#what's your best cupcake

[phantomrose96]

When people join self-improvement or even hobbyist communities, there are some absolutely critical skills of fundamental skepticism they need when going in. I think most people who get into these communities aren't aware of these.

And just, as a fundamental few:

Does this person stand to gain financially from the thing they're trying to sell you on?

Is the business model of this whole community one of artificial competitiveness? Is there a pressure around never lapsing, or never straying from the model being sold to you?

Are the claims made in this community becoming bolder and bolder deviations from standard information?

These are absolutely rife in fitness, nutrition, and financial-advice communities and they often receive very little scrutiny except among those who already "got out." Because from the outside, seeing someone get into fitness is a good thing, good for them, glad to see it, look at that dedication, happy for them. Same on the other categories, and probably numerous others I haven't seen.

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Does this person stand to gain financially from the thing they're trying to sell you on?

If the answer is yes, that does NOT mean "immediately abort", it means keep that in mind when you're interacting with their content.

This nutrition influencer has given you some great recipes for free, and now they're promoting a "really fantastic" brand that they have an affiliate link with? Their motivation isn't to be your friend and helpfully clue you in on a great product. It's to make money off you.

You really like this fitness influencer's work outs, but she gets MORE interaction and MORE viewers the skinnier she gets? She CLAIMS she's been losing weight naturally with healthy eating and exercise, and she's still full of energy, and You Can Too. This is not your friend. This is not someone who knows you. This is someone under large financial and social pressure to do everything she can to put out her best appearance and her happiest appearance, and your attention and belief in the appearance is where the money and clout come from. You really need to remember this in the same way you remember to look both ways before crossing the street. You can cross a street and you can follow a fitness account, but protect yourself when doing it.

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Is the business model of this whole community one of artificial competitiveness? Is there a pressure around never lapsing, or never straying from the model being sold to you?

Communities stay strong if they retain people. There are a lot of fine and positive ways to retain people, but it's often easier to retain people by instilling them with a sense that they must be here. They should feel bad if they lapse or if their attention drifts. What they were before was inadequate. Everyone outside this community is inadequate. Do you want to go back to inadequate?

Is that financial subreddit that taught you valuable lessons about 401k's, index funds, and budgeting also quietly pressuring you to always do more? Are the top posts from extremist examples of people living in destitution so they can show the most extreme screenshot, and curate the envy of everyone else who ought to be ashamed of not doing as well as them?

Is that fitness community that got you into jogging also putting you in the mind that the truest and best people exercise 7 days a week? Never miss a metric? Never compromise on their dedication?

Is that person who "cut out all sugar and feels amazing" informing you that you should never have another cupcake in your life? And if you DO it's because you're BAD and DON'T WORRY, you'll get RIGHT back on the horse after. Shame will motivate you to come right back, and stay with the community, and never leave.

As long as you stay, the community grows. As long as you stay, the ad sponsors and the endorsed products and the influencers can benefit more and more. And sometimes, there's perhaps not even a malicious force behind it. It can happen from evolutionary pressures. The communities that survive are the ones that retain people. A community that trips accidentally into a model of pressuring people to stay is one which retains people and thrives.

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Are the claims made in this community becoming bolder and bolder deviations from standard information?

You joined because you wanted to learn to cook for yourself. And this community has been helpful! You know how to make some delicious things. You've tried vegetables you've never tried before. And maybe you needed some convincing that brussel sprouts can be yummy, but what do you know, turns out you like them roasted.

But what else is being said? What things are being said with more and more frequency? Is it that "humans don't actually need any sugar, and it's a poison being sold to us?" Is it that "seed oils are toxic for you"? Is it that "pasteurization is bad"? Is the raw fruitarian convincing you that cavemen lived exclusively off fruit and you can too?

They'll have sources sometimes. Check them. Are they cherry-picked? Are they from an insular echo-chamber? Why isn't the mainstream literature aware of this? And if the answer has anything to do with "because mainstream wants to TRICK YOU and you're actually BAD for ASKING" then don't engage. Disregard. Take the recipes if you must but apply your skeptical filter to all the parts that are snake oil.

Sometimes it's that another community is only a stone's throw away. That person with a great financial portfolio has only good things to say about crypto, and what they're saying is making sense (average person [not smart] [poor] [bad money skills] laughs at crypto, but you're smarter. you're on the in-track). That amazing bodybuilder is pulling the hottest dates, and he says it's about male-confidence, and he says there are good support guides on becoming a respectable masculine man, and all you need to do is reclaim your masculinity in a society that wants to steal it from you.

In any place like this, come up for air. Come up for air FREQUENTLY. Talk to regular people and engage in academic literature outside this circle. Conspiracy thinking wins if you draw all your information from the entity trying to sell you on the conspiracy.

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And I hope this is clear but my message is not "never join a community." My message is know danger when you see it. Recognize when you're being used or pressured. Don't fall for conspiracy thinking. Protect yourself. You can use a gas stove to cook meals but don't touch the flame and don't burn your house down. You can cross the street but recognize the signs of a car coming down the street.

And I'm making this point because so many people just don't know. ...Because getting into fitness is "good" and "self-improvement"! So is nutrition. So if financial responsibility. People walk into it and the extremism can make them feel accomplished, and admired, and like they're a part of something, and maybe even like a proper self-punishment for their own inadequacies. And people on the outside won't save you because "Wow! He spends 3 hours at the gym every day! I wish I was that dedicated." is a common attitude, and will push you deeper into what has its claws in you.

Everything I'm saying is not because I'm so much smarter and so much holier-than-thou for knowing this when others don't--I'm saying this because I was in it. I fell for it. Not all the examples above, of course. But I recognize the machine in them. It is highly appealing to run farther and fast longer and overload your class schedule when you don't feel good enough and want to prove something, and so many communities will sell you on the idea this IS an accomplishment. Then once you do, you have to do it forever. Or else you'll go back to not being good enough. And since fitness is "good", and weight-loss and good grades, no one can save you but you.

The answer was not to give up on the hobbies I was doing. I cook for myself most nights. I run and bike as regular parts of my routine. I like new recipes and I like half-marathons. But these are just positive additions to my life and they do not define my worth. If I miss a work-out it's whatever. If I order take-out it's whatever. I fundamentally do not care about the influencer with the washboard abs, and if I try a work-out from her, I have no loyalty to it. If the new recipe I try mentions "clean eating" I'll roll my eyes and just figure out if the recipe seems good. If the recipe is botching itself to avoid certain scare-words I will simply find something else.

There is absolutely a reasonable place for challenging yourself and trying things outside your comfort zone. The internet is full of resources to do so much more than you currently know how to do. And if that community is an oven, recognize it's an oven. Wear oven mitts. If it's actively on fire, leave. You're the only one protecting you. Stay safe.

[maraguanabana]

istg, I leave my best friend alone 5 minutes and somehow she manages to experience enough for the both of us. Enna, could you please care to explain what the fuck you mean bY EXOPHILIA??? When you think you know someone's boyfriend, turns out you don't. At all. I need an F1 car to keep up with this woman. And with her weird boyfriends, goddamn it.

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ just one date

x sweet!pogue!FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: 5212

GENRE: fluff (teeny tiny angst)

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of cheating (not rafe), rafe calling reader 'sweet girl'

you found yourself sitting on your bed, staring blankly at the wall, tears still stubbornly slipping down your cheeks. “you really think i would stay with a pogue like you?” his words had stung like venom, and they echoed in your mind, over and over again.

you had tried so hard to ignore the doubts, to convince yourself that it was all worth it—that he was worth it. but now? now, everything was shattered, and you couldn’t hold the pieces together anymore.

you sheepishly nodded your head, trying to regain just a fraction of the dignity he had so easily stripped from you. you felt small, embarrassed, humiliated—and you hadn’t even been the one in the wrong.

he was.

he chose her. above you.

and you regretted every argument, every moment you’d defended him to your friends. you’d backed him up, made excuses for him, convinced yourself that he was different. but now? now it felt like nothing more than a cruel joke.

“you might be sweet, but you’re not one of the smartest girls, cupcake.” the smirk on his face made your stomach twist. you wished you could slap it off his face, wipe that smugness away, but you couldn’t move.

then a voice—his voice—cut through your spiraling thoughts.

“earth to y/n,” a hand waved in front of your face, pulling you out of your haze.

you looked up, startled, and there he was—rafe cameron.

his brow was furrowed, eyes searching your face as if trying to read you. it wasn’t a normal “rafe” look—this was something else. something softer.

“hey, sweet girl,” he said, his voice gentler than you expected. “you alright?”

you blinked, struggling to pull yourself together. rafe had always been your childhood best friend, the one who never judged you, the one who saw the real you. but right now, he was staring at you with an intensity that felt...different.

you wiped your eyes hastily, but it only made your tears come harder.

“i don’t... i don’t know what i did wrong,” you muttered, your voice shaky. “i gave him everything, rafe. everything.”

rafe didn’t say anything at first. instead, he just sat down next to you on the bed, his presence solid and warm, grounding you.

“you didn’t do anything wrong, sweet girl,” he said, his words almost like a soft promise. “he’s the one who messed up. not you.”

you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that it wasn’t your fault.

“but why? why pick her? why pick... her over me?” your voice cracked as you spoke.

rafe’s expression shifted, his eyes hardening as he shook his head. “because he’s a complete idiot. that’s why. a selfish, dumb idiot who doesn’t deserve you. not like i do.”

your heart skipped in your chest at his words. he said them so confidently, so matter-of-fact, and for a brief moment, you almost believed him.

“you deserve someone who knows what he has,” rafe continued. “someone who’s not gonna choose a girl who probably doesn’t even care about him like you do.”

you met his eyes, feeling the weight of his gaze like a soft anchor in a sea of confusion. “thanks, rafe,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

rafe chuckled, his usual cocky grin creeping onto his face. “well, you should’ve dated me, sweet girl.”

you let out a shaky laugh, the first laugh you’d managed all night. it wasn’t much, but it was something. “yeah, maybe you’re right,” you said, trying to muster a bit of humor.

rafe’s smile widened, and for a second, you could see something soft in his eyes. it was like you’d just melted the icy wall he’d kept up for so long.

“i mean, come on,” he teased, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “i’m a hell of a catch. why settle for that loser when you could’ve had this?”

you laughed again, this time a little louder, and something inside rafe shifted. he didn’t look like the arrogant, self-assured guy you’d grown up with—no, now he looked like someone who’d just let down his guard for you.

he looked at you like you had just made his world a little brighter, and in that moment, you realized just how much he meant to you—not just as a friend, but as someone who cared about you in a way that was rare.

“you’re such a dork,” you said with a weak smile, wiping away another stray tear.

rafe just grinned, his eyes softening even more. “yeah, but i’m your dork, sweet girl.”

and for the first time that night, you actually believed it. you believed that maybe, just maybe, there was someone who truly saw you.

“i’ll always have your back, y/n,” rafe said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “you never have to go through this alone.”

the sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the ocean. the waves were perfect—big but not too wild—and you had been out there for hours, trying (and mostly failing) to catch one.

rafe was beside you, effortlessly riding the waves like he was born on a surfboard, while you struggled to stay upright. it was the kind of day where everything felt right, the kind of day that made you forget about everything else—the drama, the stress, everything that had been weighing on you lately.

“okay, sweet girl, focus.”

rafe’s voice was low and teasing as he paddled over to you, his board gliding smoothly through the water. his eyes were full of that signature confidence of his, the one that made you feel like you could do anything... even though, in this case, surfing was still a work in progress for you.

“i’m trying!” you laughed, trying to wipe the saltwater out of your eyes. “it’s harder than it looks.”

rafe grinned, his smile turning mischievous. “yeah, i know. but you’re doing great. now, when the wave comes—don’t freak out. just keep your balance and trust me, you’ll ride it.”

you nodded, your stomach fluttering a little, both from the excitement and... well, the fact that rafe was staring at you with that intense, knowing look.

as the next wave came in, rafe paddled ahead, giving you a quick wink. “here comes a good one, sweet girl. you ready?”

you took a deep breath, focused, and started paddling, but before you knew it, you lost your balance and fell into the water with a splash.

“ow,” you muttered, coming up for air and wiping the water from your face.

rafe was already there, laughing a little as he helped you back onto your board. “you good?”

you glared at him playfully. “yeah, just embarrassed, that’s all.”

rafe grinned, his eyes sparkling. “don’t worry about it. everyone falls. even me, once in a while.”

“yeah, right,” you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “you’re practically a professional.”

he laughed, paddling closer to you. “maybe. but you know, i’m a professional at more than just surfing.”

you raised an eyebrow, suddenly curious. “oh? and what else are you a professional at, rafe?”

he leaned back, resting on his board, looking completely relaxed. “well, i’m pretty good at knowing what i want, sweet girl.”

you felt a flutter in your chest at the way he said it, but you tried to play it cool. “oh yeah? and what do you want, exactly?”

rafe smirked, his gaze locking with yours. “you. you should date me.”

your heart skipped. “what?” you blinked, sure you hadn’t heard him right.

“you should date me,” he repeated, his voice smooth and confident, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

you couldn’t help but laugh nervously, shaking your head. “nooo, we shouldn’t, rafe.”

rafe’s expression didn’t change; in fact, it only grew more intense. “why not, sweet girl?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

you tried to keep things light, but your heart was beating too fast, and you felt your face flush. “because… well, we’re friends, rafe. we’ve been friends for so long. dating would just ruin everything.”

rafe chuckled, paddling closer to you, his face serious now. “is that really why? or is it because you’re scared of what could happen?”

you shifted uncomfortably, feeling that familiar heat creep up your neck. “i’m not scared.”

“you sure about that, sweet girl?” he asked, leaning in just a little closer, his voice quiet and teasing. “because i think you’re scared of how good we could be together.”

your breath caught, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words. you and rafe had always been close, but this... this felt different. “rafe, we’re best friends.”

“and that’s exactly why it would work,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “we get each other. i know you better than anyone. and you know me, even with all my flaws.”

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, it wasn’t just rafe—the guy you’d known your whole life. it was rafe, the guy who was slowly breaking down all your walls with just a few words.

“you’re really serious about this, huh?” you whispered.

rafe nodded, his gaze steady. “yeah. i’m serious, sweet girl. you should date me.”

the sun was setting over the beach, casting a golden hue across the group of friends hanging out at the shore. kie, jj, pope, and you were sprawled out on the sand, chatting and laughing, as the sound of the waves crashing in the background filled the air. it was one of those perfect summer evenings, where everything felt easy, and you didn’t want it to end.

you’d been spending a lot of time with rafe lately. you knew the others noticed, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought. it wasn’t anything serious—at least, you didn’t think it was. but lately, it felt like there was something unspoken between you two, something that made your heart race every time you saw him.

as you glanced over toward the shore, you spotted him—rafe, just a few feet away, laughing with some friends. you smiled to yourself, trying not to get caught staring, but jj was quick to notice.

“hey, isn't that your boyfriend over there?” jj teased, pointing in rafe’s direction with a smirk.

you immediately felt your cheeks heat up. “oh, stop,” you said, shaking your head with a soft laugh, your voice sweet and warm, trying to brush it off. “it’s not like that, jj.”

kie raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you with a grin. “well, he’s not wrong though, right? you two are always together these days.”

“stop,” you said, but this time, you giggled, your voice light and gentle, trying to ignore the growing warmth in your face. “he can hear you.”

as if on cue, you heard rafe’s familiar voice drifting over from the edge of the group. “nah, they’re right, sweet girl,” he called with a grin, walking over casually and brushing the sand off his hands. “i could totally be your boyfriend.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how smoothly he said it, your heart doing that little flip in your chest. “not really, rafe,” you teased, your smile growing even bigger.

he nudged you playfully with his elbow, and you couldn’t help but giggle again. “we’ll see about that,” he said, still grinning, clearly enjoying the moment.

your face lit up with the cutest, most genuine smile as you looked at him. “thanks for the offer.”

rafe smirked, leaning down to sit beside you, his eyes never leaving yours. he was completely comfortable in his own skin, as always, but there was something in his gaze that made you feel like you were the only person in the world at that moment.

“you’re welcome, sweet girl,” he said, his tone light but with an underlying sincerity that made your heart skip.

jj and kie changed amused looks, both of them clearly enjoying the dynamic between you two. pope just shook his head, grinning, clearly pleased to see you happy.

“okay, okay,” jj said with a chuckle. “you two are cute, but we’ll let you figure out the whole ‘dating’ thing later.”

you couldn’t help but laugh again, feeling a mix of lightness and warmth, knowing that your friends were teasing, but also really just looking out for you. you glanced at rafe, who was watching you with that mischievous glint in his eyes, and felt a little flutter in your chest. Whatever was going on between you two, it was something new and exciting—and maybe, just maybe, there was a part of you that was starting to wonder what it would be like to see where it could go.

the sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over sarah’s room as you, john b and sarah lounged around on the bed, the three of you chatting casually, a comfortable silence falling over the group as you just hung out.

sarah was flipping through a magazine, but her eyes kept darting to you, a sly smile tugging at her lips. you couldn’t ignore the way she kept glancing between you and john b, clearly waiting for the right moment to drop a bomb.

finally, she couldn't hold it in anymore. “you know, rafe talks about you a lot.” her voice was light, teasing, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes.

your heart skipped in your chest. rafe had been on your mind lately—way too much, actually—but you tried to keep things light. The last thing you wanted was for your friends to think anything serious was going on. you blushed, looking down at your hands as if they could somehow distract you from the heat creeping up your neck.

“what? no way, sarah,” you said, a little too quickly, trying to cover up the surprise in your voice. “rafe doesn’t talk about me. we’re just... friends. nothing more.”

sarah raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “uh-huh. you’re telling me the guy who spends literally all his time with you doesn’t talk about you?” she leaned back, crossing her arms with that playful look she always got when she was onto something. “come on, y/n, i’m not stupid. he’s always bringing you up.”

you swallowed, feeling yourself blush even harder. you tugged on your sleeve nervously, trying to hide the growing embarrassment. “really, it’s nothing, sarah. he’s just... he’s not made for me, okay?” you said softly, trying to downplay it. “he’s... complicated, and i’m just not ready for that kind of drama. we’re just... friends.” you said it again, as if repeating the words would make you believe it.

john b, who had been lazily lying on his back, suddenly propped himself up on his elbows, his curious eyes studying you. “you never know, y/n,” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of something more—hope, maybe? “maybe you two could be something. it’s not always the way it seems.”

you shook your head, the uncertainty clouding your thoughts. “no, john b, i do know.” yout voice softened, but the resolve in it was clear. “the same thing is gonna happen as always. he’ll get bored, or it’ll turn into a mess, and i’ll be the one who’s hurt. i can already see it.” you looked down at your hands again, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve in a nervous habit you hadn’t realized you were doing.

sarah’s teasing smile faded a little, and she sat up, looking at you with an understanding that made your chest tighten. “you don’t know that for sure, though, y/n.”

but you shook your head, smiling faintly, trying to push the feelings back down where they belonged. “i do know. i can’t do it. i’m not ready to deal with someone like him. he’s got too many layers, too many... things that make him complicated. i’m not built for that. not anymore.”

john b frowned, clearly not convinced, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he sat up and gave you a sympathetic look. “alright, y/n, if you say so. but you’re a lot stronger than you think. and you deserve someone who can handle you—all of you.”

sarah nodded in agreement, her eyes softening. “and if it’s rafe, then maybe it’s meant to be. you’ll figure it out, y/n.”

you smiled, but it wasn’t as easy this time. you had spent so long convincing yourself that nothing could happen between you and rafe—that it was safer this way—that it was hard to picture anything else. you didn’t want to set yourself up for disappointment. but deep down, a part of you wondered if sarah and john be were right. what if it could work?

you made your way downstairs, the house still and quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. the cameron’s fridge always had your favorite apple juice stocked, and today was no different. you smiled to yourself, pouring a glass and feeling at home in the familiarity of tannyhill.

as you reached for the carton, you spotted rafe standing at the kitchen counter, his back turned to you. his posture was slouched, and he looked deep in thought, an air of melancholy surrounding him that you hadn’t seen before. normally, rafe had an easy, almost cocky confidence, but today, there was something off about him.

you couldn’t help the warm smile that tugged at your lips as you walked over to him. you hadn’t seen him in a few hours, and as much as you liked the space, you still found yourself gravitating toward him, like you always did.

“hey, you,” you said gently, your voice soft as you poured yourself a glass of juice. you couldn’t help but notice the frown on his face as he slowly turned to face you.

rafe didn’t immediately respond, his eyes tired and distant. normally, he’d have something snarky to say, but tonight, he just seemed... sad.

“what’s wrong?” you set your glass down and stepped closer, placing your hand on his arm instinctively, your thumb brushing over the fabric of his shirt in a small, comforting gesture. it was second nature to you, wanting to make him feel better, wanting to lift his mood.

he blinked, as if your touch brought him out of his thoughts, but his expression didn’t change. “i don’t have many layers,” he said quietly, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

you frowned in confusion, unsure what he meant. “what do you mean?” you asked softly, looking up at him with wide, concerned eyes.

“i heard you talking to sarah and john b earlier,” he replied, his voice low, almost strained. “about me... us.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly felt exposed, like you’d been caught in the middle of something you weren’t ready to confront. “oh,” you whispered, guilt pooling in your stomach. you hadn’t meant for him to overhear that conversation, and hearing that he had made you feel like you’d done something wrong.

“i don’t want you to think i’m complicated,” rafe continued, his voice catching slightly. “i’m not made of layers like you think. i’m just me, y/n. i don’t want you to worry about me or... what could happen.” he looked down, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck, something in his posture sagging like the weight of the words were too much to carry.

you looked up at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “rafe, i don’t— i don’t want to hurt you,” you said quickly, your voice as sweet and soft as you could manage. “it’s just... i don’t want things to get complicated. i care about you too much, and i don’t know if i can handle—”

you stopped yourself, realizing how much you were saying, how much you were feeling. you could tell by the look on his face that your words weren’t reaching him the way you wanted them to. He wasn’t looking at you with that familiar mischievous grin, but with an expression that made you feel like he was slipping away.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling the weight of the guilt settle over you.

rafe didn’t speak for a long moment. he just stood there, looking at you as if he was trying to read your every word, your every emotion. finally, he sighed, stepping back a little. “i get it,” he said quietly, his voice quieter than you were used to hearing. “i’m just not who you need me to be, huh?” he said it like a statement, not a question, and the hurt in his tone made you feel like you’d said the wrong thing.

you opened your mouth to say more, to explain yourself better, but the words felt stuck in your throat. before you could speak, rafe turned and walked out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

you stood there, your hand still lingering where it had rested on his arm, the warm glass of apple juice forgotten on the counter. you felt a pang of guilt, the kind that settled deep in your chest. you hadn’t meant to hurt him. you just didn’t know how to explain that you were afraid, that you were trying to protect both of you from something that might tear you apart.

you wanted to chase after him, tell him it wasn’t about him, tell him you didn’t mean what you said in the way he took it. but you knew he needed space, and in that moment, all you could do was stand there, the quiet weight of your unspoken feelings filling the space between you.

you couldn’t help but feel like you’d messed up. again.

it had been three long days since you and rafe last spoke. the silence between you was louder than any argument could have been, and it had only made things worse. you hadn’t meant to hurt him, but you couldn’t shake the guilt. you spent the last few days trying to keep yourself busy, distracting yourself with whatever you could, but it hadn’t worked. all you could think about was him—his quiet voice, his distant eyes when he walked away.

you hadn’t heard from him since that night, and it ate at you. every time you passed by tannyhill or saw him with his friends, your stomach twisted in knots, a mix of frustration and regret.

now, you found yourself sitting on the porch with jj and kie, trying to pretend like everything was normal, but it was impossible. you couldn’t focus on the conversation; your mind kept drifting back to rafe.

“rafe’s right there,” jj suddenly said, nudging you with his elbow. you followed his gaze, and sure enough, there he was, leaning against the fence, talking to some of his friends.

you immediately looked away, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to pretend you hadn’t seen him. “i’m not talking to him,” you muttered, your voice sharp and defensive.

jj raised an eyebrow. “why not?” he sounded genuinely curious, but there was an edge of frustration in his tone. “he’s literally standing right there, y/n. you’re gonna keep ignoring him like this?”

you shook your head, your expression hardening as your frustration bubbled up. “he probably hates me by now, jj. why would i talk to him?”

jj scoffed, clearly not buying it. he leaned in a little, his usual carefree energy replaced by something more serious. “hate you? no way. he could never hate you, angel. that guy’s a mess, but there’s no way he hates you. he just... he just needs you to talk to him.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to hide how much his words affected you. “it’s not that simple, jj. you don’t get it. he overheard what i said. he heard how i basically told them i didn’t want anything more with him, and now he’s just... gone. he’s done with me.”

jj shook his head, his usual grin fading into a more sincere expression. “you know that’s not true, right? he’s just as stubborn as you are. he won’t come to you because he’s waiting for you to make the first move. he’s been hurt before, y/n, but he’s not gonna give up on you. not like that.”

you stared at him, your throat tightening. “but what if i messed it up too much? what if he doesn’t want to fix it?”

jj’s voice softened, and for a moment, you saw the seriousness in his eyes. “he’ll never give up on you, y/n. i promise. you two just need to talk. you’re both too stubborn for your own good, but you’re also the only ones who can fix it.”

you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “i don’t even know what to say to him anymore, jj. i don’t know how to fix this.”

jj gave you a knowing look, his expression softening. “just tell him the truth, y/n. he’s your friend. he cares about you. and you care about him, even if you’re scared of it.” he grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood. ���go on, make him listen to you. he’s a big ol’ puppy when it comes to you.”

you didn’t know what it was—whether it was the way JJ had said it or the gentle push from him—but something in you finally snapped. You weren’t sure how things would go, but maybe it was time to stop running away from it all.

With a deep breath, you stood up, brushing the dirt off your jeans. “fine,” you muttered, glancing over at jj. “but if he shuts me down, i’m blaming you.”

jj chuckled and gave you a playful shove as you walked past him. “good luck, angel. he won’t shut you down.”

as you made your way toward rafe, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. this wasn’t going to be easy. you weren’t sure what you were going to say, but you couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine. not anymore.

rafe didn’t notice you approaching at first, but when he finally looked up, his expression softened. there was still a hint of distance in his eyes, but something in his posture relaxed as he saw you walking toward him.

you stopped in front of him, taking a deep breath. “rafe,” you started, your voice quiet but steady. “i need to talk to you.”

rafe didn’t speak for a moment, just looking at you like he was trying to figure out what to say. you wanted him to say something, anything, but he just stood there.

“y/n,” he said simply. no nickname, no playful jab. just your name, the way no one ever called you. your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you froze. rafe never called you by your full name. it was always sweet girl or cupcake, something casual, something easy. but now, he was looking at you with that same intensity, only now it felt different. more serious.

it hit you then—he had been listening, really listening, to everything you had said. and you felt it deep in your chest.

“rafe, i... i’m sorry for what i said.”

“i’m just... scared,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. you bit your lip, trying to find the right words. “after my last relationship, i... i don’t know how to do this. how to let someone in, i mean. i was hurt so badly, and i don’t want that to happen again. but i also don’t want to lose you.”

the air between you two felt heavy, charged with everything left unsaid. rafe didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence linger as he took in your words. his eyes softened, and you saw the hurt in them, the frustration from everything that had been left unresolved.

“you never gave me a chance, y/n,” rafe said quietly, his voice full of a tenderness you didn’t expect from him. still, the way he said your name almost made you cry.

“i’ve been here the whole time. i didn’t want to make things harder, but i wanted you to see that i care. that i’ve always cared.”

your heart thudded in your chest, and you felt the weight of his words settle deep within you. you sighed, looking down at the ground for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “i don’t want things to go back to normal, rafe. i don’t think it can,” you said, your voice tinged with sadness. “i don’t think i can just go back to being... whatever we were before.”

rafe stepped a little closer, closing the space between you two. there was a fire in his eyes now, a resolve that made you pause, holding your breath. “it doesn’t have to be normal anymore, y/n,” he said softly, but firmly. “we don’t have to go back to what it was. i just want one date. just one. to see where it goes. no expectations, no pressures. just us.”

you stared at him, your heart in your throat. it was so simple, so direct, and yet it felt like everything you’d been afraid of. but maybe it wasn’t so scary after all. you couldn’t deny the connection between you two, even if it scared you more than anything.

finally, you nodded, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. “okay. one date,” you agreed, your voice small but steady. “we’ll see how it goes.”

rafe’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile, and you could see the weight lifting off his shoulders. it was like a relief washed over him, and the tension that had been there for so long finally began to fade.

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle but lingering. “i promise i’m not going anywhere, sweet girl,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “we’ll figure this out.”

you smiled back at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. you had no idea where this would go, but for the first time in a while, you felt like it might just be worth the risk.

you felt the weight of the past few days lift off your shoulders as rafe gave you a reassuring look, and you knew—whatever happened next, you’d face it together.

and just like that, what started as tension and uncertainty turned into something simple and real. one date. a chance for something new.

and maybe, just maybe, it could work out this time.

[hoshigray]

I love your work so much and it makes me feel a certain way <33 BUTT im here to request something that I've been looking for 🤞🏽

Toji x Fan-Fiction-Writer ! Reader? I'll get on my knees if required 🫶🏽

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐜(𝐤)𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧!! | tōji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You know, some things are just not meant to be shared, such as fanfiction writing. And how the hell did your boyfriend, of all people, come to be the one to question you about your hobbies? You tell me, you dirty little writer…

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x fem fanfic writer! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! - the reader is mid/late 20s; Toji's in his mid-30s - humor - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (licking, sucking and swiping) - deep impact position - degradation (slut, whore) - use of "Daddy" title - praise + humiliation - spitting - cervix fucking - little bit of rough sex - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy; don't be silly) - pet names (baby, cupcake, good girl, mama, princess, sweetheart, sweetie) - aftercare; taking a bath together - usage of a phone; erotic literature/writing - Toji teasing you to no end, the bastard, lol - reader wears glasses cuz why not, hehe - mention of drool/spit.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k (bless up)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: bro. this idea cooked so bad, i just HAD to make a fic for it, lmao!! apologies for doing this months late, hope I did the prompt justice, and ty for loving my works~☆

“Nooo, stop, Toji, give it back!”

“Hold on, baby, hold on…Phew, who knew ya liked wrtin’ dirty shit like this? The fuck is ‘pet play—’”

“Oh my God, stop it!” 

This had to be, undoubtedly, the worst day of your life.

If there’s one thing every human being on Earth has in common, it’s their love for the weekends. They’re amazing — have two whole days to retreat and relinquish the turmoil and stress after five days straight. They’re the days when you can choose whichever activity you want to enjoy your leisure. 

Some people catch up on sleep, others watch a show or try to cook up a new dish, and some go outside and hang out with friends. But then there are those weekdays where it’s satisfying enough to spend your day inside the comfort of your home, delighting in a hobby. 

The hobby you chose to indulge in this weekend was writing. And right at this moment, you regret it being the activity you selected.

Why? For one, it wasn’t just any type of writing, like journalling or poetry. No, no; if it were, things would be easier for you to deal with now. Nope, it was fan fiction writing. The type of writing you’ve known since middle school and decided to jump in and try for about a year. What started as a curiosity turned out to be a hobby that took up your infatuation to the maximum level: writing pieces every night, taking up requests from your following over six thousand followers, and serving as an outlet to project your fantasies onto the Internet. 

What type of fantasies, you might ask? The type you read in a room by yourself or in the corner away from prying eyes, under a blanket with your phone exhibiting the dark secrets that corrupt your mind, or the type that only could be accepted on the Internet and not from the judgmental looks of those in the real world.

But, most certainly, not the type of fantasies you wanted your boyfriend to see!

“Toji, please, give my computer back!”

“Nah, hold on; I wanna see this…Oh, what a title; ‘Fuck Me, Rail Me, Use Me, Daddy—‘“

“TOJI, STOP!”

Perhaps writing fan fiction with your boyfriend occupying your apartment wasn’t the best idea. But you wanted to get a draft don’t by the end of this weekend, and you were almost done with it. You were typing up a storm in your bedroom, sitting at your desk while your man, Toji Fushiguro, was doing at-home exercises in your living room. 

And you could’ve sworn you had locked your computer before going to the bathroom. All you know is that after flushing and washing your hands, you opened your bedroom door to a horrifying sight: Toji, sweaty from his routine in his sweats and wife beater, holding up your laptop that showed the exact draft that you were working on! No, no, NO! You almost tripped dashing to take the device, but the older man was too quick and effortlessly dodged your attempts while still reading the material. And now you know why you are hopping around your room trying to catch the man and stop him from reading more of your stuff. 

Spoiler alert: your efforts were beyond futile, huffing and puffing in complete defeat on your bed. Your boyfriend was sitting beside you, still reading aloud while scrolling through your drafts, to your dismay. Your ears and cheeks harbored an unbearable heat that you could cry at any second, and you covered your face in case it were to happen. God, please kill me now! 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, how many of these shits have you written?” Toji inquires, his forest green eyes scanning every draft as if the list were endless. “How long have you been doin’ this?”

“For…a while.” You can barely muster the confidence to utter an adequate response. How could I have forgotten to lock my damn computer?!

“How long’s a while?”

“Uhhh, a…a year?”

The silence was pinching your skin enough, but you don’t know if you preferred it over the next thing he said. “Wow, who would’ve thought my sweet angel was a dirty lil’ thing writing filth like this?” Oh, you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. You can practically sense the smirk on his stupid, handsome face, pulling the scar off his lip! And it hurts your being that he laughs at you grabbing a pillow to scream into oblivion. “What a horny minx.”

You removed the pillow to tell him off. “It’s not all my fault! Most of those aren’t even my ideas; some of my followers asked me to write—“

“Followers?” God, would it have killed you to shut up? “So you got people readin’ your stuff?”

Downcast eyes to avoid his surveying ones, “W–Well, yes…People like how I write, so I…..Write whatever they ask me.”

“Oh, wow,” raven eyebrows lift while looking at the screen, flipping through the notes of your drafts to your blog with your completed works. “So over a hundred freaks like how freaky you write.”

“Hey, d–don’t say it like that!”

“Oh really?” You didn’t like how he said that, nor when he pulled up one of your drafts to read. “… ’You spread your legs on instinct as she sucks on your chest, and the woman takes the initiative by sliding a hand down to your—‘“

“Stop, stop, STOP!” You sit upright and try again to take the computer away from him, but Toji swiftly moves to the bedroom floor. Fuck! It was hopeless, so you groan in exasperation. “Quit it, Toji; you had your fun, so give it back!”

He didn’t think so; finding something new about you made him curious to no bounds. And for it to be a bit of a suggestive side of you? Oh, how ashamed you were of him finding this out tickled him. “Damn, there’s so much on here…Have you ever written ‘bout shit we’ve done?”

You couldn’t believe he asked you that question — you couldn’t believe you were in this situation at all! Are you serious ”—ly asking me that?!?”

“I’m not hearin’ a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” Now, this is just diving into a more profound level of embarrassment than you could handle. “Did’ya?”

“……………yes.”

“Wait, fr’ real?! Which ones?”

“I’m not telling you! Just give me my laptop—“

“Hell nah,” his elbow is strong enough to keep you at bay—how pathetic on your part being treated like a kid. “I’m curious to see what my lil’ sweetheart is tellin’ strangers ‘bout how we do our business—“

“I’m not telling them anything!!” You retort. “I-I just use our experience as a means of…references when I’m writing,” thumbs find themselves fidgeting together. “It…It helps when I don’t know how to describe a feeling, or….what it’s like during certain…..positions.” Was the room getting stuffy, or were you shrinking under the growing pressure of every word coming out of your mouth? Who knows. 

“Is there stuff y’ve written before that you’d like fr’ us to try?” Oh, for fuck’s sake, this was too much, bringing your –his– hoodie up to shield you from this predicament. And it only worsens when he stares your way, having you close up the hoodie by the drawstrings and collapse to his shoulder. Toji chuckles at your routing self, wrapping an arm around you. “Can’t even be honest fr’ a second.”

“Toji, pleaseeee,” whining doesn’t help, the older man moving the laptop out of your lazy attempt to retrieve it. “Give it baaack…!”

“Nnm, nnm, don’t wanna,” he places the device away to the ground and takes your hand with his. “Now I gotta read what weird shit you’ve been keepin’ ‘way from me.”

You shake your head frantically. “Please don’t! Don’t you think you’ve tormented me enough today?”

“Now, why would I ever get tired of fucking with ya?” The smirk on his face is still present after you open the hoodie to sneak a glare. “Shoulda thought ‘bout that and locked y’r laptop screen.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole…” his laugh at your words only proves your point, and you bury your face in his chest. This entire thing was so outrageous. How in the world were you this dumb enough not to double-check to make sure your computer was locked from prying eyes? What an amateurish move! Not even your closest friends know that you write fanfiction, so to have your boyfriend be the one to not only find out but bombard you with questions about your secret hobby is nothing short of humiliating. It can’t get any worse than this…

…Or so you thought.

“Hey,” you perk up to look at Toji. “You said ya got followers askin’ ya what they want you to write, right?” You nod meekly, twirling your thumbs with the bottom of your shirt. “Show me some.”

Appalled, you gawk, “Wh–why would I—”

“I know you have favorites from the hundreds I’ve been looking at for the past five minutes. So, are ya gonna show ‘em to me, or am I gonna have to read every single one to find out?”He didn’t show interest in returning the laptop to you even after asking the question. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, baby; I bet ya can look it up on y’r phone or somethin’.”

Your pout deepens in defeat as you begrudgingly stuff a hand inside the pocket of your leggings to pull out your phone to click on an app. Your thumb clicks and scrolls for a few seconds before you peer to him and say, “…I do have some favorites.” 

Jesus, it hurt to admit that to someone, especially with your him of all people, who is without a doubt getting an absolute kick out of this, the fucking bastard! This was beyond embarrassing; nothing could ever top this moment. Indeed, there is nothing else he could have done that could have made this predicament any worse than it already is. At least that’s what you tell yourself to cope because Toji’s grin on his face says otherwise. And what he says afterward makes your blood shift to ice.

“Why don’t ya read ‘em to me.”

Yup, you were killing yourself tonight.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Go on; read that short one fr’ me.”

“Ahh—…Hahhh, ‘Sitting here and thinking…about your faves…Mmmm.”

For some reason, this felt so. Fucking. Wrong!

You already knew it was a bad idea for you to read your works to your boyfriend at his request. However, to be fulfilling said wish in this manner? The mortification had your ears ringing a thousandfold. 

How would you have foreseen this yourself, face stuffed to the pillow with your phone held up by your right hand with your legs spread up and your bottom propped up? Who the hell reads like this?! And on top of that, your boyfriend is alongside you, his body behind you. The inability to see what he’s doing arises uneasiness in the soul, quivers sneaking up as you feel the rough pads of his fingertips greet the skin of your ass after sneaking inside the oversized hoodie. 

Breath hitches at the slide of your panties, coming down for his hands to grope the flesh wholly. “To..ji…” his name leaves in shakes. 

“C’mon, baby,” you swallow thickly at the cupping of your chasm. Toji chuckles at the twitch felt on his palm, “Read it properly, yeah? Word for word.”

Oh, fuck, your brows trench together. “T…’Thinking about your faves pleasing you from behind. He knows he has to tease you a bit—Tmmm,” his lightly hits your butt. “‘B-By massaging your ass with his strong hands,” he does so, kneading your ass skillfully that has you involuntarily purring to his touch. “…’Keeping you still and relaxed so he can later feel you with his fingers and—“ his forefinger and middle slowly come from your clit to the entrance, biting your lips. “Nhhmm, hahhh.”

“Go on,” Toji scolds, the middle digit sliding up and down with a faint push. Your back quakes to the touch, fingers gripping the pillow. “What else is y’r fav doing?”

You inhale. “Mmmm…’and circle one of them around to warm you up—‘“ spit gulped down again when Toji’s digit did the exact thing as told. “‘And then, when he knows you’re ready for him, he sneaks them insi—‘ Aaaiiii!” His middle finger is shoved into your vagina, and your toes instantly curl before he pushes the rest ever so slowly.  “Oh! Ohhh, fuck…’He…then comes to your shoulder and says to your ear to make you tingle…”

“…’Stay still, sweetie,’” woah. You were not expecting that; you were too focused on trying to read your words, and Toji bending to your ear to read his part wasn’t noticed at all. You only hope he didn’t catch the clasp of your vaginal walls around his finger (he most definitely did), hoping the soft chortle meant nothing. “‘Gonna let me make y’ feel good, yeah?’” Jesus Christ, his gruff voice relayed this so intimately to your eardrums that your heart was beating too hard.

Toji’s finger goes faster, nearly having you almost drop your phone. Your face smooshes to the pillow from the scrape of his fingertip, biting on the pillowcase as he puts in the other finger. He whispers to your ear to keep going; unbelievable…So you lift your head and try. “J-J…’Just thinking about how easy he could make you cum—Mmmph! Wi-With his fingersss…scratching and rubbing your insides so precisely until you’re practically begging to mess his hand up’…”

“Oh, fr’ real?” The perk of his tone makes you anxious. “Well, don’ mind if I do.”

The pace of his ring and middle finger increase, and you gasp sharply. The onslaught of rubs to your inner channel is enough to have your lower half writhe despite Toji keeping your legs grounded with his single one. Oh, fucking Christ, your glasses up to your smooshed cheeks the more you try to conceal your cries, proven to be trivial as the seconds go by. 

“Aww, whaddaya think y’re doin’?” He coos with a kiss to your nape; you nearly shut down. His free hand takes your phone, “Tryin’ to hide that cute voice of y’rs from me? Fuck that,” he then removes his digits from your chasm as you yelp and makes you flip to your back. Oh, fuck no! Your hands go to cover your face—nope, Toji is quick to move them away. “Lemme see you, mama…Now, let’s see what else you should read fr’ me.” He swipes your phone screen, “This too wordy, this long as fuck—goddamn, baby; you writin’ whole ass novels or somethin’?”

“Shut up,” you reply as your legs move, and Toji’s left hand removes your undies. 

“Ah, this one!” He hands you back your cellular device. Your eyes catch the first sentence, and your face morphs into dread before staring back at him to meet his grin. “Go ‘head,” he says cooly, spreading your legs by the knees.

“…’Picture this: your favorite coming to your room and seeing you on your bed and striding to you to taste you,” you inhale deeply at the blow of air on your wet southern folds. “‘He crawls up to you while you’re busy scrolling on the phone, busying himself with placing kisses to your stomach and down to your undies. He’ll then take them off and spread your legs for him, greeting your privates with his ton’—Ghhh…!” Toji licks your slit leisurely; you gulp at the muscle perching between the lips of your labia. “Hahhh, shit…’The smell and taste of you are so inviting he can barely keep it together, virtually inching to stuff his face with your pussy. He kisses it, lips petting your clit,’” he does so, and you chew your bottom lip. “‘Then his tongue goes excruciatingly slow to e-explore your folds,” your exhale is shaky as Toji’s tongue laps and swirls; fuck, I can’t do this…

The older man, on the other hand, flips a switch and goes to town. You knew this was a bad idea; if there’s one thing Toji loved doing more than fucking your cunt, it’s eating it out. He pushes your legs up by the knees for easier access, the angle perfect for him to propel his mouth onto your entrance. You shriek, his nose frequently grinding the hood of your cunt as his scarred lips and tongue suck and lick you feverishly.

“—Tahhh! Ohhhshit, no…!” You cry, throwing your head back to the pillow. “Ahhnn, Tojiii, stop…not too fast—Oooh!”

He spits, mixing his saliva with your slick as he laves. “Mmmph, shit, taste ’o good,” Toji pushes his face further as he sucks on your clit, and you nearly choke on your sob. “Yeah, yeah, let ‘em out; scream like a real whore.” You jerk, but his hands firmly keep you down. “Keep goin’, cupcake, finish y’r reading.”

“Khhh, God, I can’t,” you gulp when emerald eyes peer toward you. “…’Before long, he’s too overwhelmed by you that he can’t take it anymore, stuffing his face between your legs and having you cry out his name in prayers—your phone is no longer a priority.’” Jesus, you can hear his grunts along with the lascivious sounds coming from below; he’s so fucking turned on. “‘Now he has your attention, playing with your…pussy like a toy just to hear you squeak.”  

“Fuck yeah,” he groans as he sticks his fore and middle digits into you. Fingers go to and fro frantically, and your free hand grabs his raven hair. “Christ, y’ sound so fuckin’ hot. More, gimme more,” a long and harsh kiss to your clit makes you want to arch so bad. “Good girl, good fuckin’ girl…”

You hiss at the graze of your vagina; keeping your eyes open is hard to do. Lips go agape, and your noises fly out with no restraint. Your legs tremble, impending in a wish to close from the curl of Toji’s fingers. Your senses become too keen, your nerves heightening with every massage of your walls, lick and slurp of your slick and clit. 

“Ohooo, nhhmm, fuck, Tojiiii,” another suck to your clit has you grip the sheets. “Stooop, please; I’m gonna cumm…!” 

However, your boyfriend has another idea in his head. “Oh no, you don’t, princess,” his fingers leave you hurriedly with a squeal. He yanks for your phone once more to find yet another piece of yours for you to read, giving you so little time to recuperate. Until he scoffs with a smirk, “Ohh, read this one aloud next.” 

You take the device returned to you cautiously, scanning the first few words that catch your eye. Curiosity snaps to apprehension, “W-wait, no, please!” Begging won’t work, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “Please, Toji, look for some—“

“Aht, aht,” the click of the tongue shuts you. “C’mon, sweetheart, that ain’t what y’re callin’ y’r fav right now.” He squeezes your thigh, “What’s my name?”

“Toji, pleas—“

“Mm, mm,” he pinches you, a warning. “Try again.”

Excitement Nervousness flicker through your soul, breathing tardily as you muster to answer. “Sorry…Daddy.” The title burnt your tongue when it left your mouth, and the smile lifted Toji’s scar even more. 

“Good,” he praises. “Now read.”

“…One of my followers asked about writing a post about deep impact, so it’s—“

“Deep impact?” He questions while spreading your legs. “The hell’s that?” 

“I-It’s a, uhh,” you push up your glasses. “A position where you…kinda, like, sit on one of my legs and lift the other to your shoulder.”

Black eyebrows rise. “Ohhh, somethin’ like this, huh?” Sturdy hands find your ankle and lift your leg to his shoulder, and Toji then moves to have your other leg in between his. Your lips flatten when the groin of his pants—aka, the pitched tent–touches your hole. He whistles, “Oh, now I got a new favorite to add fr’ later.” His words aren’t meant to jest, so you frown as he snickers. “Alright, what did you write for this?”

You lick your lips; why? Toji uses his free hand to bring his sweats down, not surprised by the lack of underwear as his erection springs out. His cock is standing and ready for you, the precum oozing out alluring your eyes and your lip bitten by excited teeth. Of course, your vagina is clenching to a void—anticipation is a hell of a drug affecting your entire figure. 

“Don’t get too distracted, mama,” he caught you eyeing him, lifting the hem of his wife’s beater to bite down on. Your ears and cheeks scorched at the sight of his abs and torso. “Read those words.”

Your gaze flickers to your phone while Toji lines his dick to your entrance, a gulp at the kiss of his glans and your inner labia. “…’Daddy has you propped in a deep impact, a position catered to mutual pleasure and closeness. He taps you with the tip to have you excited, then slowly pushes himself into your—Mmfff!…y-your warmth,” reminding yourself to maintain a steady breath; Toji pushes his cockhead into your slick as you’re distracted. A few seconds fly by, and he slips right in; a gasp exiting your puffy lips indicates so. “‘H–He gently shoves every inch and stretches you out,’” his girth is lethal, your eyes rolling up the further his tip goes, scrapping your texture and your opening suiting for his length. “‘A-And, it feels so good to have him making you full and good’—Hoohh?!?”

That’s it, that’s what you were anxious about—you felt the jab of his tip on your cervix. You freeze instantly, too shocked to breathe as the hit was spontaneous. Your body locks down for a quick second to process what happened.

Toji notices your tightened grip and hisses, “Fffuuckin, shit…! So tight,” his hips go sluggish, and you feel his veins and shaft brush nicely with your insides. You sneak a glance at his flashed abdomen; the flex of his abs as he pushes his pelvis in waves is a sight to see–enough to put you in a trance. 

You continue. “‘His hip work is pleasuring, having you wail and cry out f-for more…the sensation of Daddy’s dick venturing inside and hitting your sweet spots is enough to make your toes curl—Nhhaaa…”

He can sense you gripping on him more; fuck, it feels so good. His thrusts go a little faster, forming a minimal medium. You exhale through your nostrils at the change of pace, and grazes against your walls become periodic and long-lasting the deeper he goes.

 “Daaah, ahhh, f-fuuck,” you whimper aloud. “Tojiii, y’ feel so g—Nnnmm!?!“ You nearly swallow your tongue from the sudden pound of him, the rub of your G-spot too abrupt to predict. 

“Who?” God, you know he’s getting a good kick out of this, the fucker. He pushes his cock to the hilt, and it takes everything in your power not to babble from the overwhelming intensity. 

“Daddy, daddyyy, don’t…!” Correcting yourself as his fingers dance around your unattended clit. “I’m sorry, you just feel so good..”

That’s more like it. “Good girl,” he bends closer, his knees spreading further apart. He pushes the leg on his shoulder so that the angle is plausible for him to rut harder. You shriek and squirm to his enjoyment, “Keep readin’.”

“‘Y-…You’re cries become more shameful the harder and faster he goes,” Toji stimulates for a harsher pound; another hit to your cervix has you winded. Despite your gasping for air, he doesn’t relent, and you jerk to undulate to another poke. “Sh-shiiit, Jesusss…! ‘He pistons so hard, so deep, it’s difficult even to think straight when all you can think is—‘“ a choked sob from a slow pull before a devious snap of the hips. “A-All you c–an think…Ahahh!” Another nudge to your G-spot; this is so hellish!

The culprit scoffs softly. “Think ‘bout what, baby?” He swipes and pinches your clit to have you jolt and whine. “Tell Daddy the rest.” 

Fuck, I can’t take it anymore! The phone slips your hand, barely missing your head. “Daddyyy, I can’t!”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Another pinch to the bud pairs with a poke to your delicate womb. Oh, he’s such a dick! “Don’t wanna read fr’ me?” He chuckles aloud at you shaking your head ‘no’. “Why’s that?”

“C-Cuz, if you keep going, I’ll,” a head thrown back at another nip on your clitoris. “Ahh, I-I’ll…!” Shit, you can feel it, the climb rocking your bones to entail your soon climax. 

“What? Ya wanna cum on Daddy’s dick instead of readin’ like a sweetheart,” don’t believe the words; his faux disappointment doesn’t match the merciless thrusts and the devilish grin. “Wanna act like a whole slut and cum on me?”

“Yesss, yes, pleasee!!” You don’t care anymore; you want to let it out. “Please, Daddyyy, I wanna cummm!!”

“Heh, what a nasty girl you are—Nnnmm! Fuck, just milkin’ me dry, beggin’ fr’ it, huh?” The same fingers he used to play with your clit come to your lips to shove inside, forcing you to taste yourself. “Go ‘head, mama; let y’rself go, be the slut you really are…Hahhh, shit, c’mere,” he grabs for both your wrists with his free hand after taking off your glasses and propels you towards him at the same time as he pounds. Holy fuck, this position was getting rougher, pulling you in and hitting your cervix with accurate hits that you’re whining and twitching. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck! It’s too much, it’s all too much to bear, so it’s no wonder you climax in seconds.

You cry with the breach of your crescendo, your inner muscles contracting around the cock, hitting your womb. Your nerves are now peaked as the air is sensitive to your skin, and you feel so out of breath, everything happening all at once that you can’t keep up as you thank Toji in babbled prayers, still sucking on his fingers as your vagina flutters and coats him of your essence.

“Good job, cupcake,” he comes closer and removes his digits. “Can’t beat the real thing, right?” He cups and massages your cheeks before spitting into your mouth. 

You don’t even flinch, too fucked out to even care, just moaning to his lips as he brings you in for a passionate kiss as his hips keep going until he’s done and satisfied…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Ughhh, I can’t believe I just did that…”

“Pfft quit whinin’. Don’t act like ya didn’t enjoy it.”

“I hate you so fucking much, you know that?”

“Whatever y’ say, Ms. Novelist.” You grumble at the name before he brings the washcloth to wipe down your neck.  

You and Toji were now in the bathroom, your nude bodies squished together, with the warm water cleansing you both. Hair and skin damp, your back meshed to his front as you sit between his legs. The soft yellow lighting basks the bathroom with a warm glow as you two bathe in relaxation, a needed state after the excitement prior. 

You snatch the washcloth before Toji wipes your face clean off. “Why did you have to be so nosy, looking at my laptop for what?” You wipe his arm that rests on the rim of the tub. 

He rolls his eyes, knowing he’s in for a lecture. “Well, if ya didn’t want me to see, shoulda locked the shit.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re nosy as hell! Could’ve just looked somewhere else or left the room!”

“Hmph, well, when you see the words ‘Down and Dirty’ all bolded and big and see another tab with a pic of a rimjob, who wouldn’t stop—“

“Okay, okay!” It would be best if you threw the cloth at him for chortling; such an indecorous personality for someone supposedly older than you. “You’re insufferable.”

“Right back at you,” he whispers to your ear and kisses your cheek. You sigh softly from his lips, resting your head on his shoulder while he pecks your chin. The hand in the water finds your thigh to grope and massage, and you moan at the touch and unwind.

Tranquility fills the cozy space between you two as the silence settles in, the humid air comforting to your nose and eyes, and the drip of the faucet plucking into the tub water is a soothing sound to cajole you into a dormant plane. 

However, even when relaxing, it doesn’t stop the bothersome feeling of asking Toji something. And where better than with you in his secure embrace? “Toji,” his name has him open an eye to look your way. “You don’t think I’m…weird, don’t you?”

He raises a brow. “Explain.”

“Like, don’t you find it weird that me, your partner, indulges in hobbies that are…you know, like that,” now your eyes trail away from his gaze. “Writing about fictional fantasies and such, looking up erotic material and stuff…”

A few seconds fly as he scoffs. “Baby, I’ve been lookin’ at porn way before I met you—“

“Th–That’s not what I meant??”

“Besides, it’s nothing more than just writin’ shit that doesn’t exist. Hmm, if anything, now I know y’re just as big of a pervert as I am.”

Anxiousness transitions to peeve. “You are so—“

“Do you like what you do?” 

The question takes you aback; the immediate serious tone switch wasn’t expected. “…I..yeah.”

“Are ya hurtin’ anyone?”

“No…at least I don’t want to.”

“Are ya hurtin’ y’reself?” You see what he’s doing, the glint shining from his viridian orb.

“No. I…like this hobby.”

Finally, a small smile contorts that scar of his. “Then I don’t mind it. It’s what ya like to do, so do whatever, sweetie.” He comes to kiss your nose and rest his forehead with yours. “I like ya bein’ a lil’ weird anyway.”

“Jackass…” And there you go, falling in love with him again. You cup his cheek, kiss the other, and repose onto his shoulder with a blissful sigh. 

“Now,” you blink back to him. “Can’t lie, think you gotta start callin’ me ‘Daddy’ from now on,” like a scratched record, your heart stops, especially with his mischievous smirk. “Where can I read the rest of y’r stuff at?”

“That’s it,” you ignore his annoying bark of laughter as you try to squirm out of his hold. “Let me out of here, get me out of this fucking tub.”

“Haha, hey, quit it; y’re spillin’ the water!”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi morgera + dividers by @/cafekitsune + @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[xnalux]

I don't know if you're taking orders, but it doesn't hurt to try.

I was wondering what it would be like if the reader and (young) Violet were caught in the middle of making out (nothing too extreme, they're teenagers) by Vander/Silco and the two pull them into THAT awkward conversation. (I can imagine this so easily, it would be embarrassing and funny at the same time!!)

- that's it, a kiss on the ass

warnings: teens making out, fem!reader

an: this request was so cute I had to write it at soon as I got it. not entirely satisfied about this but I hope you like it ♡

In the warm, slightly messy confines of Violet's bedroom, the afternoon sun painted a playful pattern of light and shadow across the floor. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the faint hint of cherry, a scent that clung to Violet from her favorite shampoo. The room was a testament to the tumultuous energy of adolescence: The walls were adorned with a mismatched collage of boxing posters featuring both legendary fighters and multiple polaroids featurings vi with her colest friends, some of them picturing vi and powder together.

The floor, a battleground of discarded textbooks, a few stray pieces of gym gear, and an ever-growing mountain of laundry that she always swore to tackle "later."

A worn-out punching bag hung defiantly in one corner, a testament to the countless hours she's spent working off her angst and energy. A rumpled bed in the corner with half-read comic books spilling onto the floor, and the faint smell of snack foods that had been hastily stowed away.

Violet, with her short hair sticking up in a halo of defiance, grinned mischievously as she danced around the room, throwing feigned punches at the air.

"Come on, cupcake" she goaded,

"I'll show you how to throw a real hook. You've got to keep your guard up, though."

You didn't know exactly how your sparring session started, one moment you and vi were bickering about who the best hero was in the last comic book you read and the next violet was circling you, fist raised in front of her face as she challenged you to ''show her what you've got''

Your eyes sparkled with both excitement and a touch of apprehension, as you mimicked Violet's stance, your hands held up in an awkward guard. you'd always admired Violet's strength and the way she could command a room, the way she'd stand up for anyone she thought was being bullied. You'd been inseparable since you were kids, but lately, you had been noticing something more, a spark of attraction that you hadn't quite known how to navigate.

Your playful sparring grew more intense, the air crackling with something electric and unspoken between you. Violet's movements grew bolder, and she began to enjoy the sight of you trying to keep up, your cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink with every near-miss. As you circled, your foot slipped on a stray sock, and with a playful laugh, violet reached out, catching your wrist to stop you from falling.

In that moment, the space between you two seemed to shrink, the air growing thick with an unspoken tension. Violet looked into your eyes and saw something there she hadn't noticed before: a flicker of curiosity, a hint of desire. Her own heart began to race, and without thinking, she took a step closer.

The next few moments were a blur of movement as Vi playfully pinned you to the bed, your laughter echoing off the walls. your eyes went wide, but not with fear, with surprise and a thrill that you didn't quite understand. your body went tense for a brief second before you melted into the mattress, you hands fluttering to her sides, gripping slightly the fabric of her worn out t-shirt, like a butterfly unsure where to land.

Violet hovered over you, her grin turning soft and gentle as she looked down into your eyes. "You okay?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

you nodded, the nod turning into a shy smile.

"Yeah," you murmured, "I'm okay."

The room grew quiet, save for your panting breaths and the distant hum of zaun streets outside. Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, Violet leaned down, her lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a moment of discovery, a moment where the lines between friendship and something more began to blur. Your eyes closed, and you felt your inexperience show as your clenched hands hovered by her sides, unsure of where to go. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as you both gave in to the feelings that had been bubbling beneath the surface.

Your bodies pressed together, fitting in a way that felt so natural it was almost surprising.Your hearts hammering against your ribs like they were trying to escape.

She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss to look down at you, her gaze searching for any sign of regret or discomfort.

''Truce?''

She asked, her slightly sweaty fingertips, a mirror of her own inexperience, caressing the skin of your wrists still pinned to the side of your head. You swallowed hard, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

"Truce," you echoed back, your voice trembling slightly with excitement and nerves.

Vi's smile grew, and she leaned back in, her eyes fluttering closed. Your hands, which had been frozen in place, started to move of their own accord, sliding up her arms to rest tentatively on her shoulders. Her skin was warm and soft beneath your touch, and you felt the muscles beneath. The kiss grew deeper as you both lost yourselves in the moment, the gentle pressure of her lips against yours making your head spin.

Your own hands grew more confident, moving up to tangle in her hair, which was sticky with sweat but still smelled faintly of cherries. You felt the softness of her strands between your fingers, the way they curled around your knuckles. Violet's grip on your wrists tightened slightly, a silent message of reciprocation and encouragement.

Her tongue brushed against your lower lip, and you gasped, feeling a thrill of excitement shoot through you. Without thinking, you parted your lips, and she took the invitation, deepening the kiss even further. Your tongues met, clumsily at first, but quickly finding a rhythm that matched the rest of your movements. She tasted of sour gummies, ''her favorites'' you tought, and iron due to her split upper lip.

In an instant, the heat of the moment froze as the door burst open. The sound of the door handle jolted you out of your daze, and your eyes went wide with shock. You saw Vander's surprised expression just before you had the sense to pull away from Violet. In your haste, you misjudged the distance and ended up headbutting her with a painful thud, making her yelp and clutch her nose.

''ouch'' violet groaned as your panicked gaze glanced between her pained face and vander amused one.

"Thy drugs are…are quick. Thus with…''

you squeaked high pitched as your tried to remember the lines from romeo and juliet you recently studied at school.

Vi looked at you, a bewildered gaze that screamed ''what the fuck are you doing'' scrunching her features.

''w-with a kiss I die."

you finished in a dramatic way trying to ignore the weight of the stare of vander still standing in the doorframe.

Vander glanced between the two of you crossing his arms on his chest, his right eyebrow slightly arched

''What's going on here?"

Before violet could utter a word you quickly shot up from the bed, your hand gesturing hastily in front of you.

''we were just…practicing…uh…drama for school!"

you looked at violet pleading her with your eyes to play along

"Yeah, for the school play''

she mumbled still holding her nose with a pained expression

''You know, the one about those two idiots who kill themselves by accident''

you glared at violet because she didn't sound convincing at all.

''romeo and juliet''

you hissed

Vander nodded slowly but it was clear in his eyes that he was reading through your ridicolous attempt at making excuses

"I didn't know you were in drama club?"

he said with a teasing tone

''I'm not'' violet responded

''it's for losers'' and you almost felt the physical need to headbutt her again because she was not being helpful at all.

you brushed your fingers over the dorsum of your nose trying to come up with something.

''yeah, we are not but…'' you said

"It's… it's just a new extracurricular we're thinking of joining,"

you blurted out, hoping that the desperation in your voice didn't give you away.

"You know, to… to expand our cultural horizons!"

Vander's eyes darted back and forth between you and Violet, the amusement in his gaze growing with each awkwardly constructed sentence.

The room felt as though it had suddenly shrunk, the air thick with the scent of embarrassment and the awkwardness of the situation. The punching bag in the corner of the room looked almost sympathetic as it swayed gently from your earlier playful exchanges.

"Oh, really?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"And here I thought you were just… I don't know, wrestling for fun or something."

Violet's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red as she shot you a look that was both apologetic and slightly exasperated.

"Well," vi began, trying to keep her voice steady, "it's like… a new form of sparring, to mix shit up. It's all about… emotional expression and… uh… trust?"

Vander's eyebrow quirked upwards, clearly unconvinced.

"And this… 'sparring' requires kissing?"

Violet's eyes grew wide with panic.

"It's a… it's a trust exercise," she blurted out, her voice nasally from her still-pinched nose. "We read about it in a book. It's supposed to… to make us more… emotionally connected?"

the silence that followed was as palpable as the awkwardness. You could hear the clock on the wall ticking away, each second feeling like an eternity. Vander looked at the two of you, his arms still crossed over his chest, his biceps flexing under the fabric of his shirt.

Finally, he spoke up again, his tone softer now,

"Look, girls, I know you're growing up, and you're gonna have… feelings for each other, but maybe you could save the… extracurriculars for when I'm not around, yeah?"

You both nodded vigorously, relieved that he wasn't as upset as you had feared.

''and you know'' vander cleared his throat a little awkward not expecting to do the talk to violet today ''if you need to talk about you know...kids your age...and hormones''

he started suddendly feeling awkward.

"Vander!" Violet's voice was a mix of embarrassment and annoyance, her hand shooting up to cover her face. "We're not doing that!"

She was blushing furiously now, her eyes pleading at him to drop it.

Vander looked at you both trying to find the right words

"you know the birds and bees...''

He paused, looking between you two before continuing,

"or a bee and tanother bee" he gestured awkwardly towards the bed, "ok maybe not the best example but you know two blossoming young girls like you two"

Violet's hand dropped from her face as she finally shot up from the bed hastily walking to vander pushing on his chest.

"oh my god please stop"

"It's all about the…uh…pollination of life,"

he continued, his cheeks growing redder by the second.

"And how it's a beautiful, natural process that happens between…uh…people who really care about each other."

Violet groaned, her movements stiff as she tried to compose herself.

"we get it all right...just leave us alone" she asked, pleading as her cheeks grew redder by the seconds

Vander's finally raised hi hands in front of his chest as violet tried to push him again out of her room

"all right all right, just wanted to let you know I picked up dinner. It's in the kitchen. Don't eat it all before I get a chance, okay?"

As he left, shutting the door behind him, Violet and you shared a look of relief and awkwardness. She winced as she touched her nose gently, checking if it was still bleeding.

you rushed over to grab a tissue from her nightstand and handed it to her. "Sorry," you whispered, feeling guilty for causing her pain.

"I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine," she said, taking the tissue and dabbing at her nose. She looked at you, her eyes searching. "So… that was… weird, huh?"

you nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. "Yeah, but… I liked it," you admitted, your heart racing.

Violet's eyes widened, and she looked away, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red.

“I… I liked it too," she murmured.

for a moment, you just stood there, the silence stretching out between u like a tightrope you weren't sure you could both walk on. Then she looked back up at you, a tentative smile playing on her lips. "Want to… try again?"

[thebestsetter]

Sae's nutritionist has been having a hard time ever since the athlete started a family with you.

Sae has always followed his diets strictly. Never ate chocolate, avoided sugar the best he could and mainly ate only fruits and vegetables. His behavior was always praised by all his nutritionists because of how easy it was working with him.

Sae started to "disobey" his diet when he moved in with you.

It all started when you began to cook him lunch for after morning practice. You knew he had to follow a strict diet, so you never made something too unhealthy. Sometimes, you even sneaked some sweet treats for him, but it was too little to do any harm, so his doctor just pretended not to notice it.

But this?? This was too much.

"Sae-kun" he said, pointing at the pink princess pot on Sae's hands "W-what is this?"

"My daughter packed my lunch today" Sae smiled softly, just like he always did when talking about you or your daughter. The doctor would've thought the whole ordeal was cute, if not for what was inside the pot: a box orange juice you buy on those vending machines (it's orange color was almost radioactive. God knows how much sugar there is in it), a (very) poorly made pink cupcake, with rainbow sprinkles all over it; and scrambled eggs (thank God at least one healthy thing).

"You can't possibly be thinking about eating this" his doctor deadpanned, but quickly added "T-the cupcake and the juice, I mean. The eggs are fine"

Sae's smile instantly fell, and he stared at the nutritionist with a frown

"What's wrong with my daughter's food?" It wasn't a question. Sae was daring the doctor to say something bad about the cupcake his sweet, lovely daughter made, staring at him with a cold and almost dangerous gaze.

The poor doctor should've stopped there. He really should have. But if he let Sae eat this Chernobyl looking cupcake, he might as well just throw his nutrition degree on the nearest trash can.

"It's not good for your health" the nutritionist said, staring at the Cinderella that was painted on the top of the pot "As an athlete, you know it's important to lose old eating habits. You can't eat this."

Sae stared at the doctor for what felt like centuries, but finally looked at the cupcake and carefully picked it up, holding it in his hands like it was the most valuable thing he ever held.

The way his gaze softened just by looking at that sorry excuse of a pantry almost scared the doctor. One second, he was looking at him with what could only be described as pure hatred. The other, he was looking at an ugly cupcake like it was a masterpiece.

Anyways, Sae's doctor was just glad this was over with. Itoshi obviously was going to throw the cupcake away, eat the eggs, and just order something else to compliment his lunch. It would all be okay.

Or so he thought .

"You know" Sae started, peeling the paper that was carefully wrapped around the sweet treat "It's interesting that you talk about losing"

"Why?" The doctor asked, not really liking Sae's voice

Sae stared at the man for a while, then slowly looked at the cupcake and brought it up to his mouth. Just as he was about to take a bite out of it, he stopped and stared at the man again

"Cause you just lost your job"

"What?"

"You're not deaf" Sae said "You're fired. Grab your stuff and get out of my sight"

"You can't do that!" The doctor screamed at him, which only made Sae roll his eyes

"I can and I did. Out. Now."

The nutritionist knew it was useless arguing with the stoic Sae Itoshi. With a sigh, he turned away from the player to go and collect his belongings

"Just one more thing before you go"

He heard Sae say, which urged him to turn around. The moment he laid his eyes on Itoshi, the footballer took a bite out of the pink cupcake

"This is fucking delicious."

The doctor would NEVER eat a cupcake in his life again.

Masterlist

[fatliberation]

I saw a comment on your blog that says 'the way you eat does not cause diabetes'...are you able to expand on that or provide a source I could read? I've been told by doctors that my pre-diabetes was due to weight gain because I get more hungry on my anti psychotics and I'd like to fact check what they've told me! Thank you so much!

Pre-diabetes was rejected as a diagnosis by the World Health Organization (although it is used by the US and UK) - the correct term for the condition is impaired glucose tolerance. Approximately 2% of people with "pre-diabetes" go on to develop diabetes per year. You heard that right - TWO PERCENT. Most diabetics actually skip the pre-diabetic phase.

There are currently no treatments for pre-diabetes besides intentional weight loss. (Hmm, that's convenient, right?) There has yet to be evidence that losing weight prevents progression from pre-diabetes to T2DM beyond a year. Interestingly, drug companies are trying to persuade the medical world to start treating patients earlier and earlier. They are using the term “pre-diabetes” to sell their drugs (including Wegovy, a weight-loss drug). Surgeons are using it to sell weight loss surgery. Everyone’s a winner, right? Not patients. Especially fat patients.

Check out these articles:

Prediabetes: The epidemic that never was, and shouldn’t be

The war on ‘prediabetes' could be a boon for pharma—but is it good medicine?

Also - I love what Dr. Asher Larmie @fatdoctorUK has to say about T2DM and insulin resistance, so here's one of their threads I pulled from Twitter:

1️⃣ You can't prevent insulin resistance. It's coded in your DNA. It may be impacted by your environment. Studies have shown it has nothing to do with your BMI.

2️⃣ The term "pre-diabetes" is a PR stunt. The correct term is impaired glucose tolerance (or impaired fasting glucose) which is sometimes referred to as intermittent hyperglycemia. It does not predict T2DM. It is best ignored and tested for every 3-5yrs.

3️⃣ there is no evidence that losing weight prevents diabetes. That's because you can't reverse insulin resistance. You can possibly postpone it by 2yrs? Furthermore there is evidence that those who are fat at the time of diagnosis fair much better than those who are thin.

4️⃣ Weight loss does not reverse diabetes in the VAST majority of people. Those that do reverse it are usually thinner with recent onset T2DM and a low A1c. Only a tiny minority can sustain that over 2yrs. Weight loss does not improve A1c levels beyond 2 yrs either.

5️⃣ Weight loss in T2DM does not improve macrovascular or microvascular health outcomes beyond 2 years. In fact, weight loss in diabetics is associated with increased mortality and morbidity (although it is not clear why). Weight cycling is known to impacts A1c levels.

6️⃣ Weight GAIN does NOT increase the risk of cardiovascular OR all causes mortality in diabetics. In fact, one might even go so far as to say that it's better to be fat and diabetic than to be thin and diabetic.

Dr. Larmie cites 18 peer reviewed journal articles (most from the last decade) that are included in their webinar on the subject, linked below.

[stxxrlights]

#𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

thank you all so much for 400 followers. i really didn't think that i would reach so many people, so i made a special for you. also i can't reply to my comments on my posts or any but i appreciate them. enjoy!

husband!gojo who can't stand being away from you for so long. he's on his day off and he makes sure to spend every single second close to you just so he can admire you and whisper praises in your ear.

husband!gojo who takes you out on dessert dates. whether it be ice-cream, cake, milkshakes, whatever mood the both of you seems to be in. he stares at you with loving eyes while you enjoy the dessert you got and wipes any smudge on your lips or cheek.

husband!gojo who doesn't let you pay for anything. he was not gonna let you send the money that you worked so hard for to buy something that you can get with his money. he shares his personal info with you but does not wanna hear about yours. and he always insists you use his card otherwise, you'll be arguing infront of the cashier for more than ten minutes until you finally give in.

husband!gojo who caresses the ring on your finger everytime you hold hands with him. he does it unconsciously too as you talk about your interests.

husband!gojo who sometimes just can't believe that he's married to the most beautiful woman in the world. he can't help but kiss you out the blue when you're together because you're lips were just so tempting.

husband!gojo who's known to be someone who never shuts the fuck up and interrupts people when they're talking but not when it comes to you. he could just listen to you talk for hours on end because he just lives your voice and is genuinely interested with what you're saying. he also hates it when someone else interrupts you and so speaks up for you.

husband!gojo who loves posting pictures of you on the daily. be it pictures he took of you or selfies you sent with captions like "isn't my wife just so beautiful", and it could be a picture of you drooling in your sleep. but when he reads the comments and finds some creepy guys saying inappropriate things, he's gonna let them know just who they're dealing with.

husband!gojo who comes up with the dumbest nicknames to give because he thought they were cute when he's literally calling you "his cute little drooler" and "his sweet scumdilly yumyum cupcake" but he often times calls you "baby" or "princess" if he's not in a very silly mood.

husband!gojo who showers you with gifts when he returns from long work trips because he believes that you deserve the best. but when you tell him, that the greatest gift he has ever given you was coming back to you without fail, he has tears in his eyes as his heart swells and pulls you into a big hug and says, " i'll always come back to you love... always"

#comments and reblogs are appreciated

[tojbnuy]

cupcake (1)

mechanic!toji x baker!reader

art by @_jtvll

there was a child grabbing your pant leg. your hands were full to the brim with trays of cupcakes, all freshly iced and ready to be placed into neat rows to serve. you usually hate this part of your job and the small hand stopping you from walking was not helping.

‘hey uhm could you maybe let go?’

you still were unable to look down at the person/thing(?) grabbing a hold of you as the trays in your arms were stacked far too high.

‘right well okay’ and you had to resort to placing the cupcakes on a nearby shelf. upon looking down you saw.. a baby? well a toddler? you didn’t know many kids, with only one niece you would assume this kid was around about her age. 3 maybe 4? he still had a firm grip on the leg of your trouser and was smearing left over icing onto your pants from his sticky fingers.

‘cake.’ he said with pink icing stuck to his lips and chin. the boy was adorable. big sparkly eyes and black hair sticking out in every direction. he was wearing a shirt that said ‘dad’s best friend’ and tiny blue sneakers.

‘you want more cake?’ you replied and he was quick to nod his head vigorously, his hand Still gripped tightly onto you.

‘alright buddy i can give you a cake. but you really shouldn’t be behind here this is staff only. where’s your mum?’

you bent down to his eye level after retrieving a cupcake from your fresh batch and waited for any sort of answer. either he had no clue what anything you said meant or he was too entranced by the cupcake you were wielding in his direction but the boy said nothing, just stared at you with his massive eyes.

‘god now what do i do?’

you were fairly new to this bakery, it was a busy branch with a computer cafe joint on so there was always a large amount of people in store. and now you had to match one of them to this baby.

‘well you eat while i think.’

and the kid watched with a great level of focus as you peeled the wrapper of the cake off and handed him the little treat.

‘what’s your name baby?’

‘megumi’

‘wow that’s a cute name’

he clearly didn’t speak much and resorted to simply staring at you with his cheeks full of cake and even more icing decorating his lips.

you opened your hands to him in a way of saying ‘i’m going to pick you up now’ and when he didn’t seem to object you picked up the tiny boy and placed him on your hip.

‘don’t worry i’ll make sure you get back to your parents.’ again met with radio silence.

‘dada’

‘oh you came with your dada?’

‘dada.’

and only then did you realise the boy was staring out the window at a black haired, clearly frazzled man.

‘megumi? megs buddy please come back now, fucks sake.’ the back door was shoved open and by instinct you clutched the small boy to your chest.

‘megumi oh my fucking- thank god’ and as the man reached for the boy you gently tucked him into your neck. the man immediately frowned and looked you up and down as you did the same. well clearly the boy must be his judging off megumi recognizing him and there was also the fact that they looked exactly the same. except this man was tall and handsome and built like a marble statue. but you still wanted to make sure.

you watched as said man eyed you up and down and for some unknown reason you were incredibly thankful you had worn makeup and washed your hair this morning. your work uniform was bland, a pink half apron and the same baggy jeans and white top you usually wore when you knew you’d be icing cakes instead of serving customers.

‘listen kid, thanks for finding him but i am his dad, look i’ve even got pictures.’

and sure enough he was whipping out his phone and showing you his lockscreen of the boy you were holding in the same shirt with a black puppy in his lap. he then proceeded to open his photos app and show you a few more, some dating a few years back to when megumi was only a newborn.

‘dada’

‘yeah look see i’m his dad’

you believed the man the second you saw his face.

‘right okay i believe you, i don’t even know how he got back here i just turned around and he was grabbing me asking for cake. oh and also im not a kid im 22.’ you felt the need to clarify.

he smiled at that and took his child out of your hands.

‘sorry about that, but i’m glad it was you he bumped into not some creep. i was holding his hand and then i look down and he wasn’t there. the things this boy does when he sees cake’

you laughed and went to pick up your trays again when a large hand grabbed your arm and turned you back.

‘ah wait doll i’ve got to you pay you for the damage this little brats done, and to say thank you.’ he stuffed a few notes into the pocket of your apron.

‘it was just a cupcake it’s no big deal’ you said as you tried to hand them back to him without looking incredibly flustered at the use of a nickname.

‘no i insist, you really saved my ass. you work here often?’

‘yeah i’m usually at the counter but sometimes i just bake and ice the cakes.’

‘well clearly this brat thinks you do a good job’

‘so that means you’ll be back again i’m assuming?’

he smirked at that and your eyes were immediately drawn to the scar decorating his lip. his presence was intimidating, you could feel your cheeks flushing at his intense gaze.

‘yes definitely, i actually own the mechanics down the road so if you ever have any trouble make sure you let me know i’ll do you a nice deal’

‘i’ll keep that in mind uh?’

‘toji’

‘i’ll keep that in mind toji. i’m y/n’

he swapped his son to his other hand and stuck his right hand out for you to shake. you palm felt small in his large veiny one, his skin warm to the touch.

‘pretty name.’ he was checking you out again and you felt so small under his gaze. this was wrong, he was older than you and most likely had a wife or a girlfriend or a long term ex. this was definitely not going to become anything. but that didn’t stop you from giving him a few cupcakes for the road.

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

general masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

[navybrat817]

Vanilla Frosting

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky takes a call at home and you decide to tease him a bit.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Established relationship, banter, teasing, dirty thoughts, very slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he worships you.

A/N: I blame these photos as they gave me CEO vibes. And @whisperlullaby and @targaryenvampireslayer . Again, before our couple has Muffin and Bean. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“I thought you said no calls, Boss.”

Bucky sighed and rolled up his sleeves as he looked toward the kitchen. You stood in the doorway with crossed arms and slow building irritation in your eyes. The sight of you always lightened his mood and made his heart race, but that look wasn't a good sign. Oh, he was in trouble.

Some sort of trouble.

As a CEO, he was always prepared to take the fall when it came to his company. Seeing your kissable mouth set in a grim line though? “It’s Steve’s fault,” he blurted out, throwing his best friend under the bus without hesitation.

“Really, Buck?” Steve’s voice rang out from the laptop speaker.

“Yeah, really,” he snapped. When Steve found a partner like you, he’d get why he bent his will to you over everyone else. Hell, he welcomed Steve getting a bit of payback because it would mean his best friend would have found happiness. “I’m sorry, Cupcake,” he added in a softer tone to you.

He didn’t want to take the call, he really didn’t. All he wanted to do was hold you and forget about the stress of work for an evening. He even assured you that there would be no work tonight, but Steve insisted he get on a video chat with some of the executive team. God knew the punk was relentless, but the unimpressed look on your face made him want to fire everyone and start from scratch.

The two of you had plenty of money, so you’d be set if he went that route.

“Steve’s fault, huh?” You slowly smiled after a moment. “Okay. You take the call and I’ll start making some cupcakes.”

Bucky cocked his head with a confused stare as you went further into the kitchen and out of sight. Baking cupcakes wasn't out of the ordinary for you, but you saying “okay” wasn't okay. He knew better. There was no possible way he was off the hook for this. He already had at least ten gifts in mind to buy you once the call wrapped up.

“I love you,” he called after you, not at all ashamed for anyone to hear that as they joined the meeting. If anyone eyeballed him or said an unkind word about voicing his feelings for you outside of the office, they could find another job.

“Love you, too!” You called back.

That brought a small smile to his face. “Let’s get started so we can all get back to our regular evening plans,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

After a minute, he glanced over the monitor as he heard gentle movement in the kitchen. You weren't slamming things around, which was good. You understood how crazy things could get since you were his secretary. It didn't mean he enjoyed taking time away from the two of you and he didn’t want you upset with him. Even if you weren't upset, he still had to make it up to you. He-

“Hey, Bucky?” Your eyes lit up as you appeared in the doorway again with a small bowl. He was certain he forgot how to breathe when he eyed what you were wearing: a new black and white apron. And nothing else. Jesus fucking Christ. “You want vanilla frosting for the cupcakes, right?”

Bucky subtly shifted in his seat as you sauntered further into the room, his throat dry at the sight of you. The curve of your hips, your hardened nipples teasing him through the fabric. Calling you beautiful wasn't enough. Your beauty was transcendent, indescribable. The kind that made the strongest of people drop to their knees. He was a powerful man, but still just a man at the end of the day and you rendered him powerless. And right now he needed to focus on the call, but how could he focus on anything but you?

He cleared his throat when Jack rambled on about something. Or was it John? Who gave a fuck? “Cupcake,” he growled.

“I know I do. Maybe you can frost me later?” You scooped a bit of frosting onto your finger and wrapped your lips around it with an obscene moan. Thankfully he had his microphone turned off. They didn't need to hear your pretty sounds. “Mmm.”

He groaned when you showed him your tongue. He knew it was frosting, but the image made it easy to picture you wrapping your warm mouth around his cock and showing him his release before you swallowed like a good girl. It took a lot of control not to palm himself. Surely everyone would understand if he ended the call now. Why the fuck did he take this call?

Making sure his hand was out of sight, he beckoned you closer with his finger. If he was lucky he could get you to take the apron off, sit in the nearby chair, and touch yourself. Or you could keep the apron on. As long as he could see your glistening pussy. Even looking wouldn't be enough. He had to get his mouth on it, his cock in it.

But you didn't go to him.

Instead, you tsked with the finger you licked and pointed at the laptop. “Oh, no, Boss. You listened to Steve and took the call. Now deal with the consequences,” you smiled sweetly, turning on your heel and giving him the perfect view of your ass as you walked back into the kitchen.

Yep, he was in big trouble.

Bucky's fists clenched as he got back to the task at hand, but he also chuckled. He deserved a bit of blue balls for the time being. He also had to respect the way you played the game, but he knew how to play the game, too. Before the night was over, he’d be back in your good graces. He’d eat one of your delicious cupcakes before he got a taste of you. And he'd remind you that he didn't have the world because of money, power, or any of that.

Bucky Barnes had the world because he had you.

Oh, these two. 🥰 Steve isn't even upset for getting blamed. 🤣 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[buckyalpine]

I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.

He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.

"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.

"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.

"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.

"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...

"I-

"For the stain"

"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.

"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...

"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.

"Good God"

"Jesus"

"You look fuckin' good terminator"

"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.

"Body shots!"

"What?"

"Yes"

Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.

"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"

He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.

"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-

"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.

"How much has he had to drink"

"Who cares, me next"

"I think you've licked enough of my husband"

"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"

"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"

"Blink twice if you need help"

"Bro looks like an angel"

"Why aren't you blinking"

"Crafted by the heavens"

"You like this, don't you"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.

[ribbonprincess]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

"Do a lil twirl for me,yeah...your ass looks so good baby." Rafe chuckles,fixing his pants as they tightened around his crotch,the sight of you in a tiny white mini skirt the reason.

"You like it rafey? I bought It thinking of you" "yeah,no shit- you used my credit card" he chuckles. Moving from his spot on the bed,he walks over you,laying his hands on your hips as he squishes the skin. "You should wear it today while I go golfing,you can look pretty in the cart and if you're good enough daddy will buy you a drink."

He smiles before tilting his head down to press his lips against yours as you whine almost immediately,slapping his chest "my lipgloss! you just smeared it all over,daddy." Turning around to face the mirror as you try to deescalate the situation of your almost ruined makeup,dabbing at the area around your lips with a beauty blender.

"Yeah yeah,'s just lip gloss,it's nothing serious." Gasping dramatically you turn around,hand on your chest as if you've been shot as you point a finger at his chest "'s not just lipgloss.."

Chuckling to himself Rafe presses a kiss against your shoulder "I'm sorry cupcake, daddy's being mean yeah?" Nodding as you run your manicured fingers over his jawline,pressing your chest against his,making your tits more visible as you smile softly- a tragic contrast to your action.

꒦꒷︶°꒷︶°︶₊˚ʚɞ˚₊︶°︶꒦˚︶꒷꒦

As you sit prettily in the golf cart,sipping at your drink while watching rafe play with his friends,you can't help but feel lonely,so you decide to approach as he stands a few feet behind the others. "rayray?"

Turning around almost immediately Rafe's expression softens a bit before turning hard. "What are you doing here,told you to sit in the cart" "Yeah... I know,but I missed you" Emphasizing your words you run a hand over his chest,playing with the button of his slacks.

"Missed me huh?" Looking over his shoulder he shouts a quick "Little lady is feeling sick!" Before dragging you over the Golf cart and driving over a more secluded area of the field,covered by trees and bushes.

"Since you've been missing me sooo much,might as well show it. C'mon get on your knees" Taking one last look around you move to your knees on the moist grass,quickly unbuckling his belt as you pull down his pants and boxer just as much needed. Wrapping a hand around the base of his shaft you kiss the vein that runs on the underside of it, resulting in a harsh tug of your hair. "Don't fucking tease me."

Wrapping your lips around his tip before slowly moving down,twisting your hand around what you couldn't fit "Deeper...I've trained you better than this,kid" Rafe mumble from above you,shoving your head down until you gag harshly,tears already pooling at your lash line. "Yeah,there you go...nice and warm for me." Looking up through your clamped wispy lashes you start to move your head again,twirling your tongue around his length like a popsicle as Rafe groans from above you "Got myself the best girl,right? Sucking my dick like this where everyone can pass by"

Nodding as best as you can,you pull off him with a loud "pop". "Wanna make you feel good,daddy." Smiling to himself, Rafe wipes at your saliva coated lower lip before bringing your mouth back on him with a satisfied moan,brushing some strand of hair that have fallen over your face away. "Fuck,keep doing that and I'm gonna cum. You want daddy to cum in your mouth? Yeah,you do."

Meeting you midway as he thrust into your mouth,giving you no time to react or even understand. "shit- 'm cumming" As his rhythm gets sloppier,you suck around his tip holding onto his thigh as you feel a milky substance flood your mouth. Breathing loudly he pulls you away from him as he smirks "Show me your tongue,angel" showcasing your tongue with a proud smile you look up at him in search of praise. "good girl,what do we say now?" "thank you daddy!"

[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.”

[skyrigel]

Take a look at my gf trend with Simon

“No way !” Soap annouced smugly,“ Ghost would be caught dead than doing—”

“ Will this do cupcake ?” The door of your bedroom fell ajar, Simon stepped out, his enormous hands carrying a small dainty Polaroid of him in his whole gear.

“—a stupid trend.” But the words were passed away in a gasp, He frowned at your boyfriend or his comrade in war field.

You winked at him, balancing a smirk as you hopped to your big man, taking a look at the Polaroid and giving him your most jovial nod while he leaned to peck your head.

“ Who are you ?? And what have to done to our lieutenant!?” John said accusingly, his face scowling in humour.

“Get ya' ass out, peanut and I need to film a video.” Simon wrapped his arms around your waist, while he waved his Polaroid from other to the door.

“ Or you can help us film it.” You laughed, making him scoff, 'as if'.

~~~

Everywhere I go I keep her picture in my wallet like here—

You waved the Polaroid of your man happily in the camera, Simon's big fingers stopped the video and then he looked up at you.

“Oh my god ! I love you so much babe.” You giggled and told him cheekily, a flush creeped your face and neck as he adjusted himself behind the Polaroid, he was your big-big man, with his puffed chest and wide shoulders and muscled arms, his skully balaclava still on his face and he grinned at you, the way his hand rested on the small of your back.

“Anything for my princess.” He said with a glint in his eyes, and you just wanted to kiss him square on mouth, hard and forever.

You un paused the video, 3,2,1-

… Take a look at my girlfriend

You pulled back the Polaroid, revealing your big man and Riley baby pulled you to him, cupping your whole body as he flicked up his balaclava enough to kiss you through the audio was done, your shirt riding up as climbed on your tip toes despite Simon was leaning his best to claim you.

Some time later while your clothes were tossed somewhere and you were resting on his chest, re-watching the draft.

“We need to shoot it again.” You huffed, trying your best mock glare at him, he watched your with oozing love, putting his finger under your chin.

“Ofcourse Princess...Got distracted this time.” He smirked, and you just about died.

I never seem to get a lot (ba ba da da, ba ba da da)

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[minranghae]

Taste | 18+

》 pairing: c.san x f!reader

》 genre: fluff, smut, angst if you squint really hard

》 warnings: friend’s brother!san, female reader, general silliness, stubborn reader, san loves to tease, hes a sweetie too ofc, smut, piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, pet names (angel, baby, etc.), coworkers, san bites reader one (1) time, barely proofread, unprotected, lmk if i missed any

》 wc: 5.2k

》 hello! i am back from the dead with my second fic and second installment in the senses series. i do apologize that this took so long, but i do plan on releasing more stuff soon-ish. i'm working on a longer series, so who knows what'll hapen lol. also! i am cross posting on ao3 now. the user is femdoms, so check it out if you are interested. finally, i just want to say thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy this!

 “God, I really can’t stand you, San! Stop following me, pervert!”

“Yeah, whatever, just get in so we can talk,” he yells to you with his arm hanging out the window of his car, an annoyed, yet amused smirk covering his face.

“No way!” You yell over your shoulder, too embarrassed to face him both physically and figuratively. 

Really, how could you? Not after you found him with your diary in his hands, reading it like it was his favorite novel. At first, you tried to convince yourself that he didn’t see those pages, but the blush on his cheeks told you otherwise. 

And that’s why you’re here: running away from San in the middle of the night.

“I’ll make you a milkshake,” San coos from the car, causing you to turn your head in interest, “You know you love ‘em,” he offers, as if you’re a dog and he’s holding a treat in front of your face. 

And god damn it, it works.

“Fine, but I’m not talking to you until I get one,” you say, opening the car door and climbing in.

“You’re talking to me now,” he quips, earning a look from you that he thinks would’ve killed him if it had the ability.

“Alright, tough crowd,” he murmurs to himself with a dry laugh, hoping to earn a giggle- or at least a smile- from you, but to no avail.

The whole situation was so embarrassing. And degrading, and stupid, and embarrassing-

“Stop thinking so much,” he swats at your arm playfully, noticing the clear look of discomfort and sheer, unabashed embarrassment on your face, “you don’t even know what I have to say yet.” 

You answer him with a small hum, deciding against giving him a verbal response, because no matter how much you’d like to curl up in a hole and die, you’re still as stubborn as the day San met you. 

You officially met him the first day you worked at the diner. Your best friend’s family had owned it since the old owners left, leaving the significantly smaller family of four looking for new employees. College debt had already begun sneaking its way into the back of your mind, and Eunbi needed to work with someone other than her nagging parents or annoying older brother. It was the perfect opportunity for you.

“C’mon! Just try it!” The boy working with you begged.

“I already told you, I have trauma with milkshakes!”

San laughed to himself, trying to hide the amusement evident on his face.

“Look, I’m sorry you found a hair in your milkshake however long ago, but I can assure you that my milkshake is hairless,” he held his little finger up to you, “pinky promise.”

Rolling your eyes, you locked your pinky with his. Your hands lingered together for a moment too long, until San pulled his away to push the drink closer to you.

“San, you know, I’m not really a huge fan of chocolate-” 

“Didn’t you and Eunbi make chocolate cupcakes for your birthday though?”

You freeze, cheeks heating up at his question, unsure if it was the fact that he’d caught you in a lie or that he knew and remembered what you and Eunbi had done for your birthday bringing the blush to your face. Attempting to hide your embarrassment, you shot him a small smirk, gently pursing your lips.

“‘Gotcha there, honey.”

Ever since that day, San always had a milkshake waiting for you at the end of each shift. And maybe it was that kindness that made you blush, or maybe it was the fact that his eyes smiled along with his lips every time he greeted you. It could’ve been the way he always knew how to make you giggle, but whatever it was, it was clear that you’d fallen for San.

Which is weird. Weird because he’s older than you, he’s your coworker, he’s out of your league, and worst of all: he’s Eunbi’s brother.

Really? How cliche is that? It’s not even like you could tell Eunbi about it. That would’ve made everything so much worse. It’s embarrassing enough to be so head over heels for a guy who just sees you as his little sister’s best friend, but to have people know about it too? There’d be no coming back from that.

And that’s exactly why you decided to start keeping a diary, or mindful journaling as you called it. That sounded better than keeping a diary.

You originally started it to confess some of your feelings about San. You wrote how embarrassed you were to have a crush on him. You wrote about the milkshakes he made you and the times he defended you against angry customers. You wrote about how stressed you felt about life in general. Your worries, your fears, the moments of your days that you wanted to forget, but your mind wouldn’t let you. You wrote about anything you couldn’t confess to another person. 

On particularly late nights full of hopeless pining and horny desperation, you’d write about your fantasies, some involving random celebrities or TV characters, but most involving San. 

It was nothing too in depth, it was more about how much you wanted just a taste of him. You knew you could never have him for good, but if you could just feel his strong arms around you or his lips on your skin just once, maybe that’d be good enough. Just a little taste. It felt dirty thinking about him in that sort of way, but who would see it anyways? 

Little did you know, San himself would.

It had slipped out of your bag. And being the kind, and relatively organized coworker he is, San picked it up to put it back in your bag for you. The way it landed on the floor, though, left it open on its spine with its pages just begging to be read. 

He wasn’t going to read it. That would be an invasion of privacy, and San wasn’t that kind of guy. He wouldn’t do that.

But when he picked it up, he couldn’t help but notice his name on the page. And unfortunately, as it does most of us, curiosity got the best of him. 

San tried to stop himself, he really did. But, knowing just how eager you were for him put his head in a spin. He just couldn't help but picture you underneath him, with that adorable blush and shy smile that only appears when he starts teasing you. He wanted so badly to hear how you whimper, to feel how warm you are, to see how sweet you taste. He had a feeling you liked him, but he never would've guessed you reciprocated the feeling so strongly.

He saw this as more of an opportunity for you two. He wasn’t going to tell you what he’d seen; he’d just confess to you one night. And maybe it’d have to be secret for a bit, but eventually you could be his, and he wanted nothing more than that.

No big deal.

But, as soon as he heard a small gasp from the doorway and looked up to see your eyes welling with tears, he knew that plan was well fucked. 

San always thought you were pretty. From the moment Eunbi first brought you over, he couldn’t help but notice your expressive eyes and beautiful hair. But what he liked most was that shining smile you had. And seeing that he’d wiped it from your face as soon as you walked in, he just had to chase you.

And so, as you sat across from him in a booth in the dimly lit diner, he studied your face: the embarrassed blush and sweaty gleam sheening your forehead, your pouty lips wrapped around the straw of a chocolate milkshake as your eyebrows furrowed.

Even your beauty was stubborn.

He began softly, so as not to scare you, his fingers drumming against the table in a gentle rhythm, “So… do you like the milkshake?”

You looked up at him, an eyebrow quirked, “Yeah, it’s good.”

San pushed out a sigh at your icy reply, settling back in his seat as he let his palm fall flat against the table. He knew what he wanted to say, he just couldn’t find the words. You broke the silence a moment later.

“Look, we can both pretend like you saw absolutely nothing at all and I’ll ask to work different times of the day so we won’t even have to see each other. I’m not weird, I promise, I just-”

“Shh,” he cooed, grabbing one of your hands, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of it, “you didn’t even let me talk yet.”

San’s gaze scanned your pretty face for a moment, falling onto those eyes and lips he adored. His heart pounded against the back of his ribs, and yet, you seemed so nervous. Had he read it wrong?

“Did you mean it? What you wrote?” he asked, his voice holding a subtle tone of insecurity. His gaze fell to the table where your hands met, his grip tightening just slightly.

You looked up at him, your wide eyes sweeping over his strong face and your breath picking up. Of course you meant it, but did he want you to mean it? 

“Why are you asking that?” you mumble, pulling your hand from his shyly. Your entire face was tinged pink from embarrassment and guilt, so anxious. San couldn’t stand it.

He made an effort to grab your hand again, his other hand lifting your chin gently so you’d look at him. He shook your head a little, trying to bring out a tiny smile again. 

“You said you needed my face between your thighs…”

Your body went rigid. Out of all the entries, he just had to read that one? You remember writing it after watching him open something with his teeth one day, his jaw flexing as he used his teeth to rip open the plastic packet. Unfortunately, your mind was clouded by unsavory thoughts later that night, and so, into the journal those fantasies went. 

“I’m just saying, I’ve needed a taste for a while now, too. Just give me a chance. Don’t run, please,” he pleaded softly, his grip tightening on your hand ever so slightly. He gave you that look, the one where his eyebrows would furrow so gently and his eyes gleamed softly, a desperation hidden in them. San wasn’t one to beg, but he couldn’t let you think he didn’t like you.

To his surprise, the confession didn’t make you smile. Instead, you felt your eyes well up with tears and a heavy weight lift off your shoulders. Slowly, you snaked around the table to San’s side of the booth, immediately wrapping your arms around one of his as you cried into his shoulder. He received you warmly, his free hand coming up to pat your head softly with sweet coos leaving his mouth, calming and affectionate.

“I thought you were gonna hate me forever, Sannie. I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, hiccuping softly, no even noticing your snot blotting San’s shirt. Such a mess.

San let out a breathy laugh, guiding your face up and off of his shoulder. He grabbed a napkin from the holder at the end of the table and wiped your nose with it gently, an affectionate air about him. He’d never seen you so emotional, and though his heart constricted seeing your tears, he was just happy to be the one taking care of you: his precious one. In a way, seeing you so worked up over something he saw as no big deal was endearing. Then again, almost everything about you was endearing to San. 

He smiled down at you after wiping your nose, mumbling, “Pretty girl.” You could feel your cheeks go red instantly, feeling like it was your first time having a crush all over again. 

He continued, his deep voice soft and sweet suddenly, “I could never hate you. Never, never,” he shook his head a bit, leaning in so that your foreheads were pressed together, “what I read only surprised me, but it would never make me hate you. So, don’t apologize for liking me. I like you, too.”

You swore your heart skipped a beat as he said that. In fact, it seemed like cardiac arrest would be the next step if he didn’t stop looking at you with those soft eyes.

“Never knew you had such a dirty mind,” he teased, rubbing your arm with his free hand gently.

And just like that, your eyebrows furrowed again and you hit his arm gently, too embarrassed to be sappy for long.

“Stop that! It’s not good to hold in all your thoughts, you know. You should write your feelings down,” you scolded, face bright red and lips pouting. San took the scolding at first, but it wasn’t much use. He was too focused on how cute your face looked all scrunched up. 

And, he couldn’t deny it. Being scolded was pretty hot.

“There you go again,” San interrupted, sighing playfully. He couldn’t help but tease. You stopped mid-sentence, unsure of what you were even scolding him about now.

“Hm? What?” you asked softly, a little pout remaining on your lips.

San giggled a little, his eyes squeezing shut as he threw his head back. It was just too much fun for him. He leaned in closer to your face, close enough that your noses nearly met in the middle, whispering, “You’re too busy being angry to let me give you a taste of me.”

That cocky bastard. Cocky, and teasing, and sexy…

Your eyebrows quirked up and your cheeks burned even hotter as he leaned in closer, his mouth just next to your ear. 

“That’s what you wanted, right? What you wrote in your diary… ahem, journal,” he whispered, need dripping from his words. 

And yet, you were too embarrassed to speak. Or, maybe flustered was the right word. Either way, your brain didn’t quite work when San teased you normally, and especially not when his hands traveled to your waist, thumbs pressing into you gently.

“W-well, yes, but it was just a fantasy! I was just imagining! If you read more, you’d see I wrote about celebrities also…” you stammered, your hands searching for a place to rest along with your eyes. 

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not special?” San asked, biting his lip to hold back a cocky smile.

You gasped a little, hands instinctively finding San’s firm chest, “No, no! I just meant, just,” you panicked a bit, somehow losing your words yet again as San put his hands over yours.

“So, I am special? Am I special enough to have a taste of you?” San asked softly, still teasing, though there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his voice, something like an invitation.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Sannie… What would Eunbi think?” You ask softly, eyes round and full of worry. Unintentionally, you leaned further into San’s chest, prompting him to pull you into a hug. He cradled the back of your head, petting your hair softly.

“She doesn’t have to know yet. And you can always say no, baby. I know I tease you a lot, but it’s just because you’re so cute when you’re worked up. We can take things slow if you want. It’s just that journal entry… it made me…” San trailed off towards the end, his own cheeks getting pink now.

Softly, you reached up and ran your fingers through San’s hair, finally offering him a big smile, “Look at you blushing now.”

San blew a bit of air out of his nose, suppressing a shy laugh. “How couldn’t I blush? The thought of you wanting me that way…” He trailed off again, voice high and squeaky now that he was being teased. He pulled you close and buried his face in your neck, letting his lips place a soft kiss before he continued.

“I want to hear you say it, angel. Tell me I’m special and it’s more than just a fantasy. Tell me how you want me,” he mumbled into your neck, using every ounce of self restraint to stop himself from kissing it again.

And, in that moment, months of yearning for, pining over, and wanting San in every way came back to you. Your heart ached a bit, and so did the space between your legs. Everything you had imagined and told yourself was just a dream was coming true. It was true that it would be difficult to hide this whole thing considering Eunbi could read you like a book, but you couldn’t let this opportunity go.

“God, San, I want you in every way possible,” you breathed out, tilting your head back to give him better access to your neck. As soon as you did, he latched on to it, sucking a small bruise into it. You trembled a little, involuntarily letting a tiny whimper cross your lips as you whispered, “But I really need you to fuck me right now.”

“That’s all I need to hear, baby. Here,” he murmured, detaching himself from you quickly. He swiftly switched spots with you, leaving the booth seat and pulling you to the edge of it. He kneeled in front of you, one hand on your thigh and the other gripping the table still. Pushing the table towards the other side of the booth, San ran his hands up and down your thighs, eyes pleading and lust filled. “It’s alright if I taste you?”

“Please, need it so bad, Sannie,” you pleaded as he slowly undid your jeans, pulling them off your legs along with your panties in one fatal swoop. You were already dripping onto the seat and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

San pressed gentle kisses up your bare thighs, using a thumb to rub gentle circles into your clit. You gripped the top of the seat, already feeling a pulsing need in your heat as San’s mouth inched closer to it. His breath tickled the area, making your squirm, but what was worse was the look in his eyes. He stopped just in front of your cunt and looked up at you with dark, lustful eyes. In that moment, you understood San wanted this just as much as you did.

It was true. San couldn’t even recount the amount of times he pumped his fist in bed or in the shower thinking about you and your sweet pussy. And as much as it made him blush just thinking about it, he wanted nothing more in life than to bury his face in between your thighs some days, making you squirm and hearing what noises he could pull out of you. He wanted to have you, to know you on a deeper level. And what was more intimate than knowing the way a person tastes?

“Pretty,” he murmured into his direct line to heaven, his nose nudging your clit 

gently. A long, hot stripe was licked up your pussy, making you twitch expectantly. Instantly, your mind began to grow foggy and your hips bucked, San whispering, “It’s alright, just relax, baby.”

And so, you did. You let your torso fall all the way back against the booth seat and your fingers tangle in his hair, a soft grunt leaving him as he dove in deeper. His tongue swirled around your entrance, dipping inside every once in a while as a quiet hum vibrated against you. He kept up his agonizingly slow pace on your clit with his thumb, savoring that way you tasted on his tongue.

Soon, though, San needed more of you. He needed to see you squirm more, hear you moan just for him. He pulled you even closer to the edge of the booth, another grunt leaving him as he had to pull his face away for a moment. He hoisted your legs up onto his broad shoulders, instantly attaching his lips to your clit, kissing it softly before sucking it. 

A thick finger found its way inside of you, knuckle deep and wriggling. You squirmed, unable to hold back your noises. Even with just one finger, he filled you up better than you’d ever been before. He added a second finger a moment later, getting familiar with your body inside and out. Scissoring his fingers, he stretched your pussy out, mumbling something about how perfect it was.

“Fuck, San, even your fingers are big,” you slurred, back arching up in the air. San answered with another hum against your pussy, one you could tell was a shy giggle. He curled his fingers, letting his lips pulse around your clit now that he could tell you would finish soon. He slowed his pace down for a second, lifting his head to look up at you.

“You wanna cum? Want Sannie to make you cum?” He asked with a condescending pout, mirroring the one on your own lips. You nodded fervently, but it wasn’t enough for San.

“Gotta hear you say it, angel,” He furthered, eyes darkening as he held back another sly smile. You whined, kicking your legs gently. San tutted, swatting your thigh gently, “Don’t be so stubborn. Just tell Sannie.”

“Please, San, make me cum. Wanna cum all over your tongue,” you relented, hips bucking back up towards San’s face, nudging his chin against your clit. San cooed gently before diving back in. Lapping at your hole, he circled your clit relentlessly with his thumb. He wasn’t going to let you cum anywhere but his tongue.

It didn’t take long for you to do just what you’d asked for. Suddenly, your entire body began to tingle, radiating from the place between your thighs. Your toes curled and your knees tried to squeeze together, locking San’s head in place so that he could lap up every last bit of your essence that was flowing out of you. He made sure he got every last bit, taking his time to lick and kiss every last part of your slick, throbbing cunt.

Eventually, he pried your legs open and helped you sit up, smiling hard at your flushed out face. He swiped his chin with his thumb, bringing it up to his lips before licking off that last bit of you. He sighed, “Could live in that little hole forever, baby.”

You blushed gently, turning away from him shyly, prompting him to sit next to you. He grabbed you by your waist, pulling you onto his lap so your back was flush against his chest. “Hey, you can’t get all shy on me now. Where’s the feisty girl I know, hm?”

“How could I be mean after you just did that to me,” you pouted, making San laugh. 

“You’re always mean to me,” he told you dramatically, grabbing your chin and turning your face towards his. Carefully, he grinded his hips up so that you could feel how hard he was. And he was. Just the taste of you had San throbbing, and the only reason he let you cum so quickly was so that he didn’t cum in his own pants. 

You gasped softly, feeling San’s cock pulsing against your ass, then again when his thick fingers began circling your clit again. He rested his chin on your shoulder, speaking so softly into your ear, “And what’s really mean is how you made me so hard, I almost came from how good you tasted. You wouldn’t leave me like this, right, baby?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and turning around in San’s lap. His hands went straight to your ass, cupping it and pulling you down to grind against the tent in his pants. Your eyebrows furrowed gently as your hips moved back and forth on him, concentrated huffs falling from your tongue.

“Greedy girl,” he teased, nudging your jaw with the side of his head gently, “you want my cock in you?”

You nodded, pouting at him, “Please, San. Need you in me bad.”

San just laughed, guiding your hands to unzip his pants. He lowered his voice, looking down at where your crotches met, “Alright, you can have it. But, you gotta do the work now. You really tired me out there before.”

You whined again, this time out of pure exhilaration. Wasting no time, you unzipped San’s fly, yanking down his pants and boxers as best as you could. His cock sprung out, hard and red, begging you to take it.

But first, you giggled mischievously as you gave it a few pumps, enjoying its weight in your hand. San groaned, throwing his head back and cursing under his breath. It didn’t take long for him to grow impatient. He grabbed your waist and guided you to sit up better, right above his manhood.

You moved your hips around just to antagonize San as he’d done to you so many times. He let out a frustrated groan, burying his face against your neck yet again, kissing it softly as he pleaded, “Cmon, baby, don’t make me crazy here.”

“Wanted this for so long, Sannie,” you breathed out as you finally sunk down on him, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. San chuckled, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I know, baby, read all about it,” he smirked, that smug look on his face melting into a lovesick smile as you swatted at his chest. He couldn’t help but suck another bruise into the side of your neck before chiding, “Just teasing you, been thinkin’ about this for a while, too.”

He rutted up into you, hungry and needy, filling your slick heat completely. Your body twitched with each thrust, languid and deep, San’s silent confession. He was savoring his meal, taking it slowly and enjoying it wholly.

The only sound in the room was that of skin on skin, San’s hips snapping up into yours. He knew just the spot to hit inside of you. You cried out in pleasure, prompting San to speed up. The two of you, hungry and desperate to cum, moved together in a near perfect harmony. 

“Fuck, this pussy was made for me,” San stuttered, trying to keep himself inside you, but it was hard with your bouncing and his thrusts, not to mention the wetness you spilled each time he left your body for a moment. San grunted in your ear, biting down on your shoulder a moment later. He was close. It didn’t help that everytime he thrusted up into you, you let out the sweetest sounds. San wanted to listen to them all the time, but even the thought of doing this again with you made him harder. 

Honestly, his cock kept getting harder with each second it spent inside you. You were so warm, so tight. San was normally a patient man, but it was hard to take his time with you.

You couldn’t be helped either. As soon as he sunk his teeth into you, you came all over him. Wetness poured out of your cunt, coating San as you cried out his name. He followed suit soon afterwards, pulling out and cumming on your thigh. Quickly, San pulled you into a hug, still heaving as a big hand came up to cradle your head. 

For a few minutes, the two of you sat together, your form still tucked into San’s warm embrace as he rocked you back and forth. You both tried to regain your breath, but every little touch made either one of you gasp softly before you turned your head the other way, embarrassingly lovesick. 

San was warm, physically and figuratively. Sweat dripped off his forehead and fell onto yours, but you couldn’t care less if it meant being held by him. It was strong, secure, surreal… it was everything you had written about before. There were days when all you needed was a firm hug, to be held without the fear of falling, somewhere warm and safe. San was all of that, and you could feel it now. It wasn’t just something you wrote about anymore. It was real.

San noticed the face you made when you were thinking and his heart rate picked up. Was it not good? Did he disappoint you? He nudged your head with his shoulder, pouting, “What’s wrong? Was it not good?”

“What? No! It was amazing, I just… I like you a lot. And I like that I don’t have to imagine things anymore… Well, that is if you want to continue this,” you trailed off, blabbering embarrassedly. Maybe all he wanted was a hookup. Uneasiness settled into your features while amusement settled into San’s.

“Silly girl,” he scoffed, enamored by everything you were, “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

Your eyebrows shot up and your heart fluttered. You were never one to get so worked up so easily, but San had a way of making it happen. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you mirrored, acting coy now. San cupped your face, dimples on full display as he smiled at you, meeting your gaze. He leaned in and gave you his first real kiss of the night. Your lips molded together perfectly, San’s tongue swiping across your lower lip occasionally. You felt his warm cheeks against yours, which made you giggle sweetly. San’s heart melted.

The boy pulled away a moment later, letting his forehead rest against yours, “Does that answer your question, baby?”

You snorted in response, shaking your head bashfully. You wanted to hear him say it. San rolled his eyes in response, his hands moving down your back to rest on either side of your ass. Still, he smiled and whispered, “Yes, I want to be your boyfriend.”

You sighed sweetly, unable to hold back the big smile on your face. San delivered a little spank to your ass, playful and teasing, “Happy now?”

You nodded, allowing a little squeal of excitement to leave you. “Very happy, Sannie. Very happy,” you whispered back, laying your head on his shoulder to look around the dark diner. 

Just then, your eyes spotted a little red light up in the corner of the diner, seemingly connected to a security camera. You jumped, whisper yelling at San, “Fuck! Fuck, the cameras, San!”

San jumped as soon as you did, following your gaze up to the security camera. He mirrored your panic for just a moment before pulling you further into the booth, pulling his jacket off to cover up your still bare bottom half. 

And just as you thought you were going to have a heart attack, San laughed, and somehow, the uneasiness melted away. He ruffled your hair playfully, moving you off his lap and onto the seat before zipping his pants back up. He stood up, leaning down to your level, “I'll go take care of it, honey. Just clean up and get dressed. And finish your shake,” he told you, motioning to the table where your half empty, half melted chocolate shake sat.

But as soon as he turned around, he turned back and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before scurrying off to the office, ready to delete the footage. You couldn’t help but smile knowing San would take care of it. What a dream boy.