#and i’m like ??? uh?? i don’t know what you mean

[hoshifighting]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— // NEXT DAY // —

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

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

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

Here we go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your day only goes downhill from there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[...]

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

“YA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jihoon?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, the tags aren’t that bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well? Spit it out,” you demand.

He mumbles something, so low you can barely hear. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Strawberry!” he calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder people kept coming back.

Jihoon finally looks up, sheepish but impressed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mrs. Lee!" you greet her warmly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls back and thrusts again, setting a relentless pace. “That good enough for you, hm?”

You can barely answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are desperate moans as he fucks into you, hard and fast, just like he promised. “F-fuck, Jihoon… yes—just like that.”

He leans down, his chest pressing against your back as his lips brush your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good… so tight, fuck.” 

Your body trembles under his, the pleasure building so quickly that you can barely keep up. "Jihoon—" His name leaves your lips in a broken moan as you start to lose control.

Your breath is ragged, chest heaving as you lick your fingers, letting them trail down your slick body. The moment your fingers find your clit, Jihoon freezes. His cock still buried deep inside you, but it’s like he's hypnotized by the way you touch yourself. You know he’s watching, eyes dark with hunger as you start to circle your clit, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your legs weak. There’s something so intoxicating about him just watching you, letting you take control of your own pleasure while he stays inside, keeping you full.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he mutters, his voice husky and rough as he leans over you, his lips grazing your ear. "You look so fucking good like this."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, his words fueling the fire burning low in your belly. Your mind flashes back to everything between you two, from the first time he tagged your bakery walls, scowling like you were the enemy, graffiti cans in his bag, the way he barely looked at you when he spoke. 

Now look at him, look at you—sweat-slicked bodies moving together, his fingers pulling your hair. The teasing exchanges that turned into this—tangled limbs in the very place you swore you'd kill him if he ever touched.  Now, all you can think about is how good he feels inside you, how much you crave more.

His hips start to move again, slow, smooth rolls that make your whole body tingle, but he keeps his hands steady on your hips, letting you keep that perfect rhythm on your clit. The sound of your wet fingers moving in time with his thrusts fills the room, and it’s obscene, but fuck, it’s so good.

“What do you want me to do?” he murmurs against your ear, his voice vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

God. Hot. So fucking hot.

You could ask for anything. Him fucking you against every surface in the bakery, bending you over the counter, the tables, hell, maybe even hanging from the goddamn chandelier if it were possible. But right now, with the way his cock fills you and your fingers work your clit, you only want one thing.

“Pull my hair.”

His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, and he gives it a firm tug. The sharp pleasure shoots you, and your body arches against him, hips pressing back to meet his next thrust. The way body rollsl, smooth, matches the pace you’ve set with your fingers. It’s perfect, it’s so fucking good.

His hips snap against you harder now, and you can feel his restraint slipping. He’s getting close, the way his moans get rougher, the way he’s tugging your hair a little more desperately. You know he’s just as on edge as you are.

“Jihoon…”

He moans sly. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You hum, breathless. Something so ridiculous comes to mind, and you can’t believe you’re going to say it, but fuck it. 

“Can you… paint me?” You’re not sure where the words come from, but once they’re out, you can’t help but smirk.

He hesitates for a second, his hips stuttering before he recovers. “What?”

You bite your lip, half-laughing through your moans. “You heard me. Paint me. Grafitti me. Whatever. Do it.”

He’s still chuckling, his chest pressed against your back as he slows down, but you can feel the horniness in the way his cock twitches inside you. He is very into it. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. “You’ve been tagging my bakery for weeks. Might as well make it official.”

He groans, biting his lip as he slides out of you for a moment, leaving you feeling suddenly empty, needy. You turn your head, watching as he reaches for one of the paint cans you knocked over earlier, shaking it a few times. The sound of the metal ball rattling inside echoes through the small space, making your heart race faster.

“You sure about this?” he asks, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still hard and wet, glistening in the dim light.

You arch your back, pushing your ass out toward him, wiggling a little for good measure. “You scared?”

He shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip. “Not even a little.”

Then, with one hand steady on your lower back, he leans in, the cold metal of the spray can grazing your skin. You hear the hiss of the paint as he presses down on the nozzle, feeling the cold spray hit your skin. It’s not the same as the heat between your legs, but it sends a thrill through your body nonetheless.

“Hold still,” he mutters, focused, but you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s enjoying this—maybe a little too much.

You laugh, a shaky sound as the paint settles on your skin, the smell of it filling the room. “What are you even writing?”

“You’ll see,” he says, voice teasing. The spray continues, and then, after a moment, he steps back. “There. Perfect.”

When he’s done, he pulls you back onto his cock all in once, making you gasp as the pleasure returns full force. “Red suits you,” he says, his voice whiny. You can feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of you painted, fucked, completely his in this moment.

You look over your shoulder at him, breathless. “What did you write?”

He smirks, thrusting hard enough to make you cry out. “My name,” he says simply. “Right across your ass.”

The sound that leaves your throat is half-laugh, half-moan. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but you can’t deny how fucking hot it is, the thought of his name on you, like a claim.

He watches the paint dry quickly, the faint sheen of it on your skin as you move against him. The thought of cleaning it off flickers in his mind, but fuck, the idea of you walking around with his name stamped across your ass, hidden inside your jeans as you go about your day—a part of him wants it permanent, a tattoo maybe, to mark you in a way no one else could see but him. His. Completely.

His hand slides up your body, fingers sneaking under your shirt and bra until they’re squeezing your tit, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you yelp and splatter your hand onto the counter for balance. Your legs are shaking as his thrusts get rougher, messier, the slick sound of him filling you echoing in the quiet bakery.

You moan out his name, “Jihoonie…” and he fucking loses it. Every time you call him that, it gets to him. The way you say it, needy and teasing, like it was meant to wreck him.

He grunts in response, pulling your hair again to tilt your head back against his chest. Your eyes roll, pleasure coursing through you like fire, and your pussy clenches tight around his cock, sucking him in deeper.

You try to hold yourself up, but your legs are jelly, barely able to stand. “I’m gonna… fuck, Jihoon,” you gasp, your body trembling. You’re on the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap at any second.

He pulls you back harder, his chest flush against your back, his mouth right at your ear as he growls, “Cum for me, baby. Fuckin’ do it. I wanna feel you.”

His words, the rough sound of his voice, the way he’s completely owning you—it pushes you over the edge. You shatter around him, your body convulsing as your orgasm slams into you. Your pussy clenches tight, milking his cock, and you scream his name, your voice echoing through the empty bakery.

He groans deep in his chest, thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his own orgasm. The way you squeeze him, the way you moan and tremble in his arms, it’s too much. He pulls out at the last second, just barely, his hand jerking his cock as he cums, thick ropes spilling onto your ass, painting over his name in red.

You’re a mess, both of you—paint, cum, sweat sticking to your skin—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

His hand slides gently down your back, soothing the tremors that still ripple through your body. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice still shaky. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck, completely different from how rough he was just moments ago.

You breathe out a laugh, still catching your breath. “Think we’re gonna need more than a mop to clean this up.”

Jihoon chuckles, pulling back slightly to admire the mess he made. “Yeah,” he says, “But I gotta say… seeing you with my name on your ass? Kinda want it permanent.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, a lazy smirk on your lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His smirk matches yours as he tugs you closer, his hands still resting on your hips. “Maybe,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. “Maybe more than I should.”

Jihoon sulks, his face twisted in irritation as he presses the paper towel against your ass, muttering under his breath about how he ruined it. You can hear him grumbling, the cum smudging the once-clear letters of his graffiti like some kind of art project gone wrong. He’s so focused on trying to clean it up, but all he’s doing is making a bigger mess, the red paint mixing with the white streaks, swirling into a chaotic, almost laughable design.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. The whole situation is just too ridiculous—the great Woozi, all serious and brooding, now pouting like a kid who messed up his school project. You rest your arms on the counter, the cool surface grounding you after everything, and glance over your shoulder, still half-naked from the waist down, shaking your head.

“Hey,” you snicker, pushing up onto the counter, bare skin still tingling from what just went down, “come on, take a picture for me.”

He glances up, narrowing his eyes in that grumpy way of his, but he’s not about to argue. With a sigh, he reaches out to take your phone, swiping it from your hand like it was a burden. He shakes his head, but there's the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, waiting as he squats a little to get the right angle. His breath is still slightly ragged, cheeks flushed pink, but he’s focused now, swiping a thumb across the screen before lifting the phone to snap a pic. You hear the click, followed by his low mutter. “Fuckin’ smudged.”

“Let me see,” you laugh, reaching out for the phone. He hands it over with a huff, standing there, arms crossed, while you inspect the damage.

There it is. Bold, bright red, smeared all over your ass. “Woozi,” right there in the middle, smudged but still totally readable. The first “W” is clear, but by the time you get to the “zi,” it’s a messy blur of paint and cum, like he tried to rush through it at the end. You burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty bakery.

“Woozi?” you choke out between laughs, glancing up at him. “You really went with that?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a bit now. “What? It’s better than my actual name, isn’t it?”

You squint at the screen again, biting your lip to stop the next wave of laughter from spilling out. The smudge really does make it funnier. It's like his little alter ego tried to make a grand appearance but ended up getting dragged through a mess of his own creation.

“Woozi,” you repeat, grinning as you shake your head. “So now I’m walking around with your vandal name on my ass?”

He shrugs, still pretending to sulk, though you can see he’s fighting back a smile too. “Thought it’d be… symbolic or something. Besides, no one’s gonna know what it says. It’s all smudged now.”

“Oh, they’ll know,” you tease, lifting the phone to show him the picture again. “It’s clear enough, trust me. Woozi’s gonna be famous for something else entirely after this.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, great. Exactly what I need. My name on your ass, and you showing it off to the world.”

“Not showing it off to the world,” you smirk, leaning back on the counter. “Just, you know, keeping it for personal reasons.” You give him a cheeky look, watching as his eyebrows raise in mild curiosity.

Jihoon moves closer, sliding his hands over your hips again, thumbs brushing the sides of your thighs. “Personal reasons, hm?” 

“Yup,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too wide. “Might just stare at it whenever I need a good laugh. Or maybe when I need to remember how well you… fuck.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes again, but there’s a smirk pulling at his lips now. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

You nod, still grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Mm,” he hums, stepping even closer, so close that your legs naturally part to let him stand between them. “Love it, huh?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head. “Yeah, love it. You, though?” You press your palms to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt just a bit. “You’re sulking because you didn’t get the masterpiece you wanted.”

His hands grip your waist, and he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’m not sulking,” he whispers, voice dripping with faux irritation. “I just didn’t expect my art to get ruined by…” He pauses, pulling back slightly to give you a teasing look. “…circumstances.”

You snort. “Circumstances? Jihoon, you came on it.”

He tries to hold back a laugh, but it slips out anyway, his chest vibrating against your hands. “Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly help the situation. You’re the one who—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if he’s trying to erase the memory of what just happened.

You grin, tugging him even closer by his shirt. “Say it. I’m the one who what?”

He chuckles. “You’re the one who kept calling me ‘Jihoonie’ like you were trying to kill me.”

“Oh, that’s on me?” you laugh, giving him a playful shove. “You loved it, don’t even lie.”

“I did baby girl, I did.”

You hold on to him, tired from working the whole day and from… fucking in the workplace too.

“But don’t think this makes us even. You still hit me with that damn mop.”

The next few days were nothing short of chaos—an exhilarating rush of sweet and savory tarts flying off the shelves, and new recipes you and Mrs. Lee concocted together, bringing fresh buzz to the bakery. The scent of freshly baked goods filled the air every morning, pulling in crowds, while the constant hum of the oven working overtime had become your new normal.

One morning, Jihoon arrives early, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet streets. He strolls in, wiping the sleep from his eyes, hair a little mussed but looking determined to work.

As soon as he steps inside, he spots you standing near the counter with Mingyu. You're talking animatedly, your hands gesturing as Mingyu grins at something you said. His big frame blocks most of your view, so Jihoon immediately veers toward the vitrines to see how the tarts are doing. He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re saying to Mingyu, but he's definitely curious.

He gets to the counter and freezes. The vitrines… they’re empty. Not a single tart left. Not even the little label card for the savory tarts, the one that proudly displayed the flavors he’d worked so hard to perfect.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, half in disbelief. “Hey, where’s all the savory tarts?” he asks, trying not to sound like he’s panicking a little.

You and Mingyu exchange a quick glance before you turn to Jihoon, biting back a smirk. “Oh, yeah... about that,” you say, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “We had to stop selling them here.”

Jihoon blinks, caught off guard. “What?” He steps closer, eyebrows knitting together. “Stop selling them? What are you talking about?”

You sigh dramatically, playing it up. “They were just taking up too much space, you know? Not enough room for the sweets and everything else. Figured we’d move on to other things.”

Jihoon stares at you, his eyes flicking between your face and the empty case. You can see the gears turning in his head, confusion, then frustration. “But… they were selling well. Why would you—?”

Mingyu pipes up, poorly holding back a laugh. “Yeah, dude, it was wild. People just stopped caring about them, I guess.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “No way. They were doing so well just yesterday—” He stops, eyes narrowing at Mingyu's grin. Then he looks back at you, finally sensing something’s up. “Wait… what’s going on?”

You can’t help it. The corners of your lips twitch, and then you crack, bursting into laughter. “Come on, Jihoon. Just follow me.”

He follows you, still a little skeptical, his pace hurried as he tries to keep up with your sudden excitement. When you lead him out of the main bakery, his confusion only grows. You guide him around the corner to a neighboring shop space you’d kept quiet about.

Jihoon stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees the sign hanging above the door: Lee’s Tarts. His eyes go wide, scanning the large windows where people are already lined up outside, some chatting excitedly while others peek through the glass to get a look at the new place. And right inside, behind the counter, Mrs. Lee is standing tall, her hands expertly working as she serves up savory tarts to eager customers. The place is buzzing, the line practically spilling out onto the street.

“What the hell...” Jihoon mutters, blinking in disbelief.

You nudge his arm playfully. “Surprise.”

He turns to look at you, his expression still caught in shock. “You opened a shop?”

“Well, technically, Mrs. Lee opened the shop,” you grin. “I just helped.”

Jihoon shakes his head, still processing. “This… this is for her?”

“Yeah, for both of you,” you say, folding your arms, satisfied with the look on his face. “Your tarts were way too good to just stay in one little display case. Now they’ve got their own home.”

Then, without warning, he turns to you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Holy shit,” he mutters into your hair, squeezing you so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling warmly, something that you rarely see from him. 

“You deserve it, Jihoon. It was all you.”

His lips curl into that soft, genuine smile that’s rare but so worth it when you see it. “Guess we’re gonna be pretty busy, huh?”

“Guess so,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Better get used to it, Woozi.”

You and Mingyu handle the morning crowd in your bakery, but every now and then, you steal glances through the window at the new Lee’s Savory Tart shop next door. The line of people doesn’t seem to stop; every time you look, it’s like there are more. Jihoon’s name is already making waves, and it’s only been a few hours since the doors opened.

Someone at the counter clears their throat, and you turn back, wiping your hands on your apron. A woman leans over the display case, eyes scanning the rows of sweets. “Hey, don’t you have those savory tarts? The ones with the spinach and cheese?”

You nod, smiling. “Not here anymore, actually. We’ve got something even better now.” You motion with your thumb toward the window. “Just next door. The savory tarts have their own shop now, Lee’s Tarts. You’ll find all the flavors there—probably even a few new ones.”

The woman’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh! I didn’t know they moved! I was looking forward to trying them again.”

Mingyu, wiping down the counter behind you, pipes in with a grin, “Yeah, you’re gonna want to head over there before the line gets longer. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

The woman glances outside, spots the line, and her face shifts to one of mild panic. “Oh god, it’s already long.”

You chuckle. “Better get in there while you can. They’re selling out fast.”

She nods quickly, a little flustered, and rushes out the door, making a beeline for the shop next door. As the door closes behind her, you share a look with Mingyu. He’s smirking, arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter like he owns the place.

“You’re really sending our customers away like that, huh?” he teases, shaking his head. “What are we gonna do when everyone’s over there?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh please, you know people will still come for the sweets. Besides, Jihoon’s shop is practically ours. Same team, right?”

Mingyu grins wider. “Yeah, I guess. But damn, the guy’s getting popular fast. Never thought I'd see the day where Jihoon had groupies for tarts.”

You laugh, glancing out the window again, and sure enough, more people are queuing up outside the Lee’s Tarts storefront. “I know, right? It’s kinda surreal.”

Another customer steps up to the counter, a man in a suit, adjusting his tie as he peers at the empty spot where the savory tarts used to sit. “Excuse me, do you still have those mushroom and leek tarts?”

You shake your head, smiling. 

[...]

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms and watching through the glass again. There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing people excited for Jihoon’s tarts—almost like watching a small victory unfold before your eyes. It’s hard not to feel proud.

Mingyu glances at you, brow quirked. “You think he knows how big this is yet?”

You shrug, still watching the customers flow in and out of the shop next door. “Maybe. He’s probably too busy to even think about it right now.”

Mingyu snorts, pushing off the counter. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope he doesn’t get all cocky now that he’s got his own place.”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nah. That’s not him. If anything, he’s probably stressing about making sure everything’s perfect.”

As if on cue, the door to the bakery next door opens, and Jihoon steps out for a quick breath of air. He’s in his apron, hair falling into his eyes, looking a little sweaty but in control. 

He glances over to your shop and catches your eye through the window. For a second, his expression softens, and he gives you a small, appreciative nod.

You wave back, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Then, before he can get too sentimental, he’s back inside, ready to tackle the next wave of customers.

As the day wears on, the steady flow of customers in both shops never really stops. You keep handling the orders, but every once in a while, someone comes in asking for the savory tarts, and you point them next door, grinning every time at how fast Jihoon’s new shop is becoming the talk of the town.

By the end of the day, when the last customer has left and the door finally swings closed, you take a deep breath, leaning against the counter, watching the lights flicker off in Lee’s Tarts through the window. Jihoon steps out again, this time wiping his hands on his apron as he locks up for the night.

He crosses the sidewalk and steps into your bakery, looking utterly exhausted but somehow content. “Busy day?”

You smile. “You could say that. You?”

Jihoon lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Never thought tarts could be this stressful.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist in a brief hug. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with it now.”

He smiles down at you, that soft look back in his eyes as he pulls you in for a kiss—quick and sweet this time, just a little stolen moment before the work starts all over again tomorrow.

From behind the counter, Mingyu makes a gagging sound, dramatically covering his eyes. “God, you two are disgusting.”

As you roll your eyes, Jihoon leans in close, his lips brushing your ear with a low murmur. “Maybe we should celebrate... you know, properly. You, me, that freaky side you try to keep in check—let’s see if I survive tonight.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. “Is that a challenge, Jihoon?”

He chuckles, breath hot against your skin, his hand squeezing your hip suggestively. “Only if you’re up for it. I might not walk straight after, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

[...]

The next thing you know, you're in a motel room, Jihoon having insisted that the best way to celebrate was somewhere far away from work, where neither of you had to think about baking for once.

You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, thighs caging him, riding him so hard it’s like you’ve forgotten how to go slow. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with every thrust, but all you can hear is Jihoon’s moans—loud and desperate. 

His pale skin is already flushed pink, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Fuck... you're gonna break me," he gasps out, voice strained, eyes half-lidded and desperate. His head falls back against the pillow as you ride him harder, his lips parted in a silent moan. "I can't... shit, you're too good."

You lean down, your hair falling around your faces, your lips brushing his ear as you tease, “You’re not tapping out already, are you?”

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his hands slipping down to grip your ass, trying to hold you still for a moment, but you don’t let him. You push back against him, harder, faster, and his groan rips through the small motel room. “Fuck, I’m serious... gonna fucking break...”

“You’re the one who wanted to celebrate, remember?” You dig your nails into his shoulders, moving with an intentional grinding roll of your hips, making you two shiver at the same time. "Now take it."

He almost sobs at that, his hands tightening on your waist, his head falling back as his hips buck up into you. The noises spilling from him—those choked-off moans and heavy breaths—made your lower belly boil, making you even bolder. You grind down, angling just right, and Jihoon lets out a sound that's more a whimper than anything.

You bite your lip, holding back a laugh as you grind down harder, feeling his cock twitch inside you. “Look at you. Jihoonie, you're so fucked out. What was that about me breaking you?”

He groans loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands grip your thighs tighter, knuckles white from the pressure. “Shit—”

You lean down, your mouth brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. “Maybe you’ll survive if you’re lucky.”

That’s all it takes for Jihoon to melt completely. His hands slide down your body, clenching desperately as his entire body tenses beneath you. His hips stutter, a long, ragged moan tearing from his throat as he finally cums, body trembling as he cums hard, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, you just let him ride it out, watching the way his chest heaves, eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss, his body still twitching from the orgasm. You slow your movements, giving him time to catch his breath.

When he finally opens his eyes again, they’re hazy, half-lidded with exhaustion. He looks up at you like you’ve completely destroyed him, which, to be fair, you kind of have.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You really are going to break me.”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips, your hips still gently rocking against his. “Can’t break my Jihoonie.”

He covers his face, whimpering, cheeks flushing up as if they couldnt get more red. 

“If you call me that again, I'll paint your face.”

“At least it's not my bakery.”

[...]

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the window as Jihoon crouched outside, focused, the spray can in his hand hissing with each stroke of paint. The tart he was working on looked almost surreal—like it could pop right out of the wall, the pastry perfectly golden, the filling a burst of deep reds and oranges, with olives vibrantly on top. It was almost too pretty for a bakery wall, but it was Jihoon, and somehow, it worked.

"You're staring again," Mingyu's voice broke through your thoughts, and you barely turned your head as he leaned against the counter beside you, his stupid teasing grin stretching across his face.

“Shut up, i'm not,” you muttered, but even you could hear the weakness in your voice. Your eyes stayed glued to Jihoon, his hands moving quickly, confidently, as he added more details to the tart. a few people stopped to admire it, heads turning as they passed by, and you could see them whispering to each other, clearly impressed. he really was talented.

“Uh-huh," Mingyu’s voice showing that he was doubting everything you say, “You know, if you’re gonna stand there drooling, you might as well just go out there and sit on his lap while he paints.”

You shot him a glare, cheeks heating up. “Mingyu, fuck off.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh come on, just admit it. You’ve been staring at him all week. It’s obvious. The way you look at him? Please.”

You bit your lip, eyes sliding back to Jihoon outside. He had stood up now, switching cans, his fingers stained with vibrant shades of pink and yellow. There was something about watching him work, about how focused he got—His brows furrowed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he leaned in close to get the details just right.

And, god, after yesterday when he finished the cake on the front of your shop… you were pretty much done for. You hadn’t even realized how long you'd been staring until he'd caught your eye, giving you that little smirk that made your stomach flip. And yeah, the way he insisted on going around the whole damn city to find the perfect pastel colors to match your aesthetic? It was sweet. Way sweeter than you wanted to admit.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, waiting, and you let out a long, frustrated sigh, finally caving. “Fine. okay, Yes. I fucking like him. Happy now?”

His eyes widened in mock surprise, but he was clearly pleased with himself. “Oh my god, really? Who would’ve guessed?”

“Oh, shut up,” you sulked, crossing your arms tighter across your chest and turning your gaze back to Jihoon, who was now adding some final touches to the tart's crust. The sunlight hit him just right, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the veins in his forearms as he shook the can. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was annoyed as hell with him, and then… Yeah. Here we are.”

Mingyu chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “I think it was when he convinced you to let him spray that cake on your wall. You looked like you were about to strangle him, but then you didn’t. You just stared at him like he’d hung the moon or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, well… I guess it was kinda cute. He really went all out with that cake. You know he circled the whole damn city for those colors?”

“Yeah, he told me,” Mingyu said, smirking. “And now look at you, all whipped for him.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair, trying to push down the feelings that were bubbling up again. “God, why am I even telling you this? I don’t need you making it worse.”

ou sighed, glancing out the window one more time, watching Jihoon wipe his hands on his jeans, the drawing complete. He took a step back, admiring his work, and for a second, he glanced your way, catching your eye. He raised his hand in a casual wave, a soft smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned away, feeling like you’d been caught.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.” You groaned, pushing past Mingyu to head back behind the counter. “Whatever. You’re just jealous he didn’t paint something for your store.”

Mingyu’s laughter followed you as you walked away, but as you leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, you found yourself glancing back out the window, one last time. There was no denying it anymore. You were definitely into him—his art, his focus, the way he just fit into your world without even trying.

You let out a small sigh, content, but your peaceful moment was interrupted when the door swung open hard enough to make the bell jingle a little too loudly. A group of boys walked in, street-worn and loud, carrying backpacks that were half-open, revealing cans of spray paint inside. A couple of them had skates hanging off their shoulders, and their clothes were loose, baggy, clearly not from around here—or at least, not part of the usual clientele.

You blinked, taking in the sight of them as they strolled in like they owned the place, heads bobbing to whatever beat they had going in their heads. One of them, tall with a beanie pulled low over his eyes, spotted you behind the counter and immediately grinned. “Yo, is this the spot where Jihoon’s lil' girlfriend works?”

You froze, mid-wipe, blinking silently at the question. Girlfriend? Lil’ girlfriend? Your face flushed, and you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. You quickly tried to play it cool, clearing your throat. “Uh... I don’t—what?”

The guy chuckled, his crew falling in behind him, all of them eyeing the bakery like it was some kind of alien planet. “Nah, nah, don’t play like that. We know. Jihoon said his girl runs this bakery. This is it, right?”

One of the other boys, wearing a hoodie that was about three sizes too big, pointed to the display case, leaning over the counter a bit. “Damn, y’all got those fancy-ass tarts here. Hey, you think we could get a discount? You know, 'cause we know your man and all.”

You blinked again, gulping, still processing the whole “girlfriend” thing. Flour clung to your apron and dusted your arms, and you suddenly felt a little out of place, standing there dirty from baking while these guys—who clearly rolled with Jihoon—looked way too comfortable.

“You, uh, want some tarts?” you asked, trying to change the subject, wiping your hands on your apron.

The beanie guy grinned again, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll take some. Heard you got some sweet shit in here. Hook us up, Jihoon’s girl.”

You cringed at the nickname but forced a smile, grabbing a few plates and serving up some of the sweet tarts you had left. They all watched you work, curiosity in their eyes, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched watched.

As you handed them their plates, another one of the boys spoke up. “Damn, I thought bakers were like... supposed to be all old and shit. You’re cute, though.”

You almost dropped the plate. “Thanks,” you muttered, cheeks turning pink as you slid the tart towards them. “Enjoy.”

“Yo, speak of the devil,” one of them interrupted, nodding toward the door as it swung open. You turned around, relieved, and there was Jihoon—sweaty, paint splattered across his arms and hands, still holding a spray can. He froze for a second, taking in the scene, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his crew huddled around the counter.

“The fuck you guys doin’ here?” Jihoon grumbled, walking in with that same grumpy look he always wore when he was caught off guard.

You could see Jihoon’s jaw clench as he approached the counter, shaking his head. “She’s not—why the fuck are you even here?”

Another one chimed in, chuckling. “We just wanted to see the spot, man! Heard it was dope.”

Jihoon stepped up next to you, placing a hand on your lower back in a subtle, protective gesture. “Get outta here, you dumbasses. This isn’t a playground.”

 “Bro, why didn’t you tell us she makes shit this good?”

Jihoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked up to the counter. “They’re not here to cause trouble, are they?” he asked, giving you a look that was half-apologetic, half-amused.

“They’re just hungry,” you said, shaking your head, trying not to laugh at how out of place they all looked in your pastel-colored bakery. “Let them eat. I think they like the tarts.”

“They’re pretty good, right?” you teased, handing Jihoon a tart too.

One of the guys pointed his finger between you and Jihoon, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Man, your kids are gonna be so well-fed. Tarts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”

Jihoon almost choked on his tart, coughing as he shot the guy a glare. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no denying the redness creeping up his neck.

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation too much to handle. “You really bring these guys everywhere, huh?”

Jihoon shook his head, embarrassed but smiling too. “I didn’t bring ‘em. They follow me like strays.”

One of the guys grinned, shoving another tart into his mouth. “Hell yeah, we do. And we gonna keep comin’ back if these tarts are free.”

You gave Jihoon a look, shaking your head with a laugh. “Let ‘em eat. They’re harmless… mostly.”

“That one,” Jihoon said, jabbing his thumb toward the high guy. “He’s the asshole who drew the giant cock on your wall.”

Your eyes widened, immediately zeroing in on the guy who was now trying to pretend he wasn’t the subject of conversation. He suddenly found the tarts very interesting, stuffing another one into his mouth to avoid your glare.

“No way,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with disbelief. “You did that?”

The guy, mouth still full of tart, shrugged sheepishly. “Uh, it was… kinda funny though, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Oh, hilarious,” you said, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Do you know how many old ladies came in here and gave me looks?”

He swallowed hard, looking around at his friends for backup, but they all just laughed, clearly enjoying the fact that he was getting called out. “I, uh… I’ll clean it up?” he offered, scratching the back of his head.

Jihoon snorted, shaking his head. “Too late for that, man. She already scrubbed it off.”

You shot Jihoon a look. “I scrubbed it off. With bleach. In the middle of a freakin’ heatwave.”

The guy looked genuinely guilty for a second, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “My bad, yo. Didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal…”

Jihoon laughed under his breath, clearly amused by the whole situation. “You owe her, dude.”

The guy shrugged again, looking at you with a half-apologetic, half-amused grin. “Aight, aight. My bad, lil’ bakery girl. I’ll make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, you better,” you teased. 

“We’re definitely talking about the ‘girlfriend’ thing later.” Jihoon gave you a squeeze on your ass behind the counter, where nobody could see it.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him, not missing the way his eyes lingered on you just a second too long. “Oh, are we?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his breath warm and teasing against your ear. “After I get these idiots outta here.”

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Trigger warning. Joel triggers your PTSD when you see him drunk for the first time causing you to have flashbacks of your abusive ex.]

Mentions of DV

“You weren’t suppose to see this, baby” he stumbled in your direction.

Joel knew how you felt about alcohol, he knew the hell you had gone through with your ex boyfriend because of it. Having known him for a year, you and him both traveled alone surviving together. Never had you seen Joel intoxicated, neither of you had come across liquor during your journey and when you did Joel ignored it out of respect for you. Of course, Joel missed the alcohol helping him somewhat sleep at night yet he never mentioned it.

Tonight the two of you had gotten lucky, after being on your feet for nine hours walking through the woods you both came across a cabin that looked as if it had been abandoned for a while now. After making sure it was empty you both claimed it as your own, at least until you had to keep moving again.

“Oh it’s nice to finally have a bed tonight” you looking at the bed at the other end of the room. Joel smirked as he looked around, peaking through the cabinets where he found two full bottles of whiskey. God it had been so long since Joel had a taste, the only thing that numbed him entirely, he craved just a glass.

“What cha find?” You asked as you began to unpack your bag. Joel quickly closing the door and clearing his throat as he moved along.

“Nothin’ uh, a few cans of food and towels” Joel knowing damn well it was nothing to mention.

“Good, I’m hungry” you spoke excitedly as Joel grabbed the cans to sit at the table.

Joel and you lay on the couch, your body slouched against his for a moment as his hand brushed through your hair.

“Oh I’d love to be able to just watch a movie now, have some popcorn” you sighed, the thought making Joel slightly smile.

“What movie would we watch?” He asked curiously.

“Hmmm…I don’t know, how about a romantic comedy?” You winked at him as he playfully shook his head rubbing his eyes.

“Oh baby, I’d watch anything with you” he whispered looking down at you before kissing you softly.

“Who knows, we probably wouldn’t even watch anything” he chuckled as you playfully shoved him.

“We should get sleep” your lips brushing against his as you spoke. He nodded before you pushed yourself up and walked to the bed.

“Are you coming?” You yawned as you dusted the bed off a bit and pulled back the covers.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few” he called out to you before looking back at the cabinet that held the two bottles of whiskey. Too exhausted to wait, your eyes closed and you fell right to sleep.

Once Joel was sure that you were asleep, quietly he got up and stopped right at the cabinet. Looking back at you he reached for the first bottle, slowly opening it up. Without thought Joel began to drink savoring the taste he hadn’t had in so long, wiping his lips feeling the burn in his chest.

“Fuck” It’s just what he needed after not being able to sleep properly in weeks.

Closing his eyes in relief he took another chug before taking the bottle back with him to the couch. Within fourty minutes he was half way through, slowly getting to the bottom. The buzz creeping up on him as he leaned his head back and took a deep breath.

Joel began slowly walking around the cabin, reading some of the frames on the wall when he began to stumble. Reaching for a frame Joel accidentally knocked it to the ground causing you to wake up.

“Joel?”

“Shit” he whispered.

Rubbing your eyes you go out of bed to see Joel across the room.

“You ok?” He turned to you revealing the half empty open bottle in his hand, that’s when you looked at his face and realized he didn’t look like the Joel you knew.

“Didn’t mean to…wake ya..” he whispered as he noticed the way you stared at the bottle in his hand.

“Where’d you get that?” You asked softly as Joel took a deep breath with regret.

“You…-“ he began to walk towards you.

“You weren’t suppose to see this, baby” he stumbled in your direction.

“Maybe you should….lay down” you spoke nervously as he stopped right before you.

“Shit baby, I fucked up..” he whispered. The smell of alcohol making your stomach turn, the memories of the nightmare you lived with your ex boyfriend now coming back to you. Your heart racing as you felt a panic you never thought you would feel again.

“You’re mad at me, ain’t cha?” He couldn’t hold himself still as he stood before you, you took a step back feeling the wall behind you as you slowly shook your head. Mad wasn’t the word as your nerves took over. You trusted Joel yet seeing him in a way you never had…seeing him in a way your ex had his violent outbursts, you were terrified.

“Don’t be…mad at…..me, baby. Ima make this..right” he slurred.

You watched as he dangled the half empty bottle around before closing the top in a clumsy manner and placing the bottle on the table beside him.

“There” he placed his hands up showing you he was done. As drunk as he was he could see the fear in your eyes.

“Please don’t be mad at me-“ he unexpectedly reached for you causing you to step back against the wall harder than you meant to.

“I ain’t gonna hurt cha” his eyes desperate for you to trust him. Yet, his words only seemed to make it worse. It was something your ex would love to say just before he actually would hurt you.

“Fuck” Joel shoved the chair beside him causing you to jump.

“Stop it! Just stop!” You felt yourself begin to lose any control you thought you had.

“Baby-“

“Just go lay down! Go to sleep!” You couldn’t even look him in the eye. All you wanted desperately was for him to get away from you. Joel stood silent as he took a step back and did as you asked. Quietly going to the bed he lay down and let you be.

As soon as he walked away you began to silently hyperventilate. Squeezing your eyes shut you tried to fight off the memories, the trauma…you tried to fight the fear.

You knew you would no longer be able to properly sleep that night. Joel was out in a matter of minutes while you sat up on the couch watching him. Your eyes feeling heavy, it was getting harder to stay awake until eventually you fell asleep.

After a few hours Joel began to wake up. With a slight headache he slowly pushed himself up with a groan before looking up and noticing the bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. Quickly he looked around the room to find you sitting on the couch asleep facing him.

“Shit” he whispered to himself brushing his hand through his hair. Bits and pieces of the night before flashed in his mind, one thing he couldn’t stop picturing was how afraid you seemed of him.

Joel stood up walking towards you, he could tell you didn’t mean to fall asleep. You seemed cold and so he grabbed a blanket from the bed and slowly placed it on you. The feel of the blanket covering you causing you to slowly open your eyes and when you did, you jumped not expecting to see Joel standing over you.

“It’s me-“ he tried to assure you.

“It’s me, baby I’m sober, I ain’t drinkin’ I promise” it took a moment for you to realize he actually was sober. There was the Joel you knew staring down at you with concern. Staying silent for a moment you looked around a bit confused, you hadn’t even realized you fell asleep, let alone for how long. You looked at him quietly as you slowly sat up and took a deep breath.

“You-“

“I know” he quickly spoke as he stood up straight.

“I’ve never seen you like that before” you whispered.

“and I….I thought about Cameron and-“ he noticed you begin to slightly tremble.

“I just didn’t know what you were capable of” you blurt out as you held back your tears.

“Scared the hell out of me” Joel brushed his hand over his lips before quickly getting down on one knee.

“Look at me” he spoke low looking directly into your eyes.

“I would never do anything to hurt you. Ever. You understand that?” He was serious. He meant every word he said.

“I wish I could find the prick that did this to you, I guarantee you he’d never have a drink again” you quietly nodded yet he could still see you trembling. It was getting harder for you to control.

“Hey” he placed his index finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up.

“I ain’t gonna drink again alright? I should’ve never done that” he whispered. You let out a breath of relief and threw your arms around him pulling him in. Joel held you hold close and kissed your forehead.

“Come on, get into bed with me, baby” he slowly lifted you up and carried you to the bed. You watched as he walked to the counter and poured the left over liquor down the drain. As much as Joel loved a drink, your peace of mind was more important to him. Throwing the bottle out the window he walked back to you and lay beside you pulling you close as you fell asleep..

[mywritersmind]

SAVIOR - LN4

pt.2

summary : Y/n’s favorite place has quickly become her and Lando’s shared hallway. They grow closer and finally make it to the fresh air.

OG SUMMARY (When y/n’s absent neighbor shows up, causing her great annoyance with smoke and repetitive beeping, she marches over to tell the man off but is met with a handsome face and strong hands that are in distress.)

listen up : no warnings!! y/n is clueless abt f1. lando is silly. i’m craving strawberries now.

word count : 1878

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I haul my five grocery bags into the elevator, struggling to keep them all off the ground. I sigh when I finally still in the metal box, i’ve carried these at least two blocks and one had broken on the way.

The doors are about to close but a hand slides in between them, making them automatically open for him.

Hello my hot mysterious neighbor.

He looks relieved he made it, “Y/n!” He says cheerfully, like we’ve known each other for ages. It’s been a couple weeks since I slammed on his door and stomped through his kitchen.

The other side of the hallway had been quiet until last night when I heard keys rattling and the door opening. I can’t help but wonder what he does that keeps him from home so often.

“Lando, Hi!” I smile back as he slides beside me and presses our floor.

“You need help?” He eyes the bags as I bite my lip, not wanting to bother him. I don’t have the time to respond because he takes three bags out of my hands like it’s nothing.

“Thank you.” I sigh, “I’ve been struggling for like two blocks.” He laughs a bit with me as the numbers get higher and higher.

“I’m happy to help.” We finally reach our floor, Lando watches me go first and walk to my door, unlocking it and walking in.

Lando follows hesitantly, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Thank you again! I put myself in a bit of a bind when I decided that my friends need fifteen types of salami and cheese.” I place the bags on the counter, Lando following.

I push back my hair and suddenly wish I had cleaned up a bit more. My friends are coming over tonight and I had decided to push back my cleaning. Looking around at the clothes and old popcorn bowls scattered around makes me want to slap myself.

“Really, I like to lend a hand! I never get to be neighborly.” He shrugs.

“What do you do for work? If you don’t mind me asking?” I start placing the cold items in the freezer.

He leans against the counter, his arms holding him up and looking alarmingly fit, “Uh… You ever follow Formula 1?”

I nod, “Kinda? I used to love it!” My mom and I would watch every sunday but I stopped in college so I don’t know any of the current grid, “So you work in the sport! That’s cool, pretty hands on?” I ask as he laughs a bit, looking awkward.

“Yeah, I work with the cars.” He looks around my place a bit, “So, why does one need this much food? I’m judging or anything it’s just… You don’t seem like the type to need a jumbo sized pretzel bag.”

I smile and snatch the bag from him, “I could definitely eat all of this by the way! But I'm having a bit of a party tonight. If anything’s too loud just let me know! It’s just old friends from college- actually.” I look up at him, a boost of confidence appearing in me, “You could join us. If you’re not busy.”

It suddenly sounds like a ridiculously stupid idea. I turn back to the fridge, placing a bottle of lemonade in it and cringing.

“I would love to.” I let out a sigh of relief, “But I've got plans…” I frown and turn back to him, finally putting away the last of my groceries.

“Aw.”

“It’s really nice of you to invite me.” I smile, a bit sad and confused why I'm disappointed. I mean I barely know the man. “What do you do for work?”

I lean against the counter so I'm across from him, “I’m a writer. Journalism right now but I really want to take a more bookish route…”

He genuinely looks so intrigued, more interested than anyone else who I've told I write articles about neighborhood drama.

He checks his watch, which I'm now realizing is incredibly expensive, and swears, “I gotta go. Have fun with your party tonight.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I definitely do have fun. My friends and I eat, drink, and play board games just like we’re back in dorms. I’m seeing my last and closest friend off when Lando comes up the hallway, As my friend's eyes go wide when she sees him, I shake my head.

“Goodbye!” I push her out of my apartment, “Love you!”

“Yeah love you too! Text me!” She walks past Lando, nodding at him before she turns behind his back and mouths ‘he’s hot’.

I roll my eyes at her, a smile still on my face as Lando looks at me. He’s in a full suit, holding his blazer in his hand.

“Fun time then?” God he’s hot!

“Absolutely!” I giggle, a bit tipsy, “How about you then?” I eye his suit.

“As good as I could make it.”

I slap my hand over my mouth, “God you aren’t coming from a funeral then, are you?”

He laughs at this, “No! No. A work banquet thing.”

I giggle a bit as he turns to his door, “Hey!” I say without thinking, “Would you want to come in? I have wine.”

He’s sitting on my couch thirty minutes later, a glass deep and talking about where he’s traveled too.

“That’s my dream!” I say, my feet tucked under myself as I tilt my head on the couch cushions, “Traveling. I mean- You’ve been everywhere!”

He shrugs, sipping his wine, his tie undone and shoes off, “It’s amazing but I'm not there for long so I don’t usually get to sightsee much. Honestly the most interesting thing that’s happened to me recently is this pretty girl came to save my baking disaster.”

I hum to his words, blushing a bit, “Sounds like a hero if i’ve ever heard one.” We both go silent, taking pieces of my leftover charcuterie board. “Should I start watching F1?”

“No!” He says it so quick that i’m taken aback.

“No?”

He laughs a bit, shaking it off, “It’s boring. I can’t have someone else in my life talk about it.”

I spin my wine around in the glass, “So I'm someone in your life now?”

He smirks, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

I pretend to contemplate this, “I’ve never had a friend who hasn’t gone to the strawberry market with me.”

He makes an odd face, “So we must go then.”

I sigh, “If you want to be my friend…”

The corner of his mouth pulls, “Tomorrow at 9?”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He’s at my door at 9:12. Thank god he’s late because I hop over to the door, pulling on my shoe and pulling down my jean skirt.

I open the door and stand up straight, smiling breathlessly. He, of course, looks perfect in jeans and an olive green shirt, “Morning.”

“Ready to taste the best strawberries you’ve ever had?” I grab my bag and keys.

“So ready.”

We make it to the market just on time. It’s my favorite neighborhood gem. Every Sunday people gather with strawberries. There are big and small, some covered in chocolate and some in honey.

I buy a box of chocolate ones, well Lando does. He insists that he still owes me. Handing one to Lando with an extra fork, he bites into it, his eyes roll, “Fucking hell.” I nod, excited that he likes them as much as I do.

“My favorite treat! Something you can’t burn your house down with.” I eye him and he eyes me right back. Being with Lando is like a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been so confident in my social skills.

He laughs with a shop owner as he buys his pack of plain strawberries. He's so nice and just listens politely as the woman goes on and on about her childhood on a strawberry farm.

He gives her a bigger bill than necessary and as she insists it’s too much, he just shakes his head and continues walking.

We settle at a park bench nearby, tasting all the pieces we’ve bought, “This is genuinely phenomenal.” He says while eating another, “How’d you find this place?”

“Had to write about something local and had total writers block… I was walking around one day and just sort of stumbled upon it.”

He smiles, I really like this smile. “You seem like the type to just stumble upon a strawberry market.”

I laugh, covering my mouth, “What does that even mean?”

“You’re just so…” His hands make these weird gestures, his fingers moving around as he laughs and gives up, “It just fits.”

I smile, meeting his eyes. They're so nice, a mix of blue and green. His gaze washes over me and I feel the need to smile even more.

“You’ve got nice eyes.” My stomach twists as he says it so calmly, “Real pretty.” I feel a blush on my cheeks and I turn away from him, looking at the park near us and being startled by the child looking up at us.

Lando follows my gaze, mumbling softly, “Shit.”

“Hi.” The kid says awestruck, I look to Lando who’s smiling and sitting up straighter. “Um- Are you Lando Norris?”

Lando scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah I am! What's your name?”

“W-William!” He says, swallowing and pulling a pen from behind his back, “Could you sign this?” I glance to what looks like his mother, she’s watching him with a smile.

Lando simply nods and takes the cap from his head, its bright orange. He signs his name and messes up the kid's hair, “Thanks a lot! My friends’ll never believe it!” The boy squeals and runs back to his mom who waves slightly and takes the boy's hand.

I raise a brow at Lando, still confused, “I’m sorry…” He looks embarrassed but I don’t even know what for.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t tell me the whole truth in what your job is?”

His cheeks get a bit red, “I do work with the cars… Just really close. Like I’m in them. One specifically.”

I nod, “Yours?”

“Mine.” He crosses his arms, his lips in a thin line, “I drive for McLaren.” I breathe out.

“Oh.” I can’t help but think I have a type because I grew up with Jenson Button posters on my wall.

He runs a hand through his curls, “I don’t usually get recognized around here- Thought we would be okay.”

“We are okay!” I reassure him, realizing he’s actually embarrassed, “That was sweet.”

He looks up hopefully, “You think? I’m sorry for lying- I just really liked that you didn’t know who I am or what I do.”

“Well, I sort of still don't. I know your full name now, that’s about it.” He smiles at this, I bite into another strawberry.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

He is yet to say something I'm not shocked at.

“Yeah.” I nod, smiling at him as he grins, “I’d really like that. Don’t you have to race soon though…? Singapore, isn’t it?”

The smirk that pulls at his lips is just plain mischievous, “I never said the date would be here.”

[cowboymcflurry]

To Be Alone With You | Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: After you had spent an entire rainy Saturday afternoon playing video games on your new Nintendo with your best friend Eddie, he wants to head back home to spend some time practicing the guitar, when the rain turns into a violent storm. He agrees to stay a little while longer when a power outage suddenly plunges the room into darkness…

word count: 1,7k words

includes: first kiss, fluff, making out, friends to lovers, no description of reader, no use of y/n, Eddie is a shy cutie, reader is oblivious, reader’s gender is not mentioned, Eddie gets a boner whoopsie

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You are the worst person to play Gyromite with, Munson!” you laughed.

“It’s not my fault you can’t communicate!”

“I can’t communicate?” you gasped dramatically. “At least I don’t confuse the buttons - there are TWO!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, laughing out loud while nudging you with his elbow.

“Anyways, I gotta get going. I have to practice some more for our show next week. You’re coming right?” he asked.

“Of course I’m coming.” you laughed. “How could I miss that?”

“Good. If I don’t see you there holding up a sign saying ‘Eddie, I want to bear your children’ don’t even bother coming, okay?”

You broke out laughing. “Alright.”

Eddie would say these things sometimes, things that sounded flirty but you knew he didn’t mean them. It was simply his sense of humor.

“Are you guys like going out?” Robin had asked a couple of weeks ago, after school. Your face had immediately gotten hot and red.

“Uh, no, we’re just friends. Good friends, that’s all.” you’d said, while simultaneously imagining what it would be like if you weren’t just ‘good friends’. What it would feel like if he picked you up in his van, and you would go see a movie or get a pizza or do whatever it was that other people your age did, going on dates and stuff. But you knew that Eddie didn’t think of you that way. And you hoped he didn’t know that you in turn did feel about him that way.

Ever since he’d borrowed a piece of paper and a pen from you in Mrs. Marshall’s class you had been under the spell of his dark intoxicating eyes. Then you had run into each other at a concert in Indianapolis, making him realize that you were one of ‘his kind’ as he’d put it. He’d quickly ‘adopted’ you, inviting you to join the Hellfire Club, where you met Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Gareth and Jeff. You never really saw him talking to any girls at school but you knew that a bunch of them had a secret crush on him, whispering about what a great head of hair he had.

Suddenly you heard the rumble of thunder and when you looked out of the window you saw lightning striking in the distance. The storm had gotten worse, the rain violently pounding against your window.

“You sure you don’t want to stay until the storm is over?” you asked, worriedly looking outside. Eddie pulled a goofy grimace.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get home safe. But it’s cute, that you’re worried about me,” he said, winking at you when a loud crash of thunder made him flinch. “Yeah, okay, maybe I’ll wait until it’s over.”

You sat down on your bed, watching the raindrops dripping down your window, when Eddie joined you, sitting at the other end of the bed. Immediately you felt your heart beating faster and when you looked at him, you saw his mouth open, as if he was about to say something, when a lightning bolt illuminated your room for a second, immediately followed by another crash of thunder.

There was a clicking sound and suddenly Eddie and you sat in pitch-black darkness.

“Shit.” you hissed, feeling the hair on your neck stand up.

You heard him rummage through his pockets, when there was another clicking sound, only this time coming from his lighter.

“You have candles or something?” he asked, the flame illuminating his face.

“Uh… Yeah, sure…” you said, watching the flickering light dance off his face for a second too long.

“What?”

“Nothing.” you quickly said, before getting up and stumbling to your desk, on which you’d placed a small candle a couple of months ago. It smelled of fresh laundry and relaxed your busy mind when you were studying for school late into the night. Picking it up you handed it to Eddie, who lit it and then placed it on the window sill right next to you.

“So romantic.” you joked, hoping it would come across the same way it did when Eddie said things like that. But he didn’t laugh. Instead, you saw him looking at the flame, his lips pulling into something that you could best describe as a sad smile.

“Yeah, right?”

“What’s wrong?” you whispered, trying to get him to look at you.

“I don’t know… It’s just…” he slowly began, rubbing his neck.

“What?”

He paused for a moment until he finally met your gaze. His lips slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something only to press them together again. Slowly you reached out for his hand that was loosely placed on his knee, to which he flinched.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” you began, but then you felt him clasping your hand with both of his. You felt his thumb drawing circles on the back of your hand, giving you goosebumps which you hoped he didn’t see in the candle-lit room. You’ve never touched his skin before, never deliberately. It was always an accidental brush, that made your face turn hot. But now he held your hand in both of his.

His gaze shot up to your eyes, his thumb continuously stroking the back of your hand.

“I always thought you’d figure it out at some point,” he said softly, his eyes shifting between yours. “But you never did.”

You felt your stomach drop.

“Figure out what?” you whispered.

Another crash of thunder made both of you flinch. After the rumble slowly settled, Eddie bent down over your bed, rummaging through his backpack.

“Here,” he said, placing his headphones on your ears, before he opened his Walkman, turning over the cassette that had been inside and hitting play.

Some keyboard. A guitar riff.

“Lie down,” he whispered, catching you off guard.

“What?”

“Come on, lie down,” he repeated, before blowing out the candle and lying down on your bed, motioning for you to do the same. Reluctantly you did as you were told, lying down next to your best friend you were secretly in love with, while there was a storm raging outside and rain pounding against your window.

You turned your head to the side and caught Eddie watching you listening to the song he had put on, when you realized that he was still holding your hand.

To be something, to be with you Don’t say that you’ll never know

He mouthed the words along, making the back of your head tingle.

Half the time it could seem funny The other half is just too sad This west bound moon’s They rise and fall Lost you and I want you today

Slowly he brought up his other hand to your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, before he gulped and anxiously looked from one of your eyes to the other.

Love to love to love you

You felt your stomach doing a flip. Too many thoughts were racing through your head, but when Eddie propped himself up on his elbows, his face hovering above yours, your mind went blank.

His gaze fell from your lips back to your eyes, his expression nervous, as if he was waiting for some sign, for your permission. Without wasting another second you pulled him down to your face by his collar, planting a short and soft kiss on his lips. When you opened your eyes, you loosened your grip, seeing the surprise in his eyes. For a second you thought you misread things when his lips pulled into a smile.

Slowly he bent down, lifting your chin with both his thumb and his index finger to his mouth. Your noses brushed against each other when he carefully kissed your upper lip, before turning to the lower. Softly you parted his lips with yours, a muffled moan escaping his mouth. Carefully you slid one of your hands up his neck into his hair, while the other was still grasping his collar. You never wanted to let him go and you didn’t know if you ever could. Your kisses slowly grew more passionate, more urgent, as the tip of his tongue slowly found its way to yours, gently brushing it, while his thumb was firmly running along your jawline.

Another crash of thunder made both of you flinch, causing you to break apart from each other, both of you gasping for air.

Eddie’s dark eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, looking both intoxicated and hungry, like an animal that has been starving and finally had gotten to eat. You probably had the same look on your face.

You took off his headphones, slowly propping yourself up on your knees, being less than an inch away from his face. You felt his hand cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your lips before pulling you in another passionate kiss. Eddie’s chest pressed against yours and as you felt something hard brush against your thigh another moan escaped his mouth, making him gasp for air and immediately pull away from you.

Red-faced he cleared his throat, trying to avoid your intoxicated gaze. You took a deep breath and looked out the window, realizing that the thunderstorm had moved on. Dizzily you fell back on your back, faintly hearing the beginning of the next song of Eddie’s mixtape playing while staring up at your ceiling.

When you closed your eyes you felt Eddie lying back down beside you.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered. Your eyes fluttered back open and when you turned to look at him you now found him to be the one looking up at the ceiling.

“I have been for some time now.” he said softly, before clearing his throat, “And I didn’t want to tell you because I was scared it might mess up our friendship.”

You were silent for a few seconds, taking in what he’d just said.

“I’m in love with you too, Eddie.”

His face abruptly turned towards you. Softly, you let your fingers trace his features, his eyebrows, his nose, and his cupid's bow before carefully tracing the curve of his jawline.

“I’m madly in love with you,” you whispered, to which his lips pulled into a wide smile, pulling you closer to him. Your noses brushed against each other, as you looked into each other’s eyes, softly planting kisses on each other’s faces, while the rain continued to pound against your window and the thunder rumbled further in the distance…

[nonushu]

jealousy's a disease - choe hansol

genre: fluff, bestfriends to ???...🥺😊 | wc: 840 | non-idol!vernon x reader a/n: ok fineeeeee i'll stop writing for vernon now haha...

you hate him for this. you hate the way he sits there so beautifully, so blissfully, making you gawk at him—does he even know? does he know how his skin glows in the sun, or how gracefully his lashes flutter? does he even know how-

"what?"

vernon's voice cuts you out of your trance, his body facing you on the other side of the couch. his headphones rest around his neck as he stares at you in concern.

you raise your eyebrows, confused. "what?"

"i dunno, you were just... looking at me weird," he says, narrowing his eyes.

"was i?" you say softly, putting your book down, "well, sorry, didn't mean to weird you out."

he blinks, those eyelashes fluttering, again. "nah, it's cool,"

you nod, feeling something subtle building as you pretend to read, flipping to a random page. but vernon catches the shift in your expression.

"you okay, though?"

you perk up at him, meeting his suspicious gaze. "why would i not be okay?"

"'cause you're being kinda weird," he tuts, removing headphones to place them on the table. "did i do something?"

you sigh, mirroring his movements, placing your book down next to his headphones. "i don't know, vernon. did you?"

"well, no..." he mumbles, clearly muddled, "did you do something?"

"what? no," you scoff, feeling a little flustered. "no one did anything."

a pause falls over the room as the two of you stare at each other, the tension almost palpable. vernon shifts awkwardly before speaking again. “do you… not want me to stay anymore? i can leave if-”

“no!” you blurt out, your body instinctively inching closer to him on the couch. “why would you think that?”

“i don’t know!” he says, raising his hands defensively. “i just thought you were staring at me because you were getting sick of me or something.”

your heart skips a beat at his words, the sudden rush of panic rising. because the last thing you want is for him to leave.

"i wasn't," you quickly say.

he tilts his head. "okay... then what's wrong? you're acting..."

you open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. how do you even explain it? how do you tell him how he makes you spiral from just being... him?

you cautiously reach your hand to face, finger lingering over his eye. you can see how his brown orbs widen at your sudden closeness as you softly touch his lashes. "has anyone ever told you that you have lashes to die for?"

vernon's breath hitches, his eyes fluttering. his lips part at the comfort of your touch. "uh," he mumbles, blinking rapidly when you pull your hand away. a faint blush creeps his neck, and he lets out a nervous chuckle. "n-no? that was kinda random."

you smile even though your heart races. "well, consider yourself blessed by the gods. i'm a little jealous..."

"of my eyelashes?" he asks, deadpanned.

"yeah..." you say quietly, "i don't know what you did in your past life to be so treasured."

he scoffs, “yeah, okay," he says, shaking his head with a playful smile. "i’m not sure i’ve ever been called ‘treasured’ before.”

you lean back against the couch, trying to steady your breath, and vernon watches you with a growing curiosity.

“is that what’s been bothering you?” he teases, his smile widening. “my lashes are just too nice?”

you glance at him, a bit annoyed by how easily he brushes it off. “maybe,” you murmur, though you both know it’s more than that.

"or," vernon’s smile falters, and his eyes narrow slightly like he’s starting to piece things together. "you're just jealous of my charms.”

you blink, caught off guard by his bluntness. “what? no, I didn’t say-”

“y'know, y/n, jealousy’s a disease,” he interrupts, grinning again, though there’s something softer in his gaze now, like he’s not entirely joking anymore. “do you need me to take you to the hospital? or should I call someone?”

you roll your eyes, feeling flustered. “don’t be stupid. i’m not actually jealous.”

but vernon doesn’t let it go, leaning closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “oh, but you kinda are, though. and I don’t think it’s just about my lashes.”

you can feel your face heating up under his stare, and your pulse quickens. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

he’s closer now, his tone gentler. “i think you do.”

your heart pounds in your chest, the playful banter suddenly taking a turn you didn’t expect. you meet his gaze, and the teasing light in his eyes fades, replaced by something else.

and in that moment, you realize: you’re not just jealous of his lashes, his effortless charm, or how everyone seems to adore him. scratch that, you're not even jealous! (maybe just a smidge).

maybe its the fact that he might not feel the same way you do.

but as vernon’s hand brushes against yours, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he does.

[holylulusworld]

Arachnophobia

Summary: You’re afraid of spiders, and you want to become Tony Stark’s assistant.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Tony Stark x Platonic!Reader, Peter Parker x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: arachnophobia, fluff, scared reader, cute Peter

“You will work mostly with me and Dr. Banner.” Tony Stark, yes, the Tony Stark, explains as you try to keep up with his steady steps. You are close to reaching your goal, working as a lab assistant at the Avengers Tower.

“OH,” you nod, fearing to say something stupid and messing up this job interview.

“Don’t worry,” Tony stops in his tracks to flash you a smile, “he barely turns into his green alter ego these days.”

You giggle. “I’m not afraid of Dr. Banner because I don’t have a reason. I’m not a villain.”

Tony chuckles. “I know that you’re neither a villain nor a criminal. I did my research before even inviting you to the interview.”

Your cheeks heat up. Of course, Tony Stark would do a complete background check when receiving your application for the position. The Avengers reside in the building too. He’d never risk their safety.

“I hope you didn’t find out I stole a candy when I was four,” you reply, hoping to ease the tension in your body with a joke.

“I saw the footage,” he grins and points at the laboratory. “Let’s head inside. You can meet Dr. Banner and Peter.”

“Peter?” You question.

“I took him under my wing,” Tony replies. “He’s a good boy. Incredibly smart and kind-hearted. Hopefully, a younger version of me.”

You nod. That’s a lot to shoulder at such a young age. Being brilliant and having someone like Tony Stark want you to become his protégé. You envy and pity the young man. It’s hard to stand in a great man’s shadow.

“Shall we?” Tony puts his hand on a scanner at the door. The door beeps but doesn’t open. He leans forward, using the iris scanner to unlock the next lock. Lastly, he types in a code on the keypad. The door finally unlocks, and you can enter the laboratory.

“Wow,” you gasp. You knew that there was going to be lots of security. But Stark’s security system is still impressive.

“Welcome to the laboratory, Mr. Stark, Ms. Y/L/N.” Friday welcomes you to the laboratory. And what can you say? It’s even more impressive than you thought possible.

You look around, clasping your hands together. Bruce and Steve, who came around to let Bruce check on his shield for scientific purposes (which means Bruce wants to shoot a laser at the shield) watch you twirl around while giggling like a child.

“This is so awesome!” You exclaim, making all of them chuckle. They admire your honest enthusiasm and happiness at the sight of the laboratory.

“Hi, Mr. Stark, the new suit is awesome!” A voice stops you from getting even more excited. You look around the room, trying to find the source of the voice. Captain Rogers and Bruce didn’t say a word, nor did Tony. “Hi, miss! You must be the new lab assistant.”

“What—I?” You look around the room again before you slowly look at the ceiling. A bloodcurdling scream tears from your throat, seeing a human-sized spider on the ceiling. “Ahhhhh! No! A spider…A huge spider…A spider…a spider…”

You run toward the door, but it won’t open, so you make a beeline to jump right into Captain America’s arms. Clinging to a very surprised Steve like a koala, you wrap your legs around him and hide your face in his chest. Your teeth shatter, and you whimper in distress.

“Mr. Stark?” You hear something drop to the ground and whine loudly. “I didn’t want to scare her. What did I do?”

“Y/N,” Tony wants to laugh about the scene unfolding in front of him. You’re wrapped around Steve while he looks at Tony, wide-eyed. Steve doesn’t dare to move or say anything, afraid to scare you even more. “Uh, that’s not a spider.”

“It is a huge spider!” You sniffle and hold tight onto Steve for dear life. “HUGE! SPIDER!”

“Uh-miss,” Peter clears his throat. “I’m not a spider. I’m Spiderman.” He slowly steps toward you, tapping a hidden button on the brand-new suit, Tony invented, to let it disappear. “But you can call me Peter.”

Peter holds out his hand, giving you a cracked smile as you slowly dip your head to look his way. In front of you stands a friendly young man, not a spider wanting to scare you.

“Sorry for scaring you. I tried my new suit and crawled around the ceiling to test it,” he explains. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re…Spiderman…” Realization dawns on you. Crap, this is the Avengers’ tower, and the young man is Spiderman. “OH…no!” You sniffle, embarrassed. “I didn’t want to freak out. I’m sorry too.” You’re still shaken from the encounter, but smile at him. “Sorry…I’m just scared of spiders since one crawled up my leg and bit me when I was a kid.”

You both chuckle when Peter tells you he got bitten once too. He keeps the part of the bite turning him into a human spider out.

“Okay, let us all calm down and laugh it off.” Tony releases a shuddering breath. He feared you’d quit your job right after he hired you. “Steve, could you please let my assistant down now? We are not done with our little tour.”

Steve clears his throat. He forgot about the fact that you’re clinging to his body and that he protectively wrapped his arms around you.

“I think she needs a break,” Steve says, and refuses to let go of you. “Let’s get her some tea and something to eat. That was a stressful situation.”

Tony cocks a brow. He doesn’t like how Steve reacts to you in his arms. “Capsicle. No. We are not done with my tour.”

“What?” Steve furrows his brows. He already walks toward the door with you in his arms. “I’ll show her around. First stop, the kitchen, next to the communal room, and then her place at the tower. I think the room next to mine would be a good choice.”

Steve carefully places you on your feet. He looks you all over, listening to your heartbeat. Luckily, it slowed down.

“Shall we go?” Steve offers his arm to you. “I’ll give you the Steve tour.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony watches Steve guide you out of the laboratory.

“Great, now he stole my lab assistant before I got the chance to work with her.”

Bruce turns back to his work, while Peter still feels guilty for scaring you. He plans on making things up to you soon. Maybe he can even help you lose your fear of spiders...

Tags in reblog.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 74

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe: Military School

Words: 5K

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Friday, March 25th; 9:15 a.m. - Camp Wiegman

I arrive in the common room where a large number of students have gathered. The head teachers and some instructors, including Lucy, have been called to a big meeting. The students are saying it’s about yesterday’s scandal, as several of them, myself included, suffered from indigestion. I’ll ask Lucy if that’s true. They were smart about it; they scheduled it for 9 a.m. to make sure we couldn’t leave before noon. So, we have an hour of free time. I spot Alexia sitting on the couch, chatting with a guy I don’t know. I’m glad she’s here too. We didn’t know which class would be freed due to the meeting. I walk over to them with my friends. I wanted to use this break to catch up on the form we had to fill out for the trip. The others assured me I didn’t miss much. They were bored to death, especially Leah, who was left alone because of me. The good thing is they’re going to give me their notes to help me fill out the questionnaire. I want to show my teacher I’m capable of working. Especially since he’s developed a kind of disdain for me recently. He didn’t even check on me yesterday or say I didn’t need to turn in my work. Well, according to Alessia, the questions were simple, and she thinks I wouldn’t have had any trouble answering them if I’d gone on the trip.

"Hey," I greet Ale.

"Oh, you’re here too!" she exclaims, hugging me. "How are you feeling?"

"Still the same as this morning," I joke.

Alexia was really worried when she found out I was one of the affected students. Fortunately, I was just sick yesterday. This morning feels like yesterday never happened. Of course, I skipped the hot chocolate today. It’ll take me some time before I can drink it again, but for now, I’m sticking to orange juice.

"Can you lend me your notes, Alessia?" I ask my friend, who’s now sitting on my other side.

"Oh, forget about school for a bit! You’re with us for once!" Ale scolds me.

"Alright, alright," I laugh. "You sound just like Lucy."

"She scolds you too?" Leah teases from the couch across from us.

"Yeah," I groan, stretching. "She dragged me out all weekend to make me stop. According to her, I always find something to obsess over when I’m stressed."

"She’s not wrong. Speaking of stress, have you heard back from the galleries?"

"It’s better not to talk about frustrating things right now..." Alessia comments on my behalf.

I cross my arms, feeling a bit down. I’ve gotten a few rejections this week, which I shared with Alessia. She also loves art and is happy that I’m pursuing it. She doesn’t have the same courage as me, though, since she plans to stick with administration to secure her future. I have to admit I’m starting to feel anxious about the feedback. Maybe I’ll have to do the same as her. There’s no way I’m staying home doing nothing, though.

"Don’t worry. I heard Mapi’s coming this weekend. That’s cool; she’ll be able to cheer you up."

I raise an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, Mapi’s coming?"

"Uh... You didn’t know? I called Jenni after class. Lucy told her this morning that she’s coming."

"Lucy?!"

This news catches me off guard. How is it that she knew before me that my best friend is coming? And even if that’s the case, why didn’t she just tell me? Alexia feels bad about my reaction.

"Maybe it was supposed to be a surprise...? Crap. I probably shouldn’t have told you! Lucy’s going to kill me! Can you pretend you don’t know?"

I smile despite myself and shake my head. Maybe she’s right. I hope so, honestly.

"What are you offering for my silence?" I tease, amused.

She playfully hits my arm, and our friends laugh. It’s so easy to tease her. I laugh too, but I’m glad she’s getting along better with my girlfriend. Suddenly, I start thinking about Mapi. It’s not surprising I wasn’t informed by her; I’ve been out of the loop, buried in my studies. Maybe she did message me, and I missed it. That would be more worrying. I already feel bad just thinking about it.

"So, what are we doing? Besides catching up on boring school stuff, of course."

"Hey. Calm down, will you?"

"Nope. By the way, Alba’s meeting Jenni next weekend. She’ll probably stop by the gym."

"Really? Where is she anyway?" I ask, glancing around.

"Probably with her girlfriend somewhere. I haven’t seen her since we got let out."

I chuckle, imagining exactly where they must be. Normally, we’re not allowed to have «intimate relationship », but with the supervision lightened, now’s probably the perfect time.

"I see. So, she’s stuck in for the weekend?"

"Yeah. Misa’s staying with her. That’s why we’re doing it next weekend. She’s excited to meet her..."

"I bet. How did Jenni take it?"

"She doesn’t know yet. Don’t say anything, though. I’m planning to break it to her gently this weekend..."

I laugh heartily. I’d pay to see her face when she tells her. I think she’s going to be totally shocked. Alexia explained to me that her only fear is that her sister won’t accept her, which would strain their relationship. I understand that. The opinion of someone close to you carries a lot of weight. I’ve been a victim of that between Lucy and Mapi myself.

"And why are you introducing them at their gym? Is there no other place?"

"What’s ‘their gym'?" Leah asks.

"Oh, uh... You don’t know."

"You’re not allowed to talk about it, are you?" she teases.

We glance at each other, and I shrug. I’m not sure, actually. Lucy hasn’t mentioned anything, but I don’t think she wants the students to know it’s her last year.

"Sorry, Leah," I simply say.

She shrugs indifferently. She doesn’t seem upset, so it’s fine.

"Anyway, so?"

"Well, I figured it’d be a neutral place. Plus, she’ll see that she has ambitious plans and that she’s not irresponsible."

"Hmm, hmm," I tease.

"What? You don’t think it’s a good idea?"

"I just wonder if you’re not trying to convince yourself..." I giggle.

"A little..." she admits. "Plus, I figured you guys would be there just in case..."

"Oh no, I’m stopping you right there. Lucy’s already told me she doesn’t want to be there when it happens."

"Oh no," she pouts. "Don’t tell me that."

"I swear. I didn’t even have to ask. She brought it up herself, and I don’t think it’s negotiable. She keeps saying she doesn’t want to see any of my friends from here before the end of the year. I’m sorry..."

"What if I organize a party?" Leah suggests. "It would kill two birds with one stone since I’d like to see her outside of here."

I grimace a little. She doesn’t realize I’m going to get scolded again if I keep pushing.

"That could be fun, being all together," Alessia agrees.

"You guys are unbelievable. You really can’t wait a month and a half?"

"Tell that to Alba," Alexia retorts. "She’s the one trying so hard to bring the events closer."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

"When would this party be?" I give in.

"In three weeks," Leah tells me. "My parents will be going away for the weekend with some friends. We figured it’d be the perfect time to throw another party. Plus, it’s right before the holidays."

Alessia nods beside her, confirming what Leah just said.

"OK…" I mutter. "I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. Lucy can be really stubborn when she wants to be."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!" Ale replies excitedly.

She kisses my cheek several times before letting me go. Meanwhile, I keep glancing at every door that opens, hoping Lucy will walk through. We don’t know how long the meeting will last, but I’m optimistic. I smile when I see it’s not my girlfriend, but Ingrid. I interrupt Ale and Leah’s conversation, where my roommate is asking if it’s okay for her girlfriend to come, since she’s now planning to delay the meeting between her and her sister until then.

"I’ll be right back," I say as I stand up.

Alexia watches me, confused, until she spots Ingrid.

"Oh no. Please don’t tell her you know about Mapi. I’ll get in trouble again!" 

I laugh and wave her off. Whether she likes it or not, I’m definitely going to question Ingrid, who’s probably the first to know what’s going on. I approach her, and she spots me right away, greeting me with a smile.

"What brings you here, Ona?"

"Hey, how are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Good too. Is Lucy still in the meeting?"

"Yep. You probably won’t see her all morning. She’s got a meeting with Wiegman right after."

A lightbulb goes off in my head. Damn! I completely forgot about that! She had told me earlier in the week that she scheduled a meeting with her to resign. Ingrid laughs, clearly noticing that I just remembered.

"I’m such an idiot."

"If you say so," she teases.

I bite my lip. I wish I could’ve said something to encourage her, but now it’s too late.

"Don’t stress about it. She won’t hold it against you. She knows you’ve got a lot on your mind. And you weren’t feeling well yesterday either."

I nod. It doesn’t erase the guilt I feel, though. I’ll try to make up for it this weekend. In the meantime, I remember why I’m here in the first place.

"I heard Mapi is coming."

"Did Alexia spill the beans?"

"Was it supposed to be a surprise?"

"Oh no. Mapi’s tried texting you several times this week, but none of the messages got through. She thinks your phone’s off. Lucy wanted to tell you yesterday, but you weren’t feeling well."

I groan, realizing what’s happened. I feel really bad now. My phone must be off since I haven’t used it since Monday.

"At least you found out she’s coming before we go pick her up, so it’s not too bad."

I scowl as she clearly makes fun of me. Well, I deserve it. At least she doesn’t beat around the bush when telling me things.

"So, we’re going together to pick her up?"

"Yep. Lucy suggested we all have lunch together after we pick her up."

I nod, grateful she’s taken the initiative without needing my input. Damn, I really need to make up for all of this this weekend.

"OK… Thanks."

"No problem."

I can tell she finds this situation amusing. With an embarrassed smile, I turn back to my friends. Hopefully, once I apologize to everyone, I won’t feel as foolish. 

Friday, March 25; 12:15 PM - Camp Wiegman.

I was waiting for Lucy outside the school, like we usually do. I had already seen Ingrid’s car pass by, so I figured Lucy would be next, and sure enough, her car pulls into the parking lot. She parks in the open spot right in front of me. I have so many things to tell her, I don’t even know where to start. I put my suitcase in the trunk and join her in the front seat.

"Hey."

"Hi."

I lose my smile when I see the serious look on her face.

"Is something wrong?"

"Get in. It’s windy."

I do as she says, closing the door behind me. The bad weather has passed, and we’ve got sunshine, but a cool breeze has followed it.

"What’s going on?" I ask, seeing her stare straight ahead.

I don’t like seeing her like this. Luckily, she’s not one to beat around the bush with me.

"Wiegman knows."

My heart skips a beat at this unexpected news. Then it starts racing, and I can’t calm it down. No, this can’t be happening. Not now, not when my exams are in a month. Not after all the effort I’ve put in. Tears well up in my eyes. I blink to get rid of them, but it’s no use.

"Is it…? H-how? This is crazy!"

"Hey, hey," she says, noticing my state. "Calm down. It’s not as bad as you think."

She takes my hands and kisses them, one by one. Her calmness manages to soothe me, even though I still don’t know how things aren’t as bad as she says.

"How did she find out?"

"Your management professor… He saw me kiss you yesterday while you were still asleep. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was planning to this weekend."

"He… That jerk!" I fume. "Did you talk to him?"

"No, I didn’t get the chance. What caught me off guard was that he reported us to Wiegman before I could even do that."

"And Wiegman!? Did she believe him? Just like that? Without letting us explain ourselves?"

"Calm down, baby. No. She asked for my side of the story… I didn’t want to lie, especially when I had my resignation letter in my hand."

I must look shocked. She didn’t do that, did she?

"Stop panicking. Neither of us is getting expelled," she tells me.

"Wait—we’re not…?"

A small smile appears on her face. I remember her first expression. She must have been just as angry as I am. Now she looks like she’s teasing me. How can she? Our principal knows! Shouldn’t we be packing up and getting out of here? That’s what happened to Jenni!

"Given the circumstances, no, I’m not."

"Are you going to explain?"

She chuckles softly, still holding my hands in hers. I don’t find this funny. She dropped this bombshell on me and is now laughing about it. It’s hard to understand.

"We had a long discussion. I spent nearly two hours in her office. When she brought it up, I didn’t know what to do, but I decided to be honest, and it looks like that paid off."

"We’re really not getting expelled?"

"No. I think the fact that you’re your mother’s daughter helped a lot."

I relax, and for the first time in my life, I’m grateful to be her daughter.

"I confirmed our relationship, but I also explained all the good I’ve brought to you. I told her about how hard you’re working to pass your exam, your progress, and your future plans.

- And what did she say?

- She was hesitant at first, until I showed her the pile of exercises you gave me to correct. She realized that our relationship is serious and that it’s helping you.

- Of course! And that’s it?

- Sort of. I told her that if she has to expel someone, she should only expel me, and I handed her my resignation letter. I didn’t want her to ruin your future over this.

- But I thought...

- I’m not expelled, Ona. Let me finish.

- Sorry, I said, blushing.

She’s talking a lot without getting to the point, but I can tell my impatience is amusing her.

- She initially thought I was giving her my resignation because of this, but I told her about my plans to open a gym. Thanks to our evening classes and Ingrid’s testimony, she recognized my professionalism and honesty. She didn’t want to destroy your efforts or our future, so… she’s cutting us some slack. I’ll remain your supervisor until the end.

- So… Wiegman knows, and we’re not expelled…?

I mutter the words, struggling to comprehend them. It feels so surreal.

- It’s not without consequences. She’s going to talk to your professor to make him drop the idea. As for us, we need to stay discreet. If anyone else sees us together and reports it, she won’t be able to protect us, and both our futures will be at risk. Do you understand?

I nod, feeling completely lost. Wow. I never saw this coming. It’s insane.

- Then why did you look so serious earlier? You scared me!

- Sorry. I don’t know. Shocked and angry, I guess. I’m having a hard time processing it too. I always imagined I’d be leaving the day she found out.

- Well, that’s not happening. Isn’t this good news?

- Oh, definitely.

- I suppose I should forget the question I was going to ask you...

- What question? she asks curiously.

- Leah invited us to a party she’s throwing with everyone. Alexia wants us to come because she’s planning to introduce Jenni to Alba.

I quickly explain while playing with her fingers. I knew it would be complicated, but it’s even more so now.

- You know we’ve had this conversation before, Lucy begins, tilting my chin up.

- I know. It’s the others who pressured me...

- I know it’s complicated for you, but we need to stay discreet a little longer. After that, I promise we can shout our love for each other to anyone.

- And go out with my friends?

She rolls her eyes with a small smile. At first, I could tell this situation suited her. I mean, it must be strange for her too, hanging out with people who were once her students.

- Yes, sweetheart. We can go out with your friends. I’d do anything for you.

I kiss her tenderly at this admission. She’s a sweetheart.

- We need to go. Ingrid’s probably waiting for us, she murmurs between kisses.

I pull away and buckle up at the mention.

- Yeah, I heard Mapi’s coming this morning...

- That’s right. Ingrid told me how upset you were about it, she chuckles, placing a hand on my thigh as she starts the car. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I completely forgot because of your condition.

- It’s my fault too. I’ve been so out of it...

- Don’t beat yourself up about it. You’re allowed to work hard during the week, she unexpectedly defends me. Mapi will understand.

- Hmm...

- If it helps, I gave her updates on your behalf.

- Really? I asked, surprised.

- Well, yes. She worries when you don’t reply, so she comes to me.

- Thanks.

- You don’t have to thank me for that. She’s your best friend.

- Yes, but it’s not like you’re her biggest fan, I chuckled.

She rolls her eyes in amusement.

- True, she mutters. But you’d be surprised what we could do together for you.

I smile at the thought. I think she’s right. Even if they don’t exactly get along, they’d tolerate each other for my sake. We finally arrive at Ingrid’s place to pick her up. I offered to let her sit up front, but she insisted I stay there. Next stop: the airport. Our chat with Lucy made us late, so by the time we get there, Mapi is already waiting with her suitcase. She greets us one by one, finishing, of course, with Ingrid, whom she can’t stop kissing.

- Couldn’t resist coming, huh? I teased.

- Nope, not really. I’m taking the opportunity to bring some things over and see you both, since I heard you won’t be around for the next holidays.

- That’s true, I admit with a shy smile. Sorry about that.

Lucy pulls me into a hug when she notices how I feel. It’s a fair complaint. I didn’t handle these holidays, but I do know Lucy booked our tickets—and Jenni and Alexia’s—this week.

- It’s okay, I’m just teasing. Your girlfriend defended you enough for me to forgive you, she says, giving me a little hug.

I really need to thank Lucy for that. Usually, Mapi holds grudges much longer. Finally, we head to the restaurant. We’re all starving. Our girlfriends take us to a place I haven’t been before. Mapi seems in good spirits, chatting non-stop about her plans to move here after the school year. Her doubts are far behind her now. She hasn’t heard from her parents in a long time either. She confided that she thinks it’s time to cut ties with them for good. I can only support her in that. I’ve met them once, but they were never really around due to their work. When they did talk to their daughter, it was mostly to criticize her or try to convince her to change her mind about taking over the family business. In that kind of situation, there’s no point in staying in contact. I really admire Mapi’s courage. Even though my mom and I were estranged for a long time, I don’t know if I’d have the guts to do the same. I’m very tied to family, especially because of the promises I made to my dad. Plus, if Mapi were in my situation, I doubt her parents would have offered the help my mom gave me last year. I can blame my mom for a lot of things, but not that, and it’s why I decided to reconnect with her.

- I ran into Abby this week while grocery shopping, Mapi tells me.

- Really? I say, not looking up from the menu.

I’m thinking of getting a burger. I saw one go by, and it looked delicious. Our drinks arrive within minutes. The service seems fast, which is good because I’m starving.

- She told me about the wedding... Is that why you reacted so strongly the last time she visited?

- Not really. There were a lot of things that set me off.

- I’m not going to force you to talk about it, but I think Abby believes you don’t want to come. You should give her a call if you plan on going. That’s all she’s waiting for.

- Do you know the date? She didn’t have time to tell us, Lucy asks.

- Uh, I don’t remember exactly. I think it’s in June.

So soon? I must have shown my surprise because she gives me a sympathetic smile.

- Well, I guess you should call her today, huh? Lucy advises, rubbing my thigh to comfort me.

In just two months, my mom will marry another man. I’m struggling to process it. Everything must have been planned behind my back for months. Lucy kisses my temple, and the conversation moves on. I have trouble following. It’s like my mom was waiting for me to finish school so I could attend the wedding. It warms my heart, in a way. She’s hoping I’ll be there, despite everything that’s happened between us.

We’ll talk more about it when we get home, if you want, Lucy whispers in my ear. »

I nod and snuggle up to her on the bench we're sharing. I'm not sure if it will be necessary, but it always feels good to confide in her. Meanwhile, Mapi keeps talking about how hard she's been working lately. Looks like I'm not the only one pushing myself for this final stretch. The only difference is that she manages to juggle her two lives without anyone saying anything to her. I think I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, too. It's not easy to catch up on everything I've missed. But I’m going to hang in there. I'm almost there.

Friday, March 25th; 10:15 PM - Ona and Lucy’s Apartment  

We’ve just come home for the first time today. I’m glad to be back in our place. The atmosphere immediately puts me at ease. We spent the day with the girls, in town, then at the gym later in the afternoon where Jenni, Alexia, and Beth were still working, preparing to receive the first pieces of furniture in two weeks. Then, it’ll finally be vacation time. I sigh as I settle next to my girlfriend on the couch.

- “Relieved to be home?”  

- “Oh yes!” I reply. “It’s good to relax too.”  

- “Definitely.”  

I sigh contentedly as my head falls onto her lap. Lucy immediately starts running her fingers through my hair. I close my eyes to enjoy the moment to the fullest.  

- “Do you want to call your mom?”  

- “Oh no,” I groan. “Not tonight. I’ll do it tomorrow, when I can take my time.”

I lay on my side, placing my hand on her thigh. It’s a pretty comfortable position. Lucy is sitting with her feet stretched out on the other side of the couch, facing the TV. She flips through the channels before settling on some random series I’m not really paying attention to.

- “Are you feeling good about going to your mom’s wedding?”  

I nod, lifting my head to look at Lucy. She’s watching me intently. She’s always so worried about me, and it’s adorable.

- “She wants us there, so we’ll be there.”  

- “Alright…”  

- “Shouldn't we be thinking about our next vacation instead?” I ask.  

- “If you want. I didn’t tell you, but… I booked a ticket to land in Lisbon.”  

- “What? How come?”  

- “Well, since we’re already going to Portugal, I thought we might as well visit the city where you grew up and where your dad is buried.”  

- “That’s amazing! Thank you so much.”  

- “It’s no big deal,” she smiles.  

- “How long will we stay? I guess you’ve already planned everything?”  

She laughs and nods.

- “We’ll arrive in Porto around the same time as Jenni and Alexia, for about a week.”  

- “You’re so sweet, always thinking of me.”  

- “I know,” she jokes. “Do you have any family we could stay with?”  

- “Of course. My grandfather.”  

- “Oh, right. The one you like so much, right?”  

- “Yes! I can’t wait for you to meet him! I’ll let him know as soon as I can. He’s going to be so happy.”  

I sit up and straddle her to show my gratitude with a big hug.

- “Thank you, really. I love you so much.”  

- “I love you too, my love.”

We kiss tenderly before I rest my head on her shoulder.

- “Are you sure your parents are going to like me?”  

She laughs, running her hand through my hair, sending shivers down my spine. It’s a fear that haunts me. I’m afraid they won’t accept me, and that Lucy might leave me because of it. When I lift my head again, she looks at me with adoration, her eyes filled with all the love she has for me.

- “I promise they will.”  

- “You seem really sure of that…”  

- “Stop worrying about it. They’re going to love you. They’re actually really excited to meet you.”  

- “Really…? You’ve already told them about me?”  

- “Of course. I’ve had plenty of chances to call them from school and talk about you. They know you exist and that we’re coming in a few weeks. They also know you were my student at school, why you were there, but most importantly, they know how much I love you.”  

- “Y-you told them everything!? Oh my God!”  

I try to pull away, but Lucy holds me back with a small laugh. There’s nothing funny about this! How could she tell her parents that I was a former junkie who ran away with my ex to ruin my life?

- “Calm down. I did it to save you from a bunch of awkward questions. I wanted to tell them myself so they’d know what to expect. Mostly, I wanted them to understand how much you mean to me and that they’d better not traumatize you. Well, at least not my dad. He’s a saint compared to my mom.”  

- “Fantastic,” I say sarcastically.  

Lucy smiles and presses her lips to mine.

- “I promise you don’t have to worry. And how about we head to bed now, huh? We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow, again.”  

- “OK…” I murmur. “Speaking of tomorrow, I made a few sketches for the walls of the rooms you guys want me to decorate.”  

- “Oh, really? I won’t ask when you found time to do that.”  

- “In my room,” I reply. “Who do you think I am? I’ve become responsible!”

I squeal as she lifts me up, turning off the TV in the process. The way she carries me to our bedroom brings back so many memories.

- “Of course, my love. We’ll take a look at them in the morning. Right now, it’s time for bed.”  

I smile, snuggling back against her shoulder. I’m not going to argue with that.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

“Have you ever had a Harveston apple before? They’re some mighty fine eatin’. Um I mean they’re pretty good. My meemaw just sent me a whole crate and I can’t finish it all myself so I’m passing them out. Want one? I heard from Ace you like apples.” - 🍎

So tell me, do you wanna go?

The boy held out an apple. He was smallish and delicate looking, with lilac locks and long lashes framing big, sparkling blue eyes. The collar of his uniform was gathered lace crowned with a necktie done up as a ribbon.

If Fellow didn’t know any better, he would have easily mistaken the boy for a living doll. He thought the idea laughable—a bitter reminder of his last gig.

Whoever he was, he was no nobleman’s son. No, he had opened with an accent Fellow recognized from somewhere rural and humble. Here was a common man, squished into a suit and thrown to the wolves to fend for himself. His eyes were not mistaken.

“Don’t mind if I do! Thanks for the grub, kid.”

Fellow accepted the apple with a broad grin. He could see his reflection in its shiny red exterior, even before he polished the fruit on his jacket.

Crunch.

His teeth cut into the apple, slicing its skin and revealing the crisp white flesh underneath. Sweet juice--sweeter than he'd ever tasted, almost candy-like--burst spilled his tongue. He hummed in satisfaction.

“Whoa, you weren’t pullin’ my leg. This stuff’s premium!” He hungrily eyed the crate of unclaimed apples in the boy's arms.

“Heheh. Harveston’s real proud of its produce." The first year glanced down, patting the top of his crate. "I should hand the rest of these out now."

"Hold on a second!" Fellow blocked his path--sights still set on the apples. It would be nice to bring some back for Giddie.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Why the rush? We've barely gotten to know each other! What's your name, champ?"

"It's, er... Epel."

"Epel!" He slipped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "And you're from Harveston, you say? I've been there myself during my worldly travels! Nice folks you got there. So warm, so hospitable!!"

(Fellow neglected to mention that the story started with he and Gidel sneaking onto someone's farm and liberating them of a chunk of their crops. It had been a particularly bad day and the vegetables had just been lying out there. A recipe of convenience, a risk worth taking.

They had been caught red-handed, been accosted by a flurry of frying pans and angry locals. It had taken plenty of groveling and sniveling to sort things out. When the locals' rage had simmered down, he and Gidel had been invited in to stay a while, given that they promised not to steal anymore. Some food and a bed, and they were all set for that night.)

Epel bristled, pulling away from Fellow. "Ah, no ya don't! Ace warned me that you're sneaky and to not fall for anything you'd try to pull."

He faltered. “What else has he said about me?! Fellow Honest-sama's got a reputation to keep."

It's going to be harder to scam these students if word about me gets around.

"Uh... Well..." Epel hesitated. "That you were kinda pathetic?"

"PATHETIC?! I'm not pathetic!!" Disbelief rattled Fellow's voice. He gritted his teeth, fingers digging into his half-finished apple.

Y-You're being pretty pathetic right now though...? Epel stayed tight-lipped for his own good.

Fellow released the Pomefiore student and stomped off, waving his cane in the air as if spearing an invisible man with it. Spit flew out as he cursed the boy with the heart over one eye.

"Why, that smarmy little...! MARK MY WORDS!! The next time I see that guy, he'll get what's comin' to him!!" Fellow swore loudly.

Epel awkwardly stared after him. "Wh-What just happened?"

[bunnis-monsters]

Good morning, I hope you're doing well.

I've been a shy onlooker of your work for quite some time, however as of recently I've been noticing with a couple of the bee-hybrid ficlets that you've been writing, one or two of them that involved (specifically) child/infant characters were tagged with the 'monster fucker' and various such related tags..?

I love the bee stuff, I do! Please don't take this as a hate message because I really don't mean for it to come off as such. But if you're going to include infant/child characters under the age of 18 in your fics, please don't include them in NSFW scenarios, fics, or situations or put them in NSFW tags. I don't think that's entirely legal in some places and I say that out of the goodness of my heart for your protection and your readers.

There was a woman banned off Youtube who was criminally charged for breastfeeding her child and uploading it and I know this is in no way as severe but I honestly don't want to see you get banned and all your fics wiped off tumblr because you put 'minor characters' in NSFW situations/tags. :(

You could try maybe just not tagging the stuff with baby bees?? You have a huge follow base and a discord (that i'm too shy to join) so I'm sure people would still find that content if they're following you.

I'm sorry for bothering you, I hope you have a good day.

Uh.

I tag all of my fics as monster fucking… because that’s the genre. The baby bees are a result of said monster fucking.

I specifically use monster fucking on all of my posts so people who don’t like the monster fucking genre can easily filter my posts out.

I do not include any smut tags like I do on my other posts, and SPECIFICALLY tag them as “monster sfw” or “monster fluff” when I remember.

Not only have I never sexualized or plan on sexualizing the baby bees, if you or anyone else sees anything regarding them as sexual… idk what to say. They’re the most innocent posts on my page.

Read my REQUEST INFO so you can understand that I do not write for pedophilic relationships or situations. The baby bees are children.

I think you’re reading a bit into it. I’m not sure about that case of a YouTuber being banned for breast feeding, but that’s a real person with real children. These are fanfics. There could have been more behind that, and I know for sure there are cases where parents exploit their children on the internet in ways that are in the grey area, like for example, breastfeeding them and sexualizing it purposefully(breastfeeding isn’t inherently sexual, but it can be sexualized and sold as such to an audience) or having them do things that are suggestive for their pedophile audience to continue using them as a cash cow.

This is not that. The baby bees are fictional, and not once have they been sexualized. I am not interested in doing so. They’ll still be under the monster fucker tag because the baby bees are tied to the bee hybrids which ARE very NSFW. It’s a genre.

I use tags that relate to my post and can help them be easily filtered by those that DON’T want to see my content.

Never ask something like this again, it made me deeply uncomfortable.

[purifiedclitoris69]

Flowers

a/n: j a blurb in addition to spiders dance, enjoy!

You and Natasha have practically been inseparable, since your mission, and extra exercise on the jet ;) The two of you have never been closer, you two did declare that you were each others, you were her’s and she was your’s, making you officially in a relationship. However, here you were as nervous as ever you paced outside Natasha's door, clutching a small bouquet of flowers.

Yourr palms were sweaty, and your heart was racing faster than it had during any mission. After fighting off assassins and taking down criminal organizations, asking Natasha Romanoff out on a date was somehow the scariest thing you’d ever faced.

"Okay, you’ve got this," you muttered to yourself. "It’s just Natasha. It’s just… the deadliest woman alive. Who could kill me with a paperclip, who so happens to be the most stunning woman there is as well..” you began to ramble.

With a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock on the door, your knuckles almost trembling, just about to move. When it opened, suddenly, Natasha stood there, dressed in her loose shorts you could barely see under a sweatshirt, that was yours? You melted at the sight of her; Her eyes flicked to the flowers, then back to you with an amused quirk of her brow.

"You okay?" Natasha asked, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

You swallowed hard, your voice coming out shakier than expected. "Uh, yeah! I mean, no. Well, yes. I mean—these are for you!" You thrust the flowers toward her a little too quickly, almost hitting her with them.

Natasha’s smile widened as she took the flowers. "Thank you. They're beautiful.” The smirk never leaving her face at how nervous she still made you.

Not as beautiful as you, you thought to yourself blushing. You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. "Yeah, well, I-I thought you might like them. Not that you need flowers to be more... you know... awesome. You’re already that. Just, uh, wanted to give you something nice."

"detka breathe," Natasha said, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes scanning you with that unnervingly sharp gaze, that held that beautiful sparkle. "What’s going on?"

"Right, yeah, so, uh—" You cleared your throat, trying to will yourself to speak without sounding like an idiot. "I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to go out sometime? Like, on a date, officially. With me."

Natasha's eyes flicked up from the flowers to your nervous face, and for a moment, you thought you’d she laugh and blow you off. But then, to Natasha grinned that—genuine, kind, soft smile.

"You’re cute when you're nervous, you know that?" she said, stepping closer, and placing a hand on your chest.

Your face turned bright red. "What! I’m not-,” she quirked her eyebrow once more, “okay maybe a little.”

Natasha laughed lightly, looking back down at the flowers, a blush of her own appearing "I’d love to go out with you,” she stood on her tippy toes hand going to the back of your neck and gave you a slow loving kiss, “and I love how nervous I still make you,” she whispered against your lips. You blinked, dumbfounded. Natasha gave you a playful smirk falling back to her flat feet. “next time, relax a little. I don’t bite.…unless you want me too."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a relieved loving grin grew on your face. "Great! I mean, that’s great! Uh, so… dinner tomorrow?"

"Dinner tomorrow," Natasha confirmed, leaning in to kiss you quickly on the cheek. "And thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely."

“Of course,” you blushed once more handing going to the back of your neck again

“Are you joining me for the night,” she asked opening the door for you to come in.

“Wouldn’t dream of missing out,” your smile grew wider if that was even possible. Following her into her room, shutting the door, and locking it behind you ;)

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️ HELLO

Oh jeez more than your usual 129. Okay let's GO.

198 for 🛏️:

---

Buck is chasing it like a fucking drug.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” Buck tells Eddie one evening, when the glow of the setting sun shifts the brown to a warm bronze. “I’ve always thought that, you know.”

It’s forward. It’s risky. But the bright, happy look on Eddie’s face when he hears it is so entirely intoxicating. And it’s not just Buck. In fact, it’s not even mostly Buck. Eddie is just as bad, if not worse. 

“I love your laugh.”

“I could listen to you talk about this for hours.”

“You smell really good today.”

And eventually Buck realizes that, okay yes, things have shifted. But also, Eddie has always been like this? He has always praised as much as he teases. He has always showered Buck with such devastatingly sweet things to Buck that Buck’s lungs have stopped working. They’re just changing in tone, a little. And Buck is just advancing in his own understanding of the way they make him feel. 

He didn’t get it, years ago, when Eddie told Buck there was no one in the world he trusted more with Christopher. He didn’t get that the breathless feeling was more than just platonic devotion. He’s starting to get it. He feels like a camera lens, finally coming into focus.

So eventually, when it keeps happening, Buck can’t keep playing chicken.

They’ve got a movie set up on Buck’s laptop. Eddie’s freshly showered. His hair is damp, smelling like Buck’s green tea and ginger shampoo that he’s been using. The one that apparently smells really good. Buck slides a bit closer to Eddie, until they’re a little tangled together. Eddie’s thumb is rubbing small circles over the bone of Buck’s wrist. Something he’s been doing more and more lately.

“That feels good, you know,” Buck whispers. 

Eddie pauses the motions for a second, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it until Buck pointed it out. Then, tentatively, it starts up again.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. “It… You… I mean you always feel… Uh, good.” 

Eddie inhales sharply. Buck wonders if he’s said too much.

“I do?” 

“Eddie,” Buck whispers, a slight complaint in his tone. “You know.” 

Eddie nods a little. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Buck holds his breath. He won’t be the one to do this. He needs to wait for Eddie. To be sure. Though, he thinks it is a sure thing. 

He doesn’t need to wait long. 

Eddie drops Buck’s wrist and raises his hand to cup Buck’s jaw, and suddenly they’re kissing. Kissing. It’s warm and soft and perfect. And honestly, if Buck could have guessed what kissing Eddie would be like, it would be this. Like sinking into a warm bath after a cold day. Like the sun beaming through the window and landing perfect on your cheeks. Like a breath of crisp fresh air. 

It’s everything. 

It’s so good, in fact, that Buck has to pull away from it, terrified. 

“Wait,” he begs. 

Eddie freezes. His eyes dart back and forth between Buck’s eyes and mouth, like he’s torn between the polite thing and his impulses. God, that’s hot. Buck just wants to let him do whatever he wants. 

“This isn’t because I mowed your lawn, right?” Buck asks.

Eddie’s jaw drops. “What?”

Yeah, okay. That sounded ridiculous. 

“Like, you’re not kissing me right now because I’m letting you stay in my bed and I mowed your lawn and you feel like you have to kiss me?”

Buck really hopes not. Because that might genuinely break his heart. 

“What?” Eddie asks again. “Buck? Seriously?”

“I-I don’t know!” Buck stammers. “You’ve never… So I just want to make sure that I didn’t accidentally pressure you or something.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans forward and kisses Buck again. 

“I’m kissing you,” Eddie says, between a series of small, quick kisses. “Because I really, really want to.”

Oh. Oh, well that’s the best case scenario, then. Buck turns off his brain. He kisses Eddie back with enough passion and fervor to make up for six years of not kissing him. 

After that, kissing becomes a thing they do, too. 

vi.

It’s early August when Buck makes the suggestion. 

He doesn’t predict that this will lead to any sort of negative response. Hell, it seems innocent enough. Here they are, nearly two months into Eddie being here, with no sign of leaving. Kissing has escalated into other things. Buck thinks, maybe it would be nice to have multiple pieces of furniture that can support both of them, for when movie nights are really just movie nights. So he asks.

“Do you want to help me find a couch on our next four-off?” 

But instead of an easy-natured reply like Buck is expecting, Eddie’s face sort of freezes. He is not happy with this question. Buck just doesn’t understand why. 

“Eddie?” He asks, frowning. 

Eddie swallows. “Uh… I don’t know.”

“O-Okay,” Buck replies. “It’s fine. I can do it by myself.”

“No,” Eddie blurts. “No.”

“No, you’re coming or no, I shouldn’t do it by myself?” Buck asks. He really doesn’t get what the issue is, here.

“No, I don’t think you should get a couch,” Eddie says. 

Buck blinks. “Since when? You’re, like, the first person to make fun of me not having one.”

“That was Chris,” Eddie mumbles.

Buck’s chest hurts a little. 

“Why don’t we bring my couch here?” Eddie asks. “It’d fit.”

Buck’s head cocks to the side a bit like a confused puppy.

“Uh, Eddie… Why would we do that? Your house needs a couch.”

“Does it?” Eddie asks, nervous edge in his voice. “No one lives there right now.”

“Right, but then when Chris comes home, we’ll have to move the couch back, and the problem remains. I still need a couch.”

Eddie looks at the ground. 

“Eddie?” Buck presses. “Come on, what’s going on?”

Eddie takes a shaky breath and looks back up at him. “What if he doesn’t come home?”

Oh. 

Fuck. 

Buck can see how he got here from a couch, but it’s still some seriously anxious pathways of logic. Buck doesn’t need to buy a new couch, because Chris isn’t coming home, so they can move Eddie’s here, and Eddie will stay forever. Because he can’t go home if his son isn’t there. Jesus. 

Buck grabs his hand. “Of course he’s coming home, Eddie. That’s… That’s not a concern. He’s coming home.”

“You don’t know that,” Eddie argues. “He’s barely talking to me. And when he does… He doesn’t want to come home.”

“I do know it,” Buck shakes his head. He squeezes Eddie’s hand tighter. “Chris is coming home, okay? I know you don’t trust yourself fully right now, so trust me.” 

Eddie’s eyes glaze over with tears. “I want to. I do.”

Buck hugs him, squeezing him. “I’ll believe it for both of us. And then get the honor of saying I told you so.” 

“You do not get to tease me when-”

“Ah, you said when! Not if!” Buck exclaims triumphantly. 

Eddie groans, defeated, but then sinks deeper into Buck’s arms. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles. 

Buck kisses the top of Eddie’s head. 

“Always,” he replies. “But I still need a couch, Eddie. When was the last time we comfortably played video games?”

Eddie sighs. “I don’t want you to get a couch that isn’t mine.”

It feels like a sort of confession. And maybe it’s entirely ridiculous, but Buck wants to give him exactly what he wants. 

Buck squeezes him again. 

“Well, okay then.”

vi.

A few days later, they’re moving Eddie’s couch into the loft. 

Buck tries not to complain about the tight squeeze and awkward journey into the elevator and up to his floor. He supposes other couches might be just as difficult. And, without the added bonus of already knowing it’s the perfect couch. So he deals with the ridiculousness of moving a couch into the loft which he knows will return home before too long. Regardless of what Eddie believes. 

They’ve had a good talk about things. Which is something they actually hadn’t done before. They just sort of kept slowly inching forward, not addressing much of anything with words or formal understandings. But the way things are going, that wasn’t quite sustainable. They needed to lay it all out in the open. And when they did, this is what they found. 

They are both pretty entirely and devotedly in love with each other. With or without shared bed arrangements. No matter what.  Eddie is still figuring himself out. A lot of himself. Not just the parts that are new in terms of their relationship.

[siremasterlawrence]

Museum Of Horror’s 3: Stan’s Nightmare

Actor Sebastian Stan has no idea that when he woke up the morning after he woke up from his award winning world premiere at The Berlin Film Festival as he drink himself to death and woke up with a hangover over in his head because he feel into a deeper state. The coma like spiral as he falls in to a whole of his own making as the floor falls flat from under him sliding away in to the distance of a shadowy organization and I want him as my next experiment will soon learn what it means to be captured and altered for good and for life.Poor Sebastian Stan his life took harsh turn last night while he slept a full day away as his body automatically on pilot with such apowerful level of precision over taking him as he fell forward and slid off to the edge of bed in to his slippers walking in to the bathroom as he strips off his clothes for the man in the mirror.

“Time for a shower “

“Most attend the gym”

“The gym is life”

“Slavery is life “

“I am Stan the man “

“Master’s puppet “

“Wow! This is hot”

“Master loves it”

“Mmmm….steam”

“My body rock hard”

“I am in pain…”

“Everything is losing focus….ugh”

“My mind…my memory “

“Who am I?”

“I look like a wet rat”

“Hot wet rat”

“Mmmmm”

“Fuck”

“I am on my way”

“I am in the car Master”

“Sir Yes Sir”

“I am here Master”

“Thanks for the greeting “

“Get to work”

“Yes Master “

“Change your clothes “

“Of course sir “

“I bought the gym”

“Excellent! Clean up”

“Open up and work out”

“Intense one yes “

“Follow me inside when you complete it”

“Kneel at my feet and make love to me”

“Mmmmmmm”

“Yes Master!”

“I love you !”

“I love you too boi “

“Kiss me”

“Get to work”

Sebastian states that he is all prepared for the day exiting the room as he states in the mirror quickly getting undressed as he sort through his bag for his clothes in a excited state because he could not wait for that’s the oh uh moment.The lights blow up even brighter covering up the changing room showing off his tight body as his underpants shines in a glorious light showcases the spandex touching his body and therefor it is smack its extremely tighter the ways I want it. He smirks brightly he plays with his cock as I hear moaning blaring through the rooms loud speaker, I am in heaven walking down to him through the buildings super immaculate new hallway that Sebastian cleans multiple times all day and everyday actually

“You know my love “

“Keep flexing”

“Show off the body “

“Do a dance for me”

“I mean move it “

“Yeah! Move your body “

“So hot! So cute “

“I’m hot “

“Yeah motherfucker”

“Oh Master!”

“What boi?”

“Fuck me!”

“God! Your ass”

“I love you!”

“I love too Master”

“Use me!”

“Don’t fucking move”

“I am about to break you in half bitch”

The end

[sjywrites]

could i req a cute fluffy fic with a jealous ssera member? whoever you want!

༊*·˚ WHO'S THAT?

𝓙ealous! 𝓗uh 𝓨unjin x 𝓖n!reader. 𝓖enre. fluff. 𝓢ypnosis. yunjin is a lil jealous, and she wants you to herself <3 𝓦𝓒 . 385 𝓒𝓦 . one kiss, nothing else!

𝓝ote this is my first ask omg anon I'm gonna kiss your brain

---

This is purely fiction and is not meant to interpret how the idol/s act in real life!

,, not proofread + english is not my first language ! ೃ⁀➷

More under cut!

Yunjin is usually not a jealous person, but the way that guy is all over you, making jokes you laugh at, touching you just a moment too long for it to be friendly makes her blood boil. She knew you didn’t notice he was flirting with you, but her eyes twitched at the thought of him knowing you had a girlfriend. I mean, it's pretty obvious you two were together, you pulled up to the party hand in hand, smiling at each other the whole night. Who could have missed that? Yunjin wasn’t sure what to do, it would be pretty embarrassing to admit she was jealous over a guy you wouldn’t even consider dating in the first place. She knew you were just trying to be friendly, oblivious to his clear motive to get you in bed.

Yunjinnie: Hey, can we go?

Y/N <3: Why? Are you okay?

Yunjinnie: Yes, it’s just… I don’t have a good feeling about the guy you’re talking with.

Y/N <3: Any particular motive for that?

Y/N <3: Did he do something to you?

Yunjinnie: No, I just don’t like him talking to you…

Y/N <3: Babe… Are you jealous?

Yunjinnie: What no!? I just…

Y/N <3: Okay baby I get it, I won’t talk to him more

Y/N <3: In fact why don't you get over here and introduce yourself as my gf? Would that make you feel better?

Yunjinnie: It actually would.

Yunjin walks over to you, glaring at the guy obviously flirting with you. She grabs your hand gently as she introduces herself,

“Hi, I’m Yunjin, Y/Ns girlfriend. Who are you?”

Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, obviously staring at the guy in front of her. The guy looks a little nervous when he answers her question, “Oh! Uhh, I uh, gotta go. I have to uh, find my friends. Bye!” He kind of sprints away from the both of you, almost falling over a few people on his way. Finally leaving you both alone, Yunjin relaxes. “See, nothing to be jealous over.” You say smiling up at her. “I’m not sure that’s how it works baby, but whatever you say” She smiles right back at you, slowly leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

and everyone cheered!! I'm so happy you guys actually like how I write I'm gonna cry, big MWAH to all of youuu

[nightlocked-in]

“peeta is bisexual” you guys are losing the vision. peeta isn’t even straight. katniss INVENTED sexuality for him. whatever katniss identifies as, he’s like “yeah, i’ll take that one” no questions asked

[turtleblogatlast]

Thinking about the Don Suave scene and what it means in terms of LGBTQ+ representation because my brain does nothing if not torment me with random topics to ramble about on the regular.

Anyway, I just wanted to ramble about why I like the scene but to get it out of the way - the scene can very easily be interpreted in so many different ways, and all of them are valid. I personally see it as Leo having at least some attraction to a man. And the following is an explanation of my own interpretation and thoughts on it and what it means especially for Leo’s portrayal in the grand scheme of things.

Long-winded interpretation under the cut!

Now, to start with, it’s important to me that in the scene Leo looks at Don Suave in the very beginning and then for the entirety of the rest of the time the man is on screen, Leo’s eyes are closed. Yet, in the end, he is still visibly enamored with Don Suave, happily cuddling up to him as he’s being carried away.

You can very easily interpret this as Leo being spellbound and that’s honestly super valid and I believe he likely was at least somewhat in the beginning, but considering how fast he looked away and how he never looked again, I personally think it makes more sense to read it as Leo just finding the man attractive, at least somewhat. (For the record, I personally headcanon Rise Leo as bisexual with a heavy preference for men, but I want to be blunt when I say that any interpretation is valid. Literally any. Ace, pan, gay, bi, none of the above or a mixture of something new literally all of it is more than okay and fair. Hell you could even interpret this entire scene as more romantic attraction than physical and it would still work. Anything goes!! Don’t bother people, guys, really.)

The main reason I take this scene to be at the very least LGBTQ+ adjacent isn’t just because of how it’s portrayed, but because of who Leonardo is. Not in terms of Rise of the TMNT, but in terms of the entire Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles™️ franchise.

Leo’s a character who, while changing with each iteration, has still at his core been around for decades upon decades as “the blue one”. One fourth of the team. He’s the one most are going to look at as the Leader, and oftentimes he is the one closest to having the title of Main Character. Not to say the others aren’t just as important, but Leo’s presence in the A plots of basically all TMNT media is often something very main character-esque.

And that’s very, very important to note. Here we have a Main Character of a prolific and decades long-running franchise distributed by a children’s television network. You can play around with his and his brothers’ characters all you like, but there is always going to be challenges to dodge around, especially since this was still in 2018-2019.

For example, you can play around with their designs so long as they’re color coded turtles, but their sexualities? Now that’s tricky.

“But what about Hypno and Warren?” Not main characters and also they’re Rise originals. They have a lot more room to play around with than a character like Leo does. But even talking about main characters in the franchise, you could arguably have an easier time playing around with Donnie or Mikey’s sexualities than Leo or even Raph, as (unfortunately) the former two tend to get more B plots, so they’d likely have had a little more leeway (still not a lot though.)

So, where does this leave us?

It leaves us in a place where outright stating and/or showing undeniable proof of Leo’s attraction to men is very, very difficult. So, workarounds!

Workarounds like the entire Don Suave situation.

To be honest, as left up to interpretation and lowkey and deniable as it is, this whole scene means a lot to me because of who Leo is as a character. It’s just nice when we get so see even the bare bones of representation with characters that have been such a large part of pop culture for decades, y’know? Even if more would be so much nicer, this is better than I thought we’d ever get for these boys.

And, again, literally nothing I’ve said is the only way to interpret it, I’m more than happy when people interpret media on their own honestly, it’s just something I’ve been thinking of lately and I was wondering if others felt the same way.

Whatever you think when you interpret this scene or Rise Leo as a whole, I just thought this would be interesting to think about, even if it was ramble-y, haha.

[auckie]

Her music isnt bad. But largely unremarkable in a way that makes me believe chappel roan was manufactured in a pharmaceutical lab specifically for straight women who wanted to have a ‘but I listen to X!’ card for when they get a liiiittle too homophobic.