#the bakery headers

[veesleeze]

[lorlita]

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　 　 　。

☒　　　　🪷　　　　∿　　　　⁺

[wonjuii]

( ˶'ㅅ'˵ )　﹒　❥　　mon amour pour toi　　☕ 　　┄　　⬚

( ˶'ㅅ'˵ )　﹒　❥　　!!　　🥐 　　┄　　⬚

[lil-liaa]

         ⌦    　   ⿸    　   ✴️        ♫　  🦀

© 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞☆(Strange collec) divider@pommecita

[s-eori]

　　　(ᴗ͈˳ᴗ͈) 　 　 🌷 　 　 ✿.　　 　 ⏖

　　　(ᴗ͈˳ᴗ͈) 　 　 🍐 　 　 ✿.　　 　 ⏖

@w-eons

[yutamayo]

I have no regrets.

[thvkosmos]

jeff + barcode packs

[lvshanbin]

⬭ ︵ 🥞 〃 Your sweet voice

┄ surrounds me completely. ⋋ 🩶

[bowtiepasta]

‘EVERYTHING’ ON THE MENU nanami’s favorite bakery always serves… cunt? in more ways than one. ❤︎

WORD COUNT: 2,697

INDULGING: smut! afab and f!reader, close proximity, mild language, bakery owner reader, he’s a corporate slave w a 9 to 5, pússy starved kento, cunnilingus, praise, p in v, unprotected, food play, creampie, hair pulling (his), tense usage inconsistent. sorry.

ROMY’S NOTE: goooooood day/night nanami nation. the art you see in the header is by mineco000 on twitter, please go send them some love. heart divider is by enchanthings. happy reading!

CONTAINS EXPLICIT NSFW CONTENT, MINORS DNI

nanami kento was completely, and utterly, screwed.

he hadn’t expected the day to end like this: slouched in a corner of his favorite bakery, tie crooked, hair tousled, and his head — oh, his head was pounding.

it was meant to be a quick stop, a coffee or a pastry to settle his nerves before heading home. but somehow, merely walking into the place had set him off.

something about the warm, cinnamon laced air, the subtle wafts of vanilla, and- no. it was the baker. it always came down to you.

you stood there, apron tied loosely at the waist, a few stray strands of hair falling from the knot at the back of your head. your hands moved fluidly as you worked, effortlessly elegant, the tip of your finger brushing along the top of a pastry in a way that made his throat close up. you were so unnecessarily beautiful.

he should’ve known better. should’ve just ordered what he wanted and left, but your presence made everything else fade into the background.

“nanami,” you said, voice gentle, like you were pulling him out of some kind of daydream. your eyes flicked up from the lattice pie crust you were arranging, a flicker of admiration? worry? maybe it was his wishful thinking. “you look real tired.”

he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, though he knew it was a losing battle. it had been one hard fucking day, and now, for some reason, every part of him felt more exposed in this small, intimate space. “long day.” he said, keeping his tone even as he gestured to your current project. “came for a slice.”

you smiled, a smile that seemed to know exactly how much he was trying to hide, a soft weight pressing against him. “I see,” you said slowly, eyes trailing over his figure long enough to notice. he shifted uncomfortably, looking away, but not without catching the faint smudge of flour on your cheek.

he wanted to reach out, to brush it away. though he wasn’t sure how he’d explain it to himself if he did.

“you’ve been working long hours?” he asked, trying to shift the focus on something, anything else.

you looked to the clock on the wall behind him, then back to him. “a few,” you said casually, before adjusting something behind the counter. “but I don’t mind.”

you paused, “seems like you could use a break.”

a fork falls, and when you bend down to pick it up, the slight shift of your body catches his eye. the position, the curve of your back — it gave him ideas. unwelcome ones. blood rushed south, and suddenly, it wasn’t coffee he was craving.

entirely uninnocent, you continued. “you’re always in and out so quickly,” light but pointed. “you can take your time here, y’know. it’s nice and quiet.”

the moment stretched on, more awkward than it had any right to be. he could practically taste the tension when you reached for a plate by the register.

“I’ll take two slices and an americano,” he said suddenly, voice significantly hoarser than intended.

there it was again — the curve of your lips, the small, satisfied grin you sported that made him feel like a schoolboy confessing to his crush.

“coming right up,” you nodded, and he’s almost certain you slowed on purpose, taking your time slicing, each motion deliberate and unhurried.

and before either of you could fully process it, the lights above flickered, darkness swallowing the room. the hum of the machinery, the mixer blades, the ambience — it all came to a quick halt.

for a moment, it was eerily silent.

then he heard your voice, exasperated undertones evident despite the lack of visuals. “sorry, I know you need to get home. I swear I pay my bills.”

he could make out the sounds of you feeling around the tables to navigate the room. probably in search of the breaker box, if there was one at all.

in the pitch black of your company, he still couldn’t find it in himself to leave. at least not yet.

there was a shuffle — your footsteps barely audible over the stillness — followed by the unmistakable squeak of something giving way beneath you, the muted thump of your body hitting the ground, and the clatter of a metal tray toppling from the counter.

“shit-” he moved before he could think, reaching into his pocket and swiping his phone’s flashlight on. the glow sliced through the dark, casting long, uneven shadows against the bakery walls.

his beam found you sitting on the floor, palm braced against the tile, hands cradling your ankle. near your feet, a smear of something glossy: a dollop of custard or maybe an egg wash.

he crouched, assessing you. “are you hurt?”

you blew out a breath, turning over your hands, not so clean anymore. then your foot, which you carefully flexed. “I don’t think so,” you frowned, but when you shifted to stand, a quiet hiss escaped.

nanami didn’t hesitate. “stay put.”

you blinked at him, clearly taken aback. the dull throb in your ankle kept you from arguing. you pointed your thumb towards the back. “fridge,” said through a wince. “there should be an ice pack on the freezer shelf. do you think you could-”

without a word, he pushed to his feet, phone leading the way. he navigated past the swinging doors, slipping through the narrow doorway that led to the storage pantry. the air there was cooler, lined with metal racks and ingredient bins.

he spotted a blue industrial fridge and heaved it open, the faint chill seeping into his sleeves as he reached inside. a few conveniently placed ice packs accompanied by ziploc bags of strawberries.

less than a minute later, he returned, earnestly kneeled beside you once more, gingerly pressing the ice pack onto the afflicted area (your left foot).

“you really didn’t have to,” you mumbled, voice softer now, edged with something he couldn’t quite place.

“of course I did,” he said simply. and despite himself, despite the long day and the exhaustion catching up to him, he didn’t move away.

nanami propped his phone up against the closest cabinet, illuminating your expression — clearly very grateful, maybe a little surprised.

it also made him really want to kiss you.

you sighed, watching him. “you’re really good at this,” you said, quieter now, calmer.

“taking care of people, I mean.”

nanami exhaled sharply through his nose, grip tightening for a fraction of a second.

“you should elevate it,” he grunted, voice jaggy, words landing somewhere between nervous command and gentle suggestion.

you countered, tilting your head at him. “you didn’t leave when the lights were still on.”

he could have. should have. instead, he was here with you — pulse hammering in his throat, stomach twisting at the way you looked at him.

your hands moved with a mind of their own, fingertips brushing against his wrist. fleeting, yet it still burned. nanami was already stiff, and that simple contact made something snap inside him.

the ice pack is forgotten when he presses his palm flat against the floor beside you, leaning in enough to feel the warmth of your breath against his own lips.

“you must’ve really had a long day.”

the corners of his mouth twitched. god, has he always smelled this good? “you could say that.”

he hesitated, and then your fingers curled around the front of his tie, hardly grabbing, and he was a goner.

it wasn’t rushed. nanami kissed like he meant it. no frantic clashing of teeth or fumbling for control — he had thought about it for far too long, and now that he had finally allowed himself to indulge, he wasn’t going to waste a single second of it.

you made a soft sound against him; his forehead, like clockwork — rested against yours, breath uneven.

you swallowed, eyes flickering down to his mouth again. “not gonna blame this on exhaustion?”

his lips quirked — not a smirk, but close. “no.”

it was too easy, too natural. he’d been standing on the edge of this moment for far too long, waiting for an excuse to finally fall. and now that he had, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to find his footing again.

“good.” and before either of you could think better of it, you pulled him back in.

-

his hands, broad and greedy, spread you apart, thumbs pressing in, keeping you exactly where he wanted. a curse rumbled in his throat at the sight of you — glistening, open, waiting for him. so fucking pretty. he leaned in, let the heat of his breath fan over you, teasing, testing, before dragging his tongue up the length of you, slow, deliberate, savoring.

your thighs trembled at the first stroke, fingers clawing hard at his hair, tugging in pure, mindless desperation. he groaned against you, vibration sinking deep, right where you needed it. didn’t stop you. didn’t tell you to be gentle. he let you take what you needed, let you use him however you’d like. “nanami-”

his fingers dug in harder as he sucked. “call me kento,” he kissed the inside of your thigh, lips warm and damp, “go ahead, do it again.”

you barely had time to register it before he was back on you, everywhere — open mouthed kisses, slow, obscene drags of his tongue, sharp edge of his teeth scraping sensitive skin, just to see you jolt.

“if I’m doing this,” another deep, wet lick, “we’re far past formalities, don’t you think?”

your answer was in the way your body reacted, hips rocking into him, desperate little whimper breaking from your throat. it only spurred him on.

“that’s it,” he mumbled from under you, voice half praise, half tease. his tongue flicked against your clit, pressure building. “let me hear you.”

his hands kept you wide open, holding you still as he worked you over; he buried himself in you like he’d been starved. (he had been.)

he’d been letting his own discipline choke him, and you wanted him to lose it, he’s sure.

he yanked your top apart, fabric jerking from your shoulders. the buttons of your blouse popped free one by one. the clasp of your bra released with a quick, almost inaudible snap. a hand rested on your thigh as the other reached past you.

a cabinet door creaked open, and a slow hum rumbled from his chest, thoughtful.

“ah,” nanami mused, pulling down a familiar canister. he spun it in his palm, reading the label as if he hadn’t already made up his mind. his thumb flicked idly against the cap before he met your eyes, mischief replacing his usual composure.

“I assume this is for coffee,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners while he turned the label towards you. reddi wip, made with real cream.

“can I use this?” he coaxed when you didn’t answer, free hand skimming along your side. “please?”

you nod.

“I’ll be careful,” he murmured, eyes hazy as he bit the cap off. “unless, of course, you prefer otherwise.”

nanami’s jaw pulled taut as he watches the first dollop of whipped cream land. it pools, soft peaks forming against the curve of your chest.

his breath shuddered, a rough, unintentional inhale, fingers flexing. his cock gave the faintest, needy twitch in his slacks, heavy against the fabric, but he kept placid — for the most part.

his palm scaled up, fingers brushing under the swell of your breast as he leaned in, mouth a breath away from the mess he made. “can’t let this go to waste,” he murmured, voice thick, nearly lost to the sound of his own restraint. “stay still, sweetheart.”

a beat, then his tongue flickers out — devastatingly intentional as he licked a long, deliberate stripe through the sweetness, from your stomach up to your tits — lips trailing along the sticky trail.

you grappled at the neat blonde strands at the nape of his neck, tugging enough to make him groan again, the sound vibrating against you. he tilted his head, pressing his lips over the soft swell of your nipple, gently sucking and biting like he’s working overtime.

“mm- been thinkin’ about this all day,” he panted, voice dripping. “needed to get my hands on you-” another lick, another groan, “needed to taste you.”

the way he looked up at you, lids heavy, pupils blown — pooled between your legs. you swallowed, breath hitching as his lips brushed higher, dangerously close to your throat. “gonna take your time with me, kento?” you rasped out as he palmed at you again.

he chuckled, breath at your pulse. “oh, baby,” he murmured, kissed below your jaw. “you have no idea.”

he traced over the sticky remnants on your skin until he dragged his thumb over your lips, prodding.

“open,” he ordered, and when you did, he slid his thumb past your lips, watching as you closed around it. he staggered, hips rolling forward in insensible need. “fuck, sweetheart — gonna ruin you, y’know that?”

a hand slipped between you, unfastening his belt with a quick pull. the clink of metal echoed in the charged air, and then — zzzt! — the sound of his zipper sliding down, agonizingly slow.

and when he finally sinked into you, raw, he swore you were trying to swallow him whole. it doesn’t take you long to adjust, and it doesn’t take long ‘till he’s rutting into you, frenzied and desperate, spasming inside you.

“goddd- you’re so. hah- fucking. tight.” he leaned in to kiss you, practically drooling all over your tongue.

you were milking him, the strangled noises both of you made not exactly helping his case. he grinded and pumped into you until the cabinets start creaking, thrusts growing lazier and lazier.

soon enough — you were seeing stars. your back arched as his knees buckled, hand moving to brace on the counter while he fucked you through your high.

“juuuust like that, good girl,” nanami cooed, nipping at your collarbone as he started back up again, his precum collecting at his base as he did.

his forearms slipped under your thighs, tilting your pelvis up as his hips smacked over and over against yours. “so good to me, baby. you’re-” thrust. “so,” thrust. “good,” thrust. “f’me.”

nanami’s face grew hot as he chased his climax, muscles tightening as he emptied himself inside of you, spilling out and moaning into your mouth when your eyes rolled back during your second.

he gently pulled out, thumb grazing the back of your hand. “feeling okay?” his eyes were locked on yours, waiting for an answer.

you nodded, closing your eyes, letting yourself breathe. “better than okay.” he didn’t let go of your hand. instead, he reached over to where his button up laid on the counter, draping it over your shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to—” nanami started, voice hesitant.

“you don’t have to apologize,” you interrupted, squeezing his wrist. you pulled it to your chest, your heart still beating, now a steady thrum. “I trust you.”

a breath of relief left him then, shoulders relaxing, weight lifted. he smiled, sincere. “thank you.”

his fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, touch anchoring you in the moment.

“if you need anything,” he whispered, “I’m here.”

you shifted, leaning in towards him, lips brushing his ear as you spoke. “and if I need more than anything?” you teased, laughing into another kiss.

nanami raised an eyebrow, lips curling as he fake-checked his watch. “I’ll need to check my schedule.”

he turned away to grab a clean towel, quietly dampening it with cool water. he looked like he belonged in there. in your bakery, your life. you fidgeted with his shirt, pulling it tighter around you.

nanami wiped the sweat from your brow, hand brushing against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. he leaned in, pressing his mouth to your forehead before moving to grab a glass of water from the counter. you watched him, smiling as he returned to gently hand it to you, fingers lingering.

“same time tomorrow?”

romy 🐰 is typing… not the best thing I’ve ever written but practice makes perfect, right.. and not as long as I originally intended for it to be but yk what, hell yeah!

© bowtiepasta: do not copy edit or repost anywhere

[veesleeze]

Random Gifs Headers/Banners

[bunny-jpeg]

Hi, could I get a swiss roll with a figgy duff and a side of champagne served by Max Verstappen?

Thank you in advance 🫶

bakery menu!!

want to submit an order? then hit up the menu! i'd love to hear from you and everything you wish to suggest! requests are still open, but updates won't be posted from sept 23rd-29th 2024 due to a vacation! but feel free to submit orders for when i return! for this lovely anon i hope you love this fic, i am very proud of how everything turned out! thank you again for ordering and have a great day! <3

swiss roll ("everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you.") + figgy duff ("if i buy it, will you stop pouting?") + champagne (sugar daddy au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, stuffed animal abuse, couch sex, jealousy, doggy style, daddy kink

max knew that he could have next to anything he wanted. his entire world was his oyster before thirty. his salary would make some gasp, but it simply made him grin. he pushed himself to his limits to get on top, and he wasn't stopping now.

but even the greats had their weaknesses. and for max that came in the form of soft eyes and softer lips with a deep likeness for hello kitty.

"is this one hello kitty? it looks like a rabbit?" max asked as he looked over at your phone screen to see what you were looking at. or rather in what ways were you going to use and abuse his credit card for the week.

in all fairness you could've abused his finances a lot harder and max would've been fine with it. he could retire from racing tomorrow and still spoil you till the sun burnt out. you still tried to find deals and coupons on things you wanted him to buy you. sometimes you still got hot in the face when you saw the total of a shopping cart.

you were raised in such a different world than him and max liked that. but, while he had a weak spot for your softness. you had a weak spot for stuffed animals. especially sanrio.

"no, no. they're not all hello kitty. this one is cinnamoroll, and he's a dog."

max looked at the screen a little closer, "looks like a rabbit to me."

you pointed at the screen, "no, no. look at his ears, those are dog ears." max nodded, still not totally convinced. who would draw a dog like that. but when you saw the price of the large stuffed animal, you pouted. and max noticed you were pouting.

he took the phone from you and when you tried to get your phone back. he placed his free hand on your forehead. he said, "if i buy it, will you stop pouting? i can afford it, treasure."

"but the import fees."

"they'll be paid." he added the stuffed animal to the cart. he didn't even look at the price in all fairness before he handed the phone back to you. you pouted further and max leaned in to kiss you on the lips, "enough of that. what else do you want?" then rubbed the top of your head with his large hand.

honestly, he knew very little about sanrio or hello kitty. he knew one time he kicked one of them off the bed in an attempt to get comfy after a long double header and you whined until he picked it up off the floor and apologized to the stuffed toy. but, anything for you, he supposed.

the plush toy along with some others arrived within a few weeks. max didn't really notice much of it until he caught you on the couch earlier that day with your arms wrapped around the stuffed toy. he hadn't realized how big it was, a little over a meter in size. it was soft with those long rabbit ears. but you were snuggled up with it watching television. you looked cute even with the t-shirt you wore slowly riding up over your stomach.

it made max stop in his tracked and divert from his path to the kitchen. you looked up at him and smiled, and he smiled back. he said to you, "everything you hoped for?"

you nodded, "yeah, now i have something to cuddle when you're gone." your comment was innocent, but it stirred something in max. he got closer and you kept your gaze on him. you smiled a little bit when he leaned down to kiss you on the lips.

"oh? replacing me so soon?" he asked as he reached towards you and pushed your t-shirt a little higher. you hid your face a little further into the stuffed animals, "oh no, no, my love. don't hide from me." it was easy to get your shirt off of you.

he licked his lips while your breasts pressed against the stuffed animal. he knew he'd have you whining soon enough and it curled something in his gut at the sight of you. you were amazing. the perfect baby girl that max could ever have. while he was fine with you buying what you desired, he didn't want to be replaced with a stuffed toy.

because no stuffed toy could compare to your daddy.

"you better not replace me, my love. everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you. so there is no replacing me. i paid for these." he said as he pushed down your shorts and exposed the pretty panties underneath, "and i paid for your little friend." maybe max was a fool for being jealous over a stuffed animal, but your sudden attached to it made something curl in his brain.

you were soon naked and pressed against the stuffed animal. you looked over your shoulder at him and he pressed your face into the cinnamoroll plush, or whatever its name was. you whined, "daddy!"

"shh, shh. i need to make sure this rabbit knows who you belong to. or he's being sent back to wherever he came from."

you arched your back to pretty for him as you tried to argue, "it's a dog!"

he smacked your ass before he pulled away to get his t-shirt off. you behaved and kept your face pressed against the stuffed animal. he got out of his pants and underwear before he pressed his cock up against your ass. he said, "it could be a turtle for all i can. but, i need to make sure that you don't go running off with a stuffed toy while i'm away." he kissed the back of your neck as he rubbed himself up against you.

you whimpered and held onto the toy tighter, "daddy, please." then moaned when he sank his cock into you. it was true, he did pay for everything. you were there to look pretty and be the perfect girl for him.

"so pretty." he said, "i worry about you when i leave, you're so soft and could get into a lot of trouble." he groaned a little bit as he started to find his pace as he fucked you on the couch.

"i can be a good girl." you replied, you held onto the stuffed toy and drooled a little bit against it as max's cock hit up against some of your sweetest spots. your toes curled in your socks as he found his rhythm.

"i know. i know." he said, "but you should be cuddling me. not this toy. so i have to show it who's in charge." you couldn't help but giggle, but they were soon silenced when he pressed himself further against you and took you by the face and kissed you deeply on the lips.

his thrusts were fast, and it forced you further up against the couch. the kisses were hot and made you feel warm all over. your sweet noises even while you kissed made max run hot. he knew that only he could make you feel this good. he knew that he ruined you, and that you'd always yearn for his cock.

you drooled a little more when the kiss broke and your face found comfortable against the fur of the toy. you clung to it tightly for some kind of support but max had full control of the pace. you felt a little hazy in the brain as he continued to fuck you.

"i love you." you said softly.

"and i love you." he replied, "can't help but be a little jealous sometimes. anyone would be lucky to have you, but i have you all to myself. everything you own belongs to me, paid with my credit card. maybe i should make you wear my name at all times so nobody gets the wrong idea." his words were hot and flooded with brain with a heightened pleasure.

max continued to thrust against you. soon his pace became quicker and rougher. he pressed you further against the couch and the toy. he kissed you once more, it was rough against your lips as you came around his cock.

you clung to the stuffed animal as you tensed up. you panted through the kiss as you nails dug into the plush toy, only loosening your grip when you came down from your climax.

face pressed once more into the soft fur as max rocked himself against you, almost bouncing you on his cock. he pressed into you further before he finished inside of you. he shuddered as he finished. eventually he slowed down until a stop then pulled out. he panted heavily and used his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

he admired your backside before he put you onto your back. he looked at the stuffed animal, the embroidered eyes looked at him and he smiled. he said to the toy, "she's mine."

you placed your hands on his face and said, "c'mon, max! he isn't going to replace you!"

"he won't when i'm finished with you." <3

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary: 

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins. 

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it. 

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins. 

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it. 

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe. 

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs. 

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.” 

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.” 

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself. 

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas. 

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice. 

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance. 

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely. 

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you. 

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed. 

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself. 

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you. 

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon. 

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress. 

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you. 

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call. 

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need. 

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder. 

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone. 

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself. 

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants. 

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's. 

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed. 

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness. 

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely. 

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass. 

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him. 

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours. 

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take. 

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier. 

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck. 

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

[levispersonalslave]

Hi. How are you? I love your Levi's story and your cute blog.

I would like to leave a request.

Ex boyfriend Levi x ex girlfriend reader

In which Levi ended a four-year relationship with the reader. And after two years they meet again.

During these two years, the reader went abroad to study and when she returns to her hometown, she opens a bakery that serves sweets, coffee and tea. A very cute bakery.

Her friend invites her to a company party where her husband works. But destiny plays tricks, and Levi works at the same company. When she sees him, he is 'accompanied' by a woman.

Both, Levi and the reader, still love each other and have very strong feelings for each other.

Ps: Levi wears glasses.

I leave the resolution and development of the story up to you.

Thanks and have a good Sunday and an excellent start to the week.

Don't be in a hurry to write. Take your time.

HI DEARRR this is absolutely ADORABLE and im in LOVE with that header omg,, I HOPE THIS IS TO YOUR LIKING MY LOVE ‹𝟹

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐞~!

𝐸𝑥-𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐿𝑒𝑣𝑖 𝐴𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛 × 𝐸𝑥-𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑀𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝐴𝑢, 𝐸𝑥’𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠, 1.3𝑘 𝑤𝑐

The scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingers in the air, curling around you like a warm embrace. It settles into every corner of the bakery, clinging to the wooden counters, the glass display, the freshly wiped tables. Even as the evening rush fades, leaving behind only a handful of customers, the air remains thick with the sweetness of sugar and nostalgia.

With a slow breath, you wipe your hands over your apron and step back, surveying your work. Trays of golden pastries rest behind the glass, their delicate edges catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. This bakery—your bakery—is everything you once dreamed of. A fresh start; a sanctuary built with your own hands.

And yet, no matter how much sugar and warmth you pour into it, some ghosts refuse to stay buried.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Hitch’s voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You turn to see her leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a thin brow arched in mock exasperation.

“Ah, sorry,” you say with a sheepish smile.

She rolls her eyes. “I was inviting you to a party. My friend’s company is hosting it tonight. Fancy food, good music, and a whole room full of pretty corporate guys debating things we’ll pretend to understand.”

You hesitate, already shaking your head. “I don’t know, hun. . . I have an early morning tomorrow.”

Hitch groans, throwing her head back. “You always have an early morning. You work too much. Come on, you need a night out.”

You do work too much. You know that. But the thought of stepping into a crowded room filled with unfamiliar faces—and the possibility of familiar ones—is enough to make you hesitate. Two years abroad gave you distance, but not immunity. There are still some things your heart refuses to forget.

Still, when you meet Hitch’s expectant gaze, something in it makes you waver.

And fate, with its cruel sense of humor, will happily remind you why you spent so long running.

“. . .Fine then,” you relent, untying your apron. “But only for a little while.”

Hitch grins, triumphant. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The venue is the kind of place that whispers elegance in hushed tones—polished floors gleaming under soft golden light, chandeliers dripping with crystal, laughter weaving through the air like silk. The clink of champagne glasses hums in the background, mingling with the gentle murmur of conversation.

You adjust the strap of your dress, exhaling as you follow Hitch inside.

And then you see him.

The world tilts, just for a moment.

He stands near the bar, half-listening to a conversation, his posture effortlessly composed. He hasn’t changed much. The sharp cut of his suit, the quiet intensity in his gaze, the way his fingers curl loosely around the rim of his glass—it’s all painfully familiar.

For a fleeting second, you almost convince yourself he’s just a memory, a ghost conjured by your own mind.

But then your eyes shift, and you notice the woman beside him.

She’s beautiful, the kind of beautiful that turns heads without trying—wrapped in a sleek red gown, dark hair tumbling in soft waves. One hand rests lightly on his arm as she leans in to say something.

He responds with a quiet smile, and your heart clenches.

You tear your gaze away, fixing your eyes on anything else—the flickering candlelight, the tray of champagne flutes gliding past—but it’s far too late.

He’s already seen you.

Your breath catches as his gaze finds yours across the room.

For a heartbeat, the party disappears. The chatter, the music, the laughter—it all fades into something distant, unimportant. There’s shock in his expression at first, then something softer—something dangerously close to longing. Hitch is speaking beside you, but her voice barely reaches your ears. You take a step back, pulse thrumming against your ribs.

He hesitates, fingers twitching at his side before he murmurs something to the woman beside him. She nods, stepping away without protest.

And then he’s moving toward you. Your breath wavers.

You turn, reaching blindly for the nearest tray, grasping a glass of champagne with fingers that tremble just slightly. A sip does nothing to steady you.

You turn sharply, needing distance, needing air—anything to steady the erratic rhythm of your pulse. Your gaze flickers toward the nearest tray of champagne flutes, and you reach for one, fingers trembling just slightly. But in your haste, you miscalculate the movement.

The glass tilts, slipping from your grasp.

You lurch forward instinctively, hands reaching out—

And collide with someone.

Strong hands catch your arms, steadying you before you can stumble. A warm, familiar touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” The words die in your throat the second your eyes rise to meet his.

Up close, he’s even more overwhelming. The sharp cut of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the way his fingers tighten just slightly before he lets go. His scent—clean, crisp, edged with something undeniably familiar—wraps around you like a ghost of the past.

His touch vanishes, but the sensation lingers, branding itself onto your skin.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The party hums on around you, distant and insignificant. The space between you is thick with everything unspoken.

“Hello,” he says at last, his voice warm, careful.

You swallow. “Hi.”

A pause.

“I didn’t know you were back.”

“Been a few months,” you answer softly. “I opened a bakery.”

His lips part slightly, and you can see the memory flicker behind his eyes. You can almost hear his voice from years ago, teasing yet certain: You’ll be amazing at it. He used to say he could already picture it—a place that smelled like sugar and cinnamon, with soft jazz playing in the background.

He had believed in your dreams before you had.

Another waiter passes by, this time with a tray of desserts. Without thinking, you reach for a small lemon tart.

The moment you realize what you’ve done, you almost move to put it back—but when you look up, his gaze is already on the pastry in your hand.

Your eyes meet again, and your fingers tighten around the delicate crust. “This was always your favorite,” you murmur.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy with nostalgia. Something unspoken lingers in the air, something fragile and dangerous all at once.

And then, before you can stop yourself, the question slips from your lips.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

He blinks, surprised. His eyes flicker toward the woman in red, then back to you.

“No,” he says simply. “Just a coworker.”

Relief rushes through you, quick and sharp. You barely have time to smother it before it betrays you. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. You don’t belong to him anymore, but your heart hasn’t gotten the memo.

“I should—”

“Can we talk?”

Your pulse stumbles. “Levi. . .”

“I know this isn’t the place,” he says quietly. “But—” He exhales, tugging at his cuffs. “Two years, and I still—”

“Please don’t.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Don’t say it.”

Because if he does, you might break.

And yet, standing here, with the taste of lemon on your tongue and the past so close you could touch it, a truth settles deep in your chest.

You still love him. Maybe you always will.

He takes a slow step closer. “Then let me show you instead.”

The party buzzes on, indifferent to the moment unfolding between you. Two people standing on the edge of something unfinished.

You could walk away.

Or you could let fate take the wheel.

And maybe—just maybe—find your way back to him. Because the best recipes are a little messy, and some things are worth making from scratch.

⊱ 𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⊰ @the-traveling-poet, @pinkberryfox, 𝑑𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

ᵎ!ᵎ 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 @kodaswrld ᵎ!ᵎ

[astraljedi]

Long Story Short (Tommy Miller)

Summary: After arriving in Jackson, you reunite with Tommy Miller—an old flame you haven't seen in over twenty years. And as you and your daughter try to settle into your new reality, old feelings, regrets and past scars resurface.

Pairing: Single Dad!Tommy Miller x Reader

Warnings: mention of trauma, scars, past abuse (implied), protective!Tommy, past miscommunication.

Word Count: 2.9K

Songs: Long Story Short by Taylor Swift

A/N: Not going to lie, I've had this idea for a while now and I'm currently planning on writing a part 2. Also, do you guys like the custom headers/posters for each fic? Let me know your thoughts and ENJOY! Taglist: @grayandthyme @darkwhisperswolf @umadirectioner -

Long story short, it was a bad time

For months, it was just Lucy and me crossing state lines all alone. Enduring different weather, escaping raiders and surviving the chaos of the end of the world. There were moments where I sat and thought if I made the right decision. FEDRA wasn’t safe, our home wasn’t safe either. But what if it’s even worse out here and I risked her safety for us to end up worse than before?  

The moment Lucy turned fourteen, I started prepping her in secret while her father was away. Sneaking out through the back walls into the woods, not too far but not too close where the guards could hear guns going off. For two years, I managed to teach her how to survive outside FEDRA’s walls with or without me. There was always a high risk of me falling behind, sacrificing myself for her or even if her dad managed to find us. He would kill me and she needed to know how to escape him, even if that meant leaving me behind. 

It took years to work up the courage, and even more guts to finally run one night while her father was out on duty. But for her? I’d do it all over again, a thousand times in a heartbeat. 

I didn’t know what was waiting for us beyond those fences. But I knew I had to take a chance of it being safer than keeping Lucy under the same roof as the man who was supposed to protect us. The man I thought was the kindest soul once, caring and loving. 

By the time we crossed Wyoming, the cold was setting in hard. The winds were picking up and we barely could see anything between the rows of trees. I hoped for the sight of an abandoned cabin, something for us to sit and stand by while the weather eased. I thought maybe we’d hit our end of the road. 

But when those tall gates creaked opened and the patrol team that found us led us inside, It was the first time in months that I could breathe a little easier. 

I keep Lucy close, my arms tucked around her shoulders, trying to share what little warmth we have between the two of us. It was only the beginning of the season, and it was already this bad. I cant imagine how its going to be when a storm comes. 

“We should get them something to eat,” One of the guys who brought us in says. 

“No, they need medical attention first. And some new warmer clothes. God knows how long they’ve been out there almost freezing to death in those thin jackets.” the young woman snaps back at him. They were whispering but I could hear every word clearly. 

My lips tremble as I look around the town. The white snow carpeted the whole town, kids were playing in the snow while other adults walked around the town, drinking whatever warm liquid they were serving out of one of the tall buildings. It was surreal, seeing a town actually living, no FEDRA, no infected in sight. Just normalcy and community. 

I turn to Lucy, her eyes glimmering as she catches sight of a group of laughing teenagers slip out of the bakery with their own drinks in hand. She doesn’t say anything, but the hope in her eyes makes my heart swell.

“Peach?” A low gasp escapes me and my body freezes on the spot. That voice, that same voice that haunted me for years during sleepless nights. For a moment, I think my mind is playing games with me.

The cold finally getting to me. 

But the moment I turn around slowly, my heart at a stop waiting for it to jump out of my chest the moment I wake up from the trance.

The moment my eyes land on his, dark eyes that had gone through hell, but those were still the same brown eyes I fell in love with over twenty years ago back in Texas. 

The memory of those same eyes scanning my exposed skin under the hot summer Texas sun, his rough fingertips trailing up my thighs until they met with the hem of my shorts, tugging them down slowly as his lips feverishly roamed every inch of my body. Leaving me breathless and aching. Hoping the neighbor didn’t pop their head over the fence. 

“Tommy,” I breathe out. 

He was still the man I ran away from, too scared to get my heart broken. Because there was no getting over Tommy Miller, there was no cure for the man who stood in front of me. He looks older, lines at the corner of his eyes, a few new scars across his cheek and forehead.

This version of him, rugged, tougher and broader. At first, he looks like a soldier right after battle, in pain and like he’s seen the worst. But then I catch a glimpse of the version I used to know, soft, caring and tender. 

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t waste any second more and crosses the distance between us in quick strides. His strong arms pull me into his body and I welcome his warmth, the familiar weight of him. 

I bury my face in his chest, my hands clinging to the back of his thick jacket. God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt this safe and at peace in someone’s arms. In the arms of a man who I know wouldn’t dare hurt me, the arms that held me close like I would vanish the second I pull away. 

“I thought you were dead,” He breathes, his face nuzzled so close. His voice trembles, but I could feel the sense of relief and his shoulders relax once he realizes I’m not running away. “Peach, you don’t know how long I looked for you.”

I close my eyes, taking in his new scent of wood, leather and a hint of smokiness. It was different, mature. 

My throat strains and hot tears sting my eyes, the weight of everything almost crumbling down all at once. The weight of every bruise, every cry and scar on my body. Heavy sleepless nights were Lucy was sick and her father was nowhere to be found, probably drunk and fucking someone else while I stayed up with a crying six month old, desperate to get her feeling better. 

“Mom?” Lucy’s voice pulls me out of the trance. Tommy tenses and I pull away from him, already missing his warmth when the harsh wind crashes to me. I quickly wipe away the tears from the corner of my eyes and try to compose myself.

“Sorry,” I mumble, pulling her close. “Tommy, this is my daughter, Lucy.” 

Tommy looks stunned, eyeing me and then at Lucy.

Lucy looks up at me confused, her brows pushed together. Then she looks at Tommy, eyeing him top to bottom. “How do you guys know each other? You never mentioned a Tommy.”

I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks heating up. “We used to be friends, before the outbreak.” 

Tommy scratches the back of his head, nervous with a tint of red on his cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Lucy.” 

Lucy shrugs. “Can we go somewhere warmer? My jacket’s too thin, and I’m starving.” I huff at her, giving her a stern look. 

“What?” She asks, genuinely confused. “You’re only wearing one layer because you gave me the second jacket we had so I wouldn’t get cold. One more second out here and your lips are going to turn blue.” 

Tommy chuckles. He lets patrol know that he's taking over and sends them over to the stables to finish their shift.

“How about we get you both something warm to eat,” He says, gently slipping his arm around my shoulders again, guiding us toward one of the buildings. “And then we can find you better jackets.” 

It’s embarrassing how fast Lucy and I devour the warm, flavorful stew Tommy got us at the dining hall. Hiking across borders doesn’t exactly guarantee hot meals everyday, it doesn’t even guarantee food at all unless you’re lucky or smart enough to make it work. 

“I’m sorry mom,” Lucy mumbles, her mouth still full, “but this is way better than wild rabbit.” 

I roll my eyes playfully, swallowing the last bite. “God forbid a mom tries to make do with what nature gives her to feed her grumpy teenager.” I tease, nudging her shoulder.

“Wait ‘til you try the chocolate cake,” Tommy says, leaning back in the wooden chair across from us, a smile tugging at his mouth.

“You’re kidding. Cake?” Lucy’s eyes light up. “I’ve never had cake before.”

“Stay here. I’ll get you both a slice.” He chuckles, standing up and shaking his head before walking off.

The moment Tommy leaves, Lucy leans in, sipping what’s left of her stew. “Does Dad know him too?”

“No,” I choke out, clearing my throat. “I met Tommy way before your dad, we lived on the same street.” 

Lucy hums, processing my answer. 

Tommy comes back with two slices of chocolate cake in each hand. I force a smile and take the plate, but my stomach twists. Just the mention of her father is enough to ruin my appetite.

“Dad!” a little voice shouts.

My head snaps toward the small voice just in time to see a boy—no more than four—running across the hall and launching himself into Tommy’s lap.

“Benji,” Tommy grunts, smiling as he catches the kid and holds him tight.

A kid. He has a kid and it didn’t even cross my mind that he could be married, let alone have a kid. 

“Where’s your mom, huh?” Tommy asks gently, brushing snow from Benji’s coat.

“Right here,” comes a gorgeous woman in braids, shaking snow off her jacket. Her braids are perfect, not a hair out of place even with the strong winds outside. “He wanted to see you before bedtime,” she says with a soft smile, reaching out to smooth Benji’s hair.

Lucy glances at me, silently asking if I knew about them. I give a small shrug and slide my untouched cake over to her. She accepts it without question, already distracted by the sugary frosting.

“This is Maria,” Tommy says, unreadable. “She basically runs the town—pretty much the reason Jackson’s still standing.” Then, he introduces us, “And this is her daughter, Lucy.”

My Lucy grins and gives a small wave, cheeks puffed out with cake.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Maria says warmly. “I hope Jackson’s been good to you so far. Kat, the girl who brought you in, told me how they found you. I’m glad you’re safe and I hope you’re considering staying.”

Maria wears confidence and kindness proudly. No wonder she’s the glue that keeps this place together.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “We didn’t really know where we were going. I just—I wanted to find somewhere safe. Somewhere Lucy could grow.”

“If you decide to stay,” Maria offers, “there’s a school and they get to help with minor easy chores. Kids get to be kids here.”

“There’s no rush,” Tommy adds, placing Benji gently on the floor. “But there’s a small house that’s been renovated. If you want it—it’s yours. For both of you.”

I glance at Lucy. Her cheeks are rosy, her eyes bright. And she looks like a kid again. Not a survivor, just a girl, full of curiosity, a little mischief and grumpiness.

“I like the sound of that,” I say, looking between Tommy and Maria. “What do I have to do?”

And for the first time in years, there’s a little hope brewing inside of what our lives could be like living here.

For the night, Lucy and I would stay at Tommy’s until he could stop by the next morning bright early to make sure everything was working fine for the both of us. 

Tommy’s house is quiet, warm and every corner smells like him.

I shut the guest bedroom door gently, careful not to wake Lucy. After her shower, she changed and crawled into bed before I could even brush her hair. She was out in seconds—exhausted from months of hiking across states, finally resting on something soft.

I shiver as I head downstairs barefoot. One of Tommy’s neighbors had dropped off clothes for us, and I’m desperate for a comfortable, oversized sweatshirt. Even with the fire crackling in the living room, the tank top and sweatpants aren’t cutting it. Not after the shower either—my skin still flushed pink from the heat, and somehow, I’m still cold.

I crouch in front of the basket and start sifting through it, hoping to find something warm enough to get me through the night. 

I glance up, hearing footsteps. And for a second I think it’s Lucy, but they’re heavier, hesitant. 

Tommy stands in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, a steaming mug in his hands. His eyes land on my shoulder first—on the long, faded scar slicing across my upper arm. Then they catch the newer one at my temple, still tender and pink.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. 

But I see it—the shift in his face. His jaw clenches, the storm, rage and a hint of hurt brewing behind his eyes.

I tug an oversized sweatshirt over my shoulders, my fingers trembling—not from the cold, but from the memories burned into my skin.

Tommy walks in slowly, handing the mug out to me. “Chamomile with a bit of honey.” 

“Thanks.” I take it with both hands, settling down on the couch while letting the warmth spread into my fingers. 

I expect him to sit further across the room, but he sits down right on the edge of the coffee table. Looking straight at me. 

There’s a moment of silence, just us staring at each other while I sip my tea. His eyes trail my body, not sexually, but looking at me like I might break at any moment. And if I do, there’s no doubt he wouldn’t flinch to catch me, to protect me from the darkness in my head.

He’s trying to read me, trying to guess what happened all these years we’ve been apart.

“I looked for you, you know.” He breaks the silence, hands folded between his knees. I stare at him, cowardly pushing my words and feelings down. “Every quarantine zone I passed through, every supply run... I kept hoping I’d find you. Prayed you weren’t taken from me from this world.”

“I was out of state before the outbreak hit.” My voice is low, hiding behind the mug. 

“Why did you leave me?” He asks and he flinches, like the bruise is still fresh, still aching. “What I don’t get is why you left without saying goodbye? Why not talk to me first?”

“Because if I saw you—if I looked into those pleading eyes—I wouldn’t have gone,” I whisper. “And I needed to. I needed to leave before you had the chance to break my heart.”

He kneels down in front of me, his voice rough. “Peach, I was in love with you. So fucking in love with you. How could you not see that?”

I grip the mug tighter, my hands starting to shake. “You said you just wanted sex, Tommy. You never told me differently.”

Tommy chuckles in disbelief. “I did. Peach, I did.”

My brow furrows. “What?”

“That night. I told you I loved you. You were half asleep—I thought you heard me. I was gonna say it again in the morning, but when I woke up, you were gone.”

I blink at him, the air sucked from my lungs. “No. No, I didn’t fall asleep that fast.”

He smirks. “You did. I wore you out, remember?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting a small laugh. I grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. “Still an ass after all these years?”

He grins, finally sitting beside me on the couch, shoulders loosening.

“So,” I say, looking down at my hands. “You and Maria?”

“Yeah. We were married for a while. Didn’t work out in the end.” He grabs the blanket draped over the back of the couch and tosses it over my shoulders.

“And a kid too.” 

“Benji. He’s the best thing to come out of it. Smart as hell, too.” He chuckles, pride softening his features. “And you have a daughter.”

“Yeah.” I exhale, my eyes drifting towards the stairs. “Funny how different things are now. I was twenty-five when we met. You were thirty-two.”

“Did you ever get married?” he asks, but he doesn’t look at me when he says it.

“No.” I hesitate. “Lucy’s father didn’t believe in marriage.”

“Didn’t?” Tommy glances at me. “Did he pass away?”

“No.” I stare into the fire. But I wish he had. It would mean he couldn’t hurt us anymore. “He’s not in the picture anymore.”

Tommy hand finds mine, sliding it into his calloused hand. “You’re safe here. Whatever demons you left behind, I won’t let them hurt you.” 

I bite down hard, swallowing back the lump on my throat. Instead, I lean into him, tucking my face into his chest. His arms wrap around me instantly, shielding me of my own demons and nightmares. 

I shut my eyes, the tears sting but I don’t let them fall. I don’t let myself break. 

Because for once, even if the weight is still there, I feel safer now in these walls than before. 

Long story short, it was a bad time Long story short, I survived

[aventurineswife]

Hello again! I was wondering if you could make a pastry reader.

Which makes them mostly try their desserts until one day they are given a dessert inspired by them, for example; Aventurine = It would be a small vanilla cake with chocolate and blackberry and strawberry filling.

Just to give an example, with the characters Aventurine, Sampo, Childe and Kaeya (separated). Take your time!

-🩵

Inspired by You

Tags: Childe x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaeya x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Fluff, Lighthearted Romance, Lighthearted, Pastry Chef!Reader, Playful Banter, Hidden Vulnerabilities.

(Header credit)

It had started with a simple request.

"Just a little something to brighten the day!" Childe had said, leaning casually against the counter where you worked. He always had that mischievous gleam in his eyes, like he knew something you didn’t. You had become used to his presence in the bakery, coming and going with his usual swagger, always asking for something new, something bold, something that would surprise him. Today was no different.

“Do you have anything... intense?" he asked, his smirk unwavering.

Intense? It was a word you could easily work with. You nodded and began to prepare the dessert—something wild and dangerous, much like Childe himself. You wanted to capture his essence in pastry form. The result: a dark chocolate torte filled with a rich, blackberry-strawberry compote and finished with a hint of vanilla bean cream. It was decadent, layered with complexity, and every bite burst with a different flavor, just like Childe’s unpredictable nature.

When you handed it to him, he raised an eyebrow. “This... this is for me?”

“You asked for something intense.” you replied with a playful grin.

He took a bite, and his face lit up with that familiar grin. “Not bad, pastry chef. It’s got layers... I like it. Bold, but sweet.” He paused, eyes glinting. “Just like me, huh?”

“Maybe," you said with a wink. "But you’ll have to try more of it to find out."

The sweet aroma of pastries filled the cozy bakery as you carefully arranged trays of desserts, each one crafted with precision. Aventurine, who had come in to visit you between meetings, watched with his usual amused smile, one hand resting on the counter. He loved tasting your creations, and you enjoyed surprising him with new flavors each time.

Today, however, you had prepared something truly special. "I have something just for you," you said, smiling as you set a small cake before him. The cake was adorned with a delicate chocolate glaze, and inside, layers of vanilla, blackberry, and strawberry hinted at a decadent surprise.

Aventurine raised an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Inspired by me, hmm? I didn't know I was worthy of such treatment," he teased, running a finger along the glaze before taking a careful bite.

The flavors unfolded slowly—smooth vanilla balanced with rich chocolate, and the tartness of blackberry and strawberry that left an unexpected zing. He paused, caught off guard by the mix of sweetness and slight bitterness, a taste that somehow mirrored the guarded depths he kept hidden.

"You’ve outdone yourself," he finally said, his smile softer, almost reflective. "Sweet, a touch bitter, and altogether surprising... I’d say you captured me quite well." He took another bite, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the cake as much as the flavor itself.

In that quiet moment, it felt like he was lowering his mask, just for you. And as you watched him, you realized that perhaps a simple dessert could reveal the hidden depths of someone you thought you knew so well.

(Header credit)

After weeks of watching Kaeya sample your treats with his usual charm, you finally set your sights on something special. You prepare a caramel tart with salted almonds, accented with a drizzle of dark chocolate—complex, balanced, and just a bit indulgent.

When you hand it to him, Kaeya raises a brow, a smirk playing at his lips. "You really do know how to get my attention, don’t you?" he murmurs, bringing it up to his lips for a small, thoughtful bite.

He lets out a pleased hum, clearly savoring it. "Ah, a perfect mix of sweetness and bite. I think you’ve outdone yourself this time," he says, his voice softer than usual. "Dare I ask what inspired this masterpiece?"

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Just something… layered, with a bit of a hidden edge. Thought it suited you."

He chuckles, leaning closer. "You’re quite the charmer," he says, his fingers brushing yours briefly. "Perhaps I’ll need to return the favor someday." His words carry a promise, and you wonder just how many layers there are to him, waiting to be revealed.

The bustling bakery quieted as Sampo strolled in with his usual carefree grin, tipping an imaginary hat in your direction. "Fancy seeing you here! You got anything for a tired traveler like me?" he asked, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You smirked, setting down a treat that had been prepared with him in mind. "As a matter of fact, yes. Here’s something inspired by you." you said, revealing a tart topped with fresh mint leaves, chocolate shavings, and a dusting of powdered sugar. Inside, the tart held a mix of light cream and hints of citrus—a refreshing and vibrant combination that seemed fitting.

Sampo’s eyes lit up as he leaned in, sniffing appreciatively. "Inspired by me, you say? You sure know how to charm a guy." Without hesitation, he took a large bite, savoring the blend of rich cream and zesty citrus, the mint adding a touch of surprise. He let out a satisfied hum.

"This is fantastic," he declared with a wink. "Just the right amount of sweet and a hint of bite. But are you saying I'm a little... tart?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Well, you do have that sharpness beneath the charm."

Sampo laughed, a genuine sound that softened his usual sharp demeanor. He took another bite, glancing up at you with a rare, thoughtful expression. "Y’know, not many people go to this much trouble for me." He leaned in, lowering his voice with that signature smirk. "Better be careful, or you’ll make me feel... special."

You felt your cheeks warm as he took another bite, clearly enjoying every bit. And in that small exchange, it was as if the tart, like Sampo himself, had revealed something sweet beneath its complex layers.

[lsunstreakerl]

1.7k legal adjustments verse, max POV, daniel POV, mature content implied.

relevant heads up: omegaverse, muzzles, genuinely lethal levels of being on different pages, hurt no comfort

"It's just for the double header, Max."

Christian's lying. It's this double header, and then it's the next time they're on this side of the world again, and it'll just keep happening, over and over.

"His teeth are in my neck, how is that not enough?"

That Christian seems equally as frustrated is only a small relief. He's holding the leather in his hands, and Max is trying not to look at it.

"I promise, the FIA is doing everything they can to find a compromise. Unfortunately at the moment, it's either this or not racing."

He holds it out to Max, who takes it with no small amount of disgust. It makes him feel awful even just looking at it, humiliation churning in his gut. They can't actually expect him to wear this every moment he's out of the car— they'll never get any sound bites or interviews out of him.

It doesn't help that his alpha doesn't even want him. Daniel will probably see it as another failure, and it's worse than just the indignity of Max being muzzled— he'll be muzzled with the tag of an alpha that will be equally as embarrassed, because its Max.

He's not even a catch, just a burden, another thing on Daniel's list of things to handle. His fingers are trembling as he holds the muzzle, looking down at Daniel's logo stamped into the side. His FIA mandated collar has his own logo, but there's no sign of it on the muzzle, just Daniel's logo at the hinge of his jaw.

At least it doesn't have sponsors.

------

He and Daniel don't share hotel rooms. It had been a naive thought Max had initially, when Daniel had bitten him and then fucked him, let him make a nest in his home.

They're not like that.

Max stays in his flat in Monaco, reassures the woman at his favorite bakery that his alpha is at home, that he doesn't like to come out often. He spends most of his time in his flat, because he's afraid of what might happen if he goes out too much, if people notice that he's always alone. He's vulnerable now.

The sim rig hasn't let him down, and the cats love him the same as before, and if Max doesn't go outside then he can't possibly run into Charles. The unanswered calls and texts on his phone nag at him, but he doesn't know what to say.

I'm sorry wouldn't cut it.

------

"—and Dan, if you could get the muzzle fit tested tonight and let us know if Max needs any changes? We want it as comfortable as possible, even if we hopefully aren't using it long."

Daniel is startled out of his daydreams, head spinning. He doesn't know anything about a muzzle, hasn't talked to Max much at all beyond surface level jokes at the factory, carefully maintaining his distance. Max has been looking worse, the stress from the season and a mating he didn't want weighing on him, and Daniel feels nausea at the thought of it.

The distance is helping, it has to be, but it's impossible for them to entirely separate. Max is always going to be around the source of the trauma, around Daniel, and now—

"Yeah, I'll get right on that."

Max's hotel keycard burns a hole in his pocket. Daniel always gets a copy, because he's the one buying the hotel rooms, but he hasn't used it until now. He knocks on Max's door, waiting patiently on the other side. He's fully capable of carding himself in, but the idea of intruding into Max's space grates against him unpleasantly.

The door opens a crack, but Max doesn't open it all the way, peeking through the side. Something about his scent smells off.

"Max, hey, can I come in?"

Max swallows, but he opens the door further, eyeing Daniel nervously. It's nothing like how he used to be, perfectly at ease in Daniel's presence, because Daniel's ruined it, crushed it with any of the rest of Max's romantic dreams.

The room smells weird too. It takes him a minute to realize that it's because there's the artificial scent of pheromone neutralizer in his nose, all across the room. He doesn't see anything resembling a nest, even though Max isn't great at them to begin with.

There's a sour undertone to the whole thing, which surely has something to do with the muzzle on the table. Max won't look him in the eye, shifting on his feet.

"I tried to fit test it myself, but I of course cannot get the straps. Sorry."

Obviously Max can't get the muzzle on or off himself, it's part of the design. Daniel swallows back bile.

"It's okay, Max. Just, uh, stand here?"

Max is shorter than him, but not by much, and it's an awkward angle for his hands until Max lowers onto his knees, knuckles white where he's gripping his sweatpants, head tilted back.

Everything about the submissive posture screams discomfort, and Daniel wants—

He wants to break something, wants to rip it apart, wants to fix it, wants to sink his teeth into Max again, wants his mate right next to him, wants him happy.

His fingers are shaking as he takes the muzzle, trying to figure out the straps. There's no sign of Max's logo, or his name, or anything, just Daniel's logo stamped into the leather. The ownership makes him feel even guiltier, churning uncomfortably with the alpha instincts he's already grappling with.

He can't figure it out, brow furrowed, until Max sighs and takes the muzzle back, carefully fitting it over his face so Daniel just has to secure it. He's wearing scent blocking patches— recent ones, from the looks of it, still bright white against his skin. Daniel eyes the muzzle, realizing the flat piece that had confused him is inside Max's mouth.

There's a small channel on the side of the muzzle that looks about the size of their straws, so Max can still drink, but otherwise his mouth is obscured, straps looping around the back of his head. Daniel secures them in place, fitting a finger between Max's head and the strap. It's a tight fit, but there's a small amount of give.

He crouches in front of Max, meeting his eyes. There's a depth to them he can't quite read, and he can't smell Max like this either— he feels like he's fumbling in the dark.

"Is that piece on top of your tongue?"

Max nods, and Daniel watches as he swallows. It seems like it takes more force, the bob of his throat more pronounced, but he's still breathing fine through his nose. There's a few holes punched through the front of the muzzle for airflow, but there's mesh behind them, so he still can't see Max's mouth.

He hates it.

"Is it poking anywhere? Too tight, feels weird?"

Max works his jaw for a moment before shaking his head softly, eyes still locked on Daniel. He's not sure how he's going to manage an entire double header of having Max attached at his side like this, not when the only thing he wants to do is take it off and hide Max away in a nest.

Maybe they should do that instead, and Christian can pull reserves. He'll stay cuddled up with Max, order takeout, figure out what's up with the scent blockers and the neutralizer, and things will be okay.

He glances down at Max's bite, sunken deep into the skin, and shoves the idea out of his mind. That's the last thing Max would want— Max wants racing, they wouldn't be in this position if he cared about anything else near as much.

He unstraps the muzzle, hating himself for the flip in his stomach at the string of spit that snaps between Max and the muzzle before he sets it back down.

Max immediately brings a hand up to massage at his jaw, no longer meeting his eyes, and Daniel wants to do it for him, to work out the tension already building. He wants to curl them up in the bed and scent him, reassure him that Daniel wouldn't let anything happen to him.

"It fits fine, thank you. You can let Christian know it does not need adjustments."

It's cold water to his system, reminding him that they aren't like that. Daniel is only here because Max couldn't check it himself, so that they can follow regulations, so that Max can race.

"Right, yeah, I'll... I'll let him know."

He forces himself to his feet, heart tugging violently at the thought of leaving Max behind here.

"Do you need anything?"

Max shakes his head.

------

He waits five minutes after Daniel has left to peel off the scent blockers, wincing at the acidic taste of his own scent flooding the room. The abandonment and the disgust, the worthlessness, everything he feels about the muzzle— it's been permeating into his hotel room, and he'd freaked out when Daniel had knocked unexpectedly, slathering on scent blockers and spraying nearly the entire complimentary bottle of neutralizer.

Thankfully, Daniel hadn't noticed. Or maybe he had, and he just hadn't cared. He seemed plenty upset about having to deal with the muzzle already, which has Max annoyed and ashamed in equal measures.

Obviously he can't do it himself, because if he could he certainly would not have bothered Christian to bother Daniel about the fit testing. It's not like he's trying to make things difficult, and it's certainly not his fault they have all these stupid fucking rules.

He races the same now as he did before Daniel bit him, except now he has to wear a collar and a muzzle, and none of the alphas roughhouse with him anymore, and he doesn't remember the last time he'd had someone in his nest.

He doesn't remember the last time he'd even bothered making a good nest. His current one is in the closet, shoved tightly back in the corner.

It's where he's been sleeping. He doesn't feel safe here, especially not alone, and it's been messing with his instincts. Maybe if Daniel had stayed, scented something, scented Max—

It doesn't matter. He curls up miserably in the nest, still tasting leather on his tongue.