you sometimes, it makes him want to rip his hair out. 

he supposes that fucking his frustration out of his system may be the one thing that could relieve him of the stress you give him. 

“if you like me, you’ll do anything right?” wonwoo continues to tiptoe his way into getting you to at least suck him off. 

“anything. really, i’ll even pay for our date!” you gush, finally meeting his gaze. 

wonwoo guffaws at your answer. not only are you desperate, but you’re dumb too. it makes sense honestly, no one with an IQ over eighty-five would spend this much time trying to get their crush to like them back. 

“get on your knees then. show me how much you like me,” he commands, and you freeze upon his words. 

a laugh threatens to escape his throat. wonwoo stands there half in disbelief and half in intrigue. he watches as you slowly descend to your knees, your eyes searching for his next command. 

actually, wonwoo could get used to this. you looked like a dog waiting for their owner to give them a reward. 

“like this?” you mumble, the blush on your cheeks apparent even with how dimly lit seungcheol’s guest bedroom is. 

“just like that.” 

you’re shaking like a leaf, and wonwoo is starting to believe that this is going to be a lot more entertaining than he initially thought. who knew you would be so obedient?

“you ever sucked a cock before?” wonwoo asks, not that he cares all that much about your sexual history. 

“mm. n-no,” you whisper, your brows strews together with confusion. 

wonwoo is genuinely surprised. he would’ve at least thought you’ve gotten some sort of action. he can admit you’re attractive, but your delusional state just overshadows your natural beauty. 

“then i’ll be your first,” wonwoo drawls, and he can see the way your eyes flash with panic. 

“w-wait, i thought you wanted to talk?” you quickly get up from your knees, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“you really think i took you into a room, just the two of us, to talk?” wonwoo bellows out a laugh. 

he didn’t expect you to be so naive, but it only eggs him on further. a sweet little virgin, too innocent for her own good. now that, wonwoo can’t let go. he came into this with reluctance, but fucking virgin pussy is too enticing to pass up. 

“i thought you wanted to tell me you liked me back,” you gulp. 

your footsteps backtrack until you hit a wall. wonwoo crowds you, like a lamb to a slaughter, you stand there with hope depleted from your once glimmering eyes. and wonwoo’s ready to go in for the kill. 

“show me how bad you want me. maybe i’ll change your mind,” wonwoo propositions. 

grasping at your waist, he feels the heat of your exposed skin. your top is dishevelled from the sheer force of his grip. as if his words can compel you to do anything he asks, you smash your lips into him. the kiss is clumsy, and messy, he can only conclude you’ve never done anything like this before.

pulling away, he catches his breath. he despises how strongly his dick twitches in his pants. as much as he doesn’t want to indulge in your fantasies, an opportunity such as this one doesn’t arise often. 

“you poor little thing. you don’t even know how to kiss someone properly,” he breathes out, grabbing your jaw hard enough that your cheeks squish upon his touch. 

“w-wonwoo, can we just talk? this seems wrong,” you beg, but your pleas only arouse him further. 

“i thought you liked me?” 

“i do!” you argue. 

“then kiss me like you mean it.” 

you lean in again, eyebrows furrowed with determination. he can tell you’re actually trying now. to appease him, to give him what he wants, because why wouldn’t you? wonwoo is aware of how much you want him, he should’ve realized sooner that he could use it to his advantage. 

the softness of your lips alongside the dedication behind your actions forces a groan to leave him. he grips your waist tighter, enough to leave bruises along your delicate skin. the whimper you let out has wonwoo straining against his pants. 

pulling you in closer, wonwoo rubs his clothed erection against your torso. the friction causes sparks to erupt under his fingertips. those same fingertips trail on your bare skin, slowly traversing their way up your stomach and under your shirt. 

wonwoo’s large palms cup at your breasts, enjoying the fact he can access your nipples without the barrier of a bra in his way. the moan you let is wonwoo’s worst nightmare. not because it’s unpleasant, but because he hates that your sounds are getting him turned on despite his obvious disdain toward you. 

“wonwoo… i don’t think this is right,” you whine, but your words fall on deaf ears as he keeps you anchored against the wall. 

you can’t escape him even if you tried. 

“if you don’t do what i ask of you, then you can leave,” wonwoo becomes increasingly more irritated the more you protest his advances. 

you wanted this, so he’s gonna give you it. 

“but what about our date?” you pout, lips swollen and bitten. 

there’s conflict behind your eyes, like you knew this wasn’t wanted but better than anything he’s given you the moment you started liking him. 

wonwoo is quick to silence you. he doesn’t want to hear about whatever delusions you’ve conjured up in your head. his dick is hard and he wants to cum. 

a gasp leaves your lips, he can’t have you running your mouth when his cock is starting to pulse so hard that it’s becoming uncomfortable. his hands leave your pebbled nipples to grab onto your thighs. lifting you up, he throws you onto the mattress, and you yelp from surprise. 

“don’t be stupid. all you wanted was for me to notice you. so just take what i give you,” wonwoo grunts, prying your legs open. 

fuck, if you’re not gonna suck him off, then he needs to be inside you now or he’ll cum in his pants. 

the patch of arousal on your panties doesn’t go unnoticed. of course, you’re secretly enjoying this. he should’ve known you were secretly a whore for him. flipping your skirt up, he rips off your panties off in one go. he needs to be inside you in the next second or he’s gonna bust a load in his pants. 

“w-wait, i’m not ready,” you complain again. 

wonwoo’s deciding whether or not to gag you, but for some reason your high pitched objection gets him rock hard. the thought of you begging him to stop gets the blood pumping straight to his shaft. 

your shirt is discarded not long after, and you lie there helpless, panting and clearly in need of attention to your poor untouched hole. 

“i-it hurts wonwoo, help me please,” you whine, a tear slipping from the corner of your eyes. 

“where? show me where and i can give you what you want,” wonwoo’s eyebrows raise with intrigue. 

your fingers move down slowly until they touch right where he’s been fantasizing about the moment he got you to fess up about your innocence. 

“r-right here. please, i don’t know what to do. it just hurts,” you hiccup, grabbing his hand and pushing it towards your dripping heat. 

he smirks at your desperate countenance, the part in your pink lips, wet with his saliva and swollen from the intensity of his kiss. wonwoo had to get his cock into you. now. 

“fuck, you’re dripping like crazy,” wonwoo mutters. 

with your hand clasped in his, the size difference between the two of you is hard to ignore. your fingers are so tiny compared to his, he wonders if you’ve even touched yourself. do your fingers even properly fill your tiny cunt? or do you have to shove a dildo inside yourself in order to feel any sort of satisfaction? wonwoo’s thoughts run as the tips of his fingers come in contact with your searing heat. 

the groan wonwoo lets out is strained. your breath hitches at his touch as he begins to rub your clit. the sounds that escape your lips has  wonwoo panting along with you. while moving toward your neck, he leaves deep red bruises along your soft skin while he slips a finger past your folds. 

your pussy squeezes around his single digit with such force that it causes him to grunt. you’re so fucking tight. 

“holy fuck, you’re secretly a desperate little slut, aren’t you? don’t you feel this, baby? you’re gripping my finger like crazy,” wonwoo mutters against your skin. 

“i-i can’t. wonwoo please it hurts,” you squirm under him, but his free hand keeps you in place. 

his body hovering over yours, he watches as you come undone from a few strokes of his hand. the lips he had on your exposed shoulder return back to yours until your orgasm hits. your breathy gasps fill the room and you clench down, the flood of your arousal coating his hand. 

“gonna fuck this tight little cunt till you’re dripping in my cum,” wonwoo mutters, standing up to rid himself of his clothing. 

the moment his pants hit the floor, his body is on yours. pushing your legs to your chest, he folds you in half. the tip of his cock leaking with precum from not receiving any attention the whole time he’s been playing with you. wonwoo grips his length, rubbing himself against your soaking cunt, you’re so wet that he knows he can slip in without a problem. 

you stare down at his dick in sheer panic, “w-wait, it’s too big.” 

wonwoo doesn’t care. he just needs to cum. 

“you act like you don’t want this. but this pussy of yours is practically crying for my cock,” wonwoo grunts before shoving his length inside you till he bottoms out. 

a half scream, half moan leaves your lips, your eyes rolling back as wonwoo thrusts into you. there’s a slight arch in your back as wonwoo pistons his hips. the heat of your pussy enveloping his length is addictive. 

wonwoo buries himself in your neck, his breath harsh against your skin. the only thing to be heard is the snap of his hips bullying into your hole. 

“it feels so good,” you whimper as you lace your fingers through his hair. 

pulling at the strands, wonwoo indulges in the pain along with the pleasure of your walls massaging his pulsing member. he should’ve thought of doing this a lot sooner. 

“mmph–w-wonoo, i can’t, i-it hurts again,” you cry out, and wonwoo almost releases his load at the sound of your moans. 

but he can’t finish just yet. 

relinquishing you from his hold, he moves back to flip you over. forcing your ass into the air, he enters you once again. the position allowing him to fill your tiny hole to the brim. his balls slap against your clit, and your screams are muffled by the mattress he’s forcing your face into. 

“should’ve fucked you sooner, f-fuck. gonna make this tiny cunt of yours mine and mine only,” wonwoo growls, and he can feel your pussy clench at his words. 

“you like that don’t you? the thought of me fucking this pussy every night?” he chuckles, spanking your ass. 

“i-i love it, please. it feels so good,” your answer stifled by the sheets shoved into your face. 

the bed creaks along with his movements, and his cock is starting to twitch inside you. continuing to leave red hand marks on your skin, he allows himself to still in your cunt, his cum spurting into you and overflowing past your swollen pussy lips. 

pulling you by your hair, he leans forward to whisper in your ear. 

“we’re not done. you’re gonna let me fuck that mouth of yours too.” 

[split-spectrum]

YOU'VE GOT TO LEARN

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Tags: extremely dubious consent, non-con elements, explicit sexual content, exhibitionism, age gap, established relationship, jealousy, possessive!joel, softdom!joel, unprotected sex, alcohol, hair pulling

Length: 3.3K

Summary: At a client's house party, you catch yourself getting jealous of other eyes on Joel. Joel pulls you aside to show you exactly what he thinks of that.

This is my first time writing for Joel Miller, so please go easy on me <3

☆☆☆

What is it about Joel that makes him most attractive when he's stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be?

You tip back the last of your whiskey sour, gazing at the tight creases in the corners of his eyes as he nods along with the blond guy who's been talking for twenty painful minutes about the crypto market. Joel is leaning back, arms folded over his chest, his big shoulders pushing at the seams of his denim shirt.

He once told you that no one besides you could tell his emotions on his face. You'd laughed and called bullshit at the time, telling him every thought in that pretty head of his showed up plain as day on his face, but right now it doesn't seem to matter. He's been looking like he'd swallowed glass since this guy started talking, and it doesn't seem to make a bit of difference to him.

When Joel had asked if you wanted to come along to the holiday party one of his clients was having at his house, you'd said yes even after hearing that the guy was 'kind of an idiot' and you'd probably be 'bored to tears'. Joel would have skipped it, but unfortunately it was one of his biggest clients, and the invitation wasn't one he could politely decline.

Right now, though, you're sort of wishing you'd listened to him. The party stopped being fun somewhere around the second MLM scheme that had been pitched to you, and you're now counting the minutes until you'll hit the mark Joel set on the drive there: "Least a couple hours - then we can head out."

The guy takes a short pause, then launches into another tirade on bitcoin, and you realize you're going to need another drink to get through it. Joel's arm slips from around your waist as you pull away.

"Be right back, fellas. I'm going to get a refill."

Joel's brows lift as you leave him behind. "Now hold on there. Wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I let you get your own drink-"

You wave him off, trying to hold in a smirk. "No really, I need to take a lap. Stretch my legs."

He licks his lips, looks off to the side for a second before calling after you, "Grab me one on your way back, will ya?"

You smile innocently. "You got it."

After your host declines your offer to get him something, you head to the kitchen, making a little chit chat on your way to the well-stocked fridge. You decide to get Joel's beer before you return to the open bar to ask for another drink of your own. You hook your knuckles around the neck of a Modelo, no sooner closing the door to the fridge before you glance back in Joel's direction, seeing he's been joined by a few more people.

It isn't surprising. Joel's the type of guy who tends to draw attention, and not just because of his looks. He's the guy who's in charge, even when he's not in charge. People gravitate toward him; just something about his presence that makes him the most interesting thing in every room.

In spite of that, your attention isn't on him at the moment. It's on the girl making moon eyes beside him. She's tossing a long, shiny ponytail behind her shoulder and grinning ear to ear despite the fact that bitcoin boy hasn't stopped talking.

Picking up a bottle opener, you pop the cap off the beer in your hand by muscle memory, not able to tear your eyes off of them. Joel's attention is still on the host, but when she says something to him, you watch him pull his chin back to nod, holding her in the corner of his eye to give a quick smile.

Kelly, you remember. That's her name. She's the receptionist at the client's office, and she's probably seen more of Joel this month than you have.

You watch as she cranks up her smile another thousand watts, laughing at something one of the other guys in the group has said. Kelly, you think. No. Probably spells it with an i. Kelli. Probably dots it with a heart.

Your face is starting to warm up, and when someone on the other side of the kitchen counter gently asks if you're alright, you clear your throat, then reply that you're fine as you quickly open the fridge for a second Modelo. It's time for you to slow down on the whiskey.

As you make your way back to the group, you catch Kelly/Kelli's eyes and give her a subdued smile. She blinks and smiles back, suddenly looking very shy.

"Now what did I miss?" you ask, when the men dissolve into laughter.

Henry, one of the contractors under Joel, shakes his head. "It ain't worth repeating in the presence of a lady."

The host interjects, "So what do you call Kelly?"

Henry puts an arm around her shoulder. "Aw, she's heard it all before, haven'tcha?"

"That don't mean she wants to hear it from you!" one of the other men shouts, and there's another round of laughter while you bite your lip, watching Joel's eyes as they dip to Henry's arm.

You wrap your lips around the tip of the bottle in your hand, letting the taste of the beer give your mouth an excuse to look sour. Henry's hand is dropping from Kelly's shoulder down to her waist, and while the conversation carries on, Joel leans in close so that only Henry - and you - can hear.

"Cool it, Henry."

"Huh?" comes the slow reply, as he pretends not to have understood him.

Joel just lifts his brows, and that's all it takes for Henry to back off, looking a little sheepish as he unwinds himself from Kelly, who looks more than a little relieved.

Henry turns to you, suddenly trying to make small talk, to save face. "Have you two met? This's our girl Kelly. She takes good care of us, don'tcha, sweetheart?"

You give a polite smile. "We've met. Nice to see you, again. Both of you."

"Uh huh," Henry answers half-heartedly before he wanders off, perhaps to join another conversation, or just to find another drink.

Kelly gives you another polite smile, then as the host starts to back away, bringing the rest of the group with him, she goes along with the crowd. Before she leaves, though, she softly murmurs to Joel, "Thanks for that."

He answers with a stiff nod, but it's more than enough to put the stars back in her eyes as she walks away, leaving the two of you alone.

You're biting your lip again, practically chewing on it, as you dangle Joel's beer by the throat, handing it over to him.

"Thank you," he says, then tips it back immediately.

You don't reply, lost in thought, but pretending nonchalance as you watch the group leave.

"Meant what I said, though," Joel adds in your silence. "Shoulda let me get it. I don't like to have you wanderin' around on your own. Not with this bunch of degenerates."

You smirk. "What, like Henry?"

"For one, yeah," he says, turning to face you now that the sounds of the party are fading into the background. "Lookin' the way you do, won't be able to keep their eyes or their hands off ya."

You laugh him off, but can't pretend that his voice isn't settling right in the bottom of your stomach. He's standing a little closer, now, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, mixed with the spice of his cologne. Something about him talking this way puts some boldness into you, and your words come out a bit more reckless than they should.

"Well, maybe you should have asked Kelly to get your drink, then."

He looks dumbfounded for a moment, and you widen your smile to show you're joking.

"I mean, I'm sure she would have," you go on, digging yourself deeper even as your heart kicks up faster. If you'd switched to beer two drinks ago, you probably would have explained yourself better. You would have insisted it was just a joke, because she so clearly has a crush on him. But your words are just swimming in all that whiskey.

"Cute little thing like that," you say, shrugging. "Probably don't mind her 'taking care of you', do ya?"

Joel's eyes are fixed on you, voice easing down into his chest when he asks softly, warningly, "What did you just say?"

He's turned all the way toward you, and all at once the room feels so much smaller, your face so much hotter. He's waiting for an answer, and your breath is caught high in your throat. "I-uh... it was just... nothing."

He's very slowly setting down his beer, looking down to a side table. "Wasn't nothing; I heard it." He looks back up at you, pinning you hard where you stand. "Now repeat it. Wanna make sure I heard you right."

You swallow, mouth dry. "I nn-nothing, I just said..." You force a crooked smile that you know he isn't buying for a second. "Y'know... she's- she's pretty cute, and maybe you... maybe she oughta... 'cause maybe you want her to..."

Your babbling doesn't impress him. He's just staring at you under a darkened brow. He opens his mouth to say something, but the motion of someone else entering the room catches your eye and you snap defensively before he can say anything.

"Joel, I didn't mean-"

He follows your gaze, then turns away and shuts you up with a wide, heavy palm sliding to the small of your back. "C'mere," he says. "C'mon." And the way he breathes it as he guides you out of the room and down the hall, you don't argue.

He finds a bathroom and pushes you inside. While you're looking over his shoulder to make sure no one sees you going in together, he's staring straight ahead, and he closes the door with one hand, still holding you with the other.

"I'm... sorry," you confess as soon as the door closes. "That was stupid. I don't know why I said it."

"Yeah," he grunts, crowding you up against the closed door. "You do."

The way he has you held close, arm around your waist and words warm against your mouth, you'd normally try to kiss him right about now. But looking into his eyes, you know there's no kiss waiting for you on his lips.

He's mad, and you're a little scared. Not scared of him, but scared of what he might do at a party where people might hear. People that he has to work with on Monday.

He isn't drunk, but he's had a few, and your fear ratchets up when his hand slides to your backside, gripping your ass and kneading it as he growls, "You think I give a goddamn about some teenager?"

Despite the way he's manhandling you through your dress, you can't help but roll your eyes. "She's not a teenager."

She isn't really that much younger than you are. And with Joel in his fifties, the thought has crossed your mind that he might just be keeping you around because he got a thing for younger women. You'd just never said anything out loud. Until tonight.

He stops, pulls back. "Alright, guess I'm not bein' clear enough."

He takes you by both arms, pushes you against the sink so you're looking at yourself in the mirror. Behind you, he starts unbuckling his belt.

"Joel..." you whisper, heat pulsing through you just from the sound of the metal clinking. You know you should ask him to stop - is the door even fucking locked? - but you can't get any other words out besides his name.

He slides a hand under your dress, pushing it up and over the swell of your ass. He doesn't slow down, doesn't even run his hand over your skin. He just pushes your panties to the side, pressing the head of his cock right up against your pussy, holding it there as he grits against your ear, "Guess I gotta show you where I want to be."

He pushes the thick head inside you, wrapping one arm around your stomach to keep you from falling forward. His other hand is flat on the sink, not playing with you, not easing anything. He doesn't give you any prep, just shoves in slowly, his cock stretching you all in one go.

You hiss, brow pinching. He didn't even let you get wet enough to take him. You can feel every damn move he makes inside you as he shifts his hips closer to pin you hard against the cold edge of the sink. When he's all the way in, you watch your mouth pop open in the mirror as you take a few panting breaths. The stretch is almost unbearable, but feeling so full of him, you don't want to stop.

He eases out, just a couple inches to coat himself in your slick, then presses back in even harder. You feel like your lungs are going to give out from how tight your gasps are getting.

"Fuck, Joel... hurts," you whine.

He slowly slides you off of him, then feeds it right back in.

"I know it does, honey," he breathes against your neck. "I know it does."

His deep voice makes you pulse around his cock and he drags his big, calloused hand down to the front of your dress, lifting it up just far enough to see your pussy, stuffed full of him. You're leaking down the sides of his cock, glistening in the dim light of the bathroom.

"See that?" he asks, unmoving. "That's where I wanna be. You hear me?"

Giving a shaky nod of your head, you whimper, "Yes."

He starts to piston in and out of you, and you can only watch. You close your eyes tight when he speeds up a little. "It's... mm- it's too much."

He doesn't change his pace. "Ain't about feelin' good. You've got to learn."

He groans when your pussy clenches around him, and you follow with an answering moan as the tension in your muscles starts to fade. You're soaking down both sides of your inner thighs as he opens you up further.

When you've dissolved into whimpering his name, he hooks one arm around your leg from behind, lifting it up so that you're spread wider. His other hand is still holding up your dress.

"Look at that," he grunts, making an obscene display of his cock fucking into your pussy. "Look how fucking hard you make me, baby."

You whine again, struck dumb by how good he feels with every snap of his hips. "God, feels so good... please..."

He's dragging his teeth against your neck when he replies, "Please?"

"Please, Joel. Feels so fucking good," you repeat, eyes closed.

You want him to fuck you properly, to bend you over and make you take him, to use his fingers - to let you use yours - anything; it doesn't matter. You're so worked up, you just need a little more.

"M'not gonna give you what you want, darlin'," he answers. "Don't work like that."

You can't help but loose a plaintive moan, even knowing you deserve it. "Baby, please-"

He drops your knee, letting your leg come down to the floor as he bends you over the sink. When he starts to fuck you for real, you can't hold it together anymore, softly pleading and whining for more, begging him not to stop, opening your eyes to watch him in the mirror as he starts to lose himself, too.

Until a knock at the door jars you right out of it.

"Is anybody in there?"

Joel doesn't even slow down. Just flattens his palm along your lower back to bend you back over after you jolt up.

"Joel-" you hiss. But he keeps giving you exactly what you need, and your eyes roll back.

"Hello?"

He slides a warm hand down the open neckline of your dress, kneading your breast as he looks at you in the mirror. His brown eyes are stern and steady. "Answer."

He keeps feeding you his cock, and you hiccup, legs shaking as you whisper, "I- I don't..."

"Go on and tell 'em. You're busy."

Fuck fuck fuck. "Uhh, s-someone's in here!"

Your voice comes out strained and airy, and you wait for the reply while Joel kisses the skin of your shoulder, sliding the front of your dress down.

"Joel, it's... somebody is..."

"Nothin' in here that I wanna hide," he growls, pushing his hips right up against your ass as he circles a thumb around one of your nipples.

"Fuck, Joel..." The silence outside has been long enough that the person is probably gone, but your pulse is still pounding, and he's making it so fucking hard to think. "Oh my god, yes..."

He's quietly panting, lifts his head long enough to say, "Understand now, pretty girl?"

"Mm..."

"This here's right where I wanna be. Nowhere else," he grunts, pressing his weight down on you, the squelching sounds between your bodies getting louder than your moans. Your eyes are drawn up to the mirror, watching the veins in his neck tighten as he fucks into you harder and harder. "You got it?"

You frantically nod, desperately near the edge of coming. "Fuck, yes, mhm..."

"Maybe I oughta fill you up right here, leave you with somethin' to think about."

"N-no," you stutter, almost sounding like you're sobbing your words. "P-please, I get it. I heard what you s-said."

He has to let you come. You don't care that you were acting up, making something out of nothing. You don't care what got him mad at you. All you can think about is how flushed his chest is beneath the open collar of his shirt, how tight his grip is, how stiff his jaw is set. You just want to listen to that throaty growl, feel him mercilessly fucking you a little while longer. That's all it would take. Just a little bit...

"Fuck-"

Joel pulls out, hand tightening into a fist around himself. You slump against the sink.

"Goddamn, baby. Almost got me, there."

You're on the verge of tears, shuddering with wild breaths. "No, fuck, Joel, please please please-"

He grips a handful of your ass, fingers brushing through your wetness and making you whimper.

"Told you, I ain't giving you what you want."

You hear him zip up his jeans, and then his hand is back at your ass, but this time he's pulling your panties back into place and tugging your dress down.

"Never gonna learn that way."

You whine pitifully, knowing you brought this on yourself, but still pleading under your breath, face drawn tight with frustration.

He helps you stand up properly, giving you his arm to steady yourself. You straighten your dress, cleaning up your appearance in the mirror, and eventually you're able to leave the bathroom, walking out on trembling legs.

He gives you a smirk as you leave the hallway, and something in you finally snaps. Maybe it's a little unfair, but you know exactly what to say to knock that smirk off his face.

You lean in and whisper in his ear, "Guess you didn't want me that bad after all, or you would have finished."

And all of ten minutes later, you're in the cab of his truck. You're screaming his name as you come all over his cock, hands fisted in his hair, tugging it hard while he pumps you full of his cum, cursing you the whole time.

Turns out, he's the one who's never gonna learn.

--

A/N: Thanks for reading! I don't have a taglist for Joel, but I'll add one if I ever write for him again. Hope you enjoyed! :)

Masterlist

[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.”

[theealbatross]

fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall.  “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush. 

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone? 

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face. 

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

[imaginedisish]

All I Need (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: AHH! This took so, so long. Anyway, here is the period-comfort fic! Needed this. Loosely inspired by "All I Need" By Radiohead and "Let the Light In" by Lana and Father John Misty. Hope you guys enjoy! P.S. I'm so sorry if I forgot to tag you, or if the tags don't work.

Summary: Your period is awful this month, but Logan is there to take care of you...in more ways than one...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!! SMUT!!! Fingering, PIV, period sex, soft!Logan, praise kink (if you squint), friends to lovers, softdom!Logan (if you squint again), mentions of blood (bc period), so much fluff, feelings, cursing, afab!reader/fem!reader, definitely some grammatical errors bc I struggled through proofreading...and I think that's it!

Word Count: 4,474 it was supposed to be short

You’re no stranger to pain. You’ve been in countless battles and fought more fights than you can remember. And yet, nothing makes you feel as obliterated as your period does. 

Your cramps have always been terrible, but this time they were particularly bad. You sit in your bed, on a Saturday night, alone, struggling. You couldn’t find the heating pad. You couldn’t find the ice cream you wanted. You couldn’t find anything to watch. And, of course, everything hurts—your breasts are beyond sore, and your head is aching. You look up at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than for your period to be over. 

Your lower abdomen pulses with pain and you groan audibly, not caring how loud you are as you turn over onto your stomach in frustration. 

But then there’s a knock at your door.  

“Hey, everything okay in there?” It’s Logan—of course it’s him. “Didn’t mean to be nosy. Just happened to hear you.”

“I’m okay!” You call out, rolling back onto your side to face the door. 

“Are you sure?” Logan asks. You can hear his hand on the knob. “Can I come in?”

Heat suddenly rises to your chest. Logan? Coming in here? Now? In reality, this shouldn’t be a big deal. Logan has been in your room before—albeit very briefly and in passing—but you can’t help but feel nervous. You’re always nervous around him. You’ve been harboring a crush on him for months now, and it’s brutal. You’ve grown closer, but not quite close enough. At least not in the way you want.

You swallow nervously. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice almost cracking. “You can come in.” 

Logan immediately twists the knob and pushes the door open, stepping inside your room. You can’t help but smile at the sight of his familiar beater and blue jeans. He takes another step and closes the door behind him—he’s just a few feet away from you, his arms crossed over his chest.

He smirks, tilting his head down. “It’s Saturday night, and this is what you’re doing?” He steps towards you, approaching the bed and sitting down. 

“Not feeling great,” you admit, wincing as you sit up in bed. 

Logan’s brows immediately furrow with concern. His hand comes up to rest on your knee, and you have to stop yourself from shuddering under his touch. “Are you okay?” He asks, his thumb drawing gentle circles into your skin. He sniffs once, and you know he can smell the blood between your thighs. “Do you need anything?” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you say, trying to politely brush off his concern. You don’t want to trouble him, don’t want to hold him back from his Saturday night plans. But Logan’s brows are still furrowed, concern painted clearly across his face. “Really, I’m okay,” you reassure, but he doesn’t budge. 

“I know you’re not okay,” he says, his eyes looking deeply into yours. “Let me help you, yeah?”

“I’d feel bad. I’d be holding you back from whatever plans you—”

“No plans, princess,” Logan says, cutting you off. You try to hide the way your breath hitches in your throat at the familiar nickname. “Just you. Whatever you need.” He smiles widely, his thumb still drawing circles into your knee. 

It’s so soft, so delicate, so unlike the way Logan is with others. There’s something domestic about this, something especially comforting and gentle. He’s sacrificing his Saturday night for you—to make sure you’re okay. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the thought. 

“Is it bad?” He asks, his voice low and calm. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you almost don’t notice the way Logan inches closer; don’t notice the way his hand slides down to your lower stomach. The warmth of his hand feels so good that you have to stifle a moan at the sudden contact.  

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, leaning into his touch. His hand presses firmly into your stomach, rubbing gently. “But your hand feels nice,” you admit, your voice a bit shaky as the words fall from your lips. 

He’s next to you now, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hips in line with yours. His touch, his presence—it’s all simultaneously relaxing and exhilarating. You’ve never had him this close, never felt him touch you like this. Your heart beats out of your chest as his palm pushes against your aching lower abdomen. He’s in tune with you, registering every movement you make, every half-moan you can’t seem to suppress as his hand soothingly rubs your stomach. 

You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Do you want me to get you anything?” He asks, smiling widely. Your mind immediately goes to the lack of ice cream in the freezer, but you’re hesitant to ask. Getting you something would entail leaving. And the last thing you want is for Logan to leave. 

“I’m okay,” you answer, but you know your voice comes out as unsure. 

He arches a brow, his caring smile turning into a knowing smirk. “You sure about that, princess?” He nods his head towards the door. “I saw you all disappointed after lookin’ in the freezer, earlier.”

You can’t help the grin that forms on your face at Logan’s words. He noticed you. “There wasn’t any ice cream left,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. 

Logan chuckles and stands up, his palm slipping away from your stomach. You want to reach out, to yank him down and force his hand back where it was. “I’ll be right back,” he says, walking towards the door. “Don’t move an inch. I mean it!” He keeps his eyes on you as he backs out of the room, opening the door and closing it carefully behind him. 

Not even a minute later, Logan comes back with a silver spoon and a pint of your favorite ice cream. “No way,” you mutter, shaking your head, your smile spreading across your face. “How did you know?”

Logan smirks. “I just do,” he answers, sitting back in his place next to you on the edge of the bed. He passes you the silver spoon and the pint. “Knew that’s what you were looking for. Went out to the store to grab it the second you walked out of the kitchen empty-handed.”

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, still in awe of how he got you the ice cream without asking. He simply noticed. He remembered your favorite flavor—you never had to tell him a thing. He just knew. 

You open the packaging and dig into the ice cream, wrapping your lips around the spoon. “Oh sorry,” you mumble, your mouth full of ice cream as you pull the spoon from your lips. “Do you want some?”

You dig the spoon back into the ice cream and scoop out a big serving, pointing the spoon in Logan’s direction. He smirks before opening his mouth, waiting for you to feed him. Your breath catches in your throat as you hold the spoon up to him. His lips wrap around the ice cream, and he takes the spoon from your hand, his fingertips brushing against yours. 

He sucks and pulls the spoon from his mouth. You swallow harshly at the sight, watching as he digs into the pint and takes another scoop of ice cream, this time bringing the spoon to your lips. You open your mouth, inviting him inside, closing it around the cold ice cream. You silently wish you could taste him on the spoon. 

You grab the spoon from his hands, his fingers lingering before pulling away—like he’d do anything to touch you again, to savor the feeling of your skin against his. 

“Thank you, Logan,” you say, taking another scoop of ice cream and shoving the spoon past your lips. “Really, it means a lot.”

Logan shakes his head, his hand finding that spot on your stomach again. “It was nothing,” he mutters. “I’d do anything for you.” He soothingly rubs side to side, the warmth of his palm enveloping your lower abdomen. “Is there anything else you wanted?” He asks, nodding his head towards the T.V. on the other side of your room. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” you say back, reaching for the remote on your nightstand. You flick the T.V. on and look over at Logan. “W-would you wanna stay?” You ask, nodding your head to the other side of the bed. 

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, princess,” he husks, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed. He settles in next to you, lying down on the mattress. You’re shoulder to shoulder, and his hand quickly finds your lower abdomen again. 

You scroll through the movies on various streaming services, and nothing seems to click until you find an old, campy B-movie from the 80s. You turn to face Logan, grinning widely, pointing the remote to the television. He rolls his eyes playfully as he reads the description. “Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

Your heart stops at the epithet. Pretty girl? Princess, sure—you’re familiar with Logan’s classic princess nickname. But pretty girl was entirely new. Different. Certainly not friendly. Princess was teasing, tongue and cheek—a way to mess with you, to slip under your skin and rile you up. Flirty? Perhaps. But not inherently romantic. Pretty girl? 

Pretty girl seems like…more. 

You decide to take a chance, letting your head rest on Logan’s shoulder as you press play on the movie. You spoon ice cream into your mouth, waiting for Logan’s next move. After a few seconds, he sits up. His shoulder separates from yours, and his arm reaches around your shoulders instead, tugging you into his chest. 

“This okay?” He asks, his lips brushing against the side of your head, pressing what feels like the ghost of a kiss to your temple.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “It’s perfect.” You can hear Logan’s heart beating in his chest. It’s loud and fast. His fingertips draw circles into your shoulder as he pulls you closer. 

The movie starts, but you can’t seem to concentrate. You nervously shovel scoop after scoop of ice cream into your mouth, hoping to take your mind off Logan, but it obviously doesn’t work. Not with the way his arms are wrapped around you—one draped around your shoulder while his other hand is tucked in its place against your lower stomach. 

You somehow finish the entire pint, and Logan notices immediately, taking the container from your hands and placing it on the nightstand next to him. His hand is back, soothingly rubbing your abdomen, within the blink of an eye. He’s endlessly attentive, listening carefully to every breath you take, watching every wrinkle in your forehead crease and every wince you make when a bad cramp comes on. 

A sudden, sharp pain builds in your abdomen, and you squeeze your eyes shut, grinding your teeth as the pain worsens. You take a deep breath through your nose and out your mouth.

“Hey,” Logan coos, pressing his hand a bit harder into your belly. “Is it getting bad?” He asks softly, holding you tighter. 

You swallow harshly, taking another deep breath. “Yeah, it hurts right now,” you choke, wincing as you let yourself lean completely into him. 

Logan pulls you into his lap, one arm draping across the front of your chest while his hand slips underneath the waistband of your athletic shorts. He stops just above your panties. “Is this okay?” He asks, his warm palm messaging your stomach. 

The pressure is so nice, and the heat from his palm is delicious. “Yes,” you groan, your legs intertwining with his. You squirm a bit in his lap, trying to get comfortable. “You’re so warm,” you whisper, turning on your side, still situated between his legs, your head on his chest. “F-feels good.”

Logan presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His arm slides up and down your body before settling on your waist. “You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, pressing your face into the center of his chest. All you can smell is him—pine and musk and denim and leather. It’s perfect, dizzying, distracting. Just need you, you think to yourself. 

“Need me, pretty girl?” Logan asks. You lift your head up, furrowing your brows as you realize you let that thought find its way to your lips and out of your mouth. “I’m right here.” 

His face is just inches away from yours. His breath fans across your nose, your cheeks. His lips are close, too—just a bit closer and you’d be kissing. “L-Lo,” you stutter. “I…” You trail off, unable to form a coherent thought. You can feel the tension in the air, feel the heat building between your thighs. Fuck, you want him. Need him. 

His throat bobs as he swallows. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?” Logan murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. 

“W-want you,” you admit, your voice shaky. 

“Want you too, darlin’,” he says, his fingertips playing with the waistband of your panties. “Let me take care of you,” he husks. “Let me take the pain away.” And you want him too—more than anything. 

“Please,” you beg as his hand slips under the hem of your panties. You flip the T.V. off and throw the remote to the floor.

His lips finally press against yours, slow and languid. His fingertips find your clit, drawing tight, quick circles around the bud. “I’ll tease you next time, pretty girl,” Logan whispers at the shell of your ear. But all you register is next time. There’s going to be a next time. “Just wanna make you feel good right now.”

“F-fuck,” you moan, your hips rocking against his hand. He swirls around your clit, pinching gently between his strokes. 

Logan’s free hand comes down to your thighs, gripping your flesh tightly and spreading your legs wider. “That feel good, princess?” He rasps, stroking faster. 

Your head falls back to his shoulder. “Yes, so good,” you whimper. His lips find your neck, kissing your pulse point and sucking softly. His hand slides back up your body, slipping underneath your shirt, trailing over your stomach. 

His fingertips climb tentatively towards your chest. You remember you aren’t wearing a bra as Logan’s fingers brush against the underside of your breasts. “Please,” you beg, arching your back into his touch.

Logan presses another kiss to your neck as his hand palms your breasts, massaging gently, alternating between one side and the other. He hikes up your tank top, giving himself better access to all of you. His fingers continue their tight circles on your clit, swirling around, releasing that pressure at the bottom of your stomach. Your walls clench down around nothing as he presses harder into your core. 

“Thought about this for so long,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “Thought about touching you, fucking you. Wanted you this whole time, sweetheart.”

“Logan,” you moan, bringing your lips to his. “I wanted you too,” you confess. You can feel yourself hitting your peak, ready to fall apart. “I’m c-close.”

“I know, darlin’,” Logan soothes, his fingers quickening. “I’ve got you.” His lips melt against yours, fitting together like magnets, like you were always meant to find each other. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip. “Wanna make you come, wanna watch you let go.” 

It all happens so fast—your orgasm crashes into you, and Logan swallows your moans with another kiss. “That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, still stroking your clit. Your walls flutter as pleasure courses through your every nerve ending. His strokes slow down until his fingers rest, unmoving, on your clit. Logan’s hands still palm your breasts, messaging the tender flesh gently. “You okay?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah, p-perfect,” you stutter, curling into his chest. “Felt so good.” 

Logan presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Relax darlin’,” he husks, taking a deep breath. 

“Lo?” You whisper, looking up at him, his eyes immediately finding yours. “Do you really want me?” You ask, suddenly embarrassed to be saying anything at all, and yet you find yourself rambling. “When you were saying all that when we were—” 

But his lips are on yours again, hungry and desperate. He pulls away like he doesn’t want to—like it hurts to be away from you for even the briefest second. “I want you, pretty girl,” he says, pulling you back into his chest. “You’re all I think about…” He trails off, his voice less stable than it was just seconds ago. “You’re all I need.” 

“Logan,” you say, smiling widely. “I’ve wanted you for months. I didn’t know you felt the same way.” 

You can feel his chuckle reverberate through his chest. “How could I ever want someone else?” He asks. There’s levity in his voice, but you know he’s being serious. “You’re it. You make me think that…” he pauses, and you look up from his chest. “You make me think that there’s some purpose to all this.” He meets your gaze, and you can see the sudden shift in his expression. His eyes are glossed over. He works his jaw. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. For love. For you.” 

You know that Logan has had everything taken from him, time and time again. He’s an undeniably selfless person, the type of person who would let the world destroy him to protect those he loves—and he has—it’s happened. But he’s still here, and now he’s here with you. He deserves happiness. He deserves love. And the thought that he finally feels those things with you is too much to bear. You try to smile, but you can’t help the tears brimming in your eyes. “I love you,” you whisper. “So much.” 

“I love you too, beautiful.” 

His lips are on yours again, melding, coming together, building something unbreakable. You straddle him, his hands finding your hips. He squeezes firmly, keeping you in place on top of him. His tongue swipes your lower lip, asking permission to slip inside, and you happily oblige. You want Logan, all of him, now. Forever. 

“Always gonna want you, just you,” he mumbles against your lips. “So fucking beautiful. Never wanted anyone like this.” His hands guide your hips to roll over his. Your core drags along his erection—large and straining against his jeans. 

“Want you so bad,” you whine, grinding down onto him. But then you remember the reason Logan is here in the first place. “B-but I’m on my—”

Logan rocks his hips against yours, ignoring you. “As long as you want this pretty girl, I want this. Don’t care about that.”

Fuck.

You nod, your lips pressing to his. He swallows your whines, his tongue brushing against yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip. His hands slide up and down your back, your tank top still hiked up over your breasts. Logan’s nails trail across your skin, drawing along your curves, taking in every inch of you. 

You bring your hands down his chest, finding the hem of his beater. You tug it up his body, revealing his skin. “You want this off?” He asks, smiling against your lips. You nod, and he breaks contact for just a split second, tugging his shirt up and over his head. 

He’s so beautiful, his abs, the thick, dark hair scrawling across his chest. You bite your lip at the sight. “You’re perfect,” you mutter, letting your hands feel his exposed skin, searching him, growing familiar with his every curve.

He smirks, his hands finding your hips again, squeezing tightly. “That’s all you, princess,” he rasps, shaking his head. “Beautiful girl.” 

You grind your hips against his again, and he presses his forehead to yours. “Need you, Lo.” His arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so that your chest is flush with his. Your fingertips find his belt, fumbling with the buckle until you get it undone, and sliding the leather out of the loops of his jeans. You toss it to the floor and quickly work at his button and zipper. 

“Slow down, sweetheart,” Logan chides, grabbing your wrists with one of his massive hands. “Let’s take it easy, yeah?”

You can’t help but pout. “But I want you so bad,” you whine, grinding down onto him. Logan groans, his hips bucking up into yours. He brings his hands to the hem of his jeans and tugs them down. You take the opportunity to grab a condom from the drawer of the nightstand next to you. 

When you look back, Logan’s erection is free from his jeans. He’s massive, so much bigger than you ever imagined. You swallow harshly, handing him the condom with shaky hands. He smirks, opening the little package and rolling the condom over his cock. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he husks. “Gonna take it slow, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, and then his hands are on your hips again, flipping you onto your back so that he’s hovering over you. He quickly finds the hem of your shorts, and you lift your hips up a little, helping him tug them, along with your panties, down your legs. He places them at the end of the bed and lowers back down over you. 

He balances on his forearm as his free hand guides his cock to your folds, sliding through you, nudging against your clit. “You have no idea how much I need you,” Logan whispers, his tip teasing your entrance. “No idea how much I love you.” 

He shoves himself deep inside you with one thrust, bottoming out, down to the hilt. “Fuck,” he curses, his cock filling you up, stretching you out, giving you a chance to adjust to the sheer size of him. “You feel so good,” he praises. “Knew you’d feel perfect. Fucking made for me.”

He finally pulls out only to thrust back in, somehow deeper this time. “Logan,” you moan, your nails digging into his muscular back. “S-so big, so good,” you breathe, stumbling over your words. 

“Love it when you say my name, pretty girl,” Logan pants, slipping out and pumping back in, setting a slow, languid pace. His free hand reaches between your bodies, his fingertips finding your clit with ease. He draws those familiar, tight, rapid little circles into your bud. 

You curse under your breath as he splits you open, his pace growing faster every few thrusts or so. He’s holding back, and you can see it in his face—his eyes all dark as he works his jaw, feigning patience. You know he wants more—to take all of you and make you his. 

“Logan, y-you don’t have to…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed as he hits that sweet spot deep inside you. 

“Eyes on me, pretty girl,” he says, demand in his voice. Your eyes flutter back open. “What do you need?” He asks, softer now, attentive as ever.  

His fingers swirl against your clit, adding more pressure with every careful stroke, making it near impossible for you to form a coherent thought. “Y-you don’t have to hold back,” you stammer as he sinks into you. “I-I can take it.”

He presses a kiss to your lips as he pumps in and out. “Just wanna take care of you this time, beautiful.” He pinches your clit lightly before stroking again. “Next time I’ll take you how I want.” There it is again. Next time. 

His hips snap against yours, his fingers working dexterously at your clit. It’s all too much, the way he bites your lips, burying his face into the crook of your neck and kissing your pulse point, whispering praises against the shell of your ear. Taking me so well. Doing so good for me, darlin’. So fucking beautiful. Such a good girl. 

His cock drags along your walls, and you clench down around him. He twitches inside you as he buries himself deeper, hitting that sweet spot again and again. “Logan,” you whine, your eyes struggling to stay open. “I’m so close.” Logan’s cock throbs as the words fall from your lips. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters, his composure slipping. “I know, princess. Me too.” His hips rock into yours, his pace growing faster with every hit. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna get there with you.” 

You arch your back, your chest pushing flush against his. “Yes,” you moan as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers firmly circling your clit. It’s too much—you know you’re coming undone, unraveling underneath him. Your walls clench down around him again. 

“That’s it, beautiful,” Logan soothes. “Come with me.”

The tension snaps, splitting in two. It’s uncontrollable, a raging fire, blinding heat. You let go, melting into the mattress, your orgasm wracking through your body. Logan twitches inside you, and you know he’s coming too. You’re trembling underneath him, legs shaking as his thrusts slow down. With one more slow pump, Logan stills inside you. His fingers stroke your clit lightly, working you through your high, bringing you back down to Earth. 

After a few seconds, his fingers slip away, and he pulls out of your cunt. You can’t help but feel empty now that he’s gone, already craving more of him. He sits up on his knees and climbs off the bed, taking the condom from his cock and tossing it into the garbage. He grabs his boxers from off the floor and tugs them on. 

Before you can beg him to come back, he’s crawling onto the bed. He grabs your panties and your shorts, dragging them up your legs, making sure everything is back in its right place. 

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asks, tugging you into his chest. “You need anything? New pad? Water?”

“I’m okay,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. “Just need you.”

You can feel him smiling against the crown of your head. “You have me, beautiful.” He whispers. “Always gonna have me.” He tugs the sheets and the comforter over your bodies, the warmth of him and your bed dragging you under the current of sleep. 

You wake up a few hours later. Logan is still there, next to you, his arms holding you tightly to his chest. 

“Lo,” you whisper into the darkness of your room.

“I’m here.” His voice is cloudy, tired, filled with sleep. “Never gonna be anywhere but here.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Go back to sleep.”

“I love you,” you say, because you can, because you mean it.

You can hear the sleepy smile in his voice. “I love you too.”

tags: @banlaineslawyer @gothgoblinbabe @alsoprettyinpink @librababe99 @ponygyatt @yoursrosie @itdobe-foggy @gplol @healmydesires @qardasngan @princessterek @alastorssimp @yawnetu @chronicallybubbly @corvid007 @muffin-berry @emmdog2999 @kieekto @creepsbeware @starrdustss @evasmlp @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @ilysmdovie12 @silversprings-mp3 @prettyseaveins @derbygracie @pedrohoe04 @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @movhoney @honeyfwr @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @cosmiccandydreamer

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Flirting (And Jealousy)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @lacilou. And surprise! For the first time, I'm trying out adding Russell Shaw to the lineup because I thought he'd be an interesting addition for this prompt. 💜

Prompt: How would Dean, Ben & Beau react to either other men flirting with us or them obliviously/cluelessly letting other women flirt with them? And how we would react to them -- like how they'd make it up to us, their excuses, etc.

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw would react to someone flirting with you. (And others flirting with them.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, oblivious flirting, unwanted advances, jealousy, some toxic masculinity (you know Ben 🙄), but ultimately lots of fluff, and some spice too.~

Dean Winchester

Dean isn't one to get jealous...at first.

He knows you're hot as hell. He pretty much expects guys to try and shoot their shot.

Plus, he's secure enough in his relationship with you to know you wouldn't consciously entertain someone who's flirting with you.

He also knows you're strong enough to take care of yourself, even with a persistent asshole.

However.

The second a man gets into your face or tries to put his hands on you, Dean's stepping in -- either to twist the man's arm nearly out of its socket, or deliver a swift punch between the eyes, or his personal favorite, grabbing the back of the guy's neck and slamming his face onto the counter.

Dean finds the sound of bone breaking against varnished wood, followed closely by the heavy tripping thud of a body to the floor, deeply satisfying.

You heave a sigh. Not because you're all that annoyed at Dean, but because you tried to warn the guy.

Now, Dean knows he used to be...well, a "ladies man," putting it mildly. He's improvised more panty-dropping one-liners than a Magic Mike stripper. His success rate is 9-and-10 (because there's always room for improvement).

He directs all that flirtatious, playful, sexual energy on you. He's fallen for you, committed to you, and once he makes a decision with his heart, Dean Winchester doesn't have an unfaithful bone in his body.

However.

He can't altogether stop women from flirting with him. Like at one of the many diners you, Sam, and Dean stop to eat at after a hunt.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" the waitress says. She brushes her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder, giving Dean a too-bright smile that leaves nothing to the imagination (at least to you).

He smiles back at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

It's like a reflex. He thinks he's being polite. He doesn't even follow the path of her hip-swaying walk with his eyes -- like he certainly would've before he met you.

You still stare at Dean incredulously. When the woman walks away, he smiles at you as if nothing happened. Sam wisely keeps to himself and sips his beer, hiding a smirk.

Dean notices the way your lips are pursed, bitchface activated. "What?" he asks.

You cross your arms. "Really?"

He frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Really. You need me to tell you not to let that woman eye-fucking you to put her hands all over you?" You shake your head. More dryly you add, "Right in front of me, too. I gotta give it to her, she's got brass balls."

Dean is bewildered, but then he replays the moment in his head and realizes that you're right. He kinda fucked up.

He sees the way you're getting all testy, and he has to chuckle.

"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetheart. My bad."

He reaches for your hand and manages to uncross your arms. You're stubborn in your irritation, but Dean is the king of persuasion, giving you teasing, flirty bedroom eyes and waggling brows as he pulls you towards him.

If you're still reluctant to soften, he adds, "Come on, don't be a sourpuss. Come 'ere."

Eventually he breaks you, making you laugh and hit his arm with no real force behind it.

Even Sam shakes his head, seeing how his brother manages to pacify you by sliding his arm around your shoulders across the booth. Dean leans in and kisses along your neck. He inhales your scent and hums in pleasure.

Sam clears his throat. He has to awkwardly look away.

"Gonna forgive me?" Dean asks, his lips moving against your skin. "Though I gotta admit, I kinda like it when you're jealous. All growly and fiesty. Got myself a little tiger."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug at a smile. Your face warms in a blush, especially as his hand wanders under your jacket and teasingly up your side.

You slip your fingers into his hair, making sure to give a sharp little tug on it for good measure. He just laughs.

Oh, you'll forgive him, but maybe you'll make him do a little more penance when you all get back home.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a jealous man from the onset when a man flirts with you.

His lips purse, his jaw clicks, and he keeps a firm eye on the situation. He doesn't like it.

But to his credit, he tries not to act on it right away, letting you handle it the way you want to.

However, like Dean, the moment someone gets into your personal space or tries to touch you, he's pulling out some Sheriff moves.

If the man grabs at you, Beau's got his arm twisted behind his back so fast, he can almost feel ligaments popping. Beau gives a calm, but firm warning before sending the guy on his way. (He'd like to do more, but the department frowns on excessive violence.)

Maybe part of you gets annoyed at the show of jealousy, but a larger part of you can't help but be turned on when he protects you. You know it's not because he thinks you need protecting, but because he wants to.

"Can't help it, darlin'," he's said. "It's just how I was raised."

But you're the one that bristles when Danielle, a PTA mom at Emily's school, flirts with him. She laughs at his corny jokes with her white teeth and her perfectly layered and coiffed blonde hair.

She even gives him an extra cookie from her offering at the school's bake sale. (She knows what most of this town knows -- that the way to the Sheriff's heart is all too often through his stomach.)

Beau just nods along, smiling polite with that charming grin of his, totally oblivious while he eats. The last straw for you is when she wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth falls open in shock. "Are you shitting me?"

You accidentally say it out loud, earning not only your boyfriend's surprised look, but Danielle's guilty one as well. (And some of the kids.)

Blushing in embarrassment, you pivot on your heel and start packing up your supplies for the bake sale.

That's when Beau realizes that he fucked up.

He politely excuses himself from Danielle and goes to help you (wiping the crumbs off his face and licking chocolate off his thumb). He can tell you're feeling more than a little icy towards him, but he tries to make up for it by doing all the heavy lifting, bringing back things to the car, and helping you with the bags before he calls Emily over.

It's a long car ride home, awkward and tense. Emily can tell something's off between you and her dad, but when she asks about it, you claim nothing's wrong.

Beau knows better.

He waits until the three of you get home to the apartment you share with him, and after putting the bake sale stuff away, he follows you into the bedroom.

"Sweetheart--"

"What the hell was that, Beau?" You come in hot with it, and Beau is quick to try and ease your tension with an apology.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you see that she was eyeing you like a honey-glazed ham?"

Beau's lips twitch at a grin, but you're not amused. You cross your arms and give him a warning look. That's when he wises up.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry." He chances taking a few slow steps towards you, raising his brows and keeping his hands up in surrender.

You eye him narrowly, but you let him get close enough to slip his arms around you. He gathers you against his chest and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"I mean it. Won't happen again," he promises. His hands mold to the curve of your waist and squeeze gently. His lips move, burning a sweet path along your jawline, your chin, over the apple of your cheeks, and finally your lips. You breathe into it, and you can't help but cling to the front of his buttoned-down shirt.

"Do me a favor," you say quietly between kisses. "Don't eat Danielle's cookies."

Beau smiles against your lips. "Don't you worry, darlin'. From now on, I'll tell her that I've got some good cookie at home."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, Ben doesn't fuck around.

...Well, in the sense that he can't tolerate another man even looking at you flirtatiously, or otherwise with any kind of intent.

Depending on the severity, at best, it'll have Ben shooting the man a stony look of warning.

At worst, it ruins the day -- namely with the sound of bone snapping and a man's sobbing howl of pain.

You try to get him to tone it down ("For God's sake, Ben. It's fine. Just relax."), but this is one thing he well and truly doesn't budge on.

Ben is possessive. Because you're his. His to touch, and his to protect.

In his mind, it's fucking simple.

Whenever you get irritated with this brutish, knuckle-dragging, caveman mentality, you try to remember why he does it.

It's indicative of how much he actually cares about you.

Because if he didn't, he wouldn't really give a shit if other men were flirting with you. (He'd just find another woman to try and charm back to his apartment.)

So you've learned how to try and finesse these situations so that Ben doesn't notice.

You've also stopped letting down men easy, proverbially cutting off their dick and balls with your words.

Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life.

But when other women flirt with Ben, he takes it all with indulgent smiles, throwing in a wink and a sweetheart every now and then.

He doesn't blame them for flirting with him, checking him out. He's Soldier Boy, after all, and in his mind, it's not his fault they can't help themselves around him.

However, a smile and a wink is all that he allows himself.

If he truly cares about you (and though he doesn't often express it in words, he does), then the unfamiliar twinge of guilt stops him whenever he almost accepts a woman's alluring invitation--spoken or unspoken.

His mouth might spew arrogance and gilded lies, but his actions too often betray what he really feels.

And what he really feels can't be any more clear than when he goes after you, instead of indulging the woman who basically undressed him with her eyes, whispered sultry, sexy offerings in his ear, and invited him to go home with her.

Seeing you take off out the double doors of the club, Ben rolls his eyes. He brushes the woman off without a backwards glance, and follows you out into the night air. He grabs your hand before you can get far in your heels.

"What the hell's the matter now?" he asks dryly.

You turn on him with an incredulous look.

"That woman was practically sucking your neck, Ben!"

"All right, don't fucking overreact. You're getting hysterical," he says, before guiding you back into his arms.

"I'm not fucking hysterical, you ass!" You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge, nor does he let you go. This isn't a good area, and he doesn't want you out in these streets at this time of night without him at your side.

"Ben," you say sharply. You look up at him in irritation, but he just smirks and strokes your side with his thumb.

Yes, (in his mind) you're being a little difficult, but he thinks your jealousy is amusing, adorable, and kind of hot all at the same time.

Ben doesn't bother with saying anything more to convince you. He just slips a hand behind your neck and kisses you soundly.

He invades your mouth with his tongue and devours you, reminding you that you're the one he wants.

He waylays you with his strong hands framing your body against his, and with his sinful mouth, until you finally melt into his embrace.

He's chosen you countless time before, and he knows he'll keep choosing you, for as long as this lasts.

Russell Shaw

Russell always clocks the "situation" right away when a man starts to flirt with you.

He's not one to make a scene of it at first, depending on the time and place.

But he is quick to sidle up to your side, pointedly slip a hand along your waist, and greet you with a deceptive smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. Let's grab that table over there. 'S more comfortable than the bar."

He glances up at the man, sharpness hidden well behind his green eyes. Whether the guy picks up on it or not, Russell is making a mugshot in his mind -- and he never forgets a face.

You eye him knowingly, but you let him guide you away. He's kind of cute when he's jealous, and it doesn't take much to spark that well of protectiveness that lies in wait just under his skin.

Russell isn't easily fazed by most things, but one sure way to provoke his temper (and those rougher, darker shades of him that he tries his best not to show you) is for a man to push his luck with you.

It really wouldn't take much effort at all for the former soldier to have a man clutching his bloody, shattered nose, let alone to dump his broken body in front of the closest hospital. But somehow, Russell manages to curb those darker urges. (Again, don't tempt him.)

But when another woman flirts with him, you're the one who starts to have steam coming out of your ears.

Russell doesn't miss much. He recognizes the sultry inflection in the woman's words. He catches the subtle, sensuous gleam in her eyes when she rakes him up and down with them.

He also notes the moment you look over and realize what's happening.

Regardless if you're looking or not, he tries his best to stay distant, but polite, even as a warning twinge of "aww shit" runs up his spine.

He tries to play things off with an amiable smile and being purposefully oblivious.

Until the woman gets bold, slipping her hand over Russell's and up his arm a bit, before she withdraws, tilting her head with a sweet-as-pie smile.

Cue Russ's awkward laugh/clearing of the throat. Before he has time to fully pull away and just come out with the, Sorry, I actually have a girlfriend -- you return to his side and pointedly grab his hand.

"Come on, honey, we'll be late," you say, giving him a tense smile.

The aww shit feeling is back, but Russell just nods and falls into step with you.

When you two have enough privacy to hash it out, you let him have it.

"What the hell was that?!"

Russell can't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to keep it classy, but that woman was persistent. Not that I blame her--"

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes (not that you really blame her either). Then you stare at your man in annoyance, crossing your arms. "I didn't see you trying all that hard to fend her off, huh, Romeo? If another man had touched me like that, you would've broken his fingers off, like a fucking caveman."

Russell's brows raise at the dig, but the way you're getting all testy is kind of cute (and also kinda hot).

"All right. You got me there," he says. He slips his arms around your waist and tries to soften you with a charming grin. "Come on, sweetheart. You know I'm not going anywhere."

"Do I?" you blurt out, before you have a chance to reign it back in.

Russell's contract jobs take him all over the country -- all over the world. Yes, he's on his way out, he claims. He wants to settle down with you, or so he says.

But you have no idea of knowing what he does when he's not with you.

All those days out on the road, crashing in skeevy motels, winding down at dive bars -- has he ever been tempted to "sample" the local fare? Has he ever...

Russell's amusement fades, sobering into a frown and a furrowing of his brows. He hums in disapproval. He doesn't like what he's seeing in your eyes: doubt, most of all.

"Hey," he says. It's a serious tone you don't often hear in his voice. He curls a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me, and listen good," he says. You frown at that, but he brushes his thumb across your cheek, a small, but tender caress. "You and me, we've got something good. I know what that means. So you can believe me when I say, I'm in this. I'm right here, even when I'm not here."

And he smiles at you. "That make sense?"

Slowly, you start to smile too. "Not really," you laugh.

But it does. You know what he's trying to say, and...you believe him. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

Tentatively, you lean up and press your lips to his; just a sweet, slow meeting.

Russell cups your cheek and leans in for a deeper taste, a deeper conviction of every word he just said.

I love you, is what it really means, even if he's not able to say that just yet.

AN: 😮‍💨 Well, there we go! lol I love me a protective man. 💜 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons!

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Russell Tag List (Part 1)

If you would like to get notified every time I post a story, feel free to follow my side blog @zepskieswrites with notifications on so you don't miss out. 💜

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @riteofpassage77

@deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @sanscas @mxltifxnd0m @suckitands33

@kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @trashmoutth

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @tayl0rfanatic

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @everything-is-all-clear

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @cookiechipdough @sixxteenbullets

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

[kiszjuli]

・── spot me .ᐟ (N.JM)

(재민) ; fem!reader x na jaemin

──in which you start going to the gym, determined to try something new-even if it meant wrestling with difficult machines. seeing you struggle, along comes na jaemin, who offers to help with a bit of his experience. and somehow he keeps popping up.

genre. fluff, slightly suggestive, non!idol au ; tags. flirt!jaemin, jaemin is annoyingly shameless, gym au. ; w.c. 3.1k

!! not proofread !!

you had barely stepped foot into the gym when you started questioning all of your life choices. at least you had a cute workout set?

the air was thick with the scent of sweat and rubber, the sound of weights clanking against metal echoing in your ears. everyone here seemed to know exactly what they were doing. adjusting machines with ease, moving through sets like it was second nature. meanwhile, you stood there, clutching your water bottle like a lost child in a supermarket.

still, you weren’t about to back down. you set your sights on a machine that seemed harmless enough and made your way over, trying to act like you belonged. but as soon as you sat down and attempted to adjust the settings, you realized you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.

“okay, no big deal,” you muttered to yourself, tugging at one of the levers. it didn’t budge. you tried again. still nothing. “seriously? why is this thing built like a medieval torture device?” you grumbled to yourself.

“need some help?”

the voice came from beside you, smooth and effortlessly amused. you turned your head, already prepared to politely refuse, only to freeze when you took in the sight before you.

a guy, probably around your age, maybe a little older, stood there, watching you with an easy smile. black hair, strong frame, gym bag slung over one shoulder like he walked straight out of a sportswear ad.

and he was looking at you like he had just found his new favorite thing.

you blinked. “uh—”

“jaemin,” he introduced himself before you could even process a response, he leaned on the machine—which you had at least discovered to be called a leg press.

you eyed his frame, then looked back at his eyes. “is this the part where i say my name and suddenly my gym struggles are over?”

his grin widened. “could be. or it’s the part where i help you before you embarrass yourself further.”

you scoffed. “bold of you to assume i’m embarrassed.”

“oh, my bad,” he said, leaning in slightly. “you’re totally owning the whole ‘fighting for my life against a leg press’ thing.”

you narrowed your eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. still, you crossed your arms. “i was doing just fine, actually.”

“right,” he nodded, clearly humoring you. “so, if i walk away right now, you’ll definitely figure out that you need to pull this knob first before adjusting anything?”

you glanced at the machine, then back at him. “…obviously.”

jaemin let out a soft laugh before reaching past you, fingers brushing yours as he effortlessly adjusted the settings. “there. now you won’t accidentally crush yourself.”

you exhaled through your nose, trying to ignore the way your skin tingled from the brief contact. “wow. thanks, random gym hero.”

“anytime,” he said easily, before flashing you a smile that was just a little too charming for his own good. “but if you really want to thank me, let me know when you need a spotter. i’d hate for your gym journey to end in tragedy.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

unironically, maybe you wouldn’t mind fighting with more gym machines if it meant talking to him again.

—

one day, after weeks of playful banter and his relentless presence at the gym, you finally give in.

“jaemin,” you call out, catching his attention as he fills his water bottle.

he turns instantly, eyebrows lifting in surprise—probably because you’re actually asking for him instead of trying to shake him off. “yeah?”

you hesitate for a second, then sigh. “can you spot me?”

his grin is immediate, almost smug, but there’s something warm in it too. “you finally trust me, huh?”

“don’t make me regret this,” you warn, but he’s already heading over.

standing behind you as you position yourself under the barbell, jaemin is different than usual. no teasing, no cocky remarks. just focused. and it’s… weirdly attractive.

“all right,” he says, voice even and steady. “you got this. unrack it slow, control your breathing.”

you do as he says, gripping the bar and easing it off the rack. as you lower into the first rep, you feel the weight immediately. heavier than you thought, but not unmanageable. still, it’s reassuring knowing he’s there—hands hovering just under the bar, ready to step in if needed.

“good, keep it steady,” he murmurs, eyes sharp. “breathe in on the way down, out on the way up.”

you push through the first few reps, his voice calm and guiding. when you hesitate on the last one, struggling slightly, his hands shift just enough to support you without taking over.

“c’mon,” he encourages, his voice lower now, right by your ear. “push through it. you got it.”

you grit your teeth, putting everything into the final rep, and with his steadying hands just beneath yours, you manage to rack the weight back up with a small, breathless laugh.

“see? easy,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly as you sit up.

“easy for you to say,” you mutter, wiping the sweat from your brow.

he crouches beside you, eyes glinting. “you did good.”

for once, there’s no teasing in his tone, just genuine pride. and it does something to your stomach that you’d rather not acknowledge.

“thanks,” you say, meeting his gaze.

he grins, leaning just a little closer. “anytime. but you know… if you need help with anything else, i offer full-time training services. very exclusive.”

you roll your eyes, shoving him away lightly, but the warmth in your chest lingers.

—

the second time jaemin spots you, he actually does his job—for the most part.

you’re pushing through a set of squats, trying to focus on your form, when his voice comes from just behind you, steady and low.

“slow and controlled,” he says. “yeah, just like that.”

his hands hover close to your waist, not touching but near enough that you can feel his presence, his warmth. it shouldn’t be distracting. but then he murmurs, “perfect,” and something about the way he says it. soft, almost like praise, throws you off completely.

your balance wobbles mid-rep.

“shit—” you exhale, adjusting your footing before you tip over entirely.

jaemin is already there, steadying you with a hand at your hip, his fingers pressing firm through the fabric of your leggings. his grip is warm, sure, and the brief contact sends a zip of something unidentifiable up your spine.

“you good?” he asks, amusement flickering in his tone.

“yeah.” you clear your throat, regaining your focus. “just—distracted.”

he hums, far too entertained by this. “happens. but if i’m too distracting, i can always—”

“don’t.” you shoot him a look, and he grins, unrepentant.

“got it.”

you finish the set without any more mishaps, though you swear jaemin is closer than necessary for the rest of it, his presence a constant weight in the back of your mind.

when you straighten, breathless, he tilts his head. “so? will you admit i’m good at this?”

you roll your eyes, grabbing your water bottle. “for once, i’ll admit it you’re useful.”

“wow.” he presses a hand to his chest. “the highest compliment i’ve ever received.”

“don’t get used to it.”

his smirk lingers, eyes flickering over you in a way that makes it clear he’s already gotten used to being this close.

—

the next time you see jaemin, it’s not at the gym. and it’s not exactly planned either.

you’re standing at the counter of your favorite café, waiting for the barista to ring up your order when you notice the guy behind the register giving you a little extra attention.

“you come here a lot, right?” he asks, punching your total into the screen. “i feel like i’d remember someone like you.”

you blink at him, caught off guard by the obvious attempt at flirting. “uh, yeah. something like that.”

before he can say anything else, an arm drapes over your shoulder like it belongs there.

“she does,” jaemin’s voice cuts in smoothly, and your entire body tenses. “i should know. we come here together all the time.”

he says it so casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and before you can even process his presence, his warmth, his scent, the fact that he’s touching you. he reaches into his pocket and slides his card across the counter.

“put both on me,” he adds with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

the barista’s expression flickers, just slightly. “right. okay.”

you don’t even get a chance to protest before the receipt prints, the transaction complete. jaemin thanks the guy with a polite nod, then leans down a little, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear.

“should i start getting jealous, or was that just a customer service voice?”

you elbow him lightly, heat creeping up your neck. “you are so—”

“charming? thoughtful? boyfriend material?”

you roll your eyes. “ridiculous.”

“same thing.”

your drinks arrive, and jaemin grabs them both before you can. he hands you yours, fingers brushing yours just enough to make you aware of the space (or lack thereof) between you.

as you step outside, you side-eye him. “you didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“i know.” he takes a sip of his drink, then glances at you with a smug little tilt of his lips. “but it was fun, wasn’t it?”

you scoff. “what, throwing your wallet around to intimidate some guy?”

“no,” he says, bumping his shoulder into yours. “having coffee with me.”

you don’t answer right away, but he catches the way your lips twitch like you’re fighting a smile.

jaemin hums. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

you shake your head, exhaling through your nose. “you are something else.”

“and yet, you keep talking to me,” he points out, grin widening.

you hate that he’s right. you hate even more that you don’t actually hate it at all.

—

following the day you met jaemin outside of the gym, you end up right back in the gym, deciding against better judgement to attempt deadlifts.

you’ve watched enough videos, seen people do it effortlessly, and it doesn’t look that hard. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. but after setting up the barbell and bracing yourself, you realize very quickly that maybe you’ve overestimated your abilities.

your grip keeps slipping, your back doesn’t feel quite right, and when you try to pull the weight up, it barely budges.

“need a hand, angel?”

you don’t even have to turn to know it’s jaemin. you exhale sharply, shaking your head. “i got it.”

“mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “that’s cute.”

before you can bite back a sarcastic remark, he steps behind you, far too close for your brain to function properly. his hands find your waist, adjusting you effortlessly, like he’s done this a million times.

“you’re all tense,” he murmurs, voice low near your ear. “relax a little.”

you swallow hard, hyperaware of the heat of his palms. “hard to relax when someone’s all up in my space.”

jaemin chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “you’re welcome to tell me to move.”

you don’t.

instead, you let him guide you, let him adjust your stance by nudging your foot with his, let him drag his hand along your arm to reposition your grip. when you attempt another lift, he follows the movement, hands skimming down your sides in encouragement.

“just like that,” he says, voice smoother than it has any right to be.

you manage to get the bar up, but it’s not the weight making you feel breathless. it’s him.

the second you drop the bar back down, you realize how close you still are, his chest brushing your back as he leans in slightly. “better, right?”

you exhale shakily, nodding. “yeah. better.”

jaemin tilts his head, watching you. his lips curl just slightly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“you sure?” he teases, voice dipping.

you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, only now realizing how close your faces are. his eyes flicker to your lips for a second, too fast to be certain, but enough to make your stomach flip.

you wet your lips, your breath still uneven. “positive.”

his smile deepens, and just when you think he might say something else, he steps back, leaving behind nothing but warmth and the frustrating ghost of his touch.

“good,” he says simply, picking up his water bottle. “same time tomorrow?”

you roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the tension he left behind. “yeah. sure.”

jaemin grins, tossing you a wink as he walks off. “can’t wait.”

you don’t realize how long you stand there, gripping your water bottle like it might bring your heart rate back to normal.

you were struggling to lift weight, so why does it feel like he’s the one who completely knocked the air out of you?

—

after the deadlift incident, you found yourself avoiding jaemin. not because you disliked him, but because you weren’t sure how to handle the way he made you feel. his easy confidence, the way he got under your skin without even trying—it was distracting, and the last thing you needed was more distractions.

so, you started going to the gym at night, hoping for some quiet time to focus on your workouts. fewer people, fewer chances of running into him. it seemed like a solid plan.

until you walked in and saw him already there.

jaemin was standing near the squat rack, adjusting weights like he had all the time in the world. he noticed you immediately, a slow grin spreading across his face as he rested his hands on his hips.

“well, well,” he drawled, tilting his head. “didn’t expect to see you here at this hour.”

you sighed, already bracing for whatever he was about to say. “i could say the same to you.”

he shrugged, picking up a towel and tossing it over his shoulder. “what can i say? some of us are just dedicated.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “right.”

jaemin stepped closer, his gaze flicking over you with something unreadable but undeniably amused. “and what about you? didn’t think i’d see you sneaking in for a late-night session. trying to avoid someone?”

your stomach twisted at how easily he caught on. “just thought it’d be quieter,” you said, keeping your voice light. “easier to focus.”

“ah,” he nodded, feigning understanding before smirking. “and yet, here i am. ruining your peaceful gym night.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “not ruining. just… unexpected.”

jaemin stepped even closer, lowering his voice just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “unexpected, huh? i’ll take that as a compliment.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he leaned slightly to the side, as if assessing you. “so… what’s the plan for tonight? need another spotter? maybe a personal trainer?”

there was no stopping the laugh that escaped you. “you just don’t quit, do you?”

“not when i see something worth my time,” he shot back smoothly, his grin widening.

the tension was there, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was easy, playful, charged in a way that made you more aware of him than you wanted to be.

you sighed, shaking your head. “let’s just work out, alright?”

jaemin raised his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes still held that teasing glint. “whatever you say.”

and with that, he turned back toward his weights, leaving you standing there, already feeling like you’d lost some unspoken game.

—

the workout should’ve been simple. just you, the machines, and an hour of sweat and focus. but with jaemin there, throwing glances, flashing smirks, making casual comments that left your stomach flipping, it was anything but.

you were halfway through your set when he appeared beside you again, towel draped around his neck, arms crossed as he watched you with an amused expression.

“you sure you don’t need my help?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

you exhaled sharply, adjusting your grip on the bar. “pretty sure i can handle it.”

“mm,” he hummed, stepping just a little closer, enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “i don’t doubt you. but you did come here at night to avoid distractions, right? doesn’t seem like it’s working.”

you shot him a look, only for him to grin like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“you’re talking a lot for someone who’s supposed to be working out,” you muttered, refocusing on your reps.

jaemin didn’t move, just watched as you powered through the set, eyes flickering between your face and the way your body tensed with each movement. when you finally finished, you let out a breath, shaking out your arms.

“see?” you said, lifting your chin. “didn’t need you.”

he laughed under his breath. “sure. you looked good doing it though.”

you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “you flirt with every girl at the gym, or am i just special?”

jaemin leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “oh, you’re definitely special.”

your breath hitched, but before you could say anything, he grabbed his water bottle and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

damn him.

—

the gym was supposed to be a place of focus, of self-improvement—not whatever this was. not standing here, watching na jaemin wipe the sweat off his forehead, chest still rising and falling from his last set, looking every bit like he belonged on the cover of a sports magazine.

you should’ve walked away the second he caught you staring. but of course, he had to notice.

“see something you like?” his voice was still a little breathless, but that didn’t stop the teasing lilt in his tone.

you scoff, crossing your arms. “just shocked you’re finally breaking a sweat. thought you were invincible for a second.”

he grins, stepping closer. “cute. but you know what’s actually shocking? how long it’s taken me to ask you out.”

your stomach flips, but you mask it with a raise of your brow. “is that so?”

he nods, resting his hands on his hips. “yep. been waiting for the perfect moment, but you keep distracting me.”

“me?” you let out a short laugh. “right, because i’m the one shamelessly flirting while pretending to teach proper form.”

he smirks. “see? you do pay attention.”

you roll your eyes, turning to grab your bag, but he shifts, blocking your path. “just one date,” he says, voice softer now, but still playful. “somewhere nice. no gym memberships required.”

you pause, weighing your options, not that there was ever much of a debate. with a sigh, you shake your head. “fine. one date. but if you show up in a muscle tee, i’m walking out.”

his grin stretches wide. “noted. though i can’t promise you won’t get distracted again.”

you push past him with a groan, but he just laughs, calling after you. “don’t be late, princess. i’ve been waiting long enough.”

—

▸ j.note ; i am hyper fixated on jaemin’s arms sorry not sorry

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

550 words / 25 / more ghost + gaz with free use medic reader

...

"Come here, medic."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Ain't a request." Ghost takes you firmly by the back of the neck before you can flee. He squeezes tight enough to make it clear he's not asking.

You feel his and Gaz’s eyes on you--on the bleeding laceration sliced through the outer cartilage of your ear and on the bruise forming on your cheekbone. You got tangled up briefly with an enemy tango and almost became a hostage. Or a statistic. But you're fine now.

"You're making a big deal over nothing,” you tell them.

Ghost pulls you forward and angles your face this way and that, trying to get a better look at you.

Gaz crosses his arms and stares you down. "Fine is when you burn yourself on a shell casing. You're not fine." He's barely holding back the edge in his voice. He can't pull rank on you--none of them can, technically--and he's supposed to be polite and respectful. But seeing that happen to you, and the adrenaline running through him, is making him thoughtless.

"He only grabbed me. Didn't hurt me."

Ghost hisses at you, his voice just as rough as the squeeze he has on the back of your neck. "What happened isn't important. What's important is that he thought he could touch you." His grip tightens. "You're in our squad. You're under our watch. No one messes with you."

Your gut twists. That's not fair--acting protective. It's part of their job to keep you safe, but they don't have to talk like this. You glance at Gaz for help, but the look on his face tells you he doesn’t disagree with Ghost. You swallow the protests on the tip of your tongue and close your eyes, silently letting them examine you.

Ghost finds another few nicks and fresh bruises. You’re a medic—you’re not as armored as they are because it’s a goddamn war crime to kill medical personnel. "Jesus,” he mutters. “Bastard snuck up on us.”

"Thank you," you say quietly.

"For what?" Ghost snaps back. As usual, he's not expecting gratitude from you. You're supposed to take the insults, the berating, the harshness. And the protection, because you belong to them. At least, that's how they see it.

Gaz speaks up. "No one treats you like that again, alright?"

"It's not like I asked him if he needed a hostage."

"Doesn't matter," Gaz retorts. "If someone puts a finger on you like that again--"

Soap ducks back into the room, his rifle’s muzzle on his shoulder.

"Take care of it?" Ghost asks.

"Aye," Soap says. "Bastard won't be layin' his hands on anyone anymore. Not enough fingers left, for starters." He turns to you with a look of sympathy, but you recognize the wild edge of adrenaline still present. "You alright, hen?"

"I'm fine." You use the opportunity to worm yourself out of Ghost's grasp. "We going?"

"Affirmative," Gaz says. “We should move.”

Ghost turns away, forcing his attention back on the mission even though he carries himself with cold anger. Soap looks you up and down once more, his eyes lingering on your cheekbone a little longer this time. He seems about to say something, but thinks better of it. His blue eyes soften just a bit before he turns to follow Gaz and Ghost.

...

more Gaz / more Ghost / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[pedrospatch]

captive

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You find yourself missing your captor while he’s out on an early morning hunt with the rest of the group.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. IMPLIED PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, it’s implied her family members were also killed, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own, stockholm syndrome, reader deals with a lot of very distressing and conflicting feelings, Joel isn’t too creepy or extremely dark, but he is still not a good person, mentions of Tommy. VERY BRIEF SMUT in the form of cockwarming, daddy kink but i didn’t go overboard this time, pet names (honey, baby, babygirl, sweetheart) if i missed anything, you can POLITELY let me know because if i missed anything, it was purely accidental. minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i might actually throw up idk. i’ve had this itch to try dark joel and seeing as i have major writer’s block with all my other wips i decided to just scratch the itch. this is a little out of my comfort zone but i actually ended up feeling pleased with what i wrote. this is my personal take on dark/raider joel, i’m sure it is very out of character but it’s fanfiction so…yeah. here it is.

It’s the rain that rouses you from your sleep.

It beats down heavily on the remote cabin’s tin roof.

Loud. Much too loud.

You roll over, settling yourself on your side.

The mattress is old, worn, rotting beneath the sheets.

You can’t complain, though. At least you have a bed.

Everybody else is forced to sleep on the hard floor.

He always gets the room with the bed.

As his special girl, that means you always get the room with the bed too.

It’s not quite as flattering as one would believe.

He only ever wants the bedroom for one reason—to keep you behind a locked door so you can’t run.

You sigh softly and stare out the window. He’d secured that too, made certain that it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

Closing your eyes, you try and go back to sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come.

His absence is starting to bother you.

You’ve been with him for an entire season now.

You’re getting used to him.

The sound of his voice. 

The warmth of his body.

The taste of his lips.

You can’t even sleep without him next to you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, clutching the stale sheets, balling them in your fists out of frustration.

How was it possible? How could you be missing him?

He had taken everything from you.

Your family.

Your home. 

Your innocence.

He was holding you captive. He was a monster.

But a monster doesn’t keep you safe.

Doesn’t clothe you.

Doesn’t feed you.

Doesn’t protect you.

He did all of those things and more. 

Is that why you feel so empty without him beside you?

Is that why you’re no longer so certain you would run if you were given the chance to escape him?

You fucking hated him for what he’d done.

Yet here you are, aching for him to come back to you.

It’s another hour before you hear the lock clicking. 

Joel pushes through the door, quietly closing it behind him.

“Y’awake?” he asks, slipping his pack off his shoulders.

“Mhm,” you answer with your back to him. “I am.”

You hear the sound of his pack hitting the floor.

His worn leather boots being kicked off. 

His rifle being set down, propped against the wall.

“How was the hunt?”

You can feel him freeze as he’s taking off his jacket.

Getting you to willingly speak to him had always been a lot like pulling teeth. Difficult, almost impossible.

When he doesn’t respond, you roll over to face him.

There’s a swoop in your tummy.

Joel is drenched from head to toe. His blue denim shirt clings to his broad frame and his dark, graying curls are slicked back away from his face.

He’s got such a handsome face.

Monsters aren’t supposed to have handsome faces.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really askin’ me how the hunt went?” Suspicion laces his tone. “Why? Y’worried you won’t eat tonight?”

Of course you weren’t.

Joel Miller doesn’t let you go hungry.

When food is scarce, he makes sure you eat first. If he notices you rubbing your tummy because your portion wasn’t enough, he’ll give you his own portion.

He takes care of you.

“No.” You pause and sit up. The sheets you two share fall away from your body, leaving your soft, supple breasts on full display for him. “Just wanted to know how your morning went. That’s all.”

It’s not your tits that make his cock twitch against the zipper of his jeans—it’s the sincerity that flashes across your features, the sound of it in the tone of your voice.

You’re being sweet to him.

He clears his throat lightly.

“Went real good. Brought down a deer. Female, ‘bout a hundred pounds or so. Enough to keep all of us well fed for the next couple of weeks,” he says with a nod. “Was pissin’ rain the entire time but it was worth it. Tommy’s in the shed out back right now dressin’ it so we can get a stew started.” He pauses. “You’re gonna get a proper meal tonight, babygirl. Belly’s gonna be nice and full.”

He’s not just talking about food and you know it.

You make an effort to meet his gaze, but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do it, not when you remembered how he’d taken you away from your family—how he had carried you over his shoulder, kicking and screaming as his people raided your camp and slaughtered every last member of your group because that’s what Joel Miller had ordered them to do.

Looking him in the eye might be the one thing you will never, ever be able to do.

“It’s cold,” you murmur after a minute. “You should get out of those wet clothes before you get sick.”

With a subtle nod, Joel turns around and starts peeling off his clothes until he’s completely naked. He uses an old rag to dry himself off as best as he can, although it doesn’t do much for him.

You can’t help yourself and stare—your gaze drags over the strong muscles of his back and shoulders, how they flex and ripple beneath his skin with every single one of his movements. Arousal pools between your thighs and all you can do is fucking hate yourself for wanting it, for wanting him.

“S’pretty early still,” he states, his back still to you as he runs the rag through his hair. “Y’should try to get some more sleep.”

The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think about stopping it.

“I couldn’t sleep while you were gone.”

Surprised, he turns around.

Almost immediately, your eyes fall to his cock.

Even when he isn’t fully hard, he’s still so fucking big.

“Is that so?” Joel asks, sounding rather pleased. 

“Yes,” you say, softly. “I—I missed you.”

His lips turn upwards into a subtle, faint grin.

“Yeah?” he coos. “My sweet little girl missed me while I was gone? Hm?” Slowly, he approaches the bed. It dips slightly and the frame creaks as he plants a knee on the mattress and leans over towards you. Gently, Joel takes your chin between his index finger and thumb. “Y’need Daddy by your side so you can sleep, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whisper, warm tears glazing over your eyes.

It’s bad enough your body welcomed him so easily.

Now your heart was starting to do the same.

And then there was your mind.

What if that stopped fighting him too?

Part of you is afraid it already has.

Joel climbs into bed, joining you under the sheets.

“M’here, my pretty girl. C’mere, honey.” He coaxes you to lay on your side and pulls you back against his chest. His skin is still damp, frigid from having been out in the elements, but somehow he’s still warm. “That better?”

“Need you closer,” you mumble, wiggling against him.

Joel groans, his thick cock hard and throbbing against the small of your back. He nips at your bare shoulder as his hand drags down the length of your body and slips between your thighs. “Christ, babygirl. Pussy’s soakin’ wet for me. Looks like she missed me while I was gone too, didn’t she, sweetheart?”

He runs his finger along your slick, silky folds.

“Daddy,” you whimper, bucking into his hand.

“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy knows what you need.”

Joel pulls his hand from between your legs.

You almost cry—you’re so fucking desperate for him. 

And you shouldn’t be. 

He reaches in between your bodies, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Without warning, he slips it into your tight, aching cunt, sheathing himself in your warm, wet heat in one smooth stroke.

You choke out a sob.

It’s always overwhelming, that initial stretch.

That fullness, the feeling of him being in your belly.

“S’alright, sweetheart. S’alright. I know you can take it,” he soothes you. “You’re such a good girl for me. Always take my cock so fuckin’ well. So good for me, baby. You feel better now that Daddy’s cock is buried inside your pretty little pussy?”

He drapes an arm around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Yes,” you breathe, placing your hand on top of his.

Joel feathers a kiss onto your neck.

“Go to sleep, babygirl. M’here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he promises you.

That shouldn’t be a comfort to you. But it is.

You close your eyes, your fingers subconsciously lacing together with his as you start to drift.

Cunt full of his cock, you fall asleep in your captor’s arms.

divider credit to @saradika🤍

[daisyvisions]

Change Your Mind - (l.jy)

➺ Pairing: fboy best friend!Juyeon x afab!reader

➺ Summary: You befriend your college’s resident fuckboy who’s been eager to get with you since day one. But after a rollercoaster of emotions between your friendship, he wants you more than you could ever imagine.

➺ Word Count: 4k (wow who is she?!)

➺ Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), friends to lovers, mentions of partying, drinking alcohol, fuckboy tendencies (flirting, hookups, ghosting), lying to reader (at first), lots of kissing and making out, dry humping, oral (f! receiving), slight handjob and masturbation, unprotected sex (but he pulls out), aftercare, pet names (sweetheart, baby), a lovesick Juyeon

➺ A/N: I’m officially back from my break! Really wanted to take some time off and focus on things irl, can’t really say if the break helped bcos I was still stressed haha but anyway!This took me a while to finish up, felt incredibly rusty writing again but glad I was still able to do it 😭 Considering this as my late birthday greeting for Juyeon. Hope you enjoy this piece! Proofread once. Let me know if I missed anything!

➺ Network & Tag: @deoboyznet, and my girlies @aimeecarreros @snowflakewhispers @winterchimez

If anyone told you that you’d end up becoming best friends with one of the most sought out guys in your campus (and not to mention resident fuck boy), you would’ve laughed at their face. All your life you’ve tried to avoid befriending guys like Juyeon. A guy like him just generally gave you the ick.

You never understood how or why people would want to be friends with someone whose only objective is to get into girl’s pants and be praised for it. Not only that, but also playing with someone’s feelings and just dropping them at an instant was wrong on so many levels.

But here you are, lending him a helping hand while you two clean out his living room after throwing yet another one of his bi-weekly parties, which was usually code for “Please let me at least make out with someone tonight.”

It’s crazy how you consider him one of your bestest friends. In another world you both knew this friendship would never work out. You were both opposite of each other in so many ways!

So how did you even end up becoming friends with Juyeon?

Transferring to a different university in the middle of the semester was one of the worst things that could've happened to you. Not only did you have to adjust to a new set of lesson plans and navigate your way around campus, but you also had to sit alone during lunch since practically everyone already knew each other from freshman year and had their own set of cliques.

During your first week, you thought you could at least find a table you could sit with just by going up to the group you vibed with the most and ask politely. But you decided to just sit by yourself instead and avoid any embarrassing introductions. You refused to be known as the weird new girl (which you already felt like one to begin with.)

You tried to fight off the tears emerging from the corners of your eyes as you sat quietly in the corner of the cafeteria, slowly poking the food on your tray as you try to drown out the noise around you.

You wish you didn’t have to transfer and leave everything and everyone you knew behind. Yes, you can still call or text your friends, but you knew it was different than actually being with them on campus.

You were convinced you’d be alone for the rest of your years in college. No friends to hang out, laugh, or cry with. No one to go through the same struggles as you. No one to tell you that everything was going to be okay. You were definitely on your own until-

“Hey.” The voice suddenly snapping you out of your self-loathing as you look up and see probably one of the most handsome men you have ever seen in your life.

The way his eyes held so much love, how his smile could light up anyone’s day, and how his aura was something you never felt with anyone before. He was practically radiating sunshine to your already gloomy day. It almost felt too good to be true… Because what the hell was he doing here in front of you?

“…Hi?” You sit up straight as you try to subtly dab off the tears in your eyes.

“I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all alone.” The man gently says.

Great, the first thing he notices about you is how much of a loser you are. But before you could even say anything back he continues on.

“Would you like to come sit with us? We have some space for you at our table.” He slowly smiles at you. You hesitated at first, confused by the whole situation but quickly made up your mind.

“Uh… yeah, sure! If it’s not any trouble.” You shyly respond.

“Of course not! Can’t let a pretty thing like you be all alone on her first week here right?” He holds out his hand to you.

“How did you-”

“I’m Juyeon.” He interrupts you again. You tell him your name, your cheeks slowly warming up as your hand intertwines with his as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He smirks. You felt the butterflies raging within your stomach.

“So, let’s go?” He waits for your response, but you shyly nod your head instead as proper words get caught up in your throat. Grabbing his hand as you stand up and follow his lead.

You try not to make a fool out of yourself as you feel Juyeon’s hand rest on your lower back as you guides you through the sea of people. As you two are walking towards his table he leans close to your ear and whispers,

“We’re gonna be best friends, I promise.”

And ever since that day Juyeon really did keep his promise. He helped you catch up with some of the lesson plans you had, guided you around school, and always made sure to leave a space for you beside him during lunch.

You tried to wrap your brain around the idea of how someone like Juyeon just randomly entered your life and swept you off your feet. At first you felt like you were on cloud nine getting the most attention and almost boyfriend-like treatment from him. But as the weeks went by you soon discover that his reputation actually preceded him more than you thought.

You see, it was no secret that Juyeon was somewhat of a playboy. Well, somewhat was an understatement. During the first few weeks since you became friends he would walk you to class almost every time. In those moments you couldn’t understand why people would give you such weird looks or whisper to each other whenever you two would pass by.

Maybe it was because you stuck out like a sore thumb as the new girl? You decided not to mind it for a while, pushing down the thought that you were just overthinking all of this… that is until you accidentally learned about his reputation and the real reason why he approached you that day.

It was an accident. You were never meant to find out anything about Juyeon. But during a party that he brought you to, a certain loosed-lip drunk friend (Eric) decided to spill everything to you, down to every letter and detail imaginable.

To be honest, it didn’t bother you when you found out that Juyeon was indeed a fuck boy. You saw the signs as the weeks passed by.

The way he would flirt with someone while waiting for you to finish class, how the notifications on his phone would show a name of a different girl every week, and even the subtle touches he would leave on you which were definitely not considered friendly but not perverted either. What bothered you the most was finding out the reason why he even wanted to be friends with you.

“He’s been really working up to have his way with you, you know? And I mean who could blame him? Have you seen yourself? You’re so fucking hot-” Eric rambles on to you as he tries to lean his body against the wall to keep himself upright, slowly inching his way closer to you. You felt your blood boil in that moment, completely ignoring Eric’s advances.

How could Juyeon do this to you? Even after everything you shared with him about your life, your struggles, your secrets too? And to think you were starting to feel like he could be a really great friend to you. But this? Hell no. You were not about to let some handsome sleazy guy use you like that. Not in this or any lifetime.

You nearly crush the plastic red cup in your hand before storming out of the house, intentionally pushing past Juyeon’s shoulder in the way as he tries to approach you with the most concerned look you had ever seen on his face.

He ran after you that night. He even dropped on his knees begging for forgiveness in front of a crowd of drunk college people too. Over the top sure, but somehow you knew his apology wasn’t just a one and done thing.

And after the humiliating lecture you gave him as well as the list of promises he had said he will be doing in order to make up for his mistakes, you decided to give him another chance.

In return of accepting his apology, you offered to help him get out of his fuck boy tendencies and be his “guardian angel”. Juyeon was reluctant of the idea at first because it would mean he couldn’t be free to do as he pleased but he eventually gave in. He had to because well… He did owe you a lot for lying to you in the first place.

Somewhere in your mind you knew this could turn out to be a bad idea. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me, or however the saying goes. But Juyeon was different.

You knew somewhere in that deep conceited mind of his there was a version of him that was actually a good guy. A guy that can actually learn how to not fool around and maybe one day, find someone worth changing for.

You can tell it was a struggle for him at the beginning. But eventually he started to lessen the flirting, the hookups, the ghosting, and more.

Gone were the days where Juyeon had a line of women wrapped around his fingers (because they were too many of them to count). Dating was still a thing for him, but he had said and even showed you that he would take them seriously and not just move onto the next one as easily as he did before.

Eventually you realized over time that Juyeon turning over a new leaf was also becoming a struggle for you especially at parties when he would come up to you nearly drunk out of his mind, his subconscious would revert back to his old habits and he would act them all out on you.

His hands subtly snaking around your hips, your waist, how he would brush the hair off your neck and leave a warm kiss on shoulder. The way he would smile at you like a lovesick fool, never leaving your side as he attempts to drop his corny pickup lines.

Or the way he would jokingly confess how badly he wanted to kiss you. You knew he wasn’t in the right state of mind, that he was just being his old self. But it really did confuse you because sometimes it felt all too real.

Now you understood why someone could fall so easily for Juyeon. It was second nature to him.

You tried so hard not to give into his appetite especially in those moments. But it was becoming difficult each time since you the crush you had on him from the first day you met was screaming to be set free, desperate to overtake your heart and soul and just allow him to do as he pleased, no matter the consequences.

The many “what-if’s” that crossed your mind when you were alone in your room at night had plagued you constantly. Your walls were starting to crack and it was making you lose your self control around him.

“Maybe one little kiss wouldn’t hu-” No. You shouldn’t. The whole point of staying friends with Juyeon was to guide him to being a better person. It wasn’t about you or how you felt at all!

But… how bad could it be to become selfish just one moment in your life?

“Wow, I’m so tired.” Juyeon plops down on the sofa as you finish up collecting all the empty bottles and cups around the room. After the last bottle was thrown inside the trash bag you washed your hands and plopped right next to him.

You instantly close your eyes and let out a huge sigh of relief, showing the same exhaustion as he felt. As you stay silent and enjoy this quiet moment, Juyeon can’t help but just stare at you. He watches how your chest slowly moves up and down and tries to commit to memory the little details of your face.

You look so beautiful right now, he thinks to himself. As you always have since the first time he saw you. But he pushes down the feeling deep within his gut, having given up pursuing you a while back. But it doesn't hurt to look every once in a while right?

As soon as you open your eyes again, you catch him staring at you with a look in his eyes you can’t quite read. You chuckle at how silly he’s being and turn your body slightly to face him.

“What?” You ask.

“I-It’s nothing.” He shakes his head.

“C’mon, what is it? You can tell me.” You semi pout, and how can Juyeon say no to you?

“I was thinking-”

“Oh no he’s thinking.” You fake gasp and giggle as he playfully nudges your shoulder in return.

“It’s just- I still can’t believe how we ended up as friends despite everything, you know?” He smiles gently.

“Me too.” You respond, “To be honest, if I had known about your reputation before we met I would’ve rejected you that day.”

“Yeah?” Juyeon’s eyes grow wider as he scoots closer to you. He places his hand on your knee, making you become nervous all of a sudden. “And why is that?”

“W-well…” you feel a lump forming in your throat, the way his cologne invades your thoughts and has your head slowly spinning. Is it getting hot in here or is that just you?

“Because, guys like you just aren’t my type that’s all. And well-”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Juyeon interrupts you as he looks into your eyes. You nod in response.

“I haven't been with anyone else ever since that night you confronted me about my behavior.” He pauses for a moment. Dead silence filled the air as he waited for your response while you tried to grasp what he was trying to say.

“Huh? What about that girl you were with last week? Or the one you were texting?” You softly ask.

“I... I lied about them.” Juyeon looks away from you, afraid to look at your reaction. He looks up at the ceiling, pushing down any regret he’s feeling at the moment admitting the truth to you.

“But, why?” Your voice laced with concern.

“It felt wrong to be with those girls. To even think about kissing or touching them the way I would've back then, because…” He looks back at you, his hand on your knee now traveling up to your lap.

“…All I ever thought about in those moments was you.”

You felt your heart running a mile a minute. Eyes widening at his sudden confession.

“God you’re so beautiful it kills me inside.” he raises his hand and cups your jaw, thumb slowly stroking your cheek as his gaze turns into something more than just lust.

You subtly catch him quickly looking at your lips, your eyes nearly fluttering shut as he leans in closer. And with your lips just millimeters apart, he suddenly stops.

“But who am I kidding? I know you don’t see me that way-” Juyeon retracts his head, his face expressing a certain kind of sadness you can’t seem to properly label. You can feel your heart pounding in your ears as you watch him slowly slip away from you.

“Juyeon I-”

“It’s alright, I’m probably drunk. Just- forget what I said.” He shakes his head, but before he can attempt to get up from the couch, you grab his wrist. “No.” You sternly say.

Juyeon slowly sits back down on the couch and scoots really close to you, thighs pressing against one another. His eyes don’t leave yours, waiting for what you have to say or do.

“S-show me. Show me you mean it. Every word you just said.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that.” Juyeon lunges forward and wastes no time as he leans in to kiss you. His pillowy lips feeling like heaven as he guides your lips with his, both melting into one another like it was always meant to be.

As your arms start to wrap around his neck Juyeon pulls you in closer, his body slowly falls backwards onto the couch. His hands desperately grabbing your hips to make you straddle his lap.

Juyeon whimpers into your mouth as soon as his straining bulge rubs against your core. His member throbs harder as you begin to roll your hips subconsciously.

He’s fucked way too many times to count but for some reason, grinding yourself onto his crotch makes him feel like an untouched virgin all over again.

He swears he can burst inside his boxers any second now if you keep doing this to him, especially with the soft little moans coming out of your mouth that sound so sweet.

Juyeon pulls away from your lips and starts to kiss your neck, mapping out his kisses until he finds the spot that makes you melt into a puddle. He knows he’s found that spot as your moans become louder and drag on longer.

He starts to wrap his arms around your torso and without warning, he flips you both over, making you squeal as he giggles at your reaction. His eager hands waste no time to unbutton your jeans as he continues to leave marks on your neck. You slightly push him away as you feel him slowly sneaking one hand into your pants.

“Wait-” You grab his wrist before he goes any further.

“Do you want to stop?” He waits for your answer.

“No it’s not that.” Your eyes close for a moment as you catch your breath.

“It’s- well- It’s been a while I've since done this. I- I might not be good for you.” Juyeon senses the worry in your eyes. He leans down to kiss the space between your eyebrows, his free hand caressing your cheek.

“Oh sweetheart… you’ll always be too good for me.” He smiles down at you. “You sure you still want this?” You nod your head instantly.

“Use your words baby, need to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.” His hand travels to your neck and gives it a soft squeeze. The act alone is enough to get you dizzy again.

“Want you- want you to touch me, please.” You look up at him so innocently.

Juyeon leans in to kiss you passionately once more, his tongue immediately intertwining with yours. He helps you out of your pants in the process not wanting to pull his lips away from yours until he tugs the hem of your shift and lifts it off, leaving you wearing nothing but your underwear on.

His kisses start to travel oh so slowly from your lips all the way to your inner thighs. Juyeon can feel himself pre cumming at the deep inhale of your panty covered core. The wet patch luring him in to kiss it and practically mouth your covered folds.

You let out yet another ethereal moan as your fingers weave through his hair. His hands slowly pull the garter of your underwear down, throwing the damp material behind him as he continues on with his ministrations.

Juyeon wastes no time and grabs the back of your thighs and placing them over his shoulder, making sure that his face is locked onto your throbbing core. He kisses your folds before suddenly darting his warm wet tongue between them, reveling in the taste of you before flicking your sensitive bud. He looks up to watch your reactions, which motivate him to keep on going.

“P-please…” You whine as he hums and sucks on your clit. Juyeon doesn’t even need you to tell him what you want, by the sound of your moans and the way your thighs slowly squeeze his head he knows you’re getting closer to the edge.

He nearly lets go himself when you reach your high without warning, the sudden burst of your essence onto his lips as you moan out his name was something he never thought would feel so divine.

He pulls himself up and goes back to kissing you, tasting yourself on his tongue has your core throbbing for him once again. Your hands hastily helping him unbutton his own pants along with his boxers as he pulls them down and kicks them to the side.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his impressive length, your hand instantly wrapping around his member as you stroke him slowly. “Oh s-shit.” He growls into your ear.

“Want you inside me Juyeon, want you to fuck me.” You whisper in his ear. He grabs your wrist to stop, holding his own member as he aligns it with your entrance.

“Don’t want to fuck you-” He mumbles. You pull away from him, confused by his words. His other hand grabs the back of your neck as he pulls your face closer to his.

“-Want to make love to you.” He whispers into your mouth. And before you know it he’s pushing his entire cock inside you, bottoming out instantly. You both moan into each other’s mouths at the stretch. Juyeon moves his hips slowly as he starts to fuck you deeply, making sure you feel all of him going in and out of your pussy.

Juyeon wishes this moment could last forever, but the way your walls grip onto his member like a vice brings him closer to the edge faster than he had hoped. Especially with how you’re moaning into his mouth and wrapping your arms around his neck so tight? He was a goner.

He’s never fucked anyone like this before, and now he can’t imagine doing this with anyone else except you.

With every deep thrust, you feel yourself on the verge of cumming for the second time. Each stroke hitting that sweet spot in you has you reaching for the stars.

“Fuck Juyeon, you’re gonna make me cum again.” You whine as the wet sounds you're both making has you feeling dizzy.

“C’mon sweetheart, cum on my cock. God you can keep cumming on my cock as much as you want I don’t care.” His thrusts start to pick up the pace. “I’m yours forever.”

Those three words were enough to snap the coil within, breathing heavily as your walls flutter around his length. You’re so caught up in your own head you don’t realize Juyeon uttering a string of whimpers until you feel him quickly pull out his cock and blow his load all over your stomach.

The both of you take a moment to calm down from your highs before Juyeon gets up to each for the box of tissue on the coffee table. You watch him gently clean you up before he pulls his boxers back on to find your discarded underwear and also helps you put it back on.

He hovers above you before leaning down to leave small kisses around your face and on your lips. You caress his cheek slowly as he leans into your touch.

“Did you mean it? Everything you said?” You softly ask him.

“Down to every letter.” He responds. “But… I think you broke me.”

“Broke you? How?” You playfully scrunch your eyebrows at him.

“Don’t want to see myself with anyone else now.”

“Oh really?” You raise an eyebrow. “And how should I fix it then?” He smirks and kisses you again,

“Let me take you out on a date and we’ll call it even.”

[notyourhetloki]

Can I request headcanons for Logan x GN Reader x Wade with Reader who's oblivious that both of them like them romantically please?

Logan x oblivious!Reader x Wade

Reader: they/them (gender neutral)

/Logan x Reader x Wade/

A/N: Heey! I know you asked for headcanons but I wrote it as a little fic... hope you don't mind!

Tags: SFW fic, poly relationship, oblivious!reader, Wade is desperate, they are NOT normal.

—

You should know by now that they liked you... right? But it was hard when they were so fricking cryptid about it! All they did was look at you longingly and compliment you and flirt with you! How were you supposed to know?

Jokes aside, you genuinely thought they acted like that around everyone... especially Wade, the guy was a flirt and couldn't be taken seriously.

As for Logan, you thought he was just being polite. Calling you pet names wasn't necessarily a way to flirt, after all.

Besides, they were already in a relationship with each other! That's what everyone imagined, at least.... so you weren't expecting them to open up a space for you in their lives.

But then you started receiving notes in the mail, written in red ink and saying things like: YOU'RE AMAZING / GIVE US A CHANCE / YOU'RE SO PRETTY IT'S HURTING MY FEELINGS / (Y/N) WE REALLY LIKE YOU.

You were a little scared at first, but soon would discover it was actually Wade sending you those! You figured it out one day when you caught him slipping one card into your mailbox, Logan was beside him and tried justifying the act. "It was his idea."

You smiled sweetly at them as they awkwardly made their way to you, Wade opening his mouth to mutter some words. "I just wanted to make sure you knew..."

"Knew what?" You asked in disbelief, still not sure of what he meant.

They looked at each other, confused at your confusion. "That we like you, (y/n)... I thought it was obvious!" Said Wade.

"But I already knew that! I like you too, boys." You would try to respond, but Logan carefully grabbed your hand and brought it towards his chest.

"I don't think you understand, beautiful... we really like you. We... want you." He said looking into your eyes as Wade shook his head, confirming.

"Ooh..." Realization hit you like a brick, they DID actually want you! Crazy right? How all those hints flew over your head... now everything made sense! "Oh, boys... you have no idea how happy that makes me! I-I didn't realize, I thought-"

"It's alright, love." Logan squeezed your hand gently, looking over at Wade and complaining. "See? All we had to do was tell them directly like normal people."

"Oh, peanut... you know better than anyone that we're not normal!" Wade whispered, turning at you and grabbing your other hand. You smiled at them and as they smiled back, Wade continued. "But I have a feeling that they don't mind..."

—

[kooqitas]

— svt hiphop unit ★ reacting to 'can you just fuck me?'

you spent the whole day trying to get your boyfriend's attention, tired you just stand in front of him while he's sitting on the couch and angrily asks 'can you just fuck me?'

#notes: i don't think it's exactly a headcanon but i enjoyed writing it… #tags: pwp, smut, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, spit,

⚠︎ english is NOT my first language, i just write for fun, if you don’t feel comfortable with grammatical mistakes DONT READ!

seungcheol!

he is presumptuous when he says a "i've been wanting to do this since morning, but you act like a whore and try to get my attention instead of just asking me to fuck your hole." so he slaps twice on his thigh and you obey at the same time. when you sit, cheol slaps you hard across the face and clenches your jaw. he puts two fingers inside you, and laughs when he sees how wet you are...

the problem with teasing cheol is that he doesn't get satiated easily, so he makes you cum on his fingers, then in his mouth, and on his dick... and even when you say you can't take it anymore he tests you some more saying that you are a his whore who was born to take his dick then gets some more.

wonwoo!

"fuck you? really?" he laughs. "i'm not interested today... play with your fingers, or are you so useless that you can only cum with my cock?"

but you know that this is your boyfriend's joke, especially when he starts taking his cock out of his underwear and asks in a not very polite way if your mouth is suitable for sucking or just acting like a desperate whore. wonwoo is not very gentle when he pushes your throat making your nose touch in his pelvis, not even when he cums making you feel the hot liquid running into you. but at least he lets you play with his cock all you want afterwards, jumping and rubbing yourself while listening to compliments about how you look like you were born for this.

mingyu!

"no, you don't deserve my dick" he says and then in the next second you are on your knees literally begging him to fuck you, he laughs, because the situation is extremely pathetic and he likes it. you suck his dick and when he cums on your face you finally think he's going to fuck you, but he just laughs saying you're too dirty, so he cleans you… with his spit…

and after spitting all over your face he spits on your breasts, taking the opportunity to suck and bite your nipples there, he opens your legs wide and spits several times on your pussy, and then puts his dick in without warning, thrusting roughly, you moan as he slaps yours tits, still red from the bite. and he threatens to stop when he cums, but it's mingyu and you know he would never do that, when he cums (before you), he just lowers his mouth to your pussy and sucks you until you come…

vernon!

"oh..." vernon looks at you seriously, trying to process what he heard from your mouth, but before you ask if you needs to repeat it he is already take on his knees in front of you, pulling one of your knees on his shoulder and sticking his tongue into you, no matter how much you scream that you'll end up falling when you cum, he doesn't care.

when you fall awkwardly after cumming on the plush carpet in the living room, he continues sucking you without any delicacy, and when he stops you don't even have time to complain because in the next second his fat cock is opening you wide open, he spits in your mouth so you can taste yourself and while he fucks you he loves to say that his big dick is widening your little pussy.

⸝⸝⸝

🍰 support me on ko-fi

[reiderwriter]

Unfair We're Not Somewhere

Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.

A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.

You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too. 

Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it. 

“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with. 

You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway. 

You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.

“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in. 

“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her. 

You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her. 

“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé. 

“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you. 

“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.” 

“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.” 

You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain. 

You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again. 

“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before. 

“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-” 

“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her. 

How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it? 

You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been. 

“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.” 

“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.

The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid. 

“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter. 

“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.” 

Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity. 

She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate. 

“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.” 

“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”

Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact. 

Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too. 

After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again. 

“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.” 

You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten. 

You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you. 

Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids. 

JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly. 

“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-” 

A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused. 

“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…” 

“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world. 

“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right? 

“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.” 

You nodded at the answer. 

“And Spencer?” 

“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised. 

“If I told him, you'd know.” 

“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb. 

“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?” 

“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.” 

You waved him off, and sat down with the kids. 

JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art. 

In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again. 

“So, you're not dating?” 

“Nope.”

“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?” 

“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other. 

You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him. 

“Okay. What's your next move?” 

You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her. 

“I… what?” 

“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”

“Oh god…” 

“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?” 

It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about. 

“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words. 

“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.” 

Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip. 

“We don't do anything but argue.” 

“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you. 

“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.” 

“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”

“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.” 

“Don't need to-” 

“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-” 

“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.

“You like him,” she said. 

You sighed and finally gave in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.” 

“Great. What next?” 

“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.” 

She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table. 

“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”

You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear. 

The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it. 

JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly. 

“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”

“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”

She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts. 

You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was. 

You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer. 

Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…? 

You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities. 

You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in. 

“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile. 

“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed. 

“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.” 

That one was mostly a joke. Mostly. 

“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby. 

You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again. 

The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him. 

Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open. 

Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were. 

Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you. 

🔖@mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig

@pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read

@ari-aurelia @flipsideoflife @mggreidsreads @@farfromthehomelands @spicyspirit @donttrustlove @chicaconfudidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @@nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @famouslynerdy @batrensworld @batrensworld

@Cattosmush @im-this-girl @Sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere@ Cattosmush @lariclifford @daphnesutton Ccatstars @Iniyalovesall @solemnarration @emma-e-a @haygirleyhay Mel-knee @broadwaytraaaaash @Wildflowerpassion @itshardtopickaname @Timidquindim

@yourfavoritefangirl @waywardxrhea @Aliceofonederland @joshuafatubaee @jc10622 @timeboundkate @Roslxnxx @Gensthoughts23 @marvelshittt @lavvylove @Slitherss @mythumbhurts @Xiaexact @Honestlyloving @maryyy-8

@timeboundkate @justdamnpeachy @awezomezauce @darling006 @thefalseapp @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @fabulouslynerdy @short-mess @maeganme @crazyunsexycool @redmoonsofvenus @supraveng @lilscb @jackierose902109 @thebooklocket