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gothgoblinbabe · 3 days

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The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony (pt.2)

Logan Howlett x afab!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), afab reader, soft dom!Logan, good ol’ face sittin’, sloppy oral (m receiving), swearing, use of pet names - babydoll, sweetheart, pretty girl - teeth rottingly sweet fluff, emotional(?) sex, mild angst, i think thats it but if there’s any more pls lmk!

Read pt.1 here

Summary: part 2 is finally here! I’ll be honest i think the majority of it is smut, but if you’re not interested in reading that, you can stop at the point where you and Logan drive home from the restaurant :) <3 this is probably the most detailed nsfw thing i’ve ever written so it’s a lil’ longer than what i’d usually write for smut but I really wanted to deliver on this one.

Taglist: @deardo11 @pastelpinkflowerlife @joyfulpeanutsalad @jonesem11 @carollinnasic @likeficsinthewnd @mrs-ephemeral

Word Count: 9.5K

divider credit here and here

It had been about a month since the whole ordeal with Logan - the exchanging of fake rings, sweet nicknames and kissing in the driveway - and to everyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed.

You’d still taunt each other during training, bicker over the small things and butt heads on almost everything, but it was all accompanied by stolen kisses in empty hallways, nights on the roof spent stargazing and small, sweet moments in between. You were going to come out with it - tell the team what had been going on behind closed doors - but truthfully, you were both fearful of the possible outcomes. What if this didn’t work out? What, you’d go back to hating each other - for real this time? So you kept it hushed, intending to give the new ‘relationship’ - a word neither of you used, yet - a sort of trial run. Neither of you admitted it aloud but you knew this way, if it really wasn’t meant to be, it could save you the embarrassment of admitting you were both wrong.

As the days went on, though, it became harder for either of you to keep up the act and even more difficult to keep your secret. You came close to being caught more often, having to stutter out an excuse each time. Jean and Ororo still knew what was going on - having been the ones to greet you in the hall when you’d gotten back from that dinner party - but gave you their word that it would stay a secret. The former of the two even feigned surprise when Scott mentioned he thought he saw you nearly kiss Logan in the kitchen, insisting he must've been seeing things.

You’d been washing some dishes and handing them off to him to dry and put away, both of you alone in the kitchen after dinner.

“Hey, do you wanna come up to my room in a little bit? Maybe watch a movie?” he offered in a low voice, standing so close that your arms touched.

Neither of you had actually had the chance to be alone like that yet and the idea made your stomach erupt in butterflies.

“Hm - If I didn’t know any better, Logan,” you chuckled, “I’d think you have some ulterior motive.”

“And If I did?”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon,” he cooed, “what do you think?”

You were looking up at him, your noses inches apart as he leaned down further. One of his hands came to rest on your lower back.

“Hey, guys, have you seen my - “

Scott’s voice echoed through the kitchen and you both jumped, Logan trying to put distance between you and nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck and you kept your eyes glued to the dishes in the sink.

“Uh,” Scott tilted his head, “have you guys…seen my phone?”

“Nope,” Logan was quick to reply, drying and putting away dishes now like it was his job.

“Um, no - sorry,” you shook your head.

“Hm…okay,” Scott mumbled, clearly suspicious of whatever it was he’d just seen. You both exchanged a look of panic when he left the room.

“That was close,” you huffed, returning to the task at hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and he’s probably the last one we want to find out - Summers is a blabber mouth.”

You knew exactly what he meant. If you told Scott anything, he couldn’t keep it to himself. One time Jean had tried to plan a surprise party for your birthday and you already knew about it before she could even pick the decorations.

Jean and Ororo had thankfully kept their word, though. It was damn near torture for them to keep from shouting the truth aloud every time you got into your usual spats. The sly jokes, however, were another story.

“Will you two just kiss already?” Jean had blurted when you were pelting each other with beanbags during an outdoor game of cornhole.

Ororo wasn’t any better.

She was sitting next to you at dinner one night, Logan across from you. Everyone was chatting about their days or telling stories and she volunteered you to share.

“Anything new happening with you? You seem extra happy lately,” she was grinning.

Your eyes darted to Logan and then back to her, taking a deep inhale.

“Uh, nothin’ - nothin’ new,” you swallowed, "just happy.”

Logan was smiling to himself, his gaze focused on his dinner.

After everyone had finished dinner and vanished off to their rooms, he stopped you at the bottom of the staircase.

“Hey,” he nervously scanned the hallway while gnawing on his bottom lip, “can you meet me in the garden out back in fifteen minutes? I wanna show you somethin’.”

“Sure,” you nodded, “but the ‘something’ better not be beef jerky and a picnic blanket - which, by the way, is not a date.”

He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, a contradiction to the smile tugging at his lips.

“That was one damn time - you’re still mad about that?”

“Eh - not really, but I am gonna mention it in every argument we will ever have,” you joked.

“Oh, shut up, ya’ brat.”

You giggled and he beamed at the sound, already undeniably smitten with you. He’d never been so sure of any other feeling in his life. Your serene voice, your perfect hair, the smell of your perfume, the way you walked, the way you laughed and smiled - it was all things he’d taken notice of before but chose to bury within himself, terrified of whatever it was that had given you so much power over him.

Set on trying to impress you, he’d gone around the garden that morning and picked a couple flowers out of each different plant he saw. He felt a little ridiculous - his six foot frame and two hundred pound body towering over a bed of tulips and daffodils - but he reminded himself this was for you; to see that smile on your face that could bring him to his knees. He had fallen for you and he fell fast. He didn’t know when he’d truly realized it - maybe during one of your midnight conversations or during one of the movie nights when you made yourself comfortable under his arm - but it was a feeling so intense that he’d never experienced anything like it before. He’d never had that ache in his chest, the pain of wanting someone so badly that it physically hurts; the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought of losing you, the way the thump of his heartbeat became so much louder and faster when he caught even a glimpse of you. Weeks ago, he probably would’ve made fun of the poor sap who was acting just as he was - like a lovesick dog on your leash - but he found himself finally starting to embrace the idea that there was someone for him in the way there was for Jean and Scott or Marie and Bobby. Maybe it wasn’t all permanent - nothing ever was - but whatever connection he had developed with you was one of the only things that he thought of first thing in the morning and right before he went to bed at night.

After what felt like the longest fifteen minutes of your life, you made your way outside and to the well kept garden. You admired every variation of flower in bloom while you walked, taking in the peaceful atmosphere of the garden in the moonlight. You planted yourself in the middle of the extensive displays of flora, nervously rocking back and forth on your heels. You scanned the landscape and that’s when you spotted him.

Logan was making his way towards you and even through the darkness, you could see the bright arrangement of flowers held in his hands. Your heart felt like it swelled so much with adoration that it was going to burst. He’d done this for you, went out and handpicked every flower. Receiving so much affection from him was unusual, in a good way. Recently, he’d absentmindedly begun holding your hand in his at times, talking away while his fingers intertwined with yours like it was second nature. He’d play with your hair, kiss your cheek, embrace you from behind, even pull you onto his lap so you could nuzzle into his chest. Even when you weren’t alone, he was having trouble keeping himself off of you. He’d place a guiding hand on the small of your back or let his touch linger when your fingers brushed up against each other - small things, almost unnoticeable. It was a stark contrast to his behavior weeks before and you couldn’t have been happier.

“These are for you,” Logan held the bouquet in front of you, pointing at some of the bulbs, “a couple of ‘em might be a little bent - I may have accidentally yanked ‘em out of the ground with more force than I needed to.”

You were beaming, your hands on your cheeks in excitement and surprise. You delicately took the arrangement of flowers from him, admiring the beautiful ribbon that kept them together. Jean had helped with that, of course.

“Oh, Logan,” you pouted, “these are beautiful!”

“I wanted to give you somethin’ nice, y’know - after being such an asshole for so long,” he shoved his hands in his pockets.

You knitted your eyebrows, “you didn’t have to, you know.”

He shook his head, waving a hand dismissively, “c’mon, none of that, princess. You deserve ‘em.”

Your heart felt like it would jump out of your chest whenever he’d call you sweet names. He’d called you princess before, sure, but only to tease you. The way he said it now was affectionate, as if to say you really were a princess in his eyes. You were head over heels for him already but you held your tongue, fearful that it was far too soon to admit something like that. The last thing you wanted to do was drive him away and lose the only relationship you’d had in years that made you absolutely lovesick to the point of losing sleep.

“I wanted to, uh - I wanted to tell you something, too,” he began, resting his hands on your waist. He seemed a little nervous with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“So, tell me,” you smiled up at him. You’d be lying if you said you weren't a little nervous yourself, picking up on his hesitation.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, standing up straight and keeping his eyes trained on yours.

“I love you.”

You only blinked in response, lips parted in surprise.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t - “

“I love you - I love you, too.”

It was like letting go after holding your breath for so long, a sense of relief that couldn’t compare to anything else.

A wide grin crept onto his face, one he couldn’t hold back even if he tried. Your expression mirrored his - complete adoration for one another.

He was staring down at you the same way he had during dinner that night you first kissed. You’d wondered since then what it was, what made his pupils dilate when his eyes focused on yours or why he would tuck his lip between his teeth. You knew now that it was love.

“It’s gonna be even harder now to keep this - us - a secret,” he mumbled in a low voice. He brought his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He cupped your cheek after, unable to keep his hands off you.

“Well,” you bit the inside of your cheek, “we could tell them? Tell everyone, I mean.”

“Do you think you’re ready? I mean - not that I'm not ready, but I don't want you to feel rushed into anything.”

Your knees could’ve buckled right then and there at how truly sweet he was with you. You took his words into consideration and had a realization.

“We haven’t even really figured out what we are yet. What would we tell them?”

He nodded solemnly, grazing his thumb over your cheekbone, “Yeah, you’re right.”

You hoped this would be it - this would be the moment he finally told you that you were his girlfriend, you were something - but he gave a small smile and dropped his hand from your face.

“It’s getting late, we should get back before anyone notices we’re gone.”

You simply nodded, clearing your throat to replace the exasperated sigh you were about to let out.

You followed him on the way back, mind racing for the entirety of the short walk and drowning out anything Logan was saying. You wondered if he’d ever ask you that one question at all. Maybe he’d said he loved you to keep you hanging on, wrapped around his finger. Maybe it was meant to be casual and you’d misunderstood.

But there was a bouquet of flowers in your hands. You’d fallen asleep on his chest more times than you could count, held hands at any moment you could and he did just tell you he loved you. So, maybe he did mean it.

As you snuck down the hallway to your bedroom with the arrangement of flowers, you wondered how long you’d have to keep this a secret.

Unbeknownst to you, it wouldn't be much longer.

It all came to a head when the team decided to go out to dinner together, settling on some chain restaurant. You’d coincidentally ended up next to Logan in the large booth, the both of you on the very end of the table. You were all reading from the menus and Marie piped up from across the table.

“Honey, do you wanna switch seats?”

She was talking to you. You didn't look up from the laminated paper in your hands, responding automatically without a second thought.

“Nah, I'm fine.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and looked at Bobby, who only shrugged. You two never sat next to each other, usually bickering so intensely that you’d be asked to shut up or leave the table.

The unusual interaction was soon forgotten when your drinks were brought over, the waitress placing them in front of each of you. She was pretty and her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Logan being on the very end made him the closest in proximity to her and you being so close meant that you could hear her hushed voice when she leaned down before she walked away.

“And here, this is for you.”

She slid a napkin onto the table, your eyes automatically drawn to the movement. There was a clear phone number written in ink, her name scribbled underneath next to a smiley face.

Everyone at the table had noticed the interaction and waited for Logan to speak after she walked away. Instead, they watched in curiosity as he silently slid the napkin under his drink, the ink bleeding immediately from the condensation on the outside of his glass.

“Okay, what's up with you?” Scott questioned from across the table.

Logan raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know, what's up with you?”

“I asked you first.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marie chimed in then, leaning forward with her elbows on the table to interrogate him, “you always take girls’ numbers when they give ‘em to you. Why not hers?”

He shrugged, “just not interested.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Watch the language, kid.”

“Whatever, you’re so full of it!”

You pretended to be uninterested in the conversation, folding your napkin into unrecognizable shapes.

“You know what? I think you might be in love,” she giggled, “you’ve been way too happy lately. Like, absurdly happy.”

You froze in place, gwaning on your bottom lip.

It was true, though. He was waking up early, smiling more, making more jokes that weren’t at Scott’s expense - they really had never seen him so happy.

“Um,” he hesitated for a second when you stole a glance at him. He was smiling to himself already.

“I guess you could say that.”

Everyone turned to stare at him in mild disbelief, including you.

“What? I was just kidding! Oh my god, you didn’t tell us?” Marie exclaimed, “spill it!”

Jean and Ororo were smiling wide behind their hands and exchanging knowing looks.

“Well, she’s real pretty,” he started, “and she’s sweet.”

You were trying so hard to fight a smile, covering your mouth with your fist as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“I never thought i’d hear you talk about someone like that,” Marie knitted her eyebrows and stuck out her bottom lip - the kind of face you’d make when a kid confesses their first crush.

Logan rolled his eyes and scoffed, a grin stuck on his face. Marie was still asking questions, determined to not let the topic go till she knew every detail.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Logan was nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looked like he was thinking of an answer.

“Uh… I don’t know. I haven’t really asked her.”

You must have been pink all the way to the tips of your ears. You brought your glass of water to your lips, hoping it would help cool your face.

“Why not?”

Marie was really not gonna let this go and you dreaded to hear the answer come out of his mouth.

Logan sighed, picking at the skin around his fingernails as a nervous tic.

“Just a little nervous, I guess. I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“A girl that makes you nervous? When do we get to meet her?”

Your eyes were stuck on the wood grain of the table, both of your hands covering half your face at this point.

“When the time is right,” he responded, taking a sip of his drink.

Ororo rolled her eyes.

You’d all finished eating a good while later and the check came. After you’d both put cash down, he mumbled under his breath with his hand shielding his mouth.

“Meet me outside in a second, okay?”

He slipped out of his seat and you watched him disappear around the corner.

No one had noticed him leave his seat, too engrossed in conversation. After a minute or two, you muttered something about using the bathroom before you left the table and swiftly made your way back to the entrance you had come in through. It was starting to rain a little, barely drizzling.

Logan was standing in the parking lot with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He beckoned you over when he saw you, taking your hand in his and leading you to a spot outside that wasn’t directly in front of the door. His nose was starting to turn pink from the cold evening air and your cheeks were doing the same.

“So,” he swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, “I guess it’s about time I asked you, huh?”

“Ask me what?’

You were smiling so wide that your face ached. You knew exactly what, but of course you wanted to hear him say it.

His expression mirrored yours and he let go of one of your hands so he could cup your face.

“Would you be my girl?”

It may have been a little juvenile - the teasing, the hiding, the avoidance of labeling what you had - but it had worked.

“I already am,” you told him, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. He happily reciprocated, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you even closer.

If either of you had taken a second to look around you first , you would’ve spotted the rest of the team turning the corner the second you kissed him.

“No way!”

Marie’s squeal echoed through the parking lot and both of you jumped, turning towards the sound. You both stood in stunned silence, Logan’s arms still locked around your waist.

“Uh…” He was like a deer in headlights.

“I should’ve guessed,” Scott clicked his tongue, irritated that he hadn’t figured you out sooner.

“Guessed what? We’re - uh, we were just - “ Logan shot you a look, hoping you’d be able to think of something on the spot - even with his arms still locked around you. You could’ve squirmed out of his hold, made some unconvincing excuse about having something in your eye and needing his help. You almost did. Looking up at him, his features highlighted by the flood lights that illuminated the nearly empty lot and his cheeks peppered in rain drops, you had a realization. You didn’t want to lie. You didn’t feel the need to anymore. You weren’t afraid it wasn’t going to work or that you might be better off as enemies rather than lovers. Everything felt like it was finally right - as if every piece of your life finally fit into its perfect place. If you were wrong - fuck it. You’d deal with the consequences later if you had to.

“Kissing. We were kissing - we’re dating,” you sputtered out to your friends, looking back to Logan after. You almost expected him to be embarrassed, to tell you to keep your mouth shut.

But he was smiling. He was smiling wider than you’d probably ever seen. He leaned his head down to kiss your forehead affectionately, mumbling into your hair, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

You hummed in affirmation and peeked back at everyone else.

“How? Since when? Oh my god, I need to know everything,” Marie was as giddy as could be, nearly jumping up and down.

“Since they went on that mission where they had to pretend to be married,” Ororo piped up, “they liked pretending a little too much.”

You all began walking to the two cars you came in, Logan’s arm draped around your shoulders. He was holding you so close that you were practically stepping on his boots.

“Aw,” you heard Marie whisper to Bobby from behind you, “they’re so sweet together.”

“Now that they're not trying to kill each other? Yeah,” he replied with a small laugh.

“I thought you guys hated each other,” Scott said, “what happened?

“Well,” you smiled to yourself, “he’s a good fake husband, so I figured he might make an alright boyfriend.”

You stopped when you approached the car and Logan wrapped you into a tight embrace, your face smushed against his chest. You giggled into his shirt until he finally let you go.

“How’d you guys even keep it under wraps anyway?” Scott asked.

You looked up to Logan, “Willpower?”

He chuckled, “I don’t know, really,” he rested his hands at your waist, “I guess we got lucky that you guys aren’t too bright.”

Ororo lightly smacked the back of his shoulder, rolling her eyes but holding a smile on her face.

You all piled into the cars you’d came in - you, Logan, Marie and Bobby in one and Jean, Scott and Ororo in another - and made your way home. Logan drove and you sat beside him, his hand in yours for most of the ride.

When you all got home and everyone went off to their rooms, Logan stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Would you, um,” he looked to the floor for a moment, biting back a smile, “would you maybe want to spend the night in my room?”

You and Logan had been alone together a handful of times, but never like that - in his bedroom. The thought made your palms start to sweat. It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought of it - you’d been together about a month now and every time you’d gotten the chance to make out, you usually didn’t have an opportunity to go any further. Someone would call your name, Logan’s phone would ring, you’d hear footsteps - always something to pull you apart. It was torture, knowing you could kiss him till his hands started to creep up your shirt or your hand rested on his belt buckle but never actually get to go any further.

“We don’t have to do anything but sleep,” Logan could see the hesitation in your expression, “whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I’d love to,” you replied, letting him take your hand in his and lead you down the hall.

“How about this - I'll change into pajamas in my room, you can change in yours and then come down,” he swiped his thumb over your knuckles, “is that alright?”

You almost wanted to insist you could change in his room - let him see you bare in front of him like you wanted for weeks - but you simply nodded and slipped your hand from his grasp as you walked the short distance to your room. After changing into a tank top and pajama shorts, you shuffled up to his door in your slippers and gave a small knock.

He answered in an instant, wearing sweatpants and his usual white beater. You unintentionally let out a sigh, eyes immediately scanning over his muscular torso under the thin white fabric.

Christ, he’s hot.

“Everything alright, pumpkin’?”

It didn’t help that he was so damn sweet to you.

“Huh? Uh - yeah, I just,” you stopped, realizing there wasn’t much of a need for an excuse, “I like the way you look in that.”

You boldly reached out to playfully tug the hem. He smiled and used your hand on him to pull you out of the hallway and into his room, wrapping you in his arms.

“Yeah?” He said softly, kissing your cheek and forehead before finally meeting your lips, “I like the way you look in these.”

His hand slid down to the hem of your shorts, hiking them up a little to squeeze your upper thigh.

You giggled, a blush forming across your cheeks.

“And you’re so damn cute,” he led you to his bed, laying down and patting the spot next to him, “c’mere, sweetheart.”

Still, even after all those weeks, the pet names made you feel weak in the knees.

You obeyed instantly, crawling onto the mattress and snuggling up next to him. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, steady and strong.

Logan had a mirror across the room, coincidentally angled so that, from where you were, you could both see your reflection. He was playing with your hair when he began to stare at your reflection, smiling to himself.

“What?” You interrogated, looking up at him and then back to the mirror.

“We look good together,” he admitted, “well, you look good.”

You clicked your tongue, “are you kidding? Please, girls practically throw themselves at you.”

“Well, there’s only one girl I ever really wanted to throw herself at me.”

“I think you got your wish.”

You still had that spark - the back and forth quips and competitive nature - except that it was always something sweet now.

“I love you, a lot,” he muttered into the top of your head, pulling you as close as you could lay to him with your leg slug over his thighs.

“I love you too, Logan,” you smiled into his shirt, taking in the smell of him.

His hand came to rest on your thigh, gently kneading and squeezing. You already felt your breath quicken and heart start to race again as his fingertips traced the hem of your shorts.

“Like I said,” he cooed, having picked up on your rapid heartbeat, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Staring up at him, his large hand still kneading your upper thigh, you’d decided - just like in the parking lot earlier - you’d had enough of holding back. You swiftly brought yourself further on top of him, straddling his lap with your knees on either side. You didn’t give him time to protest as you cupped his face and kissed him in a slow mess of tongues and teeth, savoring the feeling of finally having him beneath you. It wasn’t long before his hands found home on your thighs, his fingers already slotting beneath the fabric of your shorts. He then slid his hands up to squeeze your ass, pushing you even further into him while your tongue explored the inside of his mouth. When you finally pushed yourself up with your hands on his chest, he almost looked dazed.

“I wouldn’t start somethin’ you can’t finish,” he panted, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Oh, I think I’ll finish,” you joked, raising your eyebrows at the innuendo.

“Yeah? I know you will.”

You squealed and giggled when he flipped you on your back, climbing over you and caging you in with his forearms on either side of your head.

“Been wantin’ to get my hands on you like this forever, you know,” he continued with a wicked smile, peppering kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, “thinkin’ about you.”

“W-What were you thinking about?” you managed to stutter out, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head when he began to lightly suck and bite at your warm skin.

“Having you here, in my bed. Getting to undress you, having your thighs ‘round my head.”

You nearly choked on your saliva at the filthy way he was mumbling against your skin and squeezing your hips.

“Me too,” was all you could say, lost in the feeling of his hands now sliding under your tank top, resting right below your tits.

“ ‘s that what you thought about?”

You can tell he wanted you to say it, let him know just how bad you wanted him.

“I thought about being in your bed, sitting on your lap,” you took a deep breath, “and having you - having you, uh…”

Your sentence trailed off, cheeks tinted pink.

“What, sweetheart? C’mon, don’t be shy. What do you want me to do, huh?”

He still knew how to tease you, even if it wasn’t out of spite anymore.

“Fuck,” you swallowed audibly, “want you to eat me out, fuck me - anything.”

You sounded desperate and you knew it. You really didn’t care, too engrossed in everything about him to even consider it.

“Really?”

Your eyes met his, filled with lust and ambition to please you any way you wanted. His lips were parted in surprise when he first heard your words, slowly turning into a devious smile.

“Please.”

That was all he needed to trail his lips down your shoulders, gently pushing the straps of your tank top down. He sat up to let you pull it off and if he wasn’t already set on worshiping you, he definitely was now.

You’d yanked the garment over your head and onto the floor, revealing your bare chest.

Logan groaned, laying you back down and almost immediately latching his lips onto the newly exposed and incredibly soft skin.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against you as he took one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you huffed quietly, arching your back to push yourself even further into him.

He was trying to hold back a smug grin, switching between each breast, sucking and biting gently.

“ ‘s good, baby?”

You were lost for words, even more so when you could see the string of spit that connected his mouth to one of your tits.

“Mm-hm,” you hummed, your fingers having found their home in Logan’s hair.

You whined when he pulled his mouth from you with an audible pop.

“Words, sweetheart,” he told you, his eyes glued to yours while he licked his own spit off his lips.

“”Fuck, yes, yes -“

You were cut off by your own moan, gasping when you felt the pressure of his thigh in between yours. He slid his hands down your body to grab your ass in an attempt to grind you down on his leg.

“I like it when you make those noises for me,” he muttered into your chest, his hands still kneading your ass when he pulled you forwards.

You wanted him for so long that the reality of being with him had made you over sensitive to his touch. Even through the fabric of your panties and shorts, the feeling was intoxicating.

You were practically whining as he ground you down so hard that you were soaked all the way through your shorts and panties, the fabric of both sliding to the side.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he chuckled a little, feeling the soaked patch on his sweatpants, “all for me?”

You hummed, hands tugging at his hair, “for-for you.”

His hands came around to the front of your shorts, his fingers hooking onto the fabric.

“Can I take these off you?”

“Please,” you responded immediately, already lifting your hips off the bed so he could drag your shorts down your legs.

When he turned to throw them somewhere on the floor, he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Your chest was heaving and your hair was all over the place from rolling around in the bed. He could see that you were still looking up at him, even when he was turned away.

“I got an idea, scoot up a bit,” he told you suddenly when he turned back to face you. You moved forward on the mattress as he momentarily stood up, stripping himself of his beater. He sat behind you and arranged himself so that he was holding your back against his chest with his arms around your waist, his legs spread out so you could lay between them.

You instantly caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. Your head was leaned back on his shoulder and he planted delicate kisses down your neck.

“ ‘s that why you wanted to sit like this?” you nodded weakly in the direction of the mirror, your eyes nearly fluttering close when he slid one of his hands to rest on the inside of your thigh.

“You look real pretty, I wanna see all of you,” he explained, his middle finger grazing your cunt through your damp panties.

Your eyes were glued to your reflection - your legs spread with his hand between them and purple hickies darkening on your chest. Logan was staring at your reflection too, his mouth still working on your neck.

“Look at you, all spread out for me,” he mumbled into your ear, “so fucking gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. If he kept saying all those filthy things, it wasn't going to take long before you were coming apart in his arms.

You shivered when his fingers hooked around the wet crotch of your underwear and moved it to the side.

You could hear him swear under his breath from behind you, his fingers barely grazing your heat.

“God, Logan,” you were squirming, trying to push your hips towards his hand, “you’re gonna make me beg?”

You could see him smirk into your shoulder in the mirror, “you know what?”

He moved his hands to drag your panties off, nearly tearing them in the process.

“Yeah, I am.”

He let his head fall back to rest on the headboard, lidded eyes staring into your reflection while his hands laid still on the outside of your hips - even farther away from where you wanted him. He really wasn’t going to move an inch until he heard you beg for it, though he couldn’t help himself from digging his fingers into your soft flesh.

You groaned in frustration, “Fucking hate you.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

His lips grazed your earlobe and you wanted to roll your eyes at the smug look on his face, “Now, c’mon, baby. Beg.”

You moved your hands behind you so you could thread your fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

“Fuck, please, Logan - need you.”

“Need me how?”

He really was an asshole.

“Need your hands - need your fingers, please,” you groaned.

“I don’t know, you think you’ve been a good girl? Think you deserve it?”

You would’ve been pissed at him had he not turned you on beyond belief. You gave in, becoming putty in his arms.

“ ‘m good - been good for you,” you whined, using one of your hands on his to try and move it between your legs, “please.”

He sighed, returning his hand back to the hot skin of your inner thigh, “Shit, need me that bad? Huh, pretty girl?”

You were so worked up you could have cried from his teasing. You nodded eagerly, attempting to clamp your thighs together to force his hand to at least graze your cunt that was dripping onto his sheets.

He clicked his tongue and used his strong hands on the inside of your thighs to spread your legs again, “Gotta keep ‘em open for me, sweetheart.”

He dragged two of his fingers between your folds, messily toying with you. You gasped, gripping his arm and inadvertently leaving imprints from your fingernails.

“So fucking wet,” he huffed, gaze glued to the reflection of your spread legs in the mirror, “Pretty pussy’s all mine.”

You were already whimpering and moaning from the slightest touch.

“ ‘s yours - fuck, I‘m-I’m yours,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed.

He hummed in agreement, his fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Please, please, please,” you whined, trying to push your hips forward.

“I think you’ve been real good, angel,” he was slipping his fingers further into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “think you deserve it.”

You were whining and whimpering so loud that you were sure someone had to have heard you by now. You couldn’t help the noises slipping from your mouth, feeling like you’d black out just from the sight of Logan’s fingers slipping between your swollen lips and into your cunt.

When he finally thrusted his fingers into you all the way down to his knuckles, you brought a hand up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle what you knew would be a pornographically loud moan.

He clicked his tongue, grabbing at your wrist to tug your hand away.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he panted into your ear, curling his fingers inside you, “wanna hear you - want everyone to know who’s makin’ you feel good like this.”

His thumb started to draw circles around your clit in rhythm with the movement of his fingers and you could feel the pressure in your stomach starting to build.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his jaw hung open while he watched his fingers disappear inside you over and over again with ease, “takin’ my fingers so well. I think you’d take somethin’ else real well, too.”

The intent of his words nearly drove you over the edge, your mind unable to stop conjuring up images of what it would be like when he finally did fill you like you’d wanted him to.

“Logan, Logan, I’m -,” you groaned, so close to finally coming on his fingers.

Until he slipped them out of you and pulled his hand away completely.

You choked out a sob, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration.

“I’m gonna let you finish, don’t worry,” he promised. You watched him suck his fingers clean before he used his arm around you to rearrange you both so that he was laying on his back and you were facing him with your legs straddling his torso. You could feel his erection poking at your ass and you licked your lips when you imagined being able to take him in your mouth, letting him fuck your throat to the point that your chin and the base of his cock were coated in your drool.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Logan’s voice brought you out of thought and you let him guide your legs up until your knees were on either side of your head.

You looked down at him in curiosity, not yet understanding what it was he wanted to do.

Noticing your expression, he wrapped his arms around your thighs to pull your dripping pussy closer to his mouth.

“I’m gonna let you finish, baby, but it’s gotta be on my mouth. Sit.”

“You…” you hesitated for a second, feeling your face redden, “you want me to sit on your face? What if I crush you? Or suffocate you?’’

He chuckled at your concern, lovingly caressing your thighs, “You won’t, trust me. It’ll feel good, I promise. Besides, If you did suffocate me? I don’t think I’d wanna go any other way.”

You laughed nervously and let him pull you down further, sinking onto his face. His tongue swiped up your folds and you gripped the headboard so you wouldn’t fall forward.

“Jesus, Logan,” you gasped, your other hand gripping his hair, “feels so fucking good.”

“Uh-huh, told you, princess. Jus’ lemme take care of you,” he mumbled into your pussy, eating you like he was starved. He moved his head back and forth and up and down to lick every inch of you he could.

“I think I would’ve - ah, would’ve said somethin’ to you much sooner if I knew you could do this,” you joked a little, your small chuckle turning into a gasp when he slipped his tongue even further down so he was inside you. He hummed into you, his nose nudging against your clit. You began to grind your hips back and forth over his mouth, drunk off the way he moved his tongue.

“Atta girl,” he grunted, “use me, c’mon.”

His hairy arms were hooked around your thighs like a vice, to the point that you couldn’t lift your hips even if you wanted to. When his eyes weren’t trained on you above him, they were squeezed shut in an attempt to savor every second his tongue was in your pussy. He was pulling your thighs forward every time you rocked yourself back and forth, desperate to feel you come on - in - his mouth.

You could already feel the pressure building in your stomach. The obscene wet noises coming from his mouth messily eating your cunt didn’t do much to ease it, either. Your eyes rolled back and you continued to ride his face, mouth hung open in ecstasy. Logan could tell you were close just from how sloppy your movements had become.

“Gonna come for me already, honey?”

You hated how hot it was when he teased you, mocked your desperation.

“Fuck, yeah,” you groaned, your hips rolling forward.

“Lemme see it, pretty girl, come for me.”

You gasped at the filth spilling from his lips into you. It was more than enough to finally make the tension snap in your lower stomach, still rocking your hips over his mouth while you whimpered his name over and over again like a prayer.

Logan was practically growling into your cunt, feeling your muscles contract around his prodding tongue. He was trying to catch anything that possibly came from your release. You tasted good, but when you finished? Even fucking better.

“Lo-Logan, too much, s’ too much,” you tried to protest as he kept your thighs locked around his face, still lapping at you without slowing his pace. He hummed in response and finally let you go when he was sure he’d licked you clean.

You lifted your hips and moved to sit beside him on your heels, almost in pain at the loss of physical contact. When you finally got to see his face, his lips were red and raw, his chin and even the side of his cheeks coated in your slick. You watched in awe as he wiped his cheek, bringing his hand up to his mouth after to lick it clean.

“Taste fucking amazing,” he assured you, keeping his eyes on yours when he sucked on one of his fingers.

You caught sight of his obvious and rather large erection and your mouth began to water. Once again, you were lost in the thought of how good it would be to feel the weight of his cock in your mouth.

“You alright, baby?”

“Yeah, I - um,” you sighed, leaning forward on your hands, “can I - can I have it in my mouth? Just for a little bit?”

Your hand rested on his hip, fingers grazing the waistband of his sweatpants, dangerously close.

“Shit,” he huffed, his cock twitching from the anticipation, “you wanna?”

You nodded eagerly, pulling his pants and boxers down his thighs when he lifted his hips.

“Hey,” he tenderly stopped your hand as you reached to touch him, “I’m tellin’ you now, girl - you can suck it ‘cause you asked so nicely but I’m not comin’ unless it’s in you.”

He let go of your wrist and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, continuing to speak.

“I can fill your throat another time, yeah?”

You were speechless, lidded eyes switching from his face to his swollen cock and back again. You nodded in agreement.

You guessed Logan would be big - he was generally a large guy - but you could feel the drool gathering in your mouth when his cock sprung out of his boxers to hit his stomach. He was fucking huge. You might’ve been nervous if you weren’t so eager to fit him into your mouth. You finally leaned down to wrap a hand around the base of his cock, softly licking at his leaking tip.

Logan threaded your hair between his fingers, gathering as much as he could to form a makeshift ponytail that was held together by his fist.

“Like seein’ your pretty face. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?”

His words only spurred you on and you gathered as much saliva as possible so you could spit onto his cock. When you did, you started to stroke him in a slow rhythm that had him rocking his hips towards your hand already. His mouth hung open and his eyes were glued to your movements, watching you work your hand up and down. Your spit coated your hand and his cock to the point that it was dripping down his balls.

The moment you finally closed your mouth around him, he was practically a mess.

You took him as deep as you could, relaxing your throat and steadily breathing. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat and he groaned. He watched your head bob up and down while you simultaneously stroked whatever you couldn’t fit into your mouth. He huffed out your name in between cursing under his breath. His gaze caught the mirror he’d nearly forgotten about and he could’ve came just from the sight of your mouth drooling around him.

“So good, baby,” he sighed, licking his lips, “you look so pretty suckin’ my cock.”

You reveled in the praises spilling from his lips. Chasing more, you used your hand that wasn’t around him to cup his balls and massage gently. He actually whimpered and you could feel Logan’s legs start to shake a bit.

“Alright, enough - ,” he grunted, using his grip on your hair to pull your mouth from him and push your hand away.

You almost looked hurt, pouting while looking between him and his glistening cock. Truthfully, you liked the taste of him. Loved it, really, so much so that you had to hold back from diving right back into position. Just the idea had you clenching your thighs together when you thought of it. When your mouth was already on him? You were so wet again that it was starting to smear across your inner thighs.

“Sorry, doll,” he apologized while swiping fallen strands of hair from your face, “too close.”

It felt exhilarating being able to turn big, bad, scary Wolverine into a whimpering mess after only a couple minutes in your mouth.

“I’m gonna come in you,” he reiterated, “gonna make you mine.”

You just about melted into putty from his words.

“ ‘m yours, ‘v been yours.”

Your voice was desperate and you crawled onto him, straddling his hips. Your bare cunt slid against the base of his cock and his hips jerked up.

“Fuck,” he panted, “you wanna know somethin’? Been thinking about this for so long, even when I thought you hated me - I couldn’t help it.”

“Me too,” you replied, hands on his chest to steady yourself, “even when I thought you hated me. Used to think - to think about jus’ getting you alone.”

“Yeah?” He teased, one of his hands coming down to align his cock with your entrance, “what did you think about doing when you got me alone, hm?”

“I - ah, f-fuck,” you tried to speak, stuttering when he started to slip himself in as slowly as possible, “letting you fuck me, having - having your fingers in me.”

“So, is it as good as you imagined?”

“Mm,” you tried to respond and only whined from the pressure of Logan pushing you down further onto his cock and stretching you out, “better, it’s better.”

“You think you can take all of it, sweetheart?”

“I need it, please, please, Logan - need you.”

You could rarely recognize your own voice, strained and desperate.

“Only ‘cause you begged so nice.”

In one hard thrust, he pushed your hips down onto his.

Your jaw hung open and your eyes rolled back into your head. You’d never felt so fucking full before, like he reached every inch of where you wanted him.

“Fucking - Christ, Logan, you - ah,” your sentence was cut off when he began to grind up into you, using his grip on your hips to keep you steady and gently help guide you up and down.

“Hm? What, baby?”

When you sat back down on him, he used an iron grip to keep you where you were, pushing himself as far into you as he possibly could. The friction on your clit made your pussy twitch and he definitely felt it, pulling you back and forth a little bit.

Again, you couldn’t speak - too distracted by the indescribable feeling of having him sheathed completely inside you. Your eyes started to water, tears forming from the overwhelming pleasure in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck me,” you nearly sobbed, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, “please, please.”

He finally let you lift your hips up and down again and you were a whining fucking mess. Logan could see over your shoulder into the mirror and he marveled at the white ring you left around the base of his cock every time you lifted your hips. You were messy, exactly how he wanted you - he’d probably lick you clean after, if you’d let him.

You were rambling into his neck, panting, “so fucking - you’re so big, oh my god, need you all - ah - all the time.”

He was smirking to himself, smug from how he was able to fuck you to the point that you were just letting go completely - telling him every thought that popped into your mind while you were still on top of him. You worked yourself up to a steady rhythm and he indulged in the image of your tits bouncing above him when you sat up.

“So good, honey - takin’ me so well, like you were made for me,” he groaned. His eyes never left yours.

“ ‘m made for - for you,” you slurred, rolling your hips.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Who’s this pussy belong to, huh? Tell me.”

“Yours, I - it’s yours, Logan.”

Your thighs started to ache pretty quickly, your pace faltering as he kept steadily drilling up into you.

“Are you sore, baby? You wanna switch?”

His voice was so soft in comparison to how he was speaking moments earlier through gritted teeth. You nodded and let him lay you on your back, climbing over you and caging you in with his forearms on either side of your head. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, both cheeks, the tip of your nose and finally, your lips. You were absolutely giddy from the sickly sweet moments you shared inbetween the times where he was fucking you so hard you were out of breath.

Your ankles locked behind Logan’s back to pull him into you while he tried to guide himself with his hand. He slipped back in effortlessly and ground his hips forward, pinning you down to the mattress. One of his arms was snaked around your back to hold you closer and the other was holding your wrists together above your head.

His hips rolled forward and he hit a spot inside of you that made the fire in the pit of your stomach rise.

You choked out a sob and tried to squirm in an attempt to free your wrists, but you both knew there was no way you’d wiggle out of his grip unless he let you. To no surprise, a man made of mostly metal was almost impossibly strong when he pinned you down with his hands and hips.

“I gotcha’.” he panted, so close that your noses brushed together when he thrust forward, “you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.”

As if you’d want to move from your spot underneath him.

Your eyes caught the shining metal of the dog tags hanging from his neck, swinging back and forth over your chest when he moved. When you looked back up to his face, his eyes were boring into yours. His face was flushed and his mouth hung open, sweat accumulating on his brow. He looked fucking gorgeous. You were going to tell him so, try to lean up to kiss him, but he spoke again before you could.

“I’m in love with you - ‘m so in love with you, you know that?”

The pace of his thrusts quickened and you could’ve cried at the sincerity had he not been drilling into you so hard that you could barely open your eyes.

“I - I’m, ah - in love with - with you, too,” you choked out between gasps.

“So pretty,” he muttered, finally letting go of your wrists so he could hold your chin to force you to keep your eyes on him, “i’m so fucking lucky.”

It was all too much - the sincere adoration in his voice combined with the filthy way he was snapping his hips into yours - and you could feel the knot in your lower stomach start to come undone.

“Logan, fuck, I’m -,” you tried to tell him you were close, but his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you.

“God, please - c’mon, c’mon,” he was pleading through gritted teeth, trying with everything in him to hold back from coming before you did. His hand slipped between your bodies so he could draw tight circles around your clit and your eyes squeezed shut in ecstacy.

You were chanting his name after a couple more strokes, tears rolling down the side of your face while he pounded you through your orgasm. You were practically seeing stars, your legs shaking around his waist.

He could feel your muscles contract around him and his movements became sloppy. He was grunting with every roll of his hips, muttering praises under his breath.

So fucking pretty

Look so beautiful like this

So perfect

He was spilling into you seconds later, animalistically groaning into your ear. His hips slowed to a halt, his arms still wrapped around you. You were both shiny and sticky with sweat, panting with flushed faces. When he pulled his face from your ear, he was beaming like an idiot, already drowsy.

“Was that good, baby?”

He was still out of breath, using one arm to weakly hold himself above you while he stroked your hair.

“Are you serious? More than good,” you chuckled, “amazing.”

He tenderly kissed your forehead and rolled beside you, immediately wrapping you in his arms.

“Don’t we have to clean up?” you asked, eyes already starting to flutter closed.

“Mhm,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck, “can do it later - wanna cuddle.”

You grinned wide, amused by how damn cute he was. You simply hummed in agreement, resting your hand over his.

“Logan?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

A/N: I had to close my laptop and walk away a a couple time while writing this so I hope it drives you as insane as it did me! I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

If you enjoyed, thank you for reading and pls like/reblog!! <3 and thank u sm for the love on part 1!

#wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlet smut #logan howlett smut #logan wolverine #wolverine smut #smut

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kbwrites · 2 days

Text

Breaking up is hard to do!

synopsis: breaking up with the jjk men.

⚝characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

⚝content: heavy angst, gaslighting(Gojo's), depression (Suguru's), mutual breakup(Nanami's)

⚝wc: 3.5k

Satoru Gojo

“Yeah so then Yuji popped out of the crate and surprised them all! You should’ve seen it baby!” Satoru wheezes holding his stomach as he recalls the event from the day.

No matter how hard you try though, you can only muster a small smile.

It had become really hard to do much else recently. With the weight of the hundreds of tasks at work taking its toll. Satoru looks over at you, waiting for a laugh—but it doesn’t come.

“Hellooo? Everything alright princess?” He questions giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Mhmm!” You nod.

He looks at you for another moment, unreadable expression on his face. Satoru shifts, clearly expecting more from you. “You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight. That’s not like you,” he says, his voice still light, but there’s a hint of curiosity now.

You try to hold back the frustration, but it bubbles up anyway. “I’m just tired, Satoru.”

“Tired? Seriously?” he mutters, pulling his hand away. “You work, what, a nine-to-five? You act like you’re running yourself into the ground.”

You blink, taken aback by his dismissive tone. “Satoru, it’s not just about the hours. It’s everything piling up, and—”

“Piling up?” He cuts you off with a scoff, already reaching for his phone. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner? You know I could’ve hired someone to handle that for you. I’ve got the money. You shouldn’t be stressing over... whatever this is.”

The words sting. You knew his mind would go there. It always does—like money could just make the exhaustion disappear, like hiring someone to take care of the smaller details would magically solve everything.

“It’s not about the money, Satoru.” you snap, trying to hold onto your patience. “I don’t need someone else doing my job for me. I just... I need you to listen.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Listen? What do you expect me to say? You’re tired. I get it. But don’t act like you’re drowning when I could have fixed this a long time ago. Hell, I could’ve bought you time off or flown you somewhere. You're sittin' here sulking like I can’t take care of things.”

You clench your fists, the exhaustion now compounded by frustration. “It’s not about you fixing things, Satoru. Sometimes I just need support—not your money.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowing. “Right. So you want to feel miserable instead of letting me help. That’s real smart, princess.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you shove clothes into your bag, the sound of zippers and drawers slamming echoing through the room. You can feel Satoru’s presence behind you, hovering, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not after that.

“C'mon, princess.” he says, his voice exasperated, like he’s the one who's supposed to be annoyed. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”

You don’t answer, your hands moving faster, yanking more clothes off hangers, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. You’re so angry you can barely breathe.

“I’ll book us a trip,” Satoru tries again, a hint of desperation creeping into his usually arrogant tone. “How about Paris? We’ll stay at that five-star hotel you like, the one with the private balcony. You love that place.”

Your jaw clenches. “This isn’t about a vacation, Satoru,” you snap, stuffing the last of your things into the bag. “It’s not about your money or your fancy hotels.”

“Then what is it about?” he shoots back, his voice rising with frustration. “You’re acting like I haven’t given you everything. "What more do you want?"

You freeze, bag halfway zipped, your body trembling as you turn to face him. His icy blue eyes are wide, confused, and maybe even a little hurt, but you’re beyond caring. “I want you to see me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you, louder than you intended. “I don’t need you to throw money at the problem! I need you to actually understand what I’m going through!”

Satoru stares at you, speechless for once. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks almost... shocked, like he can’t comprehend that his money, his status, can’t fix this. That he can’t fix this.

“Do you even care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less angry. “Do you care about how I feel? Or is it just easier for you to throw cash at me until I stop complaining?”

He’s silent, his gaze hardening as he crosses his arms. “I’m trying to help. What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to listen!” You throw your hands up in frustration, feeling more alone than ever. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want trips or fancy dinners. I want you to care about me, Satoru. Not just the idea of me.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. The silence is louder than any of his words.

As your hand grips the doorknob, ready to leave, Satoru’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and bitter.

“Right, run off to Shoko’s.” he scoffs, his arms crossed defensively. “You always do this, don’t you? The moment things get tough, you bolt. Guess it’s easier to complain to her than actually deal with me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, stopping you in your tracks. You turn slowly to face him, disbelief clouding your vision. He’s standing there, arms folded, arrogance in his posture.

“I always do this?” you repeat, your voice trembling with anger. “I’ve stayed through everything, Satoru!"

“You’re just like Suguru.” Satoru spits out, the words dripping with bitterness and desperation.

Your hand freezes on the handle. You weren’t expecting that. Slowly, you turn to look at him, and the mask of arrogance has cracked. His eyes are wild, wide with something close to panic. “Running away the moment things get hard,” he continues, his voice shaking slightly. “Is that it? Just gonna leave like he did?”

Your heart skips a beat, anger fading for a moment as something else stirs inside you. You’ve seen Satoru angry before, frustrated, even cold—but this? This is different.

“That’s not fair.” you say quietly, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I’m not leaving because things are hard. I’m leaving because you’re not listening.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a hard line. Then he snaps, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold. “Well, fine. Go. I survived him abandoning me, I’ll survive you too.”

His words sting, burning through the air with a finality that makes your breath hitch. It’s a challenge, a defense—his way of masking the fear that’s clawing at him from the inside out. He’s pushing you away before you can leave, just like he’s done with everything else that’s threatened to crack his carefully controlled world.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, staring at him as his walls rise higher, shutting you out. This is what it’s come to. He’s too scared to let you in, too scared to admit that you leaving isn’t something he can just survive—that it’s something that terrifies him.

But he won’t say it. He won’t ask you to stay.

And that’s when you know.

Suguru Geto

You rest under the comfort of your blanket. How many days have you been in this bed? Three days? Four?

The world was just too much right now, and your room was the only security available. It had been a week since Suguru vanished without a word, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and broken trust. Principal Yaga’s words still echoed in your mind—a whole village slaughtered, his parents among the dead.

And not even a text.

You weren’t sure if he was even alive, maybe it would be better if he wasn’t. At least then you wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that the love of your life was now a wanted killer.

You took another tissue from the box, blowing into it and tossing the crumpled mess into the garbage can.

Satoru hadn’t responded either, was he okay? Did he know?

Your mind screamed for silence, for the thoughts to stop, but they kept coming, relentless.

“Angel?”

That voice… no it couldn’t be. You lower the covers from your face.

It was

“Hi baby...” his normally soothing voice does little to alleviate the ache in your chest.

“You…” your voice barely a whisper, threatening to break. “I thought you were dead.”

He moves closer, his footsteps barely making a sound on the floor, and you finally take him in. Despite everything, despite the horrors you’ve been told, he looks… normal.

How could he look so much like the Suguru you knew, the Suguru you loved, when everything inside of you was shattered?

Was this the same man who held you close? Whispered sweet nothings in your ear—promised to protect you with his life?

“It’s me, (Y/N).” he says softly, his voice cutting through the silence as if he had read your thoughts.

The tenderness in his tone feels like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he say that—so casually, so easily? Like everything was normal, like your world hadn’t come crashing down around you. You blink, trying to force the tears back, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes.

“Are you?” your voice is small, barely more than a whisper. Doubt lingers in every syllable.

He doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, his gaze softens, and without a word, he pulls the covers off of you. The cold air rushes over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you had buried yourself in, and for a moment you flinch, instinctively clutching the blanket before you let it slip from your fingers.

His eyes trace over your fragile form, and there’s something in them—a flicker of sympathy, regret, even—but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the reason for your downward spiral. He knows it too. The weight of it presses on him, though he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, sliding his arms under you and lifting you up as if you weighed nothing.

You want to protest, want to ask what he thinks he’s doing, but you’re too tired, too drained to fight. So you let him carry you. His arms are steady, and despite everything, you can’t help but melt in his embrace.

He takes you into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the space as he sets you down gently. You can feel the cool tile under your feet as he kneels in front of the tub, turning the faucet on and testing the temperature.

You had so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to yell at him, curse him, ask him why. But you couldn’t.

He dips his hand under the stream, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. His movements are deliberate, methodical, as if this is the only way he knows how to show you any kind of care right now.

You stand there, numb and silent, watching him. The man who destroyed your world, now kneeling before you, acting as though he can piece it back together with something as simple as a bath. It feels absurd, almost cruel, but at the same time, you don’t have the strength to stop him.

Suguru rises to his feet, his presence towering yet calm as he began to undress you. Gentle hands pulling his t-shirt off of you, the one you had been clinging onto for days.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he lifts the shirt over your head, sending a shiver down your spine.

He had seen you in this state before, many times. But this….this was different.

Suguru guides you to the shower, washing your body with a gentleness you missed so deeply.

You close your eyes, letting him take care of you, even though you don’t understand why or how he can. The silence between you grows heavier with every passing second, filled with words unspoken and emotions too tangled to sort out.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “Why are you here, Suguru?”

His hand pauses for a moment, the washcloth resting against your skin. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but when he answers, his voice is low, steady, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

“Because I….I love you” His voice almost too quiet, as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud.

“Then why, Suguru?” your voice trembles, almost breaking under the weight of your next words. “Is it true? You killed those people?”

The washcloth falls from his hand, splashing into the water as the silence between you deepens. He doesn’t speak right away, and the hesitation in his silence is an answer in itself.

You swallow hard, the air thick with the weight of the truth you already know but can’t bear to accept.

“They were… in the way,” he finally admits, his voice low, almost hollow.

You step out of the shower, the warm water sliding off your skin in slow rivulets. Without thinking, you reach for the towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armor.

This isn’t the man you loved, the one who spoke of protecting the weak, of valuing life. Yet, there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way he says it—like a twisted version of the Suguru you knew, now wrapped in darkness.

“But those were people, Suguru,” you say, your voice fragile, as if you’re trying to reach the man you once knew beneath the monster he’s become. “Innocent people. How could you…?”

He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you, his hand brushing against your skin, cold and distant. “Because this world is broken.” he murmurs. “And I need to fix it. I had to do it. Can’t you see that? We—sorcerers—we’re meant for something greater. And they… they were holding us back.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t understand, Suguru. I don’t understand any of this.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your face gently, as though trying to reassure you with his touch. "Come with me." he whispers, his voice softer now, pleading. “Run away with me. Together, we can build something new. You don’t have to be a part of this broken world anymore. We can leave it all behind.”

Before you can respond, his lips press against yours, a kiss that’s both gentle and urgent, as though he’s trying to pour every unsaid word, every plea, into this one moment. It’s the Suguru you remember—the Suguru who once made you feel safe, loved.

But the reality of who he’s become crashes down on you.

You pull away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, creating a wall between you. “No.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I can’t.”

For a moment, Suguru just stands there, staring at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—some kind of understanding, some sign that you’ll change your mind. His hand lingers on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant, as though he’s trying to hold on to whatever connection is left.

But then, slowly, he withdraws, his hand falling back to his side. He straightens up, his expression hardening as he steps away from you, giving you the space you so desperately need. The softness in his eyes fades, replaced by the cold determination you’ve seen before.

“You’ll see,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “One day, you’ll understand. When you see what I’ve seen, when you finally understand the truth about this world—you’ll come around. I know you will.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and without another glance, he turns and walks toward the door, leaving you standing alone, trembling in the silence.

Nanami Kento

Kento was an honest man. There was nothing he ever kept from you. Other people might view him as a hard shell, but you could read him like a book.

So when he came to bed that night, holding you just a little tighter than usual—you knew something was up.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, his grip tightening instinctively as if he feared you might slip away.

“Kento?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room.

“I’ve decided to talk to Gojo tomorrow.” he said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of resolve. “I want to return to being a sorcerer.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into you like lead. You stiffened, a sharp sting blooming in your chest as you processed his decision.

“Are you seriously considering this?” Your voice trembled with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You know what that life entails. You’ve seen the consequences. Are you really willing to go back to that danger?”

Kento’s silence was heavier than any response he could have given. His arms, though still holding you close, seemed distant now, as if they were reaching out from across a chasm of uncertainty.

“I’ve thought it through,” he said finally, though his tone lacked the conviction he tried to project. “I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep pretending I’m satisfied with where I am.”

The last words echoed in your ears their weight sinking deep into your heart. “So you’re not satisfied with me?” you whispered, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat.

Kento’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what is it, Kento?” you demanded, frustration and hurt sharpening your words. “We have something good here. You have a good job. You left Jujustu High for a reason! What about Haibara—”

At the mention of Haibara, Kento’s face hardened. His eyes, which had been searching for the right words, now burned with anger and frustration. “Don’t.”

Your eyes widen at his tone. He sighs, trying to catch himself. “This…isn’t about him, or his fate. It’s about my own path, my own choices. You think I’m risking everything without knowing the cost?”

“And what do you expect me to do, Kento?” Your voice cracked, raw emotion rising as you slid out of bed, unable to lie still any longer. “Sit at home and worry about you? Not knowing if you’re going to come back in one piece? I can’t live like that! I can’t live every day with the fear that you might not come back, that you might be hurt or worse?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You paced the room, your emotions boiling over, while Kento sat still, his gaze following you but offering no solace.

“You’re asking me to accept a life where every day is a gamble with your safety!” You stopped, turning to face him, your chest heaving with emotion. “How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to pretend everything’s okay when the reality is that you might not come back to me? This isn’t just about you, Kento. It’s about us, our future!”

Kento ran a hand through his blond locks, frustration etched into every line of his face. “I’m not asking you to pretend it’s okay. I’m asking you to understand that this is something I need to do for myself, even if it means risking everything.”

You blinked, tears blurring your vision as his words sank in. “And what if everything we have is the cost?”

The question lingered, echoing in the space between you. Kento rose from the bed, standing tall before you, but the weight of the moment seemed to bow his shoulders.

He stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His eyes, filled with a deep sadness, searched yours, looking for understanding that he knew might never come. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You need to know that.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “But that isn’t enough… is it? It never will be…”

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.

“I… can’t watch you throw your life away, Kento.”

He took a deep breath, the sound heavy with resignation. "Then… we’ve both made our decision."

His hands, which had held you with such tenderness, felt distant as you pulled away. You took a step back, a sob catching in your throat.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out with a trembling breath, he stepped forward and gently pulled you into his arms. The embrace was tender, filled with the weight of finality.

He buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent one last time as if trying to imprint it into his memory. The warmth of his body, once a comfort, now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice strained. The words were barely audible, but the sentiment hung heavy in the air.

Kento lingered for a moment, his hand sliding from your back to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, and his expression softened with a promise you weren’t sure either of you could believe.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered, his voice strained but resolute. “Somehow… I’ll find my way back to you. One day.”

You clung to him for a moment longer, feeling the ache of goodbye in every fiber of your being, before he slowly pulled away. Leaving you.

486 notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 1 day

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.”

532 notes · View notes

darnell-la · 2 days

Note

i crave more mob boss!wolverine

𝗢𝗙𝗙𝗜𝗖𝗜𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗬 𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗗

pairing: possessive mob-boss!logan howlett x stripper!reader

warnings: kidnapping, forced working, strangers to lovers, stripping, spoiling, grinding, breast play, tit sucking, riding, orgasm, possessiveness, rough fucking, claiming, etc.

summary: y/n had no idea who the top boss was and what he wanted from her. She soon found out during an unexpected requested private dance.

note: Logan is a man who’s going to mark his grounds. He’s very territorial. Reading this story will make you understand…

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

Working at a strip club was one thing when y/n first started the job. She was uncomfortable, but the ladies had made her feel welcomed.

Working for a mob boss was another; this time, she had to work whether she was comfortable or not. She tried talking to her boss, but his boss was the one who said she needed to relocate. There was no arguing.

Y/n tried to quit that day and soon found out how dangerous this man was. A few men had broken into her apartment, taking the lady with a fight.

She pled for help, but the people in the apartment knew whose men they were. They quickly went back into their own space and minded their business.

She now lives in a nightclub unwillingly. She wasn’t trusted by the top boss, so he made her stay where she would always be supervised.

This club was different than the last one she had worked at. It was bigger, cleaner, seemed more expensive, and the work she had to do was harder. She had never given private dances, but with her new schedule, she had to.

She’d never met the boss before. She demanded almost every day, but for months, Logan had sat back and ignored her requests.

When she first started at the other club, he hadn’t paid any attention to her because he had other things to worry about, but after he noticed her growth and the business she brought in, he decided to pay attention to her.

That meant he watched her dance, watched her have fun with the other girls, had people surveillance her outside of work, and maybe he’d do it himself if he had time.

The woman grew onto the man, so much, he couldn’t ignore her. He’d think and ask about her every day until too he finally told her boss, the man who worked for him, that she’d be relocating to his top club.

Y/n couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t being treated right occasionally. Her dances cost more, the private dances could pay her old rent, and she would get a daily allowance from the mysterious boss, which was double what she made in a week.

Anytime she thought about running away and making the higher-ups upset, she would sit back and think about her life, and the money.

She had no idea if this man was capable of killing her, and why would she run away from a job that gave her so much money, she could buy literally anything she wanted.

Y/n didn’t know this, but Logan would never harm a soul. Especially her. If she were to run away, he’d simply get her back.

“How long is this dance?” Y/n sighed as she walked in front of one of the VIP doors that was guarded more than usual. Usually, there are only two being on each side of the door, but tonight, the whole hallway was full of security guards.

“As long as he says,” the man replied to her with no facial expression. Y/n rolled her eyes as she opened the door to go in.

Once she got in, she saw a man in a chair, facing the other way. He was smoking a cigar and had a bottle of hard liquor sitting on the coffee table next to him.

Y/n closed the door before dimming the lights. She had no idea who this man was, as always, but she still continued her work.

Y/n pressed a button on the wall which turned on music for her. Her own playlist that she made to make her work against her will.

Logan, the boss would never allow any of his workers to do this, but for y/n, he exuded it. He wanted to make her feel comfortable without giving her up. That is why he gives her an allowance. Steppers don’t get an allowance from the boss.

“How do you want this session to go, baby?” Y/n asked as she came up behind the man, touching his shoulders softly as her lips slightly grazed his ear. The smell of her this close smelled amazing to the man.

“Touchy and slow,” the man said, making the girl walk around him until she was in front of him. “Good choice,” she smirked, knowing those are the best-paying sessions.

Y/n took a few steps away from the man and began stripping, slowly. She had this tight dress on she had never worn before. He picked that out for her.

“Slower,” he demanded in a soft and low voice. Y/n listened, pulling the straps from her shoulder as slowly as she could go with the music she had chosen.

Once y/n got the dress off, she turned around, showing off her body to the man. He had also picked the lingerie. He knew she’d look stunning in it.

“C’mere,” he said as he sat his cigar down and shifted in his chair. Y/n slowly turned around and walked towards the man who patted his lap.

“Sit,” he said, and she did as told, putting her knees on both sides of his outer thighs. “You can touch anywhere that’s not clothed,” y/n said as the man slowly placed his hands on her ass cheeks, gripping the slightly.

“Ain’t that so?” He softly chuckled as she began grinding her hips. “Mhm hm,” she hummed as she placed her hands on the man’s shoulders.

“What if I tell you I’m a special request? — A special guest,” he said, making her lean into his ear. “Then you’ll have to talk to my boss about a price change,” she said, knowing most don’t.

The man laughed as he softly traced his hands u the girl's body until she cupped her cheek, making her look into his eyes.

He was one of the best-looking customers she’s had. Tall, dark, handsome, muscular, actually smelled good, and the way he touched her almost seemed like soft and careful loving touches.

“Maybe I will,” he said, making her heart skip a beat. “I-I don’t know if he’ll allow it though,” y/n tried lying, and he knew that. “And why would that be, Bub?” The man asked as she kept grinding on him with soft but rough touches on his chest and shoulders.

“I don’t know,” she replied, making him chuckle again. “Lemme ask him real quick,” the man said before he closed his eyes shut. Y/n stopped her movement, confused about what he was doing.

She went to speak until his eyes finally opened. “He said, I can,” Logan answered for himself. “I don’t think that's how it works, baby,” y/n giggled, finding the man funny.

“Oh, but I do, Bub,” the man said as his hands slowly traced up her body until his fingers hugged into her bra. “Hey, if you wanna good session, you gotta follow the rules-“ Before she could say anything, the man ripped her bra off, clean.

Y/n let out a short scream as she covered herself up. “That’s it — Get out!” Y/n went to get up, but he gripped her waist tightly, keeping her in place.

“Why is that?” He asked with a smirk, liking how defensive she got. “If you don’t leave, I’m gonna call the boss,” she said, making him chuckle. She had no clue. She was about to find out.

“Told you, he said it was alright,” Logan said, making the girl give him a face of confusion. She was confused and thought to herself until it clicked in her head. He was the boss.

That’s why he had so many guards outside of the VIP room. That’s why she was requested to wear a certain outfit. She was dancing for the boss.

“O-Oh, sorry, I — I didn’t know,” y/n said, still keeping her breast covered, but had lightened up her body, trying to relax more so she wouldn’t lose her job. Yes, she’s thought about escaping, but with the money. I’d he fired her and kicked her out, she wouldn’t get the money.

“All good, darling. Just wanting to surprise my favorite girl,” Logan said, hands softly grabbing her wrist to pull them away from her chest. She fought back for a second, but soon let him do what he wanted.

“Good girl — Too pretty to be coverin’ up in front of me,” he said as both of his hands cupped her chest, massaging them with kindness. He wanted her comfortable before he brought out the man he was.

“I-I know I work for you, b-but I don’t usually do this,” y/n stuttered as the man’s fingers pinched and played with both of her nipples slowly.

“Mhm hm,” he hummed, fixated on making something spark in her, and he soon did. A small moan escaped her mouth after she parted her lips. It was hard to hide how good his touch felt.

“Logan- Mister Howlett,” y/n corrected herself, trying to come out of respect, but it’s not like he’d get rid of her. She could punch him right now, and he’d keep her. He’d shit shows her the consequences of those actions.

“Can call me Logan, Bub,” the man said right before he latched his mouth around one of the girl's nipples. Y/n moaned lightly, hands flying to his hair to tug on, but not away.

“Oh, fuck,” was all she could say as she started on the man again. If this was another man, she would’ve been fought, but with him, she couldn’t bring himself to. He played with her too well.

Logan groaned onto the girl's chest, sensing vibrations through her body as his hands tried to her panties until he ripped them off clean, just like her bra.

“Gonna listen to your boss, baby?” Logan asked in between his sucks. “Y-Yes, sir,” she whined as she leaned her head back. “Good girl,” Logan groaned as he pulled back and shifted under her.

“You’re a tasty little thing, but still a hard ass,“ Logan said, making the girl's heart pump. “I-I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise,” y/n felt like she was begging, and she was. Who knew how much she actually needed this job, and how much she needed him.

“Oh, yes, you will, because you got a lot of making up to do for me,” Logan said as he finally got his cock out of his jeans. Y/n’s sucked in a low breath at the size and sight of him.

He was huge. He was hard. He was leaking. He was hurting. He’s needed y/n for a while, and she’s about to find that out. “Ride me, Bub,”

Y/n was hesitant, but managed to lift herself up, allowing Logan to shift his body under her so she was right aligned with him.

“Listen to me, baby, or you’ll regret it,” Logan quickly changed his attitude, which didn’t alarm y/n in a bad way. It was actually making her more wet than she already was.

“Y-Yes, sir,” she stuttered again before he slowly sunk down onto the man. “F-Fuck,” y/n quickly winced at the pain. He stretched her quicker than she’d ever been stretched before.

“That’s it, baby — Get me all in,” Logan placed his hands on her waist to guide her down quicker. Y/n clenched around the man. She even twitched.

“Ah huh,” the man breathed out as she finally got every inch of him inside of her with a slight eye cross. She had felt the knot in her stomach built in an instant.

“Start movin, Bub,” Logan spoke in a warning tone, making sure she knew he didn’t want to take any type of time with this. “I paid for this session,” the man added.

Y/n placed her hands back on the man’s shoulders to help herself before she began bouncing slowly. Cunt gripping his pulsing rock-hard cock as.

“Fuuck,” the man groaned as he threw his head back. “So fucking tight,” the man admitted as she whined. It didn’t take long for her wetness to coat his cock, allowing her to move on him smoother.

“Gonna keep you, baby. Not like I haven’t already,” Logan said as he leaned his head back up, watching y/n crumble on his lap.

“Gonna be my girl, baby? Officially? Some gotta work no more, only for me,” Logan said as a hand softly wrapped around her neck. “Mhm hm,” y/n accepted something she didn’t even think about.

“Yeah? Gonna be a good girl and stick by my side for the same pay?” He asked. “Yes,” y/n whined, but down, she didn’t care about the pay, and he could see that. He could read right through her.

“Money isn’t the prize for you though, now ain’t it, baby? You just wanna ride my cock until you go dumb,” Logan said, making her nod her head repeatedly.

“Oh, yeah,” the man groaned darkly as he planted his feet and began plunging up into the younger lady, making her take him far more than she could handle.

“Oh, fuck,” y/n cried as the grip on his shoulders tightened. “Good little girl — So damn pretty and obedient. Almost thought you hated me,” the man smirked up at her as she shook.

She did hate the man. That was until she realized how good-looking he was and how damn good his cock felt.

“So drunk on my cock, you’re forgetting I basically took you from your home,” the man fake pouted as he snapped his hips harder, allowing the room to fill with their skin clapping.

“I’m gonna cum, sir,” y/n warned, making him groan at how good she sounded calling him sir. “Good, baby. Cum on my cock. Soak my jeans. Show me who you belong to. Show me who I belong to,” Logan said, feeling his own orgasm near.

“Oh, yes — Yes, yes,” y/n cried out as she shook, letting loose all over the man with a loud moan. “That’s it! Fuckin’ cum on me, y/n. Cum!” The man’s grip on her neck and waist tightened, making y/n feel taken over. That feeling only made her mind foggy.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. You gonna like that? Gonna take it? — Tell me you��re gonna take it, baby,” Logan needed to hear her. “Gonna take it,” y/n could barely get out from how slow her mind was moving her the lack of air getting out of her throat. “Ah huh, ah huh!”

Logan brutally fucked the girl with a loud groan, spilling into her as she shook and went slack. He held her up though, making sure her half-opened eyes looked down at the man who now claimed he’d officially.

“Yes, baby,” the man couldn’t stop rutting into her. The pleasure only grew more as he heard her and his cum mixing together in her cunt. She was full, but he wanted to fill her more.

“Fuck, c’mere,” Logan said as he picked y/n up and threw her over his shoulder. He paid no attention to the state they were in and walked out of the VIP room.

“Cancel all appointments with y/n for tonight and any other night — Buy everything on the list I made all week so she’ll have something good to wake up to,” Logan said as he walked down the hallway and out of the back door that lead to other parts of the club.

Logan carried y/n to his room which was on the last floor of the large building. He knew she had questions to ask the whole way up, but all she could let out were whines.

Her cunt still leaked his cum, occasionally dropping down his arm as he stepped through his building. He fucked her well and planned to put her to sleep.

“Gonna wake up like a princess tomorrow morning, Bub,”

630 notes · View notes

alisonsfics · 2 days

Text

wrong name

pairing: tyler owens x best friend!reader

summary: you were doing a great job suppressing your feelings for your best friend until you hooked up with a guy and called out tyler’s name in bed. but it’s fine, tyler would never find out, right? right?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, car sex, fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, minors DNI (18+ only)

It had been one week since the most mortifying moment of your life.

You’d gone on a first date with a guy named Finn because that’s what you do when you’re trying to get over your crush on your best friend. You hope that maybe you’ll meet a guy that you’ll fall harder for and stop crushing on the guy who would never see you like that.

So, you went back to his place after dinner, and the sex was mediocre at best.

At first, Tyler only popped into your head for second. You imagined how much better it would feel if it was his hands running over your body. Then, you had more intrusive thoughts. Like the thought of Tyler bending you over and fucking you.

It’s only because you were desperate. There was nothing worse than trying to pretend you were having a good time when you were just bored out of your mind.

So, you suggested to Finn that he should blindfold you.

From there, your imagination really soared, and you allowed yourself to believe you were with Tyler.

It was a fun little secret, just for you.

Until you both came, and you called out Tyler’s name and not his.

You were praying you’d spontaneously combust because you couldn’t face him after that. You quickly scrambled back into your clothes and went home.

You were doing okay at pretending it never happened. When you were lying in bed at night, the memory liked to sneak up on you and mortify you all over again.

So, you were boycotting dates for the moment because you couldn’t risk doing it again.

You had a boring night of wine and a movie planned for yourself when Tyler called you. “Hey, Tyler? What’s up?” You asked him, cheerily.

“You got any plans tonight? I was thinking about going out to a bar.” He suggested.

Even over the phone, his voice ran right through you. Goosebumps ran down your arms as you tried to hide your excitement. “That sounds great. Pick me up at 8?” You suggested.

“Sounds perfect, see you soon.” He replied.

You hung up the phone and flopped backwards onto your bed. The heat rushed to your cheeks. You had to fight the urge to giggle and kick your feet.

You’d been friends with Tyler for years, which didn’t mean you stopped getting butterflies around him. You just got better at hiding it.

You both had been through a lot together, and you didn’t want to jeopardize it by letting he find out you were harboring feelings for him.

So, you picked out a cute black dress to wear. One that Tyler’s eyes would linger over, but he’d never admit it. Just like every time the two of you went out to a bar.

You’d just finished getting ready whenTyler’s red truck pulled up outside your apartment. You quickly ran down the stairs to greet him.

“There she is,” he said, his eyes running down your body as he got out of the truck. That look of awe was enough to make you feel dizzy.

You could feel the butterflies start to swarm as he walked closer to you. “You look gorgeous as always.” He said, taking your hand and spinning you in a circle.

You thanked him as he pulled you in for a quick hug.

“Your chariot awaits.” He joked, opening the passenger door for you.

The drive there went by in a flash. You and Tyler knew each other like the back of your hands, so you could easily spend hours talking about nothing and everything.

“So, any particular reason you wanted to go out tonight?” You asked, looking over at Tyler as you both took a seat at the bar. You knew Tyler’s favorite solution for problems at work was going out drinking with you. No one could calm Tyler down the way you could.

“Can’t it just be because I wanted to hang out with my best friend?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. You rolled your eyes at him, swatting his arm. “While I am a delight, I know that’s not it.” You encouraged him, letting your hand linger on his forearm.

His eyes darted down. The way your small hand was gripping onto his muscular arm was enough to distract him. You quickly pulled your hand away, feeling slightly embarrassed after seeing his reaction.

“Just tornado stuff. We had this big opportunity to get a bunch of data, but some of the equipment malfunctioned. We lost almost everything.” He explained. He was eager to move the conversation past how he had almost malfunctioned because you grabbed his arm.

You gave him a small sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Tyler. That’s frustrating. You’ll figure it out. I mean, you’re the tornado wrangler after all.” You said, cheesily trying to cheer him up. Tyler chuckled and looked down at his hands.

Ever since Tyler had been branded the “Tornado Wrangler,” you loved to tease him about it.

“Oh, c’mon, you know I hate when you call me that.” He groaned, smiling at you. You cheekily shrugged your shoulders.

“I gotta go to the bathroom real quick. Can you watch my drink?” You asked him. Tyler quickly nodded, sliding your drink over in front of him. You rushed towards the bathroom, where you assumed there’d be a line.

“Two shots of tequila please,” Tyler heard a man come up to the bar and order beside him.

He didn’t pay a lot of attention to it, until he saw the man down both shots back to back, out of the corner of his eye. “Rough day?” Tyler joked, looking over at the man.

“Rough week,” the man corrected him, with a grim expression. Tyler looked at the man’s face, not being able to shake the feeling that he knew him from somewhere.

“Wait, do we know each other? You look familiar.” Tyler said, furrowing his eyebrows as he thought. The man gave him an awkward smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, man.” He said, knowing he’d never seen Tyler before.

That’s when he saw Tyler’s eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, wait. You’re Finn, right?” He asked him.

Finn’s expression only became more anxious and worried. “Yeah, umm. I am, but how do you know my name? I don’t think we’ve ever met.” He asked.

Tyler quickly shook his head, trying to assure the man who was growing more nervous. “No, we haven’t met. You went on a date with my friend Y/N last weekend. She showed me your picture before you guys had your date.” Tyler said.

Finn nodded in recognition. All the memories of that night came rushing back to him. “Oh, yeah. That explains it.” Finn said, sheepishly. It was clear to Finn that this man he was speaking to didn’t know anything about how that date went.

“Sorry, don’t want to be rude. I’m Tyler, by the way.” Tyler said, quickly shaking Finn’s hand. Finn stared blankly back at him. “Tyler?” He asked, feeling his blood run cold. Tyler nodded, giving Finn a friendly smile.

Meanwhile, you were on your way back to the bar.

“Hey, Tyler. I’m back.” You said, reaching to grab your drink back from Tyler. Your gaze drifted past Tyler to the man that was standing beside him.

“Hey, Y/N. Good to see you.” Finn said, with a fake smile. You felt yourself freeze. You wanted to run away, but you couldn’t convince your feet to move.

“Oh—uh, Finn. Yeah, good to see you.” You nervously lied. Your eyes darted between Tyler and Finn. You were praying Finn hadn’t found out Tyler’s name. You were also praying he hadn’t told Tyler what happened.

“I guess you haven’t told your friend, Tyler, here that our date was kind of a bust.” He said, coldly.

You wrapped your hand around Tyler’s bicep, trying to tug him towards you. You wanted Tyler to get the hint that you really wanted to leave.

Tyler turned to face you. He saw the pure panic in your eyes. “You okay?” He asked you, quietly.

You tried to form the word “no,” but no sound would come out of your mouth. All you could imagine was Finn telling Tyler what happened. You could practically see the way that Tyler’s face would change.

“I think the guy deserves to know.” Finn said, noticing the way you were tensed up. You weren’t hard to read in this moment, but Finn had been humiliated when you said the wrong name. So, he wanted revenge.

“That’s none of his business.” You said firmly. You refused to look Tyler in the eye. You were worried that if you did, he’d somehow see into your soul and know what happened.

“Let’s go.” Tyler said, standing up and wrapping his hand tightly in yours. Tyler knew how uncomfortable Finn was making you and wanted to get you out of there as quick as possible.

Tyler turned to leave, pulling you with him when Finn yelled after you both.

“We hooked up, but she called out your name, not mine.” Finn said.

You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your stomach sank. You felt like the floor was going to open it up and pull you under.

You tugged your hand away and ran out of the bar and into the parking lot. Tyler was trying to process what he’d just heard.

He turned around to face Finn, who had a grin on his face. “The lady told you to shut up.” Tyler practically growled, shoving Finn against the bar.

Tyler turned on his heel to follow you towards the car.

When he got outside, he saw you standing by the passenger side of the truck. Your arms were crossed, and your eyes were focused on the ground.

“Sweetheart—” Tyler started to say before you cut him off.

“I want to go home.” You snapped. Your tone came out harsher than you meant to.

Tyler slowly nodded. He didn’t want to push you to talk about something you didn’t want to talk about. You both got into the car in complete silence.

Tyler hesitated before putting the keys in the ignition. He glanced over at you. He could see your eyes starting to water as you still refused to look at him.

He cautiously reached over to let his fingers interlace with yours. “Will you please look at me, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not scaring me away. I promise.” He said, softly.

You hesitantly looked over at him. He gave you a soft smile, trying to calm you down. “Finn was a douchebag for telling me, but I’m not going anywhere.” He assured you. You softly squeezed his hand.

He used his other hand to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “So…you were calling out my name, huh?” Tyler asked you, with a cocky smirk.

Your eyes went wide. You tugged your hand away from his and covered your face with your hands. “Tyler,” you complained, dragging out his name.

He chuckled to himself. “I wasn’t trying to tease you.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender.

You peeked at him through your fingers. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, Owens.” You said, groaning to yourself.

He shook his head. Then, you felt him grab both your hands. His rough calloused skin scratching against your soft hands. He moved your hands away, looking you in the eye.

“I was just offering to make your little fantasies a reality.” He said in a low voice.

You leaped across the car, grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. His hand flew to the back of your neck as he kissed you back.

You could taste the liquor on his lips. The kiss was sloppy and hungry. You’d both wanted this for too long to be patient. His fingers weaved through your hair, holding on tightly.

His other hand grabbed your waist. His fingers caressed the silky material of your dress. His mind could only think about how much softer your skin would be under his touch.

You seemingly read his mind. “Go ahead,” you mumbled against his lips. You could feel his lips curve up into a smirk. He slipped his fingers under your short dress, caressing your upper thigh.

He noticed the goosebumps that were covering your legs. It only encouraged him more. His hand slowly moved higher up your thigh.

You whimpered against the kiss. You felt the familiar aching between your legs. You needed his touch like you needed air. “So needy for me, baby,” he said, cockily.

The pet name sent a shiver rolling down your back. You bucked your hips up against nothing. “Please,” you begged him.

He rubbed his thumb across your clothed heat. A small wet patch had formed in your panties. Another whine came out of you.

He quickly pushed your panties to the side and plunged a finger into your folds. You gasped, pulling out of the kiss. Your eyelids softly fluttered closed.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumbled softly. Tyler peppered kisses to your shoulder as you leaned your head back. Your senses were overwhelmed. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head. He curled his finger inside of you, making you buck your hips against his hand.

“You want another, sweetheart? Can you handle that?” Tyler asked you. You furiously nodded your head. He could feel his jeans becoming strained as he watched you writhe under his touch.

He added another finger, stretching you out. Your mouth hung open as you adjusted. Your wetness only allowed Tyler to move his fingers quicker. He quickly moved them in and out, watching as your breath quickened.

Your stomach started to tighten. You reached for anything to sink your nails into. Your hand landed on Tyler’s bicep.

He pressed his thumb into your clit. “Tyler,” his name fell effortlessly from his lips. He quickened his pace. Every breath and moan from you made him go faster.

“Cum for me, baby,” he praised you.

He started rubbing circles around your clit. You whined, helplessly grinding your hips down against his hand. You swore you were seeing stars. “Oh fuck, Tyler, I’m gonna—” you swore, biting down your lip.

“Go ahead. Cum on my fingers.” He instructed. Your orgasm hit you. You clenched around his fingers, riding the high. “Tyler, so good,” you mumbled. Your legs were shaking, and you threw your head back against the headrest. He continued pumping his fingers into you.

“That’s it. There you go.” He softly praised you. Tyler’s fingers slowed down, helping you down from your peak. He brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your lips softly.

He wiped his soaked fingers on his jeans. You softly nipped at his bottom lip. His smirk grew again. “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” He asked you.

Instead of answering him, you climbed across the console into his lap. Tyler pulled out of the kiss to watch you, in shock. His eyes were wide at the sight in front of him.

You were straddling his lap. Your skirt was hiked up to your hips while your cum was running down your thigh. Your makeup was smudged. Your lips were swollen. And you looked tired out from your orgasm.

“Hold on, just a second, baby,” he said, quickly sliding his seat all the way back and leaning the chair as far back as it would go.

As soon as you both had more room, you were back all over each other. Tyler’s hands were possessively holding on your hips. You unbuttoned Tyler’s shirt as you kissed him. Feeling the last button come undone, you raked your nails over his bare chest. Tyler groaned into the kiss. Your touch was magic on him.

“Need you,” he mumbled against your lips. You tugged his shirt off his shoulders and threw it in the back seat.

Tyler leaned back as you reached for the hem of your dress. He watched with a cocky smile as you pulled the dress over your head. He’d just been fingers deep in you, but the sight of you in your bra and panties was enough to make him crazy.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, darling,” he practically moaned. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down to kiss him again. Your hands struggled to undo his belt while he unclasped your bra.

Having Tyler’s hands on you had your skin burning. You felt like your skin was on fire, in the best way. You could sense his desperation. His hands explored your body, not wanting to leave any part untouched.

His hands covered you, helping you undo his belt and unzip his jeans. He quickly tugged his jeans down to his knees.

You pulled out of the kiss to take a breath. Tyler buried his face in between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and a trail of saliva. He leaned forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your eyes rolled back, grasping onto Tyler’s arms. “Need you, Tyler,” you mumbled.

“All you had to do was ask, baby.” He said, tugging down his boxers. His cock spring out, slapping against his stomach. He watched as you practically drooled over him. He brought you back into the moment as he pulled off your panties.

“You want to do this right here? Or you wanna move into the backseat?” He asked you, smirking at your eager expression.

“Right here,” you said. The words came out rushed as you captured his lips in a kiss. He smirked against your lips. “Hang on, sweetheart. If you’re gonna ride me, you’re gonna need this.” He said, grabbing his cowboy hat from the backseat and plopping it on your head. A bashful smile appeared on your face.

You shifted your weight, holding onto Tyler’s shoulders. “Go ahead, cowgirl.” He encouraged you with a wicked smile.

You slowly sunk yourself down onto his length. A low groan escaped Tyler’s lips at the feeling of you wrapped around him. “Fuck, darling,” he moaned, grabbing at your hips. He helped lift you up and let you plunge back down on his cock.

“Oh, Ty— so good,” you mumbled, rolling your hips back into his.

Tyler took a mental picture of you riding him while wearing his hat. He wanted to remember it forever.

With his assistance, you sped up the pace. You were ramming your hips down against his. With each thrust, you could feel Tyler reaching deeper inside you.

“This what you were thinking about with that other guy? Thinking about wrapping your sweet pussy around my cock. You fit perfect. It’s like you were made for me.” Tyler praised you. His comments went straight to your core. Your legs started to shake.

His name fell from your lips. He bucked his hips up to meet yours halfway. “Need to…f-f-faster,” you stuttered, feeling your muscles begin to tighten.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help ya,” he assured you, grabbing a tight hold on your hips. He slammed you down on his cock.

You could feel him brush up against your g-spot. You clenched your eyes shut, a whimper escaping your lips. “That the spot, sweetheart? Don’t worry. I’ll give it the attention it needs.” He said, flipping your body over so he was on top.

“You did so good, honey. But just let me do the work. You focus on cumming for me.” He instructed you.

He braced his leg against the console and started pounding into you. Your legs began to shake. You wrapped your hands around the headrest, your knuckles turning white.

“I’m almost—” you said, breathlessly. The noises bouncing off the truck walls were almost pornographic. You could hear every thrust. From Tyler’s low groans every time you squeezed around his cock to the sound his cock made as it slipped through your wetness.

His hand flew down to your clit, rubbing small tight circles. “Can’t last much longer, darling,” Tyler moaned. You could tell from his erratic thrusts that he was telling the truth. You vision was starting to go white as the muscles in your abdomen contracted.

“Oh, shit. I’m gonna— oh, fuck, Tyler.” You called out as you came around him. Your walls clenched down around his cock, pushing him over the edge. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, bucking his hips into yours and he came inside you.

He collapsed against you, slowing his pace and bringing you both down from your highs. His sweaty body pressed against yours.

“So, how’s that compare to what you were imagining?” Tyler asked you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

You gasped for breath. “S-so much better,” you mumbled, breathlessly.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guacam011y @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @visenyaverse @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @princess-evans-addict @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat @marvelcasey05 @alipap3 @djs8891 @love2write2626 @khaleesibeach @ateliersss @xbox5angelx @kneelforloki @ipromiseidk @ilovefictionalcharacters26 @lovelyleanie @avengersgirllorianna @nerdgirljen @ellesmythe @harrysgothicbitch @mikoxvelez @emma8895eb @xoxabs88xox @velyssaraptor

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#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens oneshot #tyler owens fic #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens imagine #twisters movie #twisters #glen powell #glen powell x reader

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timmydraker · 2 days

Text

Tim begins to distance himself from his family after Damian becomes Robin.

It was obvious in the way he ran off to rescue Bruce, but that was more of a physical thing at the end of the day. He was desperate and had lost any kind of safety net and support he had after Dick threatened Arkham and how badly he hurt Alfred with his instance that Bruce was alive.

Either way he was going to get Bruce back, if not because he felt like he was an aimless, nothing human being without Batman then there was that he wanted to be believed.

Then Dick handed over Robin to Damian who at that point genuinely despised Tim, though there was also a level of jealously in the young Wayne’s mind at the intelligence and analytical Tim.

It was then that Tim decided he would bring Bruce back and then do his own thing, outside of Robin and outside of Batman.

He clearly had done his job hadn’t he? Sure Bruce was dead, but Dick was acting as Batman and that Batman had a Robin, so his reasoning for being Robin was extinguished.

Tim brings Bruce back and the older man praises and thanks him for several days and then, like everything else, the attention moves away. It goes to him connecting with Damian on a vigilante level and catching up on the last several months of him being ‘dead’. It goes to Jason who, now that he’s lost his foster father has decided that maybe he could try a little harder after all.

It goes to everyone and anyone other than Tim and this time? That’s actually the plan.

Tim isn’t as good of a hacker as Barbara, but she’s basically a god at it so compared to others he might as well be master level, just not against her. This he uses to shift around peoples schedules so Alfred has no choice but to let him go to school on his own (Tim may have also invented an early morning ‘club’ that was totally legit and not at all a fabrication). He makes it so when Dick is over or Jason takes the rare opportunity to visit he had to work at WE or DI, something important he can’t neglect.

He never has to walk Ace or Titus because he’s busy with his team mates.

Team mates who think he’s busy helping out Batman.

Tim still does work as a hero, but it’s entirely through his businesses after a while. A few times he has no choice but to go out in a boring black suit with a full face mask and hoodie. It’s got nothing on it, no symbols or gadgets. Nothing to connect him to anyone.

He starts with the homeless, dishing out vaccines like candy without even doing a campaign to showcase it.

Then he changes Bruce’s rather naive approach to orphanages and makes it so every single child who is put through is given a small amount of funding. He makes it so kids have more chance to stay with siblings, makes sure everyone who even so much as enters the ground of a orphanage have a real background check and sure the adoption rate drops, but so does the missing kids and DV cases.

Tim steals over fifty million from people like Luther and Penguin and all kinds of corrupt rich assholes for the majority of the funding and not even a cent of it is traced back to Wayne or Drake businesses. Whiles he’s digging into Lex be manages to get enough evidence to put a sizeable dent in his reputation, even if Lex manages to smooch a fair bit of it back.

He’s manages to take out a large sized trafficking ring and helps get the victims into a real recovery home that he hand picks out security for.

Later, as in a few days afterward, he discovers a dog meat farm and everyone medical veterinary student suddenly finds themself free of student loans and debt and with multiple work opportunities available and volunteer work being down right pleased for.

Tim knows he’s being noticed but given that he basically lives in his office in the heart of the city, he isn’t there to hear his old teammates and ‘family’ talk about the mysterious Dread.

Dread who was named that after a report came out about a theory of an unknown hacker or ‘cyber vigilante’ who was stealing money and information from rich folk and giving it to the poor, giving all of the 1% dread that he would hit them next.

The exact quote was ‘Those with money deeper than their pockets dread the hackers next moves. And they should feel that dread as a warning for this Robin Hood like legend seems to be getting braver.’

Dick was sure the hacker would have been called Robin if he hadn’t chosen that name already, to which Barbara responded with grumbles and growl because she couldn’t find anything other than holes and traps left by the hacker. It was like they knew her every move before she even made it!

Tim, obvious to his growing reputation until it fully took off, hadn’t even considered that his actions would be framed a threat by Batman. He would say it was because he didn’t think Bruce would ever really target him like that, but in actuality it’s because he knew Bruce was one of the few good rich folk. Surely he would be on the side of a secret vigilante hacker trying to use horrible people to do good? He embraced Dread quickly and was happy he make the rich squirm and brought a sense of hope to people, it was just like Robin but instead of them being safe and given light they were given a peace of mind in a mix of revenge and justice.

What Tim doesn’t know is that Bruce is still too far into his whole image of black and white, good and evil, that he tends to forget there’s grey areas.

At least Jason is on the side of Dread, even if he still thinks the myth of a story is just that, a myth.

It’s when Tim blows up a bank when everyone has gone home for the night just so people will find the underground money ring that and he visits the manner to get a few things that he hears them talking about it.

By that point it’s been around two years since he dropped Robin and as usual Dick always greets him with a look of a desperate puppy, “Tim! Hi, you’re here. I haven’t seen you in months, how have you been?”

Tim smiles at Dick even if he hasn’t gotten over his anger at his oldest brother and moves to sit at the breakfast table with everyone (Alfred, Bruce, Jason and Damian).

“Good. Busy, we’ve had a lot of donations lately.”

Jason snorts, “No shit. Isn’t Wayne Enterprise one of the few ones not hit by Dread?”

Bruce grumbles and shakes his head, “I wouldn’t say that. They’ve managed to get into our system and completely changed the Jason Project.”

Jason grins and laughs happily, “you mean improved! Crime Ally is doing great now. Not the best, but still a fuck of a lot better.”

Smiling at the man who once beat him to an inch of his life, Tim takes a sip of his tea and casually says, “You’re welcome.”

The whole table goes quiet as Tim continues to casually sip his tea.

The silence carries for a total minute before Bruce puts down his cup and leans forward with a slight growl in his voice, “Explain.”

“Explain what?”

Bruce stands over his son even from halfway down the table and very obviously tries to calm himself with a deep breath, “What do you mean ‘you’re welcome’?”

Tim makes an ‘oh’ expression before cocking his head to the side in confusion, “I was the one who fixed the Jason Project? Wait, did you guys not realise I’m Dread?”

Damian shouts out a ‘what?!’ That makes Titus jump and Tim laughs under his breath, “What did you think I was doing?”

“Running the business! Not stealing from people and black mailing politicians!”

It’s Tim’s turn to growl now and he stands up himself with a glare at Bruce that is as close as any of them have gotten to the famed Bat-Glare, “Are you fucking kidding me? Like are you a Tully kidding me with that horse shit?”

Bruce looks stunned and Alfred doesn’t even tell him not to swear.

Tim slams his chair into the table.

“What the fuck else would I be doing, Bruce? I’m not Robin, that was taken from me, so what else was I gonna do? I finished my job, not only keeping you from killing anyone but bringing you back, so I had do pick something else. I’m not stealing from the rich, I’m stealing from selfish cunts who ruin peoples lives for no reason and giving it to people like Jason. So, don’t you fucking yell at me and don’t try to make me feel bad for this, not when I’ve done more in two years than you ever have and- don’t you fucking speak Dick, not when you were the one who took my place here away from me! Now, I have a trafficking ring I need to expose so good. Fucking. Day.”

Jason is the only one who follows him.

#batfam #tim drake #bat family #dc comics #batfamily #dc universe #Tim Drake is NOT red Robin #dc #tim drake is a menace #damian wayne #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake centric #hacker Tim Drake

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techwrecker · 18 hours

Text

Handful of Roses

Summary: It’s you and Logan’s anniversary and he can’t even be bothered to show up. You’re left alone, wondering where he could possibly be.

Genre: Angst ⇒ Fluff

Tags: SFW, minor swearing, angst & fluff (duh), fem!reader, no use of y/n, reader calls logan bub sarcastically, logan is still a mutant, sickeningly sweet ending,

Word Count: 1.6k

Request: "Logan forgets a special event? Angst to fluff. Maybe a birthday, anniversary or special date night."

A/N: Tysm for the request! I really hope you enjoy it!

Other: dividers by @moosgraphics & @saradika (tysm!)

The congealed pasta slid into the trash bin with a solid thud. Hours of your hard work gone to waste.

Tonight you and Logan were supposed to be celebrating your one year anniversary. When you suggested the idea to Logan, he wasn’t too keen on going out to a fancy restaurant, so you compromised by promising to fix him something at home. You had made him swear he would be home by 7 to eat. You wanted him for the evening— all to yourself.

And yet.

You checked the time on the stove— 8:45 p.m. You had half a mind to lock Logan out. If he was going to break his promises, you were going to make him pay the price for it. Your heels clattered against the floor as you made your way to the front door. Just as you were about to turn the deadbolt, a tiny piece of your heart shot a plea of forgiveness through you. You hesitated, weighing the pros and cons.

On one hand, Logan deserved exactly what he had coming. You wanted to drive home your frustration. If he wanted to act like an animal, then he could sleep in the dog house.

But then again, staying in the house alone made you nervous. The house you shared was out in the middle of the woods and your mind tended to run wild with dangerous scenarios at the slightest sound. Usually, Logan was home before dark to protect you from your overactive imagination.

You decided to be nice to him. Especially since the rain was really coming down outside and storms made you nervous. And despite how angry you were with Logan, you didn’t want him to come down with anything.

You withdrew your hand from the door. The figure-hugging dress you had put on just for him was starting to scratch at your skin. This was the last straw. You let the plates clatter into the sink, not caring if they shattered or not and stormed off to the bedroom to find your fuzziest pajamas.

You gathered the pajamas and a towel and headed to the shower, turning the temperature gauge as hot as you could stand. You hoped the boiling temperature would take your mind off the disappointment Logan left you alone with.

Unfortunately, as soon as the water had saturated your hair, and turned your skin a flaming red, you burst into tears. You sat down in the bottom of the tub, wrapping your arms around your folded body to console yourself. Salty tears mixed with the water for some time. You weren’t sure exactly how much time had passed since you had gotten in, but your fingers had already pruned by the time you calmed down enough to stand up again.

You knew Logan cared about you, so why did he have to forget stuff like this? It was important to you— you wanted it to be important to him, too. Your life was sucky before he came into it. Was it really too much to ask for him to acknowledge the wins with you? For a man who had walked the earth for over 200 years, a one year anniversary is probably just a drop in the bucket. But to you, it meant the world.

You turned off the water and toweled off. The vibrations of the front door slamming closed shook the walls.

“Hello?” You heard Logan’s voice call out. “Y’home, darlin’?”

You nonchalantly dried your sopping hair a few seconds longer before pulling on your pajamas. You wanted to make him sweat a little. Logan’s footsteps were thudding about the house, looking for you. You waited in the bathroom, arms crossed.

After a few more minutes, a gentle knock sounded against the door.

“You in there?” His voice was soft and tender. It was the voice he used whenever he pleaded cutely for hugs and kisses. Your expression softened out of habit. Not fair.

Your mind brought you back to reality. His manipulative tactic only fueled your anger. You ripped the door open. “Yes, Logan. I-“

Logan’s appearance cut your spiel short. He was filthy. Sloppy mud was splattered from his boots to the chest of his t-shirt, his jacket was soaked through, and his face was covered in dark grease— a giant, walking contrast to your soft, pink appearance. He extended his arm to you, a wilted and nearly bare bouquet of roses in his fist. His forlorn expression reflected the misfortune of his appearance. You almost felt sorry for him.

“Before you say anything,” he rushed out. “I want to tell you that I can’t apologize enough, darlin’. These are f’r you.”

“What the hell happened?” The hot tears threatened to well up again. “You were supposed to be here hours ago,” you said, shakily.

“I know, I know. The goddamn pickup quit on me after work tonight. Nobody in town had the part I needed.” He paused, expecting you to cut in. You kept silent and let him continue his excuse. “I had to walk home in the friggin’ storm.” He raised his arms in exasperation.

It explained why he was late, but not why he was absolutely covered in mud. At most, his boots would have been caked.

You jutted your chin out, gesturing to his mud-covered body. “And that? You’re gonna be late and track mud through my clean house?”

“You’re gonna laugh at me.” He looked down at the floor, avoiding your eyes.

You crossed your arms and set your expression in a slight frown. It was difficult to be intimidating in pink, fuzzy pajamas and slippers, but you did your best anyways. “Try me.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, clearly embarrassed. “I slipped.”

“What do you mean, ‘you slipped’?”

“On the walk home. Tripped on a tree root and fell face first. I tried savin’ the flowers but…” He let the twiggy bouquet speak for itself.

You thought for a moment. It was difficult to imagine your stoic Logan tripping on anything, much less falling into mud and trying to save delicate roses in the process. A tiny smile crept onto your lips. You took the few flowers that were left out of his hands and took a whiff. Logan visibly relaxed his shoulders as you accepted his gift.

“I figured once my truck is up’n’runnin’, we could go out to celebrate instead.”

You lit up, eyes jumping from the roses to meet his gaze. “Oh, Logan! You mean it?”

“‘Course, darlin’. How else ‘m I supposed to make it up to my favorite girl?”

How were you supposed to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that? His deep hazel eyes contained nothing but devotion for you with a smile sweet as honey.

“I guess I’ll make an exception— just this once,” You gave in to his appeal.

He made a move to envelop you in a hug, but he was met with your index finger pressed to his chest before he could wrap his dripping, disgusting arms around you.

“Nuh-uh. I don’t think so, bub. You gotta get cleaned up before you come any closer.”

He looked down at the clothes sticking to his body. “Oh— right.”

You sidestepped around him, giving him a wide berth trying to avoid touching the mess of a man. He left the door open as he peeled the clothes from his body. He had no shame about his body and you didn’t mind one bit. Making your way to the kitchen, you found a delicate glass vase under the sink. It fit the handful of roses nicely. Despite the rough journey, the roses that did make it out were somehow still perfectly picturesque.

The roses reminded you of your relationship with Logan. It’s not exactly like he was the easiest person to live with. In fact, you had bought more sheets in the past year than you ever had in your entire life. His nightmares could get awfully terrible. You would hop out of bed and run to the other side of the room— not because you were scared of him. But because you knew he would never forgive himself if he hurt you, even unconsciously. It was one of the little ways you were able to try and protect him— by protecting yourself.

But when you were with him, it was hard to imagine being anywhere else. Logan adored you. Every fiber in his being did everything it possibly could to please you. You knew he would always love you.

The shower shut off, hazy steam rolling from the bathroom into the hall. You pulled out a bag of popcorn to make while Logan got dressed. As the kernels began to pop, you heard his heavy footsteps carry him to the bedroom. The opening and shutting of drawers told you he was about finished up.

You were monitoring the popcorn when now-clean Logan wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“Hiya, darlin’.” His voice was low and relaxed. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and nuzzled into your neck. His soapy scent somehow made him more attractive.

“Hi baby,” you said, bringing your hand up to caress the side of his head. His hair was still damp, but you didn’t mind. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed you today.”

“I miss you every day,” he said into the crook, his warm breath brushing against your skin. He lifted his face to meet your gaze.

You tilted your head to give him a gentle kiss, lips tenderly pressing together. His scratchy facial hair grazed your face. The sensation kept you grounded— reminded you that he was real and he loved you.

He cupped your face, turning you toward him slightly. He searched your eyes and found only love in them.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.” He pulled you tight against his chest, letting his strong arms swathe you in his adoration. “I love you.”

You melted into him. What would you ever do without your Logan?

“I love you too, Logan.”

Taglist: @arthurcerverogf @gdsvhtwa vwa @rosiahills22 @lonewolflupe

Join the taglist! || AO3 || Thanks for reading!

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vivwritesfics · 3 days

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Life In The Fast Lane

She's an F1 driver stranded in Oklahoma. He's a cowboy storm chaser. What more can I say?

Warnings: Talks of food and restrictive diet

Where are you?

She looked around. God, she hadn't been here in years, not since she moved to Europe with her aunt. The gas station had always been there, but she hardly remembered it. Still, she pulled in to get her bearings, to work out where she was going.

The gas station wasn't anything to write home about. It needed renovating, rust and rubbish everywhere. The people milling about were on their phones, not paying her any attention. That was weird, the people not knowing who she was. She was a big deal, after all.

Her car was low key for this trip, inconspicuous. It was the car she'd gotten at seventeen, that she'd had brought over from Europe once her career took off and she was able to visit home more.

"Somewhere in Oklahoma," she said into the phone as she looked around for some sort of indicator of where exactly in Oklahoma she was. Her GPS wasn't working, broken in both her car and phone. She was utterly lost.

'You're supposed to be here for media day!

She knew that, knew she was supposed to be in Texas at that minute. The idea to drive from her parents place in Enid to the track it Texas had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now she was lost, incredibly lost.

"I'll be there before the first practice," she muttered. "Just cover me for today."

She put the phone down as the loud, obnoxious music started. She whipped her head around and watched as the red truck pulled into the gas station. There was a guy cheering as he hung out of the window of the truck.

People flocked to the track, the camper, and the RV behind it. They parked up, turned up the radio, and climbed out to meet their public.

The driver of the red truck climbed out. On his head was a white cowboy hat, a pair of sunglasses covering his face. He took a sharpie from somebody's hands and started signing everything in sight. Shirts, hats, anything he could get his hands on.

He made his way through the crowd, giving out pictures and signing anything until he got her her. "Hey there, darlin'," he said with a charming grin.

Before she could say anything, he took her hat from her head and decorated it with his signature.

"What the fuck?" She snatched her hat back from him. His scrawl was now across the brim, name unintelligible to her eye. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

He still wore that stupid, charming grin as he pulled sunglasses away from his eyes. They were pretty, a fact she would later come to realise. For now, she was pissed. "You're telling me you're not a fan?"

Her face was hot as she stared up at him. "Who do you think you are?" She asked, voice low. It wasn't a question, not really. A challenge, one he would have been stupid to take.

Stupid or clueless.

But he didn't take the challenge. The man from beside him did. "You're sayin' you haven't heard of Tyler Owens?" He asked and laughed, shaking his head as he walked away.

They were having too much fun, whoever they were. Placing her hat back on her head, she muttered obscenities as she made her way back back to the car. Even if she knew where she was going, there was no way to navigate around all of the vehicles now filling the gas station. She supposed she had Tyler Owens to thank for that.

Her head hit the horn and she didn't stop the noise. Eyes were on her. Maybe some of them recognised her. Who was she kidding, everybody was here for Tyler Owens.

He watched her, too. Still signing shirts and pictures, but he glanced back at her every so often. The only other people he'd met in this sort of setting that hadn't desperately wanted his signature was Storm Par. And Storm Par certainly hadn't reacted like that.

There was a full minute where the only sound in the gas station was her horn, her head firmly planted in the middle of the steering wheel. Her hat, the one that now held his signature, was gone, tossed into the back somewhere.

Fuck, he almost felt sorry for her.

She lifted her head and the noise stopped. Throwing it back, she closed her eyes. She was saying something, but the car around her kept the noise in.

Signing just a few more pictures, Tyler approached. His boots crunched the gravel beneath his feet and his sunglasses hid any emotion that could have been read on his race. He still wore that grin, the one that made him seem like a cocky asshole. It always would, until he took the glasses off.

His knuckles tapped lightly on her window.

She glared at him as she pressed the button to lower the window. "What do you want?" She asked, expression set.

It was kind of terrifying, but Tyler didn't falter. "Are you okay?" He asked, leaning against the door.

She raised her eyebrows at him and turned to face forward. No, she wouldn't entertain this. He was a dick, and he wasn't trying to hide it.

"I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong."

Good, she didn't want his help. His whole reason for helping was to boost his own ego, she figured. She'd met his kind before, usually had it out with them in some of the fastest vehicles in world.

Grabbing her cap, she placed it on her head. She couldn't ro up the window, not with the way he was holding it. "I know this area pretty well," he began, leaning forward so that the brim of his obnoxiously large hat was in the car with her. "If you're lost, which, I think you are, I might be able to help."

Taking him up on his offer of help. It would have meant swallowing her pride and accepting the fact that she couldn't do it on her own. "No, thank you." She forced and smile and then looked down at her phone.

It was late. The sky was already beginning to turn orange and there was no way she was going to reach her destination before the darkness set in. "I'm just gonna find a motel and hunker down for the night."

She started the engine. "Oh, the nearest motel is-" But she was already winding up her window, not giving him a chance to finish his sentence before she sped off, driving around those in her way with incredible skill.

A name had been on her hat, Tyler had been looking at it the whole time that they had been talking. It might not have been her name, but there was only one way to find out.

It took her a little while to find a motel. When she pulled into the parking lot, the red truck and its accompanying vehicles were already there. There he sat, tinkering with the pile of crap on the top of his truck. His eyes followed her car as she pulled into a parking spot, as far away as she could get from him, grabbed her bags from the back, and marched towards the motel reception.

He kept watching as she paid for the night, grabbed the key, and marched out of the reception. "See you finally found it," Tyler asked as he grabbed his beer. "Took you long enought, for an F1 driver." He said the last bit so quietly, but she still heard it.

Stopping in her tracks, she turned back towards him. "What the hell did you just say to me?"

He nodded towards her hat. "I googled you," he replied. "You're a racer, right?"

A huff left her lips and she folded her arms over her chest. "You googled me?"

He gave a quick nod and sipped his beer. "You should try googlin' me back at some point."

The laugh that left her lips was melodic, had a light dusting of pink on Tyler's cheeks. "You actually want me to Google you?" She asked and he gave a quick nod. But then the smile dropped from her face all together "You're fucking creepy," she said and walked away.

His face was entirely red at that. She turned on her heel and walked away, making her way to her own room.

The rest of Tyler's group of Storm chasers laughed as they looked at him. Face completely red, eyes following her movements until she locked herself in her motel room. "Tyler has a crush!" Boone sang. His laugh was infectious, had everybody else laughing with him.

"Shut up, Boone," Tyler mumbled, but he couldn't hide his own smile. She was a tough nut to crack, but he was going to be the one to do it.

***ED TRIGGER WARNING FROM HERE TO THE END***

"Tyler Owens," she mumbled as she typed his name into the search bar of her laptop. Emails popped up on the bottom right hand corner of her screen, but she ignored it. She knew she was supposed to be in Texas, knew she was so close to missing the first practice session. It was fine. If she set off as soon as the sun rose, she would be fine.

She pressed search and waited for the results to appear. The motel WiFi was shitty, forcing her to wait an age before the results appeared.

There was his face. He was handsome, but she hated it. His face just invited her fist. That was it: He had a handsome, punchable face. She scrolled down until she got to a link to his YouTube Channel. "What the hell is a Tornado Rangler?" She mumbled and clicked on the video.

It was a live stream, edited down to a more consumable format. His voice was loud and clear through her speakers, had her scrambling to turn down the volume on her laptop.

It was actually kind of incredible. She watched as he drove into a tornado, anchored himself down and shot fireworks inside of it. It was stupid and dangerous, but wasn't everything she did stupid and dangerous?

She hated that she was impressed.

As soon as the knock came at her door, she slammed down the lid of her laptop and scrambled off of the bed. Her feet were half in her shoes as she made her way to the door and looked through the peep hole.

The groan that left her lips was audible, loud enough for him to hear through the door. But he didn't back away like she hoped. Reluctantly, she pulled open the door. "What do you want, Owens?"

He had expected her to be cold, indifferent towards him. But she just sounded so tired, so defeated. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tyler opened the box in his hands.

A pizza box. She hadn't even seen it when she opened the door. It smelled like shit. Not literal shit, no, it smelt good. But it smelt like food she shouldn't be eaten on a race weekend.

"I brought a peace offering," he said, waving it around slightly. God, it was mouthwatering. That cheese looked like that stringy stuff that made the slice never ending.

She swallowed, which was the wrong move. The smell was inside of her, begging her to grab a slice and just taste it. 'C'mon', the voice in the back of her head said. 'Just a bite. You won't make it to Cota for the race, anyway'.

She shook her head, as if that would banish the voice, and blinked. "You know I can't eat this stuff, right?"

Tyler looked at the pizza, and back at her. She didn't just sound tired and defeated, she looked it, too. But he let that charming, handsome, punchable grin cross his face. "C'mon, you don't have to have all of it. We can share."

"Generous." She rolled her eyes.

But he just looked so... not pathetic. That wasn't the word she was looking for. But he looked like a kicked puppy who just wanted her comfort.

With another groan, she stepped to the side and let him in.

My darlings, do we have another series on our hands?

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erosology · 2 days

Text

slow, sloppy makeout sessions with captain john price :( him coming home late from work, dark, puffy bags under his eyes and the stench of cigars clinging to his skin as an indicator of how stressful the day was. His strong brow furrowed in frustration but smooths out once he sees you; his hands reaching out to you and immediately pulling you in as soon as you’re within arm’s reach; wrestling you into his clutches so you two can watch a movie and unwind together; wandering fingers tracing the bare skin of your hip as your shirt hikes up higher and higher before splaying flat across your stomach; feeling his breath dance across the back of your neck as you try your hardest to follow along to the plot

“this part is really important, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear. “you need to pay close attention”

but you can’t—not when his familiar scent is filling your nose and you can feel the strong, reliable beat of his heart knocking against his ribs and his fingers are grazing against the band of your underwear. and somewhere along the way, you find yourself facing him and all of the beauty that is him and nearly go blind with love and lust, delicate fingers tracing the outline of your eyes as if teasing to tear them out. it’d be worth it, you think, worth having the last thing you see be your lover’s tired, handsome face

and after some more teasing and giggles, you feel his soft beard tickle your cheek and nearly melt into a puddle of desperation. hands shaking with need, you pull him closer by the collar of his shirt and a chuckle reverberates in his chest—low, sweet, tender

“eager, love?”

“jus’ wan’ you, john.”

“you've got me, silly girl. always have, always will”

his fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt as his chapped lips brush against your cheek, and then your nose, and then he slowly grazes them across yours before he slots them together. his kisses, much like him, start off slow, sensual, gentle until the sparks dance together and a fire inevitably starts and you’re choking on cigar smoke and love and other minuscule things. his calloused palms graze your thigh, stomach, sternum, anything that reminds him of how human you both are and how much he adores your skin. soft moans and groans blend together until someone opens their mouth and then suddenly, tongues are tangled together as you try and swallow each other’s pants

somewhere along the way, you’ve wound up in his lap, grinding against his hardening cock, and now his hands are on your hips and encouraging your movement. more moans tumble out of his lips followed by some curses, his lips swollen and his tongue swiping across them

“f-fuck, baby,” he pants. “slow down. i want to taste you a bit more, yeah? kiss me some more.”

and how can you resist? truth be told, you think you might be able to sit on this very couch for the rest of your life, legs wrapped around his waist and fingers tangled in his hair, lips working against his and pulling pretty noises out of his throat. and honest to god, he thinks he would allow it, maybe even indulge in it a little. because he’s here in his living room, some sort of movie he lost track of the plot of long ago playing on his television, your teeth brushing against his bottom lip as you suck it into your mouth, surrounded by love and relaxation

#❀.mine!#this was written for lia #price's number one <3 #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x reader #john price x you #price x you #price x reader #john price modern warfare 2 #john price mw2 #john price mw3 #john price call of duty #john price #captain john price #captain john price smut

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 23 hours

Text

Heart-Stopping

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Surgeon!Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: fluff

Summary: After a ten-hour surgery, all you want to do is go home and be with your husband. When he comes into the ER needing surgery, your entire world is turned upside down.

Square Filled: "Oh, don't worry, this blood isn't mine." (2022) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

You trudge out of the OR into the scrub room to clean your hands and arms. The surgery you were just in lasted an atrocious ten hours. You’ve gone for more, but this was so tough since the patient’s heart kept arresting and her blood vessels were so friable that it was hard to do any kind of stitches. Still, you managed to get her fixed and stable enough to be transferred to the ICU.

All you want to do is go home to your husband and cuddle until you fall asleep in his arms. He understands your job and how you can’t always be home with him. He’s in the FBI so he has the same demand even if he’s doing work that’s completely different. The reason your marriage works is that you two make it a point to call each other every day, plan an at-home date every week, a date anywhere that’s not your house every month, and have a small vacation every six months.

He’s your rock and you don’t know what you’d do without him in your life. He’s your biggest supporter and the love of your life.

You’re scrubbing away the sweat and grime from your hands when your pager goes off. You grab a microfiber towel and dry your hands before checking the pager. 911 ER. You toss the towel away and run out of the room hoping you can get to the ER in time. There is a patient who needs your attention and might die if you’re not there. It amazes you that you have so much energy after a surgery like that and maybe it’s because of the silent promise of saving as many people as you can.

You push the double doors open that lead into the ER and look around to see if you can spot the patient that needs you.

“Dr. Y/N! I need you to know that everything is okay…”

You can’t hear anything your resident says because all you’re focused on is your husband lying on a stretcher covered in blood. Your entire world comes crashing to a stop. You’re a very skilled heart doctor but it feels like your own heart is going to stop at the thought of your life without Spencer in it. His coworkers, Derek and Emily, are by his side without blood on their clothes.

“Y/N!” Derek grabs your shoulders and snaps you out of the silent panic you’re in. “He’s okay, I promise he’ll be fine.”

“What happened? Spencer!”

You rush over to him, and he grabs your hand gently.

“Oh, don’t worry, this blood isn’t mine,” he mumbles.

“What happened?” you ask Derek and Emily.

“There was an accident. He tried to save our victim and got caught in the crossfire. She’s right behind him.”

“Y/N, we’ll take care of him.”

You turn to see your chief of surgery and your best friend who has a determined yet empathetic look on his face. You can’t take care of your husband because he’s your husband so the only person you trust to take care of him is the chief.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Don’t let him die, please.”

“We go it. Go to Trauma One!”

Spencer is wheeled to the first trauma room just as the victim comes in right behind him. She, you can help. Spencer is wheeled into surgery to fix an injury on his leg while the general surgeon and neurosurgeon take the victim to surgery. If there is anything to be done on her heart, they’ll call you in. You’re stuck thinking about Spencer instead of being in surgery to take your mind off it. You leave Trauma Two and walk over to Emily and Derek who are talking to each other.

“What happened to him?”

“There was a car accident, the car the victim was in. They skidded on a patch of ice and the car slammed into a tree, ejecting the victim out of the windshield. Spencer was the first to her which is how he got all of her blood on him. Another car came around the corner and didn’t see the crashed vehicle, and they collided with it, sending shrapnel into Spencer’s leg. He lost a lot of blood on the way over here.”

“Shit,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

“He’s going to be okay. You have a talented team of doctors here.”

“I know,” you nod.

There is no choice but to wait for Spencer to get out of surgery. When he is, they take him to a private room where you can sit with him. It takes twenty minutes for him to come out of the anesthesia, but he’s still pretty loopy from it.

“Hey, baby, how are you doing?”

You take out your stethoscope and check his heart and lungs, relief clouding your head when you don’t hear anything bad about it.

“Doctor… I need… I need some… some flowers.”

“Flowers? For what?”

“My wife. Her birthday is this weekend, and I want to get her flowers.”

Your heart swells happily at his little confession. He knows how much you love getting flowers. They brighten up even the darkest of places.

“It’s very important, please.” He rolls his head to the side and looks at you through hooded eyes. He doesn’t seem to recognize it’s his wife right in front of him. “I need you… Can you write her a card for me?”

“What do you want it to say?”

“I love her. Her eyes are pretty. She makes me so happy. Just say that.”

“Okay,” you grin with tears in your eyes.

Spencer’s eyes close and you sit next to his bed. You grab his hand and kiss the back of it, content with staying just like this until he wakes up.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst

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mononijikayu · 20 hours

Text

marry you — ryomen sukuna.

Sukuna stared at him for a long moment, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. "You want me to propose... during a football practice?" Yuji nodded enthusiastically, as if it were the best idea in the world. "Yeah! It’s unexpected, and you’ll have the whole team there! Megs and Norbs can help out too! Everyone will be pumped, and the atmosphere will be amazing!" Sukuna groaned, leaning his head back against the couch. "That’s... quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: safe for work (sfw), fluff, family, slice of life, family dynamic, light hearted, domestic, romance, banter, humour, physical touch, happy ending, hurt/comfort, depictions of family dynamic, depiction of anxiety, depiction of slice of life, boyfriend! sukuna, amnesiac! girlfriend! reader, domestic uncle sukuna!, nephew!yuji, i love you nephew!yuji;

WORD COUNT: 7.4k words

NOTE: the people have spoken and ryomen sukuna won my poll (again!!!)~ this is the final (maybe) installment of amnesia and a day in a life . reader and sukuna have been together for a while after this. they're much happier and healthy here. yuji loves his unckuna and auntie!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy it. i had a ball writing this because i just, this was fun. seeing sukuna be silly. anyway i love you all!!! see you in the next one <3 also @midnight-138, this is for you, im sorry for my angsty writing <3

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── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

THERE WAS NEVER A TIME IN HIS LIFE THAT ANYTHING WAS NOT MEASURED. Ryomen Sukuna had always lived by the belief that precision and decisiveness were the cornerstones of strength. His brother, Jin, was the opposite in that regard.

Jin was easygoing, someone who flowed through life with a relaxed confidence. That’s how he had ended up casually taking his wife Kaori’s name without a second thought after marriage, something that had never sat well with Sukuna.

It wasn’t that Sukuna found it disrespectful; rather, he simply couldn't understand how someone could relinquish a piece of themselves so easily. To Sukuna, names held power, identity, and control. They were not to be changed on a whim.

And most of all, it was who he was. If his brother was going to let the name die, who would continue it? Yet maybe, that’s besides the point. Because it wasn’t the point.

The point was this — Ryomen Sukuna found himself in an unusual position, plagued by doubt. Unlike his brother, who easily adapted and made decisions without looking back, Sukuna was being dragged through an internal war, and this was uncharted territory for him.

He had always been sure—sure of his choices, sure of his actions, sure of his strength. Whether in battle or in the mundane aspects of life, he operated with an unshakable conviction. It had defined him for so long.

Except now, with the ring in his hand, everything felt different.

For months, Sukuna had been reduced to a more fragile version of himself, struggling with emotions he thought he had long buried, emotions he used to scoff at as weakness.

But this—this wasn’t a trivial matter, not something he could merely slice through with a sharp blade or dismiss with his usual unyielding demeanor. This wasn’t about power or domination. It was about vulnerability, commitment, and the gravity of the choice he was about to make.

The ring wasn’t just a symbol; it was a testament to something far deeper. Sukuna had never hesitated before. But for the first time, he was wrestling with fear—the fear of being vulnerable, of giving a piece of himself away, just as his brother had done so easily. But was it really a weakness? Or had he, all this time, misunderstood the strength it took to let someone in?

He had bought it months ago. A shimmering band, simple yet unmistakably meaningful, one that carried the weight of everything he had come to feel for you. Every glance, every brush of your hand, every laugh—each moment had woven itself into the threads of his existence. And now, here he was, staring at this small, ridiculous piece of jewelry like it was the most dangerous object in the world.

He wanted to propose.

He had never wanted anything so badly in his life. He wanted to tell you, to kneel (a position he never imagined himself in) and offer you the promise of forever. The thought was absurd, wasn’t it? Him kneeling before someone?

Yet for you, the idea seemed... right. He didn’t just want you; he wanted to spend the rest of his days making you happy, something he had never imagined himself capable of until you.

And that’s what drove him mad.

He didn’t know how to do it. How was a man like him supposed to express something so fragile? Words weren’t his strong suit, and even if he could gather them, they always seemed to fall short when it came to you. How could he ever explain the storm of emotions, the way you’d carved a place for yourself in his blackened heart? The very thought of it made his fingers clenched into fists.

The timing, too—it was never right. Every time he thought he might do it, something held him back. What if he wasn’t enough? What if, despite everything, you said no? The ring burned in his pocket like a curse of its own, a reminder of everything he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Ryomen Sukuna who’s been in delinquent clubs, who’s been the most fearsome wrestler and now undefeated weightlifter — who has done anything, and yet never been frightened. Not at all. But proposing to you? That terrified him.

Sukuna wasn’t used to nerves, but ever since he bought that ring, they seemed to follow him everywhere. And as much as he hated to admit it, Sukuna was struggling. So, he decided he was going to get this over with—no more overthinking. How hard could it be, really? It was just a proposal.

Attempt one: At dinner.

The scene was set. A quiet, candlelit dinner at your favorite restaurant. It was your birthday. No perfect day, right? It was everything that you could ever want. It was intimate, it was heartfelt and it was just completely perfect.

Ryomen Sukuna had been uncharacteristically calm the whole night, which should have tipped you off that something was up. Between bites of your meal, you saw him fiddling with something in his pocket. Your face scrunches at the sight of him. And then your boyfriend cleared his throat—a sound that, for someone as confident as him, felt almost foreign.

“So, baby….” he began, trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked just a bit. “How would you feel about spending the rest of your life—”

Suddenly, the waiter appeared with a massive tray of dessert samples.

“Would you like to try our seasonal—”

Sukuna glared at the waiter, his red eye twitching as the moment slipped through his fingers. You tried to stifle your laugh as the waiter, completely oblivious, kept talking about tiramisu. Sukuna nearly cursed the man on the spot, but instead, he dropped the conversation. That’s just as one would say — strike one.

Attempt two: Movie night.

Alright, he thought, a more relaxed setting would be better. Just you, him, and some stupid romantic movie you insisted on watching. This was just as intimate as the first one, but maybe a little bit more animated. Still, it was just between you two.

He thinks you would love it like this. The ring was ready in his hoodie pocket, and halfway through the movie, as the cheesy proposal scene played out on the screen, he thought, This is it. This is the moment.

But just as he leaned closer to you, reaching for the ring, the actor on screen dropped to one knee in front of the actress, who acted stunned. Everyone around the actors gasped and started freaking out and clapping. You groaned, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it.

“Oh my god, if anyone ever proposed to me like that!” you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m sorry baby, but I ain’t that gal. I’d die of second-hand embarrassment.”

Your boyfriend Sukuna froze, hand halfway to his pocket, and quickly pretended he was just stretching. He slumped back on the couch, gritting his teeth.

Not like that, got it.

Attempt three: At the gym.

This was it. No more romantic crap—just you and him doing something you both enjoyed. He’d taken you to the gym, your regular workout routine in full swing. He figured the casual vibe would work, that maybe he could just slip the proposal into conversation like it was no big deal. Everything about this was perfect. Everything was going to go the way he wanted. Yup, that’s how it will go.

The problem? Sukuna wasn’t built for “casual.”

He spotted you while you were doing squats, casually throwing out, “You know… we should, uh, work on something long-term together, baby.”

“Huh? A long term plan?” You huffed back at him, your brows furrowed.

“I mean….something concrete. Like….like, something for us, you know? A long time.”

You blinked up at him, catching your breath. “Like a couple’s fitness plan?”

“Or... you know... life. Forever. Together.”

You squinted at him. “Are you feeling okay, baby? You sound delirious.”

He muttered something about “too many reps” and practically sprinted to the other side of the gym, leaving you utterly confused. Everyone was just as confused. You looked at the store clerk, Uraume but they just shrugged at you. You guess it was just one of those days.

Attempt four: The kitchen.

Ryomen Sukuna had woken up that morning and decided today’s the day. He was done failing, and he wasn’t going to overthink it anymore. He could do this. He knows he can. It wasn’t rocket science. People proposed all the time, and somehow they survived. And it happens, it ends up happening. Everything after that always ends up in a wedding. Yeah, he can do this.

You were making breakfast, humming to yourself, when Sukuna casually strolled into the kitchen, the ring in his pocket yet again. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you. You were the only person who could make something as mundane as cracking eggs look beautiful.

You looked up to him and smiled, greeting him sweetly. God, you were so beautiful. You looked like you were made from heaven. A genuine angel, as you asked him if he wanted coffee. He mumbled back and cleared his throat. You moved over to the other counter and started the coffee machine.

“Hey, babe.” he began, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was an odd edge to his voice. “How do you feel about... I don’t know... spending the rest of your life with me?”

Without looking up, you shrugged. “Sounds good. Can you pass me the salt?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—what?”

You finally glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “I said, yeah, sounds good. Now the salt, please?”

Sukuna stood there, frozen. Was that a yes? Did you even know he was proposing?

You stared at him, still waiting for the salt shaker. When he didn’t move, you walked over and grabbed it yourself. “Thanks, big guy.” you said with a playful smile, clearly unaware that Sukuna had just (sort of) proposed. “Now, do you want some avocado on your toast today or nah?”

He groaned and dragged a hand over his face. It was hard for him to be angry with you either. You were too cute. Another failure.

Attempt five: The supermarket.

The ring still in his pocket, Ryomen Sukuna was now truly desperate. At this point, he was just winging it. You were both running errands, and as you reached for a carton of eggs in the store, he thought, Screw it. There were no romantic backdrops, no candles, no cheesy movie scenes—just the fluorescent lights of the grocery store. Your day to day. Nothing too much. This was now or never.

“Listen, baby.” he said, his tone more urgent than usual. “What if we just—”

At that moment, a kid ran by with a cart, ramming it right into Sukuna’s leg. A light groan came out of Sukuna as the kid’s eyes grew wide. Sukuna’s eyes turned dark as he glared at the kid. The kid swallowed the bile down his throat. As he was about to move, you called Sukuna. The kid let out a yelp and started pushing his cart.

The child screamed, “Sorry, mister!” and ran off, leaving your boyfriend in a state of pandemonium.

You, still holding the eggs, glanced at him for a moment and burst out laughing.

He sighed, slumping against the shelf. “I’m never going to get this right, am I?”

You smiled, stepping closer and poking his chest. “Get what right, baby?”

Sukuna glanced at the ring still burning in his pocket and grumbled, “Nothing. Just... forget it.”

You didn’t push him, but your knowing smile told him you weren’t entirely clueless. Maybe you had been waiting all along. Maybe, despite all his ridiculous failed attempts, you already knew what was coming.

Maybe, the next time he tried, you’d say yes before he even finished his sentence.

And maybe, that was exactly what he needed to hear.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

HIS MOTHER USED TO SAY THAT OLDER BROTHERS KNEW BEST. But in all his life, Ryomen Sukuna liked to pride himself never needing to end up asking his elder brother for advice. Or any help at all, if he was being honest. The scarlet eyed man never liked having his brother do things for him. He doesn’t like owing anyone anything.

Because Sukuna wasn’t exactly known for asking anyone for advice—especially not about matters of the heart.

But after months of failed attempts, Sukuna could only find himself sitting in his brother Jin’s living room, slouched on the couch with his hands pressed against his face. He had to give in and concede to what his mother said. His brother knew best. And he should ask him. The ring still weighed heavy in his pocket, mocking him at every turn. His mother’s nagging words came to him, almost as though she would still be pinching his ear. Maybe if you asked your brother, you wouldn’t be suffering like this!

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, bro.” Sukuna muttered, his voice low, clearly frustrated. “I’ve been trying for months, bro. Months. Every time I think I’ve got it right, something goes wrong. I’ve got the ring. I’ve got the words. But I don’t know... it’s like nothing’s perfect enough. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Jin, ever calm and collected compared to his fiery younger brother, chuckled from across the room. He sat in his armchair, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking up from the book he had been reading. “You’re overthinking it, Kuna.”

“Overthinking?” Sukuna scoffed, sitting up and glaring at his brother. “I can’t just walk up and throw the ring at the love of my life, you know? They deserve something... more from me. I want it to be perfect.”

Jin set his book down and leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth turning up in a nostalgic smile. “You know, I went through something similar when I proposed to Kaori.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “You? Really? You seem so... calm about all of this.”

Jin laughed, shaking his head. “Calm? Hardly. I was a wreck. I had all these elaborate plans I worked really hard on. I thought I’d propose on a sunset beach or during some elegant dinner. But none of it worked out the way I thought.”

Sukuna frowned, curious despite himself. “So what did you do?”

Jin scratched the back of his head, clearly amused by the memory. “We were on a road trip—just a spontaneous one. I think that’s when we decided to go north. We got lost. The car broke down multiple times in the middle of nowhere, and it started pouring rain. Hard. We were soaked, stuck under a leaky gas station awning, of all places. There was nothing romantic about all of it. And yet…..well, it was what it was.”

Sukuna stared at him, baffled. “That sounds terrible.”

“It was, little brother.” Jin agreed, grinning. “But Kaori laughed through the whole thing. She thought it was hilarious. And that’s when I realized—there wasn’t going to be a perfect moment. So, I just asked her. Right there, soaking wet, covered in mud and all the dirt in the world. I didn’t even have the ring on me because I’d left it in the car. But I asked anyway.”

“And she said yes?” Sukuna asked, still trying to wrap his mind around how his brother had managed to pull that off.

Jin nodded with a wide smile. “Without hesitation. Because, little brother, it didn’t matter where we were or how it looked. What mattered was that I was asking her to spend her life with me. She didn’t care about the setting or the way I asked. She just cared about me. And wanting to continue loving me. So, she just said yes. Damn the world or what was good. She just…wanted me.”

Sukuna exhaled, leaning back again and letting that sink in. “I just... I don’t know if I can be that casual about it. I want the love of my life to love it. I want it to be... memorable.”

Jin leaned forward, his voice gentle. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, Kuna. It just has to be you. And about your love together. If sis in law does love you, it’ll be great no matter what. It will just happen. Trust me.”

Sukuna sighed, resting his head against the back of the couch. “I hope you’re right. I just—”

Before he could finish, the door to the room burst open, and Yuji bounced in, grinning from ear to ear. He was still dressed in his football uniform. “Uncle Sukuna! I heard you’re going to propose! Let me help!”

Sukuna groaned. The kid had such good ears, damn him. “Oi, brat! This is... it’s not something I need help with.’specially not from you! It’s—”

“Oh, come on! I’ve got great ideas, unc! We can do fireworks, or... or maybe we can surprise auntie with, like, a whole flash mob at the mall!” Yuji’s excitement was contagious, but Sukuna could feel a headache forming at the thought of any of those ideas. “I think auntie will love it, you know?”

“No flash mobs, Yuji.”

Yuji pouted for a moment, but then his face brightened again. “Okay, okay, what about a treasure hunt? Like, you leave little clues everywhere, and the final clue leads to you with the ring! I mean, auntie would love that! Auntie’s always been someone who likes puzzles!”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jin, who was barely hiding his laughter behind his hand. His brother was enjoying this little misery of his. His nephew’s barely thirteen and yet he’s got the idealistic mind. Too much like his brother, Sukuna thinks. But then again, his mother’s the same sort of human being.

“Hey brat, I don’t think your auntie appreciates getting dragged across the city just to find me with a ring at the end.” Sukuna said, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. “Auntie would get tired really fast then ask where’s the nearest soda shop.”

Yuji shrugged. “Well, whatever you do, it’ll be awesome. You’re awesome! Auntie will totally say yes.” He gave Sukuna a thumbs up, his usual boundless optimism shining through. “I mean, auntie’s been with you too long, so it's just bound to settle like that.”

“Wait, what do you mean settle—”

“Hey, hey! I didn’t mean anything mean about it.” Yuji pouted at his uncle defensively. “You know that much, unc! I love seeing you and auntie together.”

Sukuna shook his head at his nephew, though a small, begrudging smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks, brat.”

Jin, watching the exchange, nodded in agreement. “See, Kuna? It doesn’t matter how you do it. It’ll be great, because it’s coming from you.”

Sukuna sighed, feeling the weight of the ring in his pocket one more time. “I guess... I’ll just have to stop thinking so much and go for it.”

Yuji’s grin stretched even wider. “That’s the spirit now, unc! And if you change your mind about the flash mob, I’m totally in.”

Sukuna chuckled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yuji, still bouncing with excitement, suddenly lit up with an idea. "Oh! I know! Why don’t you come and coach my football team for a day? You can do it there!"

Sukuna blinked, utterly baffled by the suggestion. "Coach... football? What are you talking about, brat?"

Yuji was practically vibrating with energy now. "It’s perfect! You can come to practice, and we’ll, I don’t know, pretend something happened—like, I could pretend I twisted my ankle or something—and then, boom! You step in, gather everyone around, and propose! Auntie will be there all excited to be there and cheer us and you on."

Sukuna stared at him for a long moment, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. "You want me to propose... during a football practice?"

Yuji nodded enthusiastically, as if it were the best idea in the world. "Yeah! It’s unexpected, and you’ll have the whole team there! Megs and Norbs can help out too! Everyone will be pumped, and the atmosphere will be amazing!"

Sukuna groaned, leaning his head back against the couch. "That’s... quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

But before he could properly dismiss the idea, Jin let out a hearty laugh from his chair. “Why not, little brother? It’s certainly different. Do you have any better ideas?”

Sukuna shot him a look, but Jin just grinned. He could see his brother’s frustration boiling over, but there was also something else—maybe Sukuna was finally realizing that no moment was ever going to feel perfect. Not in the way he imagined.

“Come on, come on.” Jin said, still chuckling. “I mean, think about it. It’s so out of character for you that it might actually work. A little spontaneity never hurts anyone.”

Sukuna rubbed his face, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “You really think I should just... go to a football practice and pop the question in front of a bunch of sweaty teenagers?”

Yuji jumped in again, totally on board with his own wild idea. “Yeah! And I’ll totally sell it—I’ll limp off the field, everyone will be worried, and then you step up like a hero. I can already picture it!” He waved his arms dramatically, trying to sell the scene. "It’ll be epic."

Jin crossed his arms, his grin still plastered on his face. "It’s unconventional, sure. But it’s definitely memorable. And isn’t that what you wanted?"

Sukuna sighed, the absurdity of it all weighing on him. Coaching Yuji’s football team, of all things, to propose? He couldn’t believe this was even a conversation. Yet, as ridiculous as it sounded, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it might actually work.

Not because it was perfect—but because it was so wildly unexpected that it would leave you speechless. Maybe, after all these failed attempts, that was what he needed.

Still, he grumbled, "If this goes wrong, I’m cursing both of you."

Yuji laughed, slinging an arm over Sukuna’s shoulder, clearly unfazed by the threat. "It’s going to be great, Unc Sukuna! Trust me!"

Jin, still leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow. "So, is that a yes? You’re actually going to do this, little brother? No more backing out?”

Sukuna slumped back on the couch, rubbing his temples. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but... yeah. Fine. Let’s try it your way, Yuji."

Yuji fist-pumped the air, grinning ear to ear. "Yes! This is going to be amazing. I can’t wait to see their faces when you finally propose!"

Sukuna let out a deep sigh, glancing at Jin one last time. His older brother gave him an encouraging nod. What does he have left to lose? If anything, if it works — maybe you’ll laugh it off. And he…he likes seeing you smile anyway. What does he have left to lose?

“You’re overthinking it again, little brother.” Jin reminded him. “Just do it, hm? It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Sukuna could only hope his brother was right.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

THE NEXT DAY, YOU DIDN’T FEEL LIKE GOING TO WORK. So, you had decided to stay lazily at home with Sukuna and just enjoy his day off together. Well, it worked out better considering that Sukuna informed your office you’ll be out for a while anyway. You happily hummed as you started making your cup of matcha milk for yourself. So far everything was well. In fact, the day had been going pretty normally.

But then you could only blink at him when Sukuna, of all people, approached you in the kitchen, casually leaning against the counter. He looked... slightly awkward, which was unusual for him. His scarlet eyes darted away for a moment before landing back on you.

“Hey, baby….” he said, almost too casually. “You wanna come to Yuji’s football game tomorrow?”

You blinked in surprise. Sukuna wasn’t exactly the type to invite you to these things. Usually, Yuji was the one who asked, and then Sukuna would begrudgingly tag along, acting like he was too cool to care. But now, he was asking you directly?

“You’re asking me to go?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “And also….you wanna go?”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed. “Yeah. Is that... a problem or something?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to hide your smile. “No, not at all. I’d love to go. It’s just... surprising coming from you. Usually, you wait until Yuji begs you to show up.”

Sukuna shifted uncomfortably, his face flushing just a bit. “Yeah, well... I’m gonna be more involved this time.”

Your curiosity piqued, you leaned forward. “What do you mean? Like, are you finally going to cheer from the sidelines instead of pretending not to care?”

He looked away again, mumbling under his breath, “I’m coaching the team.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Wait, what?”

Sukuna shot you a look, already regretting this conversation. “You heard me. I’m gonna be their coach... for the game. Just a trial…..It’s just…. Maybe a one time thing.”

The shock only lasted a second before you burst out laughing, unable to help yourself. The image of Sukuna, towering and intimidating, trying to coach a bunch of high school kids was just too much. It was all too much for you to think about your boyfriend. He crossed his arms on his chest like a little kid.

“Stop laughing.” he grumbled, clearly annoyed but also embarrassed.

You waved a hand, trying to catch your breath. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear. I’m just... I’m just imagining you barking orders at those poor kids like you do with your clients at the gym.”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes at you, crossing his arms. “That’s not how I coach at the gym.”

“Oh really?” you teased, still giggling. “You’re not going to stand on the sidelines, yelling ‘Run faster, you idiot!’ and ‘Stop slacking off, sweat it off!’ like you do with your trainees?”

“Of course not, babe.” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips now. “Those brats won’t know what hit them.”

Your laughter continued, but now it was filled with genuine amusement. “I can’t wait to see this. You, coaching a bunch of teenagers, pretending to know anything about football. Oh, this will be gold, baby. I’m in!”

Sukuna groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’re really not helping, you know.”

“I’m sorry baby.” you said, still grinning as you put a thumb up. “I just can’t picture it without laughing. But hey, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He grumbled under his breath again, but you could see the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’d better not laugh when you see me out there.”

“No promises here, baby.” you teased, stepping closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “But I’ll be there, front and center, cheering you on.”

Ryomen Sukuna rolled his eyes, but the blush creeping up his neck told you everything you needed to know. Despite his gruff demeanor, he was secretly pleased. And maybe—just maybe—this ridiculous plan wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

You know Yuji loves some good orange juice, so you brought cold packs of that in the cooler too. You supposed you could say that you were more excited than most. You had the full gear from their team and everything. It was something you requested from Sukuna and he got it for you before yesterday, when he got his own uniform.

YOU DIDN’T SLEEP A WINK. But you couldn’t help it. You were too excited. The practices wee nice but each time you had to leave earlier for work. But this time, you got to have a full day just being there. These past few days, Sukuna's been in a gloom but he reassured you that its nothing. You wanted to press, but you knew your boyfriend too well to pry.

You were just one excited soul to be here. It was the tournament league now. And Yuji's team made it through the finals. You brought packs of snacks for you and Sukuna, some for the kids too in case their moms didn’t have anything on them. Some cold drinks too.

And now, you found yourself standing by the field, watching as Sukuna walked out with the team. The sun was brilliantly bright, and there was a decent crowd, mostly parents and students, filling the bleachers.

But your beaming eyes were glued to the unlikely sight before you: Ryomen Sukuna, your intimidating, tough-as-nails partner, now wearing a whistle around his neck and a deeply annoyed expression as he dealt with a bunch of teenage boys.

You could see precious Itadori Yuji bouncing around excitedly, clearly thrilled that Sukuna had agreed to coach. The rest of the team, however, seemed slightly nervous under Sukuna’s intense gaze.

Yuji’s two close friends, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, didn’t seem to care and were just playing with the balls and gloves, tossing to each other. But their nonchalant behavior was a stark contrast from everyone else. Some of them glanced back at you, probably wondering why this mountain of a man was suddenly in charge. But you don’t blame any of them. Your boyfriend did look imposing.

Sukuna blew the whistle sharply, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing again. He barked out orders like a drill sergeant, his deep voice carrying across the field. “You—stop dragging your feet! Move it! You think this is a joke? Pick up the pace!”

You couldn’t help but lean against the fence, shaking your head with a smile. Well, you were right. It was exactly as you had imagined—Sukuna treating this football practice like a high-intensity training session at the gym. The kids were all scrambling around, trying their best not to get on his bad side.

After a particularly harsh instruction, you caught his scarlet eye from across the field. He gave you a look, clearly daring you to laugh, and you had to press your lips together to keep from cracking up. When you got it together, you started clapping and cheering for him. And for a moment, you could see a scarlet tint flush on your boyfriend’s cheek. That had made you smile.

During a water break, Yuji came jogging over, grinning from ear to ear. “How’s Unc Sukuna doing, Auntie? He’s totally killing it, right?”

You smiled and raised an eyebrow. “He’s certainly... in charge. The team looks a little terrified, though. Well, except Nobara and Megumi.”

Yuji chuckled, not even a little bit phased. “Yeah, but they’ll respect him. He’s making them work harder than our regular coach.”

You glanced back at Sukuna, who was currently standing with his arms crossed, scowling as one of the players asked him a question. He looked like he belonged in a weightlifting competition, not on a football field. Your boyfriend could have done so many things, you knew. But he said he got bored of it all, since people keep telling him what to do. But either way, your boyfriend would have ended up looking like this. This hunk of muscular muscle.

“Well, as long as no one cries, I think it’ll be a success, Yuji!” you teased.

Yuji laughed and then leaned in closer. “So, do you think they suspect anything yet?”

You raised an eyebrow. You were confused. “About what?”

He gave you a mischievous look, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. “You know... Uncle Sukuna’s plan. The proposal.”

You blinked, your smile fading as confusion washed over you. Wait, hold on. Was Yuji talking about Sukuna’s proposal to expand the gym? He’d been telling you about that for months now, outlining every detail, every plan. Surely Sukuna hadn’t forgotten.

“Wait. That’s today?” you asked, half-expecting to hear more about Sukuna's latest gym renovation idea.

But something in Yuji’s expression didn’t quite fit the usual conversation. His grin widened, almost teasing. You suddenly had the sinking feeling you might not be on the same page at all. But just as you were going to go and talk to him about it, the whistle blew again, and the game began. Yuji saluted you and ran off to the field once again.

You tried to keep your eyes on the match, the sounds of cheers and the smack of fists hitting against gloves filling the air, but your mind was elsewhere. Sukuna’s plan. It kept creeping into your thoughts, pulling your focus away from the fight.

He had been working tirelessly on the gym expansion for months, meticulously coordinating every detail. The proposal with the contractor was a major step, one he had been looking forward to with a mix of excitement and that quiet intensity he always had when he wanted something done perfectly.

But now, you couldn’t shake the worry creeping up your spine. If Yuji’s casual comment about the proposal meant what you thought it did, then something had gone wrong. Sukuna must have missed the meeting with the contractor. Your boyfriend never missed important business meetings, especially not one like this, which was practically the culmination of weeks of hard work and planning.

You bit your lip, your gaze flickering back to the field, but all you could think about was Sukuna. His sense of control, of always being on top of things—what could have possibly distracted him? And why hadn’t he told you? Maybe you could’ve reminded him or helped him juggle things better.

Your stomach tightened with unease. Sukuna wasn’t the type to slip up like this, not unless something bigger was weighing on him. You’d seen the way he had been acting recently—distracted, quieter than usual, though he would shrug it off if you ever asked. Was this just about the proposal, or was there something else, something deeper he hadn’t shared yet?

As the game continued, it became even more intense, but not nearly as intense as the look Sukuna had on his face as he barked orders from the sidelines. You could see him glancing your way every now and then, his jaw set, his eyes determined. This was insane, even for a league of teenagers in middle school. But you suppose that’s what happens when you put your boyfriend to coach on the field.

As the game drew to a close, with Yuji’s team pulling off a narrow victory, you noticed Sukuna’s posture shift. He was still his usual composed self, but there was something nervous about the way he kept adjusting the whistle around his neck. He takes a moment for a breath.

When the final whistle blew and the players began congratulating each other, Ryomen Sukuna called out to them. “Alright, listen up! Get over here. I’ve got something to say.”

The entire team gathered around him, and you stood at the edge of the field, your heart pounding as you watched the scene unfold. You could see Yuji trying (and failing) to hide his excitement as he joined the group. Everything about was making you feel like you were going to lose it.

Sukuna cleared his throat, looking oddly serious. “There’s someone here today who’s... important to me.”

The players exchanged confused glances, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you realized he was talking about you.

Sukuna continued, his voice a little gruffer than usual. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I’ve been trying really hard to make this happen. I really have been. And I just…I’ve been thinking, to hell with it. We might as well go through with it. Even if it's going to be too much and lame.” He shot a pointed look at Yuji, who gave him an encouraging thumbs up.

Your heart was racing now, and you could feel the eyes of the team turning toward you. Sukuna reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box from his pockets. He opened it and you could clearly see it. There was something small and shiny inside of it.

“This…..” he said, holding up the ring for everyone to see. “ This is what I’ve been working up the nerve to do for months.”

The entire field went dead silent. The team, the parents in the stands—everyone was watching.

Sukuna’s scarlet eyes finally met yours, and in that moment, all the tough, intimidating layers seemed to peel away. He stepped toward you in the bleachers, his beautiful face softening as he held the ring in his hand.

“I’m not good at speeches. Or, apparently, proposals.” He smirked, and you couldn’t help but smile through the nerves. “But I know one thing. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The world seemed to blur around you as Sukuna knelt down, holding out the ring. “So, what do you say?”

Your heart swelled as you took in the sight of him—this fierce, stubborn man who had somehow, in his own awkward way, found the perfect moment. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes as you whispered the only answer you could give.

“Yes.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, with Yuji practically jumping up and down as the team whooped and clapped. Sukuna stood, slipping the ring onto your finger, and pulled you into a tight embrace, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “Told you it didn’t have to be perfect.”

You laughed softly, wiping away a tear. “It was more than perfect.”

Ryomen Sukuna grinned, leaning down to kiss you as the noise of the crowd faded into the background. Everything about the past? That didn’t matter at all now. Because all this, this is what mattered. After all that you both went through, after all that happens — everything was well. Because he was going to marry you.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

epilogue

As Sukuna pulled you close, his lips brushing against yours, the cheers and whistles from the crowd surrounded you both. Yuji, of course, was the loudest, pumping his fists in the air and hyping up the team, who were now clapping and laughing at the unexpected turn of events.

“Unc Sukuna’s engaged!” Yuji shouted, jumping onto the field. “Best day ever!”

You pulled back slightly from the kiss, your face flushed and your heart still racing, meeting Sukuna’s gaze. His scarlet eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, standing in the middle of a whirlwind of noise and celebration. He took your hand, where the ring sat on your finger and placed a small kiss upon it. You grew even more flustered.

Sukuna sighed, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

You chuckled, brushing a hand against his cheek. “Believe it. You just proposed in front of an entire football team.”

He groaned slightly, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Nope. But I love that you did it.”

His arms tightened around you for a moment before he pulled back, glancing at the team who were still buzzing with excitement. He gave them a half-hearted glare. “Alright, enough gawking. Get off the field. We still have a game to win.”

The boys quickly scattered, though you could see the smirks and murmurs they exchanged as they left. Megumi and Nobara were snickering at how soft their coach Sukuna was looking at you. Your nephew Yuji, of course, was the last one standing there, grinning like an idiot.

“So, Unc Sukuna,” Yuji said, nudging his uncle’s arm. “How’d it feel to propose in front of an audience? Pretty cool, huh?”

Sukuna shot him a deadpan look. “Brat, don’t think I’ve forgotten this was your idea.”

Yuji only grinned wider, completely unfazed. “But it worked! Look at that ring! And look at auntie’s face!” He pointed to you, beaming. “You guys are the cutest engaged couple ever!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yuji, stop embarrassing your uncle.”

Sukuna crossed his arms, shaking his head in exasperation. “You’ve been spending too much time around Gojo, I swear to god.” he muttered under his breath, glancing at Yuji with mock annoyance. “I better tell your dad to never let you back in Fushiguro’s house.”

Yuji just shrugged. “Hey, I’m just a romantic at heart. I love seeing love win!”

Before Sukuna could retaliate, his elder brother Jin appeared from the sidelines, clapping his younger brother on the shoulder. “See? I told you it didn’t have to be perfect.”

Sukuna let out a long sigh, shooting Jin a look. “Yeah, yeah. I guess you were right.”

Jin raised an amused brow. “Guess?”

“Fine, fine.” Sukuna grumbled, a reluctant smirk forming. “You were right.”

Jin grinned. “That’s more like it. And for what it’s worth, little brother, you pulled it off pretty damn well. Look at that, you’re getting married. I’m so proud of you, hm?”

Sukuna grunted, still not entirely comfortable with the praise, but you could see the tension slowly leave his body. He wasn’t one to bask in sentimental moments, but for this one, he was letting himself enjoy it.

“Thanks….big brother.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go back to the bleachers. Kaori’s gonna get lonely.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s meet down here so we can have dinner together.”

Jin grinned. “Oh, you’re paying tonight?”

“Oh, don’t think too far like that, big brother.”

Yuji, still full of energy, suddenly clapped his hands together. “Alright! Since you two are officially engaged, I think it’s time we celebrate!”

You glanced at Sukuna, who rolled his eyes but didn’t object. “Sure, why not?” he said with a shrug. “But I’m picking the place. No weird restaurants.”

Yuji pouted. “But there’s this ramen shop Gojo–sensei recommended—”

“No.” Sukuna said flatly, his tone brooking no argument.

You smiled, leaning into Sukuna’s side. “Wherever you want to go, we’ll go.”

Sukuna looked down at you, a rare warmth softening the usual intensity of his gaze. His voice, normally edged with authority, held a surprising tenderness. “I’ll think of something. Now go on. Go finish the game.”

You turned toward Yuji, who was standing there, clearly wanting to argue. “But unc—” he started, but Sukuna cut him off before he could finish.

“I said go!” Sukuna’s voice, firm but not unkind, sent Yuji running back to the field, his frustration bubbling over as he shouted, “It’s not fair!”

You watched Yuji dash off, his protests lost in the sound of his feet pounding the grass, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. He had always been full of energy, bouncing between enthusiasm and impatience, and Sukuna loved to tease him for it—though Yuji never seemed to take it lightly.

Turning back to your fiancé, you shot him a playful pout. “Must you tease him so much? He did help you propose, you know?”

Sukuna exhaled, a faint sigh escaping him as his hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer. “Eh, He can handle a little teasing.”

You tilted your head, studying Sukuna’s face. Even though his words were casual, there was a deeper affection in them, one that wasn’t always so visible. Yuji, in his own way, had been a part of your lives, and you knew Sukuna cared for him more than he’d ever let on. But Sukuna’s way of showing love was always layered with a bit of roughness, teasing, and challenges—he never made things too easy, even for those closest to him.

“He’s just a kid,” you murmured, leaning into him, your pout softening as you placed your hands on his chest. “He looks up to you, you know.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Yeah, well, he should know by now I’m not gonna go easy on him.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile broke through your pout. “Maybe try cutting him some slack next time. You can’t torment him every time he tries to help.”

“Torment?” Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “Come on, he loves it.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced toward the field, where Yuji was back in action, still muttering something under his breath. “Besides, if I didn’t push him, who would?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, giving his chest a playful shove. “Alright, alright. But don’t be too hard on him. He really did come through for us.”

Sukuna’s expression softened again, and he gave you a knowing look. “I know. I’ll make it up to him.”

As you both watch Jin go back to the bleachers with Kaori, you feel your fiance's arms wrap around you. Your hands intertwined and on top of his hand, was your own. You couldn’t help but glance down at the ring on your finger, your heart swelling with happiness.

Ryomen Sukuna had surprised you—more than you ever thought he would. And while it hadn’t been a grand, romantic gesture in a traditional sense, it had been perfect in the most Sukuna way possible. Unconventional, slightly chaotic, but undeniably heartfelt.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

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