#* situation {great. more bullshit.} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

callikari · 3 months ago

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THE TUTOR —LEE HEESEUNG ᝰ.ᐟ ˎˊ˗

SYNOPSIS — being a broke college student meant doing whatever it took to survive, even if that meant lying your way into a tutoring gig you weren’t qualified for. when lee heeseung, campus golden boy and star athlete, mistook you for his assigned tutor, you saw an opportunity—he was willing to pay, and you needed the money. easy cash, right? except there was one problem: he was already acing the class. turns out, he just wanted an excuse to spend time with you. now, you’re stuck in a fake tutoring arrangement, trying (and failing) to convince yourself that his dumb little smirks and unnecessary close proximity aren’t affecting you.

PAIRING — lee heeseung x broke-college-student-fem!reader (ft. enhypen, yunjin & eunchae from le sserafim, wonyoung from ive)

GENRE(S) — written, college au, fake tutor au, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, comedy, and slight crack.

WARNING(S) — swearing, broke student struggles, scamming (for survival purposes), heeseung being an annoying flirt, your friends clowning you, lots of academic bullshitting, and mild secondhand embarrassment.

WORDCOUNT — 10k

you had no idea how you ended up in this situation. honestly, you were just a broke college student trying to make some extra cash by tutoring, and now you were stuck in a "mess" of a situation with lee heeseung—campus golden boy, star athlete, and the last person you thought you'd end up spending this much time with.

it all started in the library, where you had been buried under a mountain of textbooks and assignments. you were just minding your own business, trying to squeeze in as much studying as you could before the next exam, when heeseung walked up to you with a confused look on his face.

"hey, are you my tutor?" he asked, looking at you like you were the answer to his prayers.

you blinked. “your tutor?”

“yeah, you’re supposed to help me with my chemistry class, right?” he said, pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper.

the paper had your name on it. assigned tutor.

you looked at him for a long second, unsure how to respond. in that moment, your brain made a split-second decision.

no, this wasn’t right. you weren’t his tutor.

but then again, you were broke. and he was paying.

so, instead of correcting him, you smiled and said, “yep. that’s me.”

heeseung grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “great! let’s get started, then.”

you immediately regretted your decision.

and so, here you were.

heeseung was the "last" person you expected to be in your tutoring group. you knew his type—popular, charismatic, and completely "unbothered" by anything that had to do with studying. you weren’t even sure how he managed to get into college in the first place with his terrible grades.

he sat down across from you, all smiles, like he didn’t have a care in the world. meanwhile, you were scrambling to figure out how to get him to actually pay attention to what you were saying. you’d barely gotten into your lesson before he started yawning.

“is this really necessary?” he asked, his tone light and lazy.

you glanced up, trying your best to suppress a frustrated sigh. “yes, heeseung. chemistry is a requirement for your major.”

he looked at you, completely unfazed. “i’m pretty sure i can just ask my tutor to give me the answers.”

you stared at him, blinking. “i *am* your tutor.”

he smirked. “well, then you’re not doing a very good job.”

you couldn’t help the way your eyebrow twitched at his words. why was this so difficult?

the more you tried to get him focused, the more distracted he became. you found yourself flipping through the textbook and pointing out formulas that made sense to you, while he sat back and played with his pen. his lack of attention was grating on your nerves, but you refused to let him see how annoyed you were.

“heeseung, focus. we need to finish this chapter today,” you said through clenched teeth.

he glanced up at you lazily, a playful grin forming on his lips. “you’re kind of cute when you’re serious.”

you froze. "what?" you couldn’t even process the words. sure, you knew he was a flirt, but hearing him say that made your heart skip a beat. you swallowed, trying to shake it off. this was heeseung, after all. you couldn’t let him get under your skin.

he leaned forward, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. “i’ll try my best, tutor,” he teased, his voice dropping into a teasing tone.

you gave him a tight smile, trying to regain control of the situation. “let’s get to work.”

it was incredible how little heeseung actually knew about chemistry. each time you tried to explain a concept, he’d stare at you like you were speaking a foreign language. but it wasn’t just that—he was charming in the most infuriating way. his innocent questions and half-smiles made you question your focus. you had to admit, the guy was cute, and his charm was practically endless.

“so, like, what does this even do?” he asked, pointing to the periodic table in front of you.

you tried your best to stay professional, keeping your voice as calm as possible. “this is the atomic structure. see, each element has its own number of protons, neutrons, and electrons. you need to understand the structure in order to comprehend chemical reactions.”

heeseung nodded as if he understood, but the amused glint in his eyes told you otherwise. “right, right. so, can we just…skip this and get to the part where you help me ace the exam?” he asked, his grin wide.

“heeseung,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “we need to understand the basics first. there’s no way you’ll get through the exam without knowing this.”

he just tilted his head to the side, his hair falling perfectly around his face. “but you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

your eyes widened in disbelief, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. “stop distracting me. focus on the material,” you snapped, though you could feel your face heating up despite your best efforts to remain composed.

it was a constant cycle of distractions, laughter, and trying to drag him back into the lesson. every time you thought you’d made progress, he’d throw you off course with a casual comment or a playful smirk. it felt like you were running in circles.

the more time you spent with heeseung, the more you started to notice things about him. little things. like how he’d always brush his hair out of his eyes when he was concentrating—well, pretending to concentrate, anyway. or how his smile could light up the entire room, even when he was clearly being a little brat.

it was a slow burn, but you were starting to realize that heeseung wasn’t just the charming golden boy you thought he was. yeah, he was annoying as hell, but there was something more beneath the surface. he was smart—really smart, when he put his mind to it. you’d seen it when he actually listened to what you were saying. it was frustrating, to say the least. here you were, trying to keep him focused, but at the same time, you were starting to feel a little… distracted yourself.

“okay, okay,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head in a relaxed posture. “i think i’m getting it.”

“really?” you asked, eyebrows raised. “you understand how to balance chemical equations now?”

he shrugged. “more or less. but honestly, i think i’d understand better if you gave me some extra help.”

you crossed your arms, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “extra help?” you repeated, your voice a little too sarcastic for your liking.

he leaned forward again, a devilish grin curling on his lips. “yeah. like, you know, help outside of studying. maybe, we could—” he broke off when he saw the look on your face.

“no,” you said flatly.

“aww, come on,” he teased, his grin only widening. “what are you so afraid of?”

you felt your heart skip a beat, but you pushed it down. “nothing. i’m not afraid of anything,” you muttered, turning your attention back to your notes.

he leaned back again, clearly entertained by your reaction. “you know, you’re not as tough as you think.”

you didn’t know if you should laugh or just throw something at him. instead, you went with a fake smile. “don’t flatter yourself.”

he just laughed. “hey, no need to be so harsh. i’m just trying to help.”

“you’re trying to distract me,” you shot back.

“well, it’s working.”

the next time you met with heeseung for tutoring, something felt different. maybe it was the way he greeted you, with a casual “hey, ready to teach me something new today?” or maybe it was the way his usual teasing seemed to have softened. whatever it was, it made you more aware of how much you were starting to look forward to these sessions.

“we’re going over reactions today,” you said, trying to focus. “this is where things get a little trickier, but you can handle it, right?”

heeseung flashed you a grin, already making himself comfortable in his chair. “i’m ready. as long as you’re not as serious as last time.”

you shot him a look. “i’m always serious.”

he winked at you, and you couldn’t help but sigh. “seriously, though, pay attention.”

he was paying attention—or at least, he was pretending to. as you began explaining the basics of chemical reactions, you noticed how he watched you. his usual playful glint in his eyes was still there, but there was something else now—something more sincere. heeseung wasn’t just here to mess around. he was actually trying, and it threw you off.

“so, what happens when—” you stopped mid-sentence, realizing he wasn’t just looking at you but listening.

“when an element reacts with another, the atoms rearrange to form a compound,” he finished for you.

you blinked, surprised. ��wait. you actually got that right?”

heeseung leaned back, a smug look on his face. “of course. i’m not a total idiot, you know.”

“well, you’ve been acting like one lately,” you shot back, but even you could hear the hint of affection in your voice.

heeseung’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, the playful energy between you two seemed to fade. “guess I’m not as bad as you thought.”

you weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you focused back on your notes. “let’s just get through this, okay?”

heeseung’s grin returned, but now, there was a sense of warmth behind it. “yeah. we’ll make a great team.”

you weren’t sure why, but those words made your heart race.

the sessions with heeseung weren’t just about chemistry anymore. they were about you and him. the more time you spent with him, the more you realized how much he liked to poke fun at you. but at the same time, he made you feel like you actually mattered. and god, that was frustrating. you were supposed to be the one in control here—not him.

so when he slid into the seat next to you one afternoon, throwing an arm across the back of your chair, you couldn’t help but feel a little too aware of him.

“ready to learn?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

you tried to act unaffected, but there was a tightness in your chest that you couldn’t ignore. “we’re not here to talk about my learning skills, heeseung,” you said coolly, flipping open your notes.

he leaned closer, his voice lowering in that teasing way that always seemed to get under your skin. “you know, if you weren’t so good at teaching, i’d probably just be failing by now.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you say that now, but you wouldn’t even be passing if you weren’t such a good student,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

heeseung chuckled, clearly unfazed. “oh, so you admit it? i’m actually a great student.”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “don’t flatter yourself.”

he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “i think you like it when i flatter myself.”

you rolled your eyes. “no, i think you’re insufferable.”

but even as you said it, you couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

the silence stretched for a moment, and for once, heeseung didn’t say anything. he just looked at you, like he was trying to figure you out.

you hated how that made your stomach twist.

“you really don’t like me, do you?” he finally asked, his voice quieter than usual.

the question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. sure, you hated his teasing and his constant jokes, but something about him made you want to keep going. to keep being with him.

“i don’t know,” you said slowly. “maybe i do. maybe i don’t. you’re a pain.”

heeseung’s grin softened, his eyes narrowing playfully. “i think you like me, just a little.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “don’t push your luck.”

he just laughed, clearly enjoying the way he was getting under your skin. “okay, okay. but i know i’m not as bad as you make me out to be.”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. because deep down, you knew he was right.

the next few days passed by in a blur, with your study sessions becoming more frequent. heeseung had somehow turned into someone you could tolerate way more than you were comfortable admitting. and yet, you still couldn’t bring yourself to like him completely. not in the way he seemed to want you to.

you were walking through the campus courtyard, lost in your own thoughts when you spotted him across the yard, laughing with a group of people. heeseung was a natural when it came to making friends, effortlessly charismatic and always in the center of attention. you hated how much that bothered you. it wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself. it was just the fact that you hated how easy it came to him.

as you walked past, you caught his eye, and his expression immediately shifted. he excused himself from his friends and jogged over to you, that cocky grin on his face.

“you’re staring at me again,” he teased, his tone light, but you could see the playful glint in his eyes.

you blinked, startled. “i was not.”

he raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “you were definitely staring at me.”

you cursed inwardly. of course he noticed. “i wasn’t staring. i was just—” you stopped, realizing you had no excuse.

“it’s fine,” he said, a smug look appearing on his face. “i kind of like it when you stare. makes me feel special.”

you shot him a look, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “don’t get ahead of yourself, heeseung. i was not staring. i just… got distracted. okay?”

heeseung just laughed, a low chuckle that sent a strange warmth flooding your chest. “sure, sure. whatever you say.”

you started walking again, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating a little faster. “i have to get to class,” you muttered, already feeling the awkwardness creeping in.

“i’ll walk with you,” he said, falling into step beside you without waiting for an answer. “might as well since i’m already here.”

“you really don’t take a hint, do you?” you teased, but the smile on your face betrayed your words.

heeseung shrugged casually. “nah, not really. i like to make my own rules.”

“clearly,” you muttered under your breath, still not used to how confident he was. it wasn’t just his charisma—it was the way he seemed so sure of himself around you. it was like he knew exactly what he was doing, and you had no idea how to handle it.

the walk to class was filled with small talk. lighthearted banter, the kind of stuff that made the air between you two feel almost normal—if you could call it that. normal, until he dropped the bombshell.

“so, do you ever think about… us?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, a little more serious than usual.

you stopped in your tracks, your heart racing. “what do you mean?”

heeseung turned to face you, his gaze softening. “i mean… do you think we’re getting along better now?”

you blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “i guess? i don’t know. it’s… weird.”

“yeah, i get it. it’s weird for me too,” he admitted, looking down for a moment. then, as if trying to lighten the mood, he added, “but i’m kinda enjoying it.”

you frowned. “enjoying what? our bickering?”

heeseung smirked. “well, yeah. i mean, it’s fun, isn’t it? but… i also like the times when we don’t fight. when it’s just us, talking.”

you were quiet for a moment, your mind racing. could it be? could he really be saying what you thought he was saying?

“heeseung, you’re impossible,” you muttered, though your heart was beating faster now. maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

heeseung stepped closer, that signature cocky grin back on his face. “maybe, but you still like me.”

the following week, your study sessions with heeseung took a sudden turn. instead of the usual quiet library dates, he started dragging you around campus, making you go to random spots to “study.” sometimes it was by the fountain, sometimes near the campus cafe, and once, he even convinced you to sit in the middle of the quad in the grass—in the middle of the day, no less.

“are you sure this is productive?” you asked skeptically, looking around at all the students walking by. the noise was borderline unbearable.

heeseung, however, seemed completely unbothered. he had his headphones in, typing away on his phone, clearly in his own world. “the point of studying is being comfortable. if you’re uncomfortable, you won’t focus. so relax.”

you sighed, dropping your bag onto the grass beside you and following his lead. you hadn’t expected him to turn into this “study guru” who somehow knew all the right ways to study. but maybe it worked. you couldn’t deny that it made you focus better.

“okay, so what are we even doing?” you asked, still unsure how you were supposed to study in the middle of a bustling campus.

heeseung smirked, pulling out a notebook. “well, i figured you could help me with my notes. i’m clearly struggling,” he said with mock sincerity, even though he knew you were the one who had been tutoring him.

you gave him a deadpan look. “struggling, huh? sure. if you say so.”

heeseung flipped the notebook open to a page full of notes and highlighted passages. “help me go over this. i need to make sure i don’t bomb the next quiz.”

as you went over the material with him, you couldn’t help but notice that he was more… attentive than usual. it wasn’t just that he was asking you to explain things. he was genuinely trying to understand. and for once, you weren’t frustrated with him. you found yourself getting lost in the work and even… enjoying the way he listened intently, his focus entirely on what you were saying.

but just as you were getting comfortable, your friend group walked by, and of course, they had to notice you and heeseung sitting together.

“oh, look at this,” yujin teased, clearly amused. “the two study buddies are actually… studying?”

“what are you doing here?” you groaned, trying to hide the slight flush creeping up your neck.

“we’re just passing by,” wonyoung said innocently, but the smirk on her face betrayed her true intentions. she was way too into the idea of you and heeseung spending time together.

“don’t act like you weren’t just checking on us,” heeseung added, eyes twinkling. “you know, we’re not that interesting.”

“oh, we know,” yujin said with a wink. “we just came to make sure you weren’t actually getting along. because we all know you two are at each other’s throats most of the time.”

you groaned, throwing your head back in exasperation. “please, not you guys too.”

wonyoung sat down beside you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “sooo, tell me, how’s the heeseung tutoring going?” she grinned at you, clearly enjoying the chaos she was about to cause.

you shot her a glare. “heeseung is actually doing fine. for once.” you shot him a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t about to do something dumb.

heeseung, however, seemed unfazed. “yeah, i think i’m doing great. i’m just… naturally brilliant,” he said, giving you a mischievous look.

yujin laughed. “oh, right. naturally brilliant. that’s why you needed help in the first place.”

“you’re one to talk, yujin,” you shot back. “how’s your chemistry grade going, huh?”

wonyoung gave a dramatic gasp. “oh no, not the chemistry card,” she said, making a show of clutching her chest. “you didn’t just do that.”

heeseung grinned. “looks like i’m not the only one who’s got an ego problem.”

you rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t help but laugh along with them. there was something about being surrounded by your friends, even if they were shamelessly teasing you, that felt… nice.

it wasn’t long before the teasing died down, and your friends eventually decided to go grab some lunch. but before they left, wonyoung gave you a knowing smile. “we’ll leave you two alone. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!”

“what?” you exclaimed, almost choking on your own laughter.

yujin threw a wink in your direction. “you know exactly what we mean.”

once they were gone, heeseung looked at you with an unreadable expression. “well, that was… something.”

you blinked, feeling the weight of the moment. it was the first time you felt like it was just the two of you—no teasing, no interruptions. just… him.

“yeah, it was,” you said, clearing your throat. “but, uh, we’re still studying. right?”

heeseung nodded, his usual smirk returning. “yeah, yeah. but… maybe later, we can have a proper study date.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for the first time in forever, you didn’t feel the need to push him away. maybe—just maybe—you were starting to like this whole study partnership.

the next day, heeseung texted you a little earlier than usual. it wasn’t a huge surprise—he had developed a habit of doing that, whether it was to talk about studying or to joke around. but this time, the message was different.

heeseung: “hey, i was thinking about how much you need a study break. how about we grab lunch later?”

you: “seriously? i’m not a workaholic like you. i do know how to take breaks.”

heeseung: “i beg to differ. you’ve been glued to those books for hours. i can’t let that happen. lunch at 12?”

you stared at the message for a second. it was true that you’d been spending a little too much time with your nose buried in textbooks, but you hadn’t realized anyone was paying attention to it. you thought for a moment, then typed a response.

you: “fine. you win. lunch it is.”

at lunch, the campus was bustling with students, and as usual, heeseung had picked the most random spot to meet up: the food court. it was packed with people from different clubs and groups, but you didn’t mind it. somehow, even in the chaos, you felt like it was just the two of you. heeseung sat across from you, grinning from ear to ear.

“so, what’s on your mind today?” he asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

you narrowed your eyes at him. “don’t act like you’re not just using this lunch break to drag me away from studying.”

he chuckled. “okay, okay. maybe i am. but it’s for your own good.”

before you could respond, your friends walked by—yujin, wonyoung, and hong eunchae, all heading toward the smoothie stand.

“oh, look at that,” yujin said loudly. “the lovebirds are having lunch.”

“yujin, shut up,” you groaned, sinking into your seat in embarrassment. “why do you guys always have to tease?”

“it’s fun,” wonyoung said, winking at you both. “you two are adorable. i’m just waiting for the day when you admit you like each other.”

you shot wonyoung a look. “it’s not like that,” you muttered, but even you could hear the slight hesitation in your voice.

heeseung, ever the tease, smirked. “oh? but wouldn’t it be interesting if it was like that?”

your friends took a seat at the table next to yours, but the teasing didn’t stop there. eunchae chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. “oh my god, it’s so obvious. look at the way you two look at each other.”

you groaned and hid your face in your hands, while heeseung, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying this attention.

“we’re literally just studying partners,” you insisted, trying to keep your voice steady.

“uh huh, sure,” wonyoung said, not believing you for a second. “you’re totally just ‘study buddies.’”

heeseung laughed, nudging you playfully. “what, do you think we’re some sort of study machine? we’ve got to eat sometime, you know.”

“that’s not what i’m saying,” you said, trying your best to ignore your blushing cheeks. “it’s not like we have feelings for each other.”

yujin shot you a teasing glance. “whatever you say, y/n. we’ll see about that.”

as the conversation continued, you tried to focus on your lunch, but you couldn’t help feeling a little flustered. your friends were relentless, and you couldn’t escape their teasing. at some point, heeseung nudged you again, this time a little more seriously.

“don’t let them get to you,” he said quietly, his voice soft.

you looked up at him in surprise. “what?”

“i can see how uncomfortable you are. don’t let them mess with your head. we’re just friends. study partners,” he emphasized the words with a wink, making you laugh.

“right,” you said, finally feeling a little better. maybe heeseung wasn’t just teasing. maybe, he actually understood how awkward this whole thing was.

just then, yujin raised her eyebrows. “wait, wait. friends? no, no, no. you two have definitely been spending a little too much time together for it to be just that.”

you sighed and rolled your eyes. “can you all just stop?”

eunchae, still grinning, leaned in a little too close. “oh, but y/n, we can’t. you two are like a soap opera waiting to happen. all this sexual tension is just begging for a plot twist.”

you almost choked on your food, while heeseung, to his credit, just grinned. “you know what they say, though. you can’t fight chemistry.”

“heeseung, shut up,” you said quickly, shaking your head.

the rest of the lunch went on with the teasing, but by the end of it, you couldn’t deny that you were starting to enjoy it. the teasing wasn’t as annoying as it used to be. if anything, it was starting to feel… normal. maybe you were beginning to feel more comfortable with heeseung than you thought.

as you all headed back to campus, you couldn’t shake off the idea of what your friends had said. maybe they were right. maybe there was something more going on between you and heeseung than just studying. but that thought left you with one burning question:

did he feel the same?

after lunch, you tried to shake off your friends’ words, but their teasing lingered in your mind longer than you wanted to admit.

you two are like a soap opera waiting to happen.

all this sexual tension is just begging for a plot twist.

they were just messing with you… right? there was nothing going on between you and heeseung. sure, he had become one of the people you spent the most time with lately, but that didn’t mean anything. it was just studying. and occasional banter. and… him noticing when you needed a break.

ugh. this was so annoying.

before you could spiral further, your phone buzzed with a text.

heeseung: “you free later? study session part 12938?”

you rolled your eyes but smiled.

you: “more like part 20. but yeah, sure.”

heeseung: “great. library, usual spot. i’ll bring snacks. you bring your brain.”

you: “you make it sound like i don’t have one.”

heeseung: “well, you keep denying your obvious crush on me, so i’m starting to wonder.”

you: “EXCUSE ME?”

heeseung: “relax, i’m kidding. unless…?”

you: “don’t even start.”

heeseung: “lmao, see you later, study buddy.”

you groaned, flopping onto your bed. why did he always have to tease you like that? and why did it get under your skin so much?

later that evening, you met heeseung at the library, as planned. as soon as you sat down, he slid a chocolate bar across the table toward you.

“peace offering,” he said with a smirk.

you eyed him suspiciously but unwrapped it anyway. “what are you apologizing for?”

“for making you flustered earlier,” he said casually, flipping open his notebook.

you nearly choked on your chocolate. “i was not flustered.”

he looked up, raising an eyebrow. “sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

you glared at him but decided to drop it. you were not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you react. instead, you focused on studying.

for the next hour, you two actually managed to get some work done—well, mostly.

“y/n, you’ve been staring at the same page for five minutes,” heeseung said, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

you blinked. “huh?”

“see? you’re totally distracted. are you thinking about something?” he teased, resting his chin on his hand.

“no,” you said quickly, flipping the page for dramatic effect. “just… taking in the information.”

he smirked. “taking in information or taking in me?”

“heeseung, i swear—”

before you could finish, a voice interrupted.

“oh? is this a date or a study session?”

you turned to see sunghoon and jake standing nearby, both of them looking way too amused.

“neither,” you said flatly. “why are you guys even here?”

“because watching you two is peak entertainment,” jake said, plopping down next to you. “heeseung told us you’d be here, so we figured we’d stop by.”

“of course he did,” you muttered, shooting a glare at heeseung, who only grinned in response.

“so, when’s the wedding?” sunghoon asked, completely serious.

“i hate all of you,” you said, covering your face with your hands.

heeseung chuckled. “c’mon, guys, don’t scare y/n off. they still have to help me pass this class.”

“ah, right,” jake said, nodding. “but after that, you’ll confess, yeah?”

you gaped at him. “why would you assume that?”

sunghoon smirked. “because it’s obvious.”

you groaned. “can we please just study?”

heeseung leaned closer, his voice low so only you could hear. “aw, do i make you nervous?”

you shot him a look. “you wish.”

but the truth was… maybe he did. just a little. and you weren’t sure what to do about that.

for the next few days, you did your best to ignore the way heeseung had somehow weaseled his way into your daily routine. between studying, running into him on campus, and your friends’ constant teasing, it was like the universe was forcing you to acknowledge… whatever this was.

but you weren’t giving in. absolutely not.

until one night, when everything changed.

you were sitting outside your dorm building, scrolling through your phone and attempting to unwind from a long day, when heeseung plopped down next to you, startling you.

“what the hell—”

“hey,” he said, completely unfazed by your reaction. “what are you doing out here alone?”

“thinking about how much better my life would be if you stopped showing up everywhere i go,” you deadpanned.

heeseung clutched his chest dramatically. “ouch. and here i was, about to offer you a ride to the late-night diner.”

you paused. “…there’s a late-night diner?”

he smirked. “yes. and i know you haven’t eaten because i know your study habits by now.”

you rolled your eyes. “so what, you’re my personal meal tracker now?”

he stood up, holding out a hand. “just shut up and come with me.”

against your better judgment, you took his hand.

the diner was small, dimly lit, and surprisingly cozy. the kind of place you could see yourself spending hours in without realizing it. heeseung led you to a booth and, without asking, ordered milkshakes for both of you.

“what if i didn’t want a milkshake?” you challenged.

“please, you love milkshakes,” he shot back.

you narrowed your eyes. “…how do you know that?”

he shrugged. “i pay attention.”

you hated the way your stomach flipped at that.

as the night went on, you found yourself forgetting about your usual arguments. talking with heeseung felt easy—annoying at times, but effortless. he told you stories about his childhood, his dumbest mistakes, and his dreams of doing something meaningful after graduation. you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks.

and then, as you were finishing your milkshake, he looked at you and said, “y’know, i like this.”

“like what?”

“hanging out with you. without all the arguing.”

you blinked. “you like hanging out with me?”

heeseung scoffed. “wow, don’t look so surprised. i do have a heart.”

“questionable,” you muttered, though you felt your face heat up.

he grinned. “but seriously. this is nice.”

you hesitated before nodding. “…yeah. it is.”

there was a beat of silence. then, because you apparently hated peace, you blurted, “but you’re still annoying.”

heeseung laughed, shaking his head. “god, you’re impossible.”

but he didn’t let go of the straw he had been absentmindedly playing with. and neither did you.

you didn’t know what was more shocking: the fact that you willingly spent an entire night with heeseung without plotting his downfall, or the fact that you actually enjoyed it.

either way, you refused to dwell on it.

the next morning, you convinced yourself it was just the exhaustion talking. a momentary lapse in judgment. surely, once you saw him again, he’d go right back to being the most irritating person on campus.

except… he didn’t.

instead, you found yourself sitting next to him in class, sharing your notes like it was the most natural thing in the world. instead of snide remarks, he shot you small, amused glances when you got frustrated over an assignment. instead of ignoring each other in the library, he casually placed an extra coffee next to your laptop, muttering, “you looked half-dead, figured you needed this.”

and instead of feeling annoyed, you felt… something else. something dangerous.

“you’ve been real quiet lately,” jay commented as he sat across from you in the student lounge.

you blinked up at him. “what?”

“you and heeseung. where’s all the fighting? the dramatic, public arguments? i feel like i’m watching the downfall of an iconic rivalry.”

you scoffed. “don’t be ridiculous. we still argue.”

jay raised an eyebrow. “really? because from what i’ve seen, you guys are, like… flirting now.”

you nearly choked on your drink. “excuse me? flirting?”

“yeah. all the ‘oh my god, you’re so annoying’ and ‘ugh, i hate you’ shit?” jay smirked. “that’s flirting.”

“fuck off,” you muttered, kicking his shin under the table.

jay yelped, but his grin didn’t waver. “hey, i’m just saying—if you ever need a best man at the wedding, i’m available.”

“i’m going to kill you.”

“damn, first-degree murder? sounds like love to me.”

before you could launch a full-blown attack, your phone buzzed. you glanced at the screen. heeseung.

heeseung [1:07 PM]: library in 10? i found something that might help with your paper

you stared at the message a little too long.

jay leaned over, reading it before you could stop him. “oh my god.”

“shut up,” you snapped, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the floor.

jay watched you with an infuriatingly smug expression. “you’re so fucked.”

you flipped him off before walking away.

the library was quiet when you arrived, but you spotted heeseung immediately. he was leaning back in his chair, one hand flipping through a book, the other twirling a pen between his fingers.

you hesitated before walking over. “hey.”

he glanced up, smiling slightly. “you’re late.”

“by two minutes.”

“yeah. unacceptable.”

you rolled your eyes, plopping into the chair across from him. “you said you found something for my paper?”

he slid a book toward you. “this has a whole section on your topic. figured it might save you some time.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re being suspiciously helpful.”

“don’t get used to it,” he teased. “i like seeing you suffer, but i love proving that i’m smarter than you.”

“asshole,” you muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

heeseung just grinned.

and maybe jay was right. maybe you were so fucked.

if someone had told you six months ago that you’d willingly spend your free time with lee heeseung, you would’ve laughed in their face. maybe even fought them. but now? now you were waiting for him outside the library, scrolling mindlessly through your phone while he finished up an assignment.

this was getting out of hand.

"hey.”

you looked up to see heeseung walking toward you, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“took you long enough,” you muttered, shoving your phone into your pocket.

“relax, i was being productive,” he said, smirking. “you should try it sometime.”

“fuck you.”

“you wish.”

you scoffed, ignoring the way your stomach flipped at his words.

heeseung fell into step beside you as you both started heading toward the dining hall. this was becoming a weird habit—getting food together, studying together, exchanging notes without bickering. it was normal. and that was the problem.

you had no idea when the rivalry had started to feel less like a battle and more like an excuse to talk to him.

you shook the thought away.

“you’re spacing out,” heeseung said, nudging your shoulder.

you shot him a glare. “am not.”

“are too.”

“i hate you.”

heeseung grinned. “no, you don’t.”

before you could argue, a voice called out.

“ohhh, what’s this?”

you both turned to see sunghoon, jake, and jungwon standing a few feet away, watching with matching expressions of mischief.

jake gasped dramatically. “is this civil conversation i’m witnessing?”

“no way,” jungwon added. “they’re walking together without trying to kill each other.”

sunghoon grinned. “i knew all that tension wasn’t just hatred.”

you groaned, rubbing your temples. “you guys are so fucking annoying.”

heeseung just sighed. “let’s go before they start a conspiracy theory.”

but it was too late, jake had already pulled out his phone.

“this is groundbreaking,” he said, pretending to type. “i need to update the gc.”

you groaned. “jake, i swear to god—”

heeseung, on the other hand, didn’t seem phased. “you guys need a hobby.”

“this is our hobby,” jungwon said smugly.

“oh, absolutely,” sunghoon agreed. “we live for drama.”

you shot heeseung a look, but he just sighed and grabbed your wrist. “come on.”

you barely had time to process the sudden contact before he was tugging you away, leaving the three of them cackling behind you.

he didn’t let go until you reached the dining hall.

you cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingled where he’d touched you. “well. that was mortifying.”

“they’re insufferable,” heeseung muttered.

“and yet, they have a point.”

he glanced at you. “which is?”

you hesitated. were you really about to bring this up?

fuck it.

“this whole thing,” you said, gesturing vaguely between you two. “it’s not… normal.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow. “what, us not wanting to kill each other?”

“yes! i mean—no! i mean…” you exhaled sharply. “don’t you think it’s weird? one minute we’re at each other’s throats, and now we’re just—”

“friends?” he offered.

your stomach twisted. you didn’t like that word. not because it wasn’t true, but because it didn’t feel like the whole truth.

“sure,” you said weakly. “friends.”

heeseung studied you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression.

then he said, “well, that’s boring.”

you blinked. “what?”

“friends?” he repeated, tilting his head. “that’s so underwhelming.”

your heart stuttered. “what—what do you mean?”

heeseung smirked. “i mean, we could be so much more interesting than that.”

you stared at him. your brain was short-circuiting.

he took a step closer, and suddenly, the space between you felt way too small. “unless… you’re scared?”

your breath hitched. “scared?”

heeseung leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “of what this could be.”

your brain stalled.

“scared?” you echoed. “of what this could be?”

heeseung just looked at you, waiting.

you let out a breathless laugh. “oh, please. do you even hear yourself?”

“perfectly,” he said, still smirking.

“you’re joking.”

“am i?”

you crossed your arms. “yes. obviously.”

heeseung tilted his head, like he was considering something. “huh.”

“what?”

“nothing. just… i didn’t think you’d be so dense.”

your jaw dropped. “excuse me?”

he shrugged. “i thought it was pretty obvious. i like you.”

your stomach flipped. your heart flipped. but your brain? your brain was malfunctioning.

you narrowed your eyes. “okay, very funny.”

“i’m not joking.”

“yes, you are.”

heeseung sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “why would i joke about this?”

“because this is what we do!” you gestured between you. “we mess with each other, we push each other’s buttons—this is just another game to you.”

heeseung exhaled sharply. “jesus, you really don’t get it.”

you frowned. “what is there to get?”

he gave you a look. “the fact that i genuinely like you, dumbass.”

your breath caught in your throat.

heeseung shook his head, almost frustrated. “do you think i’d just say this for fun? you piss me off like no one else, but you’re also the only person i actually want to be around. figure that out.”

you stared at him.

heeseung liked you. like, for real. like, not as a joke.

and you… you had spent the past five minutes laughing in his face.

fuck.

you were malfunctioning. actually, no—you were buffering. like a shitty internet connection that couldn’t load the page properly.

heeseung liked you. and instead of responding like a normal person, you had laughed in his face.

“heeseung,” you started, trying to find something to say. “i—”

“forget it.”

your stomach dropped. “wait, what?”

heeseung sighed, running a hand down his face. “look, if you don’t feel the same way, just say it. but don’t act like i’m joking just because you don’t want to deal with it.”

your throat went dry. “that’s not—”

“then what is it?”

he sounded tired. like he had finally run out of patience.

and it hit you, all at once.

you had spent so much time convincing yourself that this thing between you two was just rivalry—just banter and competition and winning—that you had completely ignored everything else.

how your heart always raced around him. how you always looked for him in a crowded room. how his approval meant way too much, how his insults stung just a little more, how he made you feel alive in a way no one else did.

you had been so sure that he was messing with you. because the alternative? the idea that he meant it? that was terrifying.

but now…

now you could see the way his shoulders were tense, like he was bracing himself. the way his hands were curled into fists, like he was trying to hold something in.

he wasn’t playing around.

he never was.

“heeseung,” you said, voice quieter now.

he didn’t say anything.

you took a step closer. “i’m sorry.”

his jaw tightened. “for what?”

“for acting like an idiot,” you admitted. “and for not realizing sooner.”

his eyes flicked up to yours, searching. “realizing what?”

you swallowed. “that i like you too.”

the words felt big. heavier than you expected. but at the same time, saying them felt like a weight lifting—like something settling into place.

heeseung blinked. his whole body went still.

then he exhaled a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “you are so fucking annoying.”

you rolled your eyes. “jesus, thank you, i was really hoping for that to be your first response—”

before you could finish, heeseung grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him, crashing his lips against yours.

it took you half a second to catch up, but once you did, you kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hoodie.

heeseung smiled against your lips. “took you long enough.”

you huffed. “shut up.”

he hummed, pulling back just enough to look at you. “make me.”

AUTHORS NOTE: wait i lowkey hate this IM SORRY IF ITS BAD

#kpop x reader #kpop #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen #enha #lee heeseung #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung #heeseung x reader #callikari

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midwesternorcprincess · 2 years ago

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fun side effect of being raised protestant but not seriously is that as a Germanicist i get to experience a lot of new testament stuff for the first time in Middle High German or in Gothic or some shit lol. weird how little protestants (in my experience) bother with that even though it seems like it should be like, spiritually or ideologically important to them. instead all they talked about was the same old testament greatest hits over and over and over. garden of eden, exodus, noah's ark. yeah yeah yeah, i've heard it all, got any new stories, thought 5 yr old me

so there are a lot of new testament stories i've heard ABOUT but didn't really know what was in them until i had to read and translate them from Gothic. i gotta say the parable of the prodigal son really got to me and in completely the opposite way than it was supposed to l o l. i got way too worked up about this and i think it may have made me grumpy this week. as the responsible elder sibling of a reckless wastrel younger sibling, i have to say the prodigal son's elder brother is RIGHT and he should say it. why SHOULD his idiot sibling get a prize for his dumbass decisions, while the good sibling gets nothing

#i'm so bitter at my sister i can hardly stand it #it's one thing if SHE wants to be a layabout and mooch off my parents who really can't afford it #but then she went and brought her fuckin boyfriend along to do it too #AND they went and had two kids knowing full well this was the situation #so fine have a fucking 4-person family mooching off of them #but then you're ALSO making all sorts of dumbass decisions to stress them out #fucking yelling at each other all the goddamn time #demanding EVERYTHING of my parents #constantly bringing in more fucking animals!!!!!!#you know who pays for and takes care of said animals? NOT THEM #my parents are stressed outta their goddamn minds #they're already not in great health #they've got my sister and co. leeching not just their money and space and peace of mind #but also their time from ME #nobody asked ME how i felt about never being able to see my parents because they have to take care of her bullshit #nobody asked me if i was ready to lose family vacations forever because there are too many people now #nobody asked me how i felt about having this whole part of my life just fucking ripped away from me #nobody asked me whether i approved of my sister sending my parents to an early grave

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juustokaku · 5 months ago

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Another load of Jealousy - Yunho x f!reader

Summary: Yunho isn't about to even entertain the idea of his girlfriend talking to another man. It doesn't matter how many loads of love, care, and cum it takes to make her remember that she is his and he is hers. Genre: smut (mdni!!!) Pairings: bf!Yunho x f!reader Tags/Warnings: SMUT MDNI, mean dom!yunho (kinda sweet after some time), sub!reader, fingering(?), penetration, unprotected sex, established relationship, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding kink, choking, bulge (lmk if something is missing, I have never done this) A/N: This is the 3rd smut I've ever written in my life... I haven't posted the first two since they were written a couple years ago and were bad, so I hope this is worth posting. The plot isn't anything great because this was mostly for trying to see what it's like to write smut and I didn't want to waste a good plot on this if this turned out bad LOLLL. So please, keep in mind that I've almost never written smut! Word count: 2 300 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If someone asked you if you loved Yunho, you’d answer ‘yes’ in a heartbeat. He was more than just a lover or a boyfriend; he was your worshipper, kissing the ground you walked on. And if someone asked you if you’d ever cheat on him, you’d give a firm ‘no’ and tell the person off. Although you wanted to make it clear to everyone you were Yunho’s girl because you loved him, it wasn’t the only reason to push people away. You’d be in big trouble if he started to consider the possibility of you holding affectionate feelings for anyone else than him.

“Baby, what are you doing? ~”

Despite Yunho’s needy tone and presence next to you on the couch, you couldn’t tear your gaze off of your phone.

“Wait a second, Yuyu,” you murmured.

He watched as your fingers tap-danced on the small screen, obviously writing a message to someone. Someone who was robbing him of your attention. Your eyes reflected the light coming from the phone screen but Yunho’s eyes shone with something else. He was getting frustrated.

“Please, I’m lonely,” he whined, his hand creeping up on your thigh, trying to go unnoticed yet wanting desperately for you to pay attention to him.

Still, you didn’t even glance at him. It was subtle but Yunho noticed how you tried to hide your phone screen, leaning away ever so slightly.

The longer your attention was on the mysterious person you were talking to, the angrier Yunho became.

You felt him squeeze your thigh, silently demanding you to finally look at him in the eyes. It was a final warning. Only when his long fingers dug onto your inner thigh, you turned to face him.

“Who are you talking to?”

Yunho’s icy voice shouldn’t have surprised you – this was nothing new, given his possessive nature. And like always, while it made you nervous, it also caused your pussy to clench around nothing. You couldn’t help but get horny when he looked like he’d devour you any second now.

“Just work stuff,” you murmured, taking a glance at his hand. No matter how many times his beautiful fingers had been inside you, reaching the deepest, sweetest spots, you just couldn’t get enough.

“At this hour? That’s bullshit.”

While Yunho’s eyes were cold, they were undeniably burning with both fury and lust. You knew the look way too well just like he knew your body.

“I’m friends with him so I feel comfortable texting him even in the evening. It’s just about a work project.”

“Him?” Yunho’s eyes narrowed.

You were too nervous to break eye contact with him, but you didn’t need to see to feel his hand hover over your core, so close but so far. Even though he was barely touching you, he was probably able to feel how your wetness seeped through your night shorts.

“Please, Yunho... Don’t tease me,” you let out a quiet whine, hoping it’d persuade Yunho into touching you.

Immediately, he pulled you roughly into a kiss. In a normal situation he would have kept you begging for him, but right now his desire and anger towards you were too much to handle for both of you. His lips claimed yours and showed no mercy or signs of going easy on you. You were enthusiastic to kiss him back, but his need to have you was even stronger.

The way he started nearly biting on your lips would have soon left bruises, if you hadn’t pulled away. The both of you were breathing heavily after the intense moment, but Yunho wasted no time in trying to rest.

“Who is that coworker? A friend you say?”

You felt your pussy get wetter by his demanding words and you tried your best to give him an answer – one that would satisfy him enough yet encourage him to fuck you senseless.

“We’re not close, but enough to be considered friends-! Yunho!..”

He interrupted you with his fingers suddenly under your clothing, circling your clit.

“What do you need friends for when I’m here? Don’t I give you all you need?”

You squirmed around at the movements of Yunho’s skillful hands. It was hard not to feel even slightly embarrassed; you didn’t want him to know how aroused his possessiveness made you.

“Y-You can’t do work projects for me... I need him.”

Your choice of words pushed the wrong buttons in Yunho, and he took his hand out of your panties. He didn’t care when you whined at the loss of contact, just pure jealousy burning in his eyes.

“You say you need him? Baby, I’m all you need,” his voice was low and dangerous, “There’s nothing and no-one else.”

It didn’t take long for him to have dragged you into the bedroom, his fingers wrapped around your wrist in a bruising grip. You tried to savor every moment despite knowing there were more to come after this.

The streetlights outside were the only source of light in your dim bedroom. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, but apparently Yunho saw well enough to push you onto the bed. Maybe he wouldn’t have cared anyways if he had pushed you accidentally on the floor. Whenever he got like this, satisfying his need to claim you was the top priority.

“Strip.”

You immediately started taking off your nightwear which you had just changed to after shower. Your hair was still damp and smelling like your shampoo. It was definite you’d have to take a shower again after this – preferably with Yunho.

“You’re too slow,” he scolded. The way he started pulling your shorts and panties off was surprisingly gentle; even though he was mad at you, he was still your mere worshipper and saw you as his goddess.

Finally, when you saw him properly, your breath caught in your throat. He wasn’t standing, just on his knees on the bed, but his height was still intimidating. You loved it though. You loved every moment of this, and your pussy throbbed with desire to have him fill you up to the brim.

His chest was heaving with anticipation, and although seeing it bare always excited you, your eyes were fixated on that cock of his.

“I-It’s bigger than I remembered...”

“You’re going to take it nonetheless. You don’t deserve this after how you’ve acted but I need this now,” Yunho stated, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

You felt like a prey, his next meal, as you watched him crawl closer on the bed and lay you down rather harshly. The intense eye contact just added to the arousal you felt leaking out of you. You needed him so bad, and your legs spread open automatically to give him way to your core that was aching for him.

“You need a damn reminder every week of who you belong to. I don’t know if I want you to stop teasing me like that or not,” Yunho whispered, his right hand finding its way to your neck, “At least I get to fuck you like this.”

He turned your gaze back up to him by gripping your neck, when you tried to look at his cock. You managed to see how its tip was covered in clear precum. It was as hard as it always was when you had moments like this, if not even harder. You wondered how it had ever managed to fit inside you with the impressive girth and length.

“Look at me in the eyes. I want you to look at me clearly so you’ll remember my face every time you talk to another man.”

You didn’t have time to process Yunho’s words. As he pushed his cock inside you, it was impossible to think about anything else than him. Although you were as wet as ever for him, it was still almost hard to take him in. No matter how many times he had made love to or fucked you, no matter how fast and rough or slow and romantic, he stretched you up nicely every time.

“My girl. My baby,” Yunho muttered more to himself than to you. His hips had started moving some time ago already, but only now you were coming down back to Earth.

His hand was on your neck like to use it to support himself, but the grip was still somewhat gentle. It tightened every time he thrusted in, and the lack of air just made you lose your mind in the pleasure even more.

Your walls were slippery and starting to adjust to his size, so he slid inside with ease. It didn’t mean there was no delicious friction left though.

“Who do you belong to? Him or me?” he growled into your ear. Although the pace of his hips had grown faster, he made sure to push deep inside you, drawing out every moan he could get from you.

Your attempt to answer was cut off quickly as Yunho’s hands started squeezing your throat. It would have been hard to breathe even if you weren’t breathless already from having him ram your insides.

“Answer me. A little choking shouldn’t shut you up like this.”

Again, you tried to tell Yunho that you were only his to love, fuck, and take care of. But he held your throat tighter again, clearly teasing you. It was impossible to win this game, and you loved it that way.

A mocking smirk spread on Yunho’s lips, “You don’t have to say it. I know you’re mine by the way I’m the only who ever gets to be balls deep inside you.”

He released your neck and pressed his hand lightly on your lower stomach. It was no secret that your boyfriend’s cock was big, but the way you could see a clear bulge, the way your lower abdomen moved up and down with Yunho’s thrusts, made you clench down on him.

“F-Fuck... You make it so hard to stay mad at you,” he groaned out.

You watched his eyebrows furrow as if he was holding back. Finally, you had been able to catch your breath, although it was still difficult due to his relentless thrusts.

“I love you. I’m yours, Yunho...”

Your pleasured admission not only softened his heart a bit but made him even more lustful. He knew you were his. If you tried to leave him, he’d find a way to make you stay – even with force if necessary. But hearing you say out loud once again that you were his satisfied him.

“I know. I know, my pretty girl, and I love you too,” his eyes met yours in a gentle way even.

A loud moan slipped past your lips as Yunho’s fingers found your clit, finally continuing what he had started on the couch in the living room. Circling, pressing, and pinching on it – he did it all. Your sensitive skin tingled and almost felt like on fire.

“W-Will you fill me up?” you grasped at the sheets under you, making them all rumpled and look unkempt. They were dirty anyways due to the sweating.

Yunho moved your hands on his shoulders. There was nothing more that he wanted than to see your nail scrapes on his skin, a mark of who he belonged to.

“I’ll fill you up, baby. My cum will be leaking out,” he looked at you before turning his eyes to his cock, slightly amused, “I’ll just fuck a new load tomorrow then. You’ll have my babies in no time.”

His talk about breeding you brought you closer to your release, and he definitely noticed it by the way your pussy squeezed his thick cock.

“Look at your pussy, how it’s clenching down on me. It likes to be bred, huh?”

“Yunho, I-I'm close... so close,” you whimpered, gripping his shoulders like they were your savior. But you knew nothing could save you from the climax you were reaching quickly.

Yunho smiled down at you a bit cockily, “Have I made clear who you belong to?”

“Yes!” you whined, thighs trembling.

“And who do you belong to, baby?”

If you weren’t in such a state of mind-blowing pleasure, you could have teased him on purpose and said the name of your coworker. However, now that you were so close to coming, you couldn’t ruin this.

“You! You, Yunho!..”

A genuine, sweet smile tugged the corners of his lips slightly upwards. By looking at his furrowed eyebrows, it was clear he was holding back as well, near to orgasm but fighting back for your sake.

And Yunho knew your body so well, that he recognized your sounds of enjoyment and body language, so that just when you reached the peak, he closed the distance between your lips. Your cries of pure pleasure were muffled by his mouth.

His body shook and it didn’t take long for him to go over the edge, to let out a few stifled groans. Hot cum spurted out inside you, filling you just like Yunho had promised.

“So, you’re going to block that man’s number, right?” Yunho mumbled, his head lying down on your chest. He could hear your heart beating rapidly after the intense session but eventually calming down to steady, slow beats.

You chuckled, caressing his hair slightly damp from the sweat, “I can’t block my coworker’s number.”

A surprised and disappointed whine fell past your lips as Yunho got up and pulled his now softened cock out of you. He looked down at your pussy, watching with glee how his fresh cum leaked out. There was a lot of it still inside you, but it wasn’t enough for him. Nothing was ever enough for him when it came to you.

“I guess you can take another load then.”

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imagining-in-the-margins · 8 months ago

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CM Friends with Benefits

Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who joined us. I am so happy to share everyone’s hard work. If you have a oneshot or masterlist you’d like me to add, please send me a message - new additions are always welcome.

SFW S.R./Reader

Cuddle Buddies by @foxy-eva: (Fem) Spencer misinterprets the meaning of friends with benefits (having a friend to cuddle is, in fact, highly beneficial).

Play Dates by me: (GN) Reader learns Spencer hasn’t had many dates and offers to share several Play Dates.

Astraphobia by me: (Fem) Reader and Spencer share their embarrassing fears.

The Only Exception by me: (GN) Reader is beginning to believe in love again.

NSFW S.R./Fem!Reader (18+)

It’s Too Cliché by me: Reader and Spencer are the worst at being friends with benefits.

Damaged Goods by @foxy-eva: The belief that they were both undeserving of love led Spencer and Reader into each other's arms.

Yours by @aliteralsemicolon: Spencer never thought he’d be lucky enough to find Reader.

Heavenly by @dudeitiskarev: Reader confesses that she's a virgin, and she asks Spencer to be her first.

Wildest Dreams by @ghsface: It was a one night thing.

Crawling Back to You by @incognit0slut: Reader never planned on having a fling with her brother's friend.

A Kindness You Can't Afford by @mercy-burning: It started as 'stress relief between co-workers,' but now Reader can't help herself.

Relax, I've Got You by @reidmotif: Reader isn't great at handling stress. Luckily, Spencer knows how to make her feel better.

I'm Your Fluffer by @reiderwriter: Spencer is Reader's boyfriend without the benefits.

Second Chances & Something More by @reidsrambles: Reader is stunned when her former FWB shows up at her job nearly a decade after ghosting him.

Even more fics and pairs below!

I Won't Let You Forget by @reiderwriter: Reader wakes up with no memory of begging her long-time work crush to sleep with her.

Down Bad by @samuel-de-champagne-problems: After seeing that her ex boyfriend is engaged to his “rebound girl”, Reader finds herself missing the sex.

Safe Place by @sinfulspencer: After a hard case, Spencer takes comfort in Reader's body.

Casual by @waywardxrhea: Reader thought that her sexcapades with Spencer had meant more to him.

Goddess, Soft by @none-of-your-bullshit: Spencer gets jealous.

Lost Time by me: Reader and Spencer spend their mandatory leave on vacation. As "friends."

NSFW Other xReaders (18+)

Passionate Reunion by @badathumanemotions: (Emily/Fem) Reader's in town on business and takes the opportunity to reconnect.

Stepping into Desire by @badathumanemotions: (Emily/Fem) Emily decides to wear heels and a tight skirt to catch the attention of a certain co-worker.

Medicine at Midnight by @pkg4mumtown: (Hotch/GN) A night out with the team leads to either the best or worst mistake Reader could have made.

Sneaky Touch by @tjwritesfanfics: (Hotch/Fem) Hotch is only a man and maybe Reader should wait until they get home to tempt him.

After Hours by @badathumanemotions: (Emily/Fem/Spencer) The trio has an arrangement.

Down by the River by @tjwritesfanfics: (Joe Joe - RV) Reader knew they couldn't stay with him forever, but at least for one night they could pretend.

Character Pairings

Time for Talk by @vaguelyclevermatters: (Rated T, Demily) Emily was hungover after a night in Vegas but the team seems fine. She must've gotten up to something (or someone) the others didn't.

Now or Never [Ao3] by @masterwords: (unrated, Hotchgan) An exploration of Hotch's agreement with Derek during his divorce.

Untitled by @siyvaruli: (Hotchgan) Derek discusses his situation with his sisters.

Just a Booty Call by @the-queen-and-the-king: (NSFW, Hotchniss) What was Emily supposed to do when she and her boss suddenly break every rule during an investigation?

Harder to Hide [Ao3] by @vampireids: (NSFW, Spencelle) After dying in Georgia, Spencer visits Elle to tell her he finally understands.

Gold in the Summertime [Ao3] by @justjasper: (NSFW, Derek/Elle/Spencer) Instead of the Fisher King, the BAU gets their two weeks vacation, and Reid goes to Jamaica with Elle and Morgan.

Until I See You Again [Ao3] by @leahseclipse: (Moreid) Spencer and Morgan had an arrangement, but it all changes when Spencer's feelings start to grow.

What's Wrong with Being Confident? by @baubeautyandthegeek: (Blake/Strauss) JJ wonders. Spencer answers.

Only Bought this Dress So You Can Take it Off by @baubeautyandthegeek: (Elle/Ilsa) The two share a night together.

Happy reading!

P.S. If I missed your fic or you have a new one to add, feel free to send me a message. I would love to add it!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #Hotchgan #Emily Prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #Moreid #demily #aaron hotch x reader #aaron Hotchner

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blythesarchives · 8 months ago

Text

Filthy Fingers.

summary: You check on Bucky after the mission in Madripoor.

a/n: Back on my bullshit with angsty fics. I wish the series had done something more than brushing this scene off as nothing. I have similar trauma with his experiences, so I sort of put my heart into this. I hope you enjoy, he needs a hug. Unedited. ;; wc: 4.4k

It horrified you, even if you knew about it prior.

After the mission, you searched for Bucky upon returning to the safehouse that Zemo had insisted on using. Bucky had already retreated to the bedroom you both shared, locking himself inside. You knew something was wrong, you knew him better than anyone honestly. He had barely muttered a few words about feeling exhausted before withdrawing from the group. The locked door and his sudden disappearance had you concerned about his well-being, especially considering the shitty mission you had done.

Zemo pushed Bucky to act as the Winter Soldier again, the man took great pride in being his handler and controlling him like a puppet, just as HYDRA had done. He relished in ordering him to attack and heel like a dog, and his cruel comments about using his body, about selling him in exchange for information, made you furious. Sam didn’t quite get the depth of the situation, though he had a good idea, he just didn’t know the extent. He didn’t want to ask.

Bucky’s behavior back at the house seemed unusual, even for someone typically reserved like himself, and you couldn't decide what to do, debating whether to check on him or give him the space he seemed to desperately need.

You also had to fight the urge to break Zemo's jaw.

As deep night fell over the city, a hush descended upon the streets. Sam and Zemo, too, decided to call it a night, bidding their farewells before retiring to their respective rooms. You found yourself alone in the kitchen, the sudden quietness of the house sounded so loud in your ears. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you made the decision to head towards the bedroom. Your footsteps echoed softly in the hallway as you approached the door.

Your knuckles gently rapped against the wooden surface as you announced your presence. The sound seemed to hang in the air for a moment before you slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open. You stepped into the dimly lit room, your eyes immediately fell on Bucky. You weren’t surprised that he wasn't asleep; sleep often eluded him, and considering the memories that undoubtedly came back to him after the mission, you didn’t blame him.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, his back pressed against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. His gaze was fixed intently on the wooden floorboards, tracing the intricate patterns etched into their surface. The silence in the room was heavy and Bucky remained motionless, not even lifting his eyes to acknowledge your entrance.

You closed the door with a gentle click and cautiously made your way towards him, your footsteps barely audible on the floor. As you approached, you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. "Hey..." You began, your voice barely above a whisper, carefully considering each word as you prepared to navigate this situation.

You took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders as you shifted your position, crossing your legs where you had been kneeling. Your eyes never left Bucky's face, searching for any sign of acknowledgment. He remained motionless, his lack of response hanging heavy in the air between you. But his stillness was preferable to a negative reaction. At least he wasn't pushing you away or lashing out in his distress.

"I know this is stupid, and it's probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but..." You paused, weighing your words carefully before continuing, "Do you want to talk about what's going on? About what happened?" The question left your lips in a gentle, non-pressuring tone, leaving the decision entirely up to him. You sat there patiently, ready to listen if he chose to open up, or to simply provide a comforting presence if he preferred silence.

Bucky remained silent initially, his gaze fixed intently on the floor. He drew in a shaky, uneven breath, his eyes noticeably bloodshot and surrounded by dark, heavy circles. It was obvious that he had been struggling with sleep, but you knew that even a small amount of rest would be beneficial compared to none at all, especially dealing with the Flag Smashers and all the bullshit you were both thrown into again.

"Why don't you try to lie down and get some rest? I'll stay right here with you," you suggested gently, your voice filled with concern as you waited patiently for any sort of reaction from him. After a moment of hesitation, you added, "I know you might not feel like sleeping right now, but we have so much shit we have to do tomorrow.” You mumbled, “A few hours, at least.”

Hoping to appeal to his practical nature, you attempted to persuade him to sleep by emphasizing the logical reasons for doing so. However, your efforts seemed to fall on deaf ears as Bucky remained unresponsive. You sighed, your arm stretched up to reach for the blanket that lay haphazardly across the bed, intending to cover him and provide some comfort if he wasn’t going to sleep. Just as your fingers brushed against the soft fabric, Bucky's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"I felt it," he murmured, his words so faint that you had to strain to hear them, the pain and vulnerability in his tone made your heart stutter.

You turned to look at him, your hand still grasping the edge of the blanket, and you settled back down fully on the seat. Your eyes met his, searching for understanding as you softly inquired, "Felt what?"

"Hands," he muttered, his gaze flickered momentarily before meeting yours again. "I felt... hands. On me. They weren't his," Bucky spoke slowly but with a certainty that sent a chill down your spine. He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Not Zemo's hands, but I would have preferred if he didn't touch me at all during the damn interrogation." His words trailed off, hanging heavy in the air between you.

You watched as his brow furrowed deeply, his eyes growing distant as he seemed to retreat into the labyrinth of his thoughts. A maze he still couldn’t get through, he’d always be lost, stumbling upon memories randomly and losing others he had a grip on. The silence stretched on, filled with unspoken memories and the weight of past trauma.

You nodded, remaining silent for a moment as you processed the situation. The anger bubbled within you, fueled by Bucky's own emotions. Zemo's arrogant behavior had struck a nerve, his deliberate attempts to provoke Bucky were infuriating. The man was more than just an asshole in your eyes and words; he was a calculated manipulator, intent on unraveling all the progress Bucky had made.

His creepy obsession had drawn tension between the group. Zemo had persistently tried to breach Bucky's defenses, attempting to draw out the Winter Soldier persona that lay dormant within him. His tactics were cruel and precise, aimed at undoing years of healing and dragging Bucky back into the darkness of his past.

What made it so much worse was Zemo's obvious familiarity with the red book - that cursed tome that held so many of Bucky's painful secrets. You were certain Zemo had pored over every page, absorbing all the horrific details it contained. The book was a comprehensive record of Bucky's torment: control words that could strip away his free will in an instant, precise actions that would render him a puppet, and graphic descriptions of the punishments HYDRA inflicted whenever Bucky showed the slightest hint of disobedience or failure. The thought of Zemo possessing this knowledge, wielding it like a weapon against Bucky, made your blood boil.

"Bucky..." you began, your voice soft and laden with emotion. You paused, searching for the right words to convey the depth of your empathy. "I'm so... sorry. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult this is for you. It's just…not fair…that you have to endure all of this. You never asked to be pushed into this shit again." There was clear frustration in your voice with a mix of anger at the circumstances and deep concern for Bucky's well-being.

Your mind drifted to the apartment you shared with Bucky, while he wasn't always at his best there either, it was a vast improvement compared to situations like this. The space was familiar. He was surrounded by sights and sounds he knew, Bucky found a measure of peace inside the walls, mostly because you were there with him. He still struggled with his demons, but within the safety of your home, he could face them without the added pressure of external threats or responsibilities that weren't rightfully his to bear.

But it seemed that no matter what, the outside world was determined to drag him back into conflict.

In your apartment, there were no manipulative villains, no reminders of his painful past, no hidden ulterior motives to hurt him, just the warmth of your presence and the promise of a better future than past. He had you, and you were always there with him, helping him navigate through the storm that always threatened to pull him down again.

"M'used to it," he mumbled weakly, his voice devoid of emotion, carrying the weight of resignation and defeat. The words fell from his lips like heavy stones of the burdens he had borne. "I've had worse than simply being traded away for sexual favors."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't just be used to it," you countered, "You didn't deserve anything they put you through. I don't care what justifications they gave or what they forced you to do. You, Bucky Barnes, are a good person. You, at your core, are pure and untainted. You are the one in control now. Not the soldier they created, not HYDRA with their manipulation, not anyone else. It's all you."

Your eyes locked onto his, your gaze gentle yet unyielding, radiating unwavering belief in him as you tried so desperately to let him see how much faith you had in him. "You've already won over their programming, Bucky. You've reclaimed yourself."

"Then why won't his memories go away?" Bucky croaked out, his voice cracking under the weight of suppressed emotion. "I want nothing more than to...to forget. It's...it's so hard, doll," his voice wavered, the floodgates of emotion threatening to burst open despite him trying his damnedest to keep it all in. "Why can't I forget the bad, and why can't I remember the good?"

Bucky sounded completely worn down, his voice cracking with heavy emotion as he spoke. He couldn't bring himself to raise his head, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and self-loathing washing over him. The weight of his perceived inadequacy pressed down on him, making him feel incredibly pathetic and foolish.

Your support through numerous similar episodes didn’t shake off the intense feelings of guilt and self-deprecation that consumed him during these moments. It was as if he viewed himself as nothing more than a heavy burden, a complex problem that you were obligated to solve time and time again. Even a glued vase is still cracked and much weaker than an untouched one.

No amount of reassurance or comfort seemed capable of mending his fractured psyche. He’s still broken, no matter what you do to help.

In his mind, he was irreparable, his former self having been long gone. Hell, he's not even whole. The prosthetic arm, the threatening object that he despised with every fiber of his being. Vivid, haunting memories flooded his consciousness as he recalled the moment HYDRA had finally attached the mechanical limb.

The sensation was overwhelmingly unpleasant - the arm felt unnaturally cold against his skin, its heavy weight throwing off his balance and coordination. In his disoriented state, he could feel the lifeless metal appendage hanging limply at his side, dragging him down both physically and mentally. The phantom sensations of drills and saws assaulted his senses, causing him to relive the trauma of the procedure.

Wide awake.

He was desperate to rid himself of the foreign object, so he clawed frantically at the point where metal met flesh, feeling the cold, unyielding surface beneath his fingertips. The memory of being forcibly restrained to prevent him from damaging the prosthetic flashed through his mind, the clinical indifference of his captors etched permanently behind his eyelids. It was clear to him that their sole concern lay with preserving the integrity of the mechanical marvel they had created, with no regard for the man to whom it was attached.

He was nothing more than a vessel for their prized creation - the arm was their priority, not the broken soldier who bore it.

Then their hands came.

Never-ending hands on his body, everywhere.

They always came when he couldn't fight back.

Teasing, pinching, groping, twisting, penetrating.

Make it stop.

Make it -

Bucky's loud thoughts were abruptly interrupted as you reached out and gently grasped his flesh hand, your voice filled with concern as you spoke, "Bucky, hey, hey, stop... It's alright, you're safe now, it’s just you and me." The urgency in your tone was notable, yet you managed to keep it soft and reassuring.

His brow furrowed deeply, a mix of confusion and realization crossing his features as he slowly turned his gaze from you to his hand, which you now held firmly in your own, having pulled it away from his body. A searing hot sensation radiated from his scar, and with a sinking feeling, he realized what he had been doing.

He had been scratching at the old wound, hard. Clawing, digging, as if trying to remove something from his skin. His arm, the metal - titanium, vibranium - did it matter?

"It's okay, you're fine," you whispered gently, your voice acting like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. Your hands worked carefully but firmly to keep his own from returning to where he had been clawing. Your thumb gently rubbed circles on his inner wrist in an attempt to keep his mind grounded. You were always scared during these moments, worried for his well-being as the rooted fear threatened to overwhelm you.

But you pushed it down, maintaining a calm and composed demeanor for his sake. Your voice remained steady as you continued to comfort him, "It's okay... you're doing so good, Buck Buck..." The silly name slipped out naturally, reminding him of where he was and who he was with. You always called him Buck Buck instead of just saying Buck once, you knew that endearment made him think of Steve. And he didn’t like doing that with Steve being gone.

"Breathe," you gently instructed him, guiding him to take slow, deep breaths as the memories and vicious flashbacks gradually began to subside. "You're doing great, just like that. Keep focusing on your breaths." You continued to offer words of encouragement and carefully guide him through the breathing exercises, your voice soft yet steady. His eyes, now rimmed with red, glistened with moisture, the strain of the moment evident in his features.

Delicate streams of tears traced paths down his cheeks, tiny rivers carrying his pain and guiding it out of him. The sight tugged at your heart, but you remained a pillar of support and strength for him to lean on.

"Make it stop," he rasped out to you, his voice thick with desperation and fear. "Make it stop," Bucky repeated, his body instinctively moving towards you as if seeking shelter from an invisible storm. "They're on me," he added, his words barely above a whisper, laced with a haunting mixture of panic and pleading.

You immediately wrapped your arms around him the second his body touched yours, enveloping him in a protective embrace. You would always wait for him to make the first move closer, respecting his space and not wanting to inadvertently exacerbate his episodes. Your touch was gentle yet firm, grounding him in the present moment.

"No one is touching you but me, baby," you assured him, your voice steady and filled with warmth. "And I'm not doing any of those awful things. I would never. You're safe here with me, Bucky. We're getting through this, you’re doing so good. Just focus on me and taking those breaths okay?"

Bucky remained pressed against you, his body tense and trembling as he desperately attempted to hide himself inside your smaller body. His hand darted up to his shoulder, fingers curled as if to claw at something unseen. Then his hand quickly moved to his neck, desperately grasping and pulling at an invisible entity.

The frantic movements sent a chill down your spine as you watched him struggle against phantoms of his past, it never ceased to horrify you to see him react to the glimpses he was shown again from HYDRA. You tried not to let your imagination run wild, but the implications were clear and it only made you feel even worse seeing him play it out.

You felt helpless.

All you could really do during these episodes was be there for him.

Holding him close, enveloping him in a gentle embrace that provided a sense of security and reassurance, something so simple yet so luxurious in his life. Your touch was carefully calibrated, always mindful of his boundaries and sensitivities, ensuring that every contact communicated safety and understanding. You learned what he liked, disliked, what made things better and worse. You would soothe him with those very tender caresses, running your fingers through his hair or tracing calming patterns on his back, grounding him in the present moment.

Bucky really liked when you rubbed his back.

You would speak words of encouragement, your phrases were carefully chosen so they’d break through all the rampant thoughts flooding his mind. You reminded him of his resilience and progress. You whispered affirmations of his worth, validate his feelings, and reassure him of your presence and support throughout the episode.

“It’s not real, Bucky. No one is here, no one is touching you. It’s just me. You are safe.”

The efforts you put into comforting him so tenderly often felt mediocre or not enough, you always felt like nothing was ever working or meant a thing. But for Bucky, they were his lifeline, you helped him more than you could possibly fathom. Having endured these episodes alone for so long, the contrast of facing them with your loving support made them significantly easier, more manageable.

You held him for a while, gently cradling his body against your own. Most of the time, he just needed this physical connection to be brought back to reality, to feel grounded and secure again. Your arms enveloped him in a protective embrace, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. Sometimes you’d wrap him in a blanket, but you didn’t think Bucky was going to let you move to grab one.

Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hands up and down his back just how he liked. Your fingertips tracing intricate, soothing patterns across the fabric of his shirt, random shapes and swirls, sometimes a letter or number that he’d weakly repeat into your chest. The repetitive motion seemed to have a calming effect on both of you, a silent reassurance that everything would be alright.

As you continued to hold him, your gaze wandered towards the window. Through the thin, gauzy curtains that hung there, you could make out the blurry silhouette of the city in the distance. The lights twinkled like earthbound stars, their glow softened and diffused by the cloudy barrier between you and the outside world. It created an almost dreamlike atmosphere in the room, emphasizing the intimate bubble you two had created. It reminded you of home.

Still whirling from the events that led to this moment, your mind gradually began to quiet. Bucky appeared to be much more relaxed, no longer breathing heavy and shaking as terribly during his attack.

"You okay?" You inquired softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The darkness of the room cast a deep, night blue hue, partially dulling the angry red blotches that you knew still marred Bucky's face from your sight. Bucky’s sweet, rosy nose glistened from his recent emotional turmoil.

He turned his face fully into your chest, burrowing against you as he sniffled. Amusement colored your voice as you gently teased, "Are you wiping your snot on me?" Your tone remained cautiously gentle, not wanting to upset the fragile calm that had settled over him.

Bucky's response came muffled against your chest, a small chuckle that vibrated through you. His voice was barely audible and tinged with a hint of sheepishness. "Maybe..." he admitted as he pulled back and finally looked you in the eye.

You rolled your eyes, casting a concerned glance back at him as you gently used your thumbs to caress his cheeks. The tender gesture was comforting for him. "Are you okay?" You repeated. You wanted—no, needed—to hear the truth directly from him, to gauge his emotional state beyond the façade he often presented.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, finding solace in the warmth of your hands against his skin. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, almost involuntarily, as he drew in a deep, shaky breath. The contrast between your warm, caring touch and his own clammy cheeks made him shiver. He allowed himself to be vulnerable with you, to absorb the comfort you offered.

"Yeah... I'm..." Bucky started, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused, reconsidering his words. "I'm fine." Another pause. "I mean, no, I'm not but... you know. I'm good." The contradiction in his statement was painfully apparent. He cleared his throat, as if trying to dislodge the emotions threatening to spill out verbally, and slowly opened his eyes again.

They met yours, a swirl of conflicting emotions evident in their depths. It was a typical answer from him, a reflexive response born from decades of forced conditioning and denial of feeling. You had expected it, of course, knowing his tendency to downplay his struggles, but that didn't make it any less concerning.

"Well, it's late. Maybe we should try to get some sleep?" Your lips softly kissed his forehead, tenderly giving him some affection. As you pulled back, you looked into his eyes and reassured him, "If you say you're alright, then I believe you. I trust your judgment, and I want you to know that I'm always here for you, whenever you feel ready to talk about it. There's no pressure, no rush. And in the meantime, I'm more than happy to simply be here, to be your comfort, your support... your pillow, if that's what you need."

"You're too good to me, doll... you really shouldn't have to deal with all this," he said softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and guilt. He rubbed his nose a little with the back of his hand, a nervous habit he'd developed over the years. "You've got more than enough on your plate already. Your own struggles, your own dreams to chase. You don't need my baggage weighing you down too."

"Hey, now. I won't hear any of that," you insisted, your brows furrowing slightly in concern. Your voice was firm but warm, you understood why he felt the way he did, but you didn’t like it. "I love you, sweetheart. That means I love every part of you - the good, the bad, and everything in between. Taking care of you, making sure you're okay... it's not some burden I'm shouldering. It's not something I'm just 'dealing with' because I have to."

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. "I'm here, by your side, because that's exactly where I want to be. Because you deserve love, support, and care. And because giving you those things brings me joy. It's as simple as that."

You squeezed his hand softly, your eyes meeting his with a look of pure, unconditional love. "So please, don't ever think you're too much or that you're burdening me. You're not. You're the person I choose, every single day. And I want to be here for you, through thick and thin."

"I love you too, doll... I don't know what I'd do without you," Bucky replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He was still avoiding your gaze, but you didn't mind. Vulnerability was difficult for him and you appreciated his honesty even in his discomfort.

"Let's get comfortable, we need to rest for whatever shit is going on tomorrow," you said softly, your voice filled with care and concern, yet a small bite for this ridiculousness of the mission. You were still annoyed you and Bucky had been dragged into this mess.

You began to shuffle the comforter and blankets on the floor, creating a cozy nest beside the bed. Bucky's brow furrowed as he watched you meticulously prep the area, his eyes following your every move with curiosity and confusion.

"You're not planning on sleeping on the floor with me, are you?" he questioned, his voice tinged with disbelief as he observed you fluffing the pillows to ensure maximum comfort. The idea seemed to both perplex and touch him deeply. You had before, of course, at home. But he always insisted you go back to bed after his nightmares died down and he could fall asleep on his own. He didn't like the idea of you sleeping on the hardwood floors with him at night, especially when you could have the bed all to yourself.

"Of course I am," you replied without hesitation, your voice firm but gentle. "You think I'm gonna just let you sleep by yourself after this? Nope, that's not happening. I'm gonna be right by your side, supporting you through this. That's a promise, Bucky, and I intend to keep it." Your words were filled with determination and unwavering loyalty, leaving no room for doubt about your commitment to him.

He let out a deep, resigned sigh, fully aware that you wouldn't budge from your decision, despite the presence of a perfectly comfortable bed in the room. You'd pick sleeping on the floor with him over the warmth and softness of the bed any day. Bucky inched closer and settled into the makeshift sleeping area you had prepared.

Once situated, he gently pulled you towards him, enveloping you in a tender embrace. No words were exchanged, but he carefully repositioned himself, shuffling down slightly to rest his head against your chest, seeking comfort in your presence.

He wanted to be held tonight, and that was perfectly fine with you.

Thank you for reading. -em🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #emwrites🌿

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hoshifighting · 8 months ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— // NEXT DAY // —

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

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

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

Here we go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your day only goes downhill from there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[...]

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

“YA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jihoon?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, the tags aren’t that bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well? Spit it out,” you demand.

He mumbles something, so low you can barely hear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Strawberry!” he calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder people kept coming back.

Jihoon finally looks up, sheepish but impressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mrs. Lee!" you greet her warmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God. Hot. So fucking hot.

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

“Pull my hair.”

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

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

“Jihoon…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did baby girl, I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nudge his arm playfully. “Surprise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, smiling.

[...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “You could say that. You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At least it's not my bakery.”

[...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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butyoudidthis4what · 23 days ago

Text

Would You Believe Me If...

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

3.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CWs: mentions of alcohol; reference to sex; mental health issues; reader is not having a great time; reader doesn't like beer; depression; being sad for no articulable reason; self-hate; ass grab; kissing with tongue; little to no editing/proofreading; Jack being the BEST; hurt/comfort type situation (reader's brain is the hurt, Jack is the comfort)

Summary: Jack sees the sadness you're hiding from everyone and pulls you aside to talk and love on you.

AN: I was sent this ask and inspired to write whatever this is!!!! A short little fluffy comfort fic! I very much agree with that anon that Jack is very much an "On purpose. On purpose I am going to care about you" and "I never loved you on accident?" man. He would see all of you, good and bad, and still love you. I tried to give him that kind of vibe in You're Okay too and we see it here again (I hope, I don't really know what I'm doing anymore). I have absolutely zero fucking clue what the end is or where that came from but here we are friends. ALSO there is a very small Star Wars nod in here since I’m posting on May 4th! Thank you for reading!!

Jack’s eyes find you the second he hears you laugh.

Quite literally a second because he’s always keeping an eye on you when you’re out together, not controlling or because he cares who you’re with. He just always wants to know where you are relative to him, just in case something happens and he needs to get to you. Military training, he supposes.

His eyes find you because he knows that laugh. It’s not your real laugh. It’s fake, the one you put on when you’re not super present and are hiding your sadness. To anyone else it’s very convincing, they don’t blink at it.

He narrows his eyes a little to watch you better as you chat with McKay, Samira and Parker. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and he can see your leg bouncing under the picnic table, can see the way you chew on the side of your cheek every so often.

“You gonna pay attention to this conversation or just stare at your girl all day?” Robby asks Jack. Most of the crew is at a local park for a picnic celebrating Dana’s birthday.

“I’ve been paying attention and heard everything you said. Unlike you I can multitask.” Jack finally lets his eyes leave you as he turns to look back at Robby. Shen and Whitaker stifle laughs. Everyone knows it’s not true and just Jack giving Robby shit. You have to be able to multitask to be a good emergentologist, and Robby is one of the best, Jack’s told him that many times.

“I agree though,” Jack nods at Robby. “The patient satisfaction scores are bullshit. They should automatically be a ten or whatever the highest thing on the fucking form is if they’re brough in via ambulance and survive.”

“People come in by ambulance for really stupid things that don’t really require us saving them,” Whitaker observes.

“And people walk in with injuries they really should have come in an ambulance for,” Robby shrugs. “It would even itself out.”

“Exactly,” Jack nods. He looks back over at you for a second and then stands up. “I’ll be back.”

“Sure you will,” Robby drawls, smirking.

Jack ignores him as he starts walking over to you. “Hey,” he says to the group as he reaches you, sets his hands on your shoulders from behind and squeezes. You feel a little better already, just from being closer to him. The rest of the group continues chatting as he leans down to speak just to you. “Take a walk with me for a few minutes?”

You furrow your brows, tilt your head and look back a little to see him. “Um, sure. Is there a reason why? Are you sure? It seemed like you guys were having a good conversation.” You flick your head towards Robby, Shen and Whitaker.

“I’m sure. And does there need to be a reason why I want to take a walk with my girl?” He turns his head a little more and places a soft kiss just below your ear.

My girl. Even though you’ve been together for a while now it still makes you a little dizzy to hear.

“No, I guess not.” You give him one of those fake smiles and he knows it’s not because you’re trying to fool him, not really, deep down you know better than to even try by this point, but because you’re in public. Have to keep up appearances.

“Well I know not, so.” He leans back up and moves his hands from your shoulders. “I’m stealing her for a minute.” He nods at the group. It pulls some smirks but nobody says anything, they all just nod. As you get up Jack finishes off the little bit of cider left in the bottle you were nursing.

Once you’re up Jack laces his hand with yours and leads you over to the park’s path, walks down it a ways with you in silence before pulling you off it. He walks with you on the grass until you come to a spot where the ground starts to slope down, the top of a little hill that provides a nice view of the sun setting over the city. You’re more than far away enough that nobody can hear or see you.

“What’s up?” You titter a little, clearly a bit nervous.

Jack nods at the ground and you both sit, feet out in front of you, grass and soil dry from the heat of the day. “You were totally spaced out and not really there.” He eyes you carefully. “You’re back now, for the most part, but I wanted to see what’s up away from everyone.”

You push your bottom lip out a little and shrug, shake your head. “I’m f-” Jack gives you a look. “I don’t even know why I bother trying,” you mutter.

“Neither do I. But I get it. Wanting to hide it and not let me see because you know I don’t like seeing you upset. I feel the same.” He squeezes your leg gently and doesn’t press when you’re quiet for a bit as you think of what you want to say.

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” you murmur. You already know the answer but you’re using the question as an answer itself.

“Yeah.” Jack pauses and cocks his head at you, catches your eyes and holds your gaze as he speaks. “Would you believe me if I told you it was okay not to know?” He already knows the answer but he’s using the question to tell you it’s okay.

You let out a breath through your nose and shake your head a little as you look away from him and out at the city, Jack doing the same. “I know it is. Rationally. But the irrational side of my brain doesn’t.”

You see Jack nod out of the corner of your eye. He gives you space to think, sits in the background buzz of the park with you, hand running up and down your thigh to ground you, remind you he’s here.

“I’m just sad.” You shrug. You aren’t teary, don’t even have the urge to cry at the moment. It’s a hollow sadness. One that just vaguely aches and makes you tired. “There’s no reason for it. Just am.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that’s okay too?” Again, he knows the answer but uses the question to make the point.

“Is it though Jack?” You reply quickly. It surprises him, catches him off guard.

He turns back to study your face, see if he can read what this is from your profile. He has a feeling he knows where this is going.

“It doesn’t feel okay,” you continue. “Not even for me, but for you. It’s not fair to you. For me to just randomly be sad sometimes and unable to explain why. Because fuck Jack, I just want to sit here and be sad. I just want to sit here and be sad and maybe cry if I can get past whatever fucking emotional brick it is that’s stopping me from doing so. But what I don’t want is for you to have to sit here with me in it.”

Jack lets your words hang in the air for a few seconds so that you know he’s really listening and taking them in, but not so long that it feels like he’s having to think of a response.

“It is okay. I promise you it is.” As much as he loves eye contact he knows it would be a little too much for you right now so he doesn’t push you to look at him or try to catch your gaze. “And it’s okay for us to just sit here. We can just sit in the sad. I hate seeing you be sad and struggle, yes. But sometimes you just need to sit here and feel it. And I want to be there next to you when you do. You don’t have to be okay and happy all of the time. You’re allowed to just sit here and be sad or whatever emotion you want to be. You don’t constantly have to be working towards being better when you get sad like this. We can stay here for a bit. I’m not going to let you or us unpack and move here, but we can visit sometimes. You can feel whatever it is you need to feel in front of me and with me. I want you to.”

You let out a shaky breath. You know that what he’s saying is true. At least part of you does. But it’s so hard to accept.

“And there are very few things in life that I have to do anymore, sweetheart.” He gives your leg a little squeeze before resuming running his hand up and down it. “You’re not holding me hostage or keeping me here against my will. I know I don’t have to sit here with you while you’re sad and don’t know why. I don’t feel like I have to. I choose to. I choose to sit next to you here in the sadness the way you do for me when I want to sit and be sad and not know why. I choose you.”

“You should choose better.” It’s whispered. “You deserve better.”

Jack starts shaking his head before you even finish the word better.

“Yes, Jack, you do,” you say before he can get anything out. “Because you’ve been through so much already. You deserve to be with someone better. Someone easier to love who isn’t constantly putting you through shit like this. I know you love me, Jack, I promise. I never doubt that. But sometimes I don’t understand why you love me. Why you love me when I can be so fucking awful and all over the place and sad randomly for no reason. Do you see that Jack? Do you really see me? What you put yourself through by loving me?”

Jack’s hand stills and squeezes your thigh again, longer this time, but still at the perfect pressure. He hurts, physically, his heart hurts seeing you like this, hearing your voice and knowing how much you mean what you’re saying. He hates it. He wishes he could take away your pain. But he can’t. All he can do is try to help and try to make you feel a little better and at the very least not let you be alone in it.

He adjusts his position so that he’s turned toward you a bit more, the side of one of your legs and one of his pressed together.

“Darling, the way you see and feel about yourself is not the way I see or feel about you. Just like the way I see myself and feel about myself is not the way you see or feel about me. We’re our own worst critics, as fucking cliché as that shit is. And I love you and mean this with all the love in the world, but you’re right. You can be awful at times. But the only person you’re ever awful to is yourself. Like you are right now.” You can feel tears start to form behind your eyes at that. Not because it’s mean and his words have hurt you. Because he’s right and you know it.

He takes in a deep breath and looks out at the city for a moment before his gaze returns to you. “I don’t put myself through anything by loving you. I’m not burdened by loving you. And of course I see you, I always have,” he says with a heavy conviction. “You think I fell in love with you by accident? Or blindly? With my eyes closed?”

You swallow thickly, can feel his eyes on you. “No.” Tears sting at your eyes now. “But still. You shouldn’t have to do this with me. I shouldn’t be work. But I am.”

“Oh honey,” Jack breathes out softly. He takes a second and then shifts, sits a bit further up and grabs your legs, pulls them diagonal a bit and you a little closer so they can rest on top of his and you can look at each other better.

“I need you to listen to me, yeah? Really listen.” Jack holds your face with his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones for a second while he looks you in the eyes. “Loving you is not the chore that your past has made you think it is.” He squeezes your face a little. “It’s not a chore at all. It’s a fucking privilege.”

That gets a few tears to slide down your face and Jack’s thumbs are quick to wipe them away.

“And I know you can’t see that, and that you might never be able to see that. But it’s okay, because I do. And I will tell you it over and over and over and over until you understand why Robby tells me nicely to shut the fuck up sometimes.” He gives you the smallest knowing smirk.

You laugh at that, and it’s watery, and through your tears, but it’s real. You love the way he does that. Knows when to instill just enough lightness into this serious of a conversation to keep you grounded and from getting completely overwhelmed, but also knows when it’s not appropriate in a serious conversation.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper through some tears and shrug at him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jack whispers back. He leans in and kisses your forehead, lets his lips linger there before pulling them away and resting his forehead against yours.

“You have to repeat this speech a lot.”

“I know.” He says it so matter of fact as he pulls his forehead from yours to look at you better. His hands leave your face and take yours in his, fingers tangling together.

“It makes me feel really bad. Like it’s going to push you away. Or like you’re going to think I don’t trust you or your love or-”

“I don’t think that, nor will I. I understand, baby. I really do. Because I feel the same way sometimes. I don’t care that you need reassurance at times. It doesn’t make me feel like you’re questioning me, or my love, or our love. It doesn’t make me feel like I’m the problem or somehow doing something wrong or not doing enough or anything else. It makes me feel like sometimes your brain’s chemicals get a little fucked up. And you know what? So do mine. I think we’ve had this conversation at least a time or two with the roles reversed. I think you have to repeat a version of the speech I’m giving you right now a lot. And do you care?”

You shake your head gently. “No. I would give you it every day if you needed me to.”

“Guess what?” he whispers.

“So would you?” You give him a little pout and big doe eyes that show how much you love him and it’s so adorable he has to smile a little.

“Yeah. So would I.”

He leans back in but this time he gives you a kiss on the lips, lingers just long enough before he breaks it and nuzzles his nose against yours. You keep your eyes closed as he pulls away, a little smile on your face. You open your eyes just in time to see the nearly beaming smile it pulls from Jack.

The two of you sit there for a few more minutes before you finally turn to look at him. “We should go back.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “We can stay longer.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m ready.” Jack nods, gently moves your legs off his and stands up before holding both hands out to help you up.

Instead of taking your hand and starting to walk back though he slips his arms around you, slides his hands in your back pockets and pulls you right up against him by your ass. He raises his eyebrows and smirks a little, a slight bobble of his head when it makes you gasp in surprise.

His hands leave your pockets and slide up so that they’re wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him. You rest your hands on his chest, look up at him knowing he wants your eye contact. Jack smiles when you give it to him.

“I see you. I see all of you. Even the parts you don’t want me to see. The parts you’ll never show anyone else. And I did before I fell in love with you. And I still chose to jump head fucking first into being in love with you and even right now, sitting here in the sad with you, I’d make the same choice without a second thought.” One of his hands comes to hold your jaw, thumb on one side of your chin, his other four fingers on the other side, index finger right in front of your ear and the other three just below your ear and on your neck. “I choose you. All of you. Not just the you that you like and think is good enough. I choose all of you because I love all of you and I know that all of you is more than good enough. I choose you and I will always choose you and I know I’m lucky to get to make that choice. I love you.”

Jack kisses you then, hand tightening just a little to hold you still for him. They’re chaste at first but turn deeper, his tongue running over one of your lips, a silent question. You let your hands run up his chest and over his shoulders before sliding your fingers into his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck and open your mouth for him in silent answer, just enough for him to slip his tongue in and taste you, let you taste him. The taste of you pulls a groan from deep in Jack’s chest and you shiver. You only pull back when you’re desperate for air and Jack chases your lips with his. It makes you giggle.

You can feel him smile against your lips as he rests his forehead against yours again.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “And I choose you too. I love you.”

“I know.” You feel him smile a little wider against your lips before he gives you another kiss.

You bite your lip as he pulls away, let your eyes open back up slowly to his grin. Jack grabs your hand and leads you back towards the path.

It hits you a few steps in. “You taste like cider.”

“Yeah,” Jack nods.

“You don’t like cider. You don’t drink it.”

“Yeah,” Jack shrugs slightly. “But I was drinking beer and you hate the taste of beer. And I knew I was going to kiss you like that so when you got up from the table I finished off your cider so you wouldn’t taste the beer on me.”

You beam up at him and he just smiles, can feel your happiness. He knows it hasn’t made it all better, that you might still be sad overall, that it might linger for a while.

You walk in a comfortable silence for a minute until you break it.

“They’re going to think we fucked, probably.” You smirk a little at Jack.

“You wanna play into it?” He’s so unfazed and stoic about it. So Jack. “I can go grab some little twigs to put in your hair, a leaf, some grass.”

You burst out laughing. Properly. Fully. Real.

“Twigs?!” For some reason him saying the word twigs is hysterical to you.

“There’s my favorite sound,” Jack laughs with you. “Well, one of them, anyway.”

“Oh?” You glance up at him as your laughter trails off.

“You would have been making another one of my favorite sounds if we had in fact fucked,” he says nonchalantly, swinging your hands a little.

“Oh,” you breathe. You can feel the smirk radiating off him. “Do you have more favorite sounds?”

“Course.” You see him nod out of the corner of your eye. “You saying my name. You saying you love me.” He squeezes your hand. “And the sound of your heartbeat when I rest my head on your chest.”

You bite your lip at that. It’s so sweet it almost makes your heart ache. “Awwwww!” You squeeze his hand and lean into him. “You’re such a romantic, pookie.”

“Ha!” The pet name catches him by surprise. “No.” Jack shakes his head at it, but his smile gives him away.

“Pookie is cute!”

“Do you understand the actual level of shit I would get from Robby if he ever heard you call me pookie? I’d have to get a new best friend and a new job.” You giggle at him. “You’re laughing but I’m serious.”

“I’ll go into work with you one day this week and conspire with Myrna to come up with an even better nickname than fruitcake for Robby if you’ll let me call you pookie sometimes.”

Jack stops walking and looks down at you, pretends to eye you up for a second before giving you a little smirk. “Come up with something really good that’ll drive him up a wall and I’ll consider it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so sorry but the thought of hearing him say twig just sent me at the time I wrote this. I have no idea why. Anyway, I hope this was okay and you enjoyed and thank you so much for reading!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack! Requests are closed while I catch up, but apparently if you just send in an ask with your thoughts about Jack I may be inspired and write something! I love chatting with you guys and likes/reblogs/replies are super appreciated and motivating!

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