#but I need someone to talk to about this so like. please talk to me about this.

[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.”

[mythicalmaven]

(I used a screenshot of the original request in here, because I wans't able to reply to the original request anymore, whoops)

Here it finally is! Please let me know what you thought of it :) Requests are open btw! Feel free to request anything :) I'm considering to do kinktober as well this year, so leave your requests for that as well :)

Supposed To Be Mine - Charles Leclerc (ONESHOT)

Masterlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader ↳word count: 4.9K ↳warnings: friends to lovers, jealous!sex, jealousy, (minor) possessiveness, jealous Charles, smut, 18+(MDNI!), handjob (m!receiving), pinv ↳summary: In which Oscar wins the Azerbaijan GP & Charles gets jealous because their mutual friend decides to celebrate with Oscar& not him (or so he thinks). This results in pent up emotions, a heated argument & of course, jealous sex

It was Sunday, September 15th when you found yourself making your way through the paddock. The sun was shining bright and the atmosphere was making you feel ecstatic. You, a familiar face on the grid, had been here to support your friends. While you usually worked as a member of the F1 TV team during Grand Prix, this weekend you were off duty, free to fully enjoy the festivities of the Grand Prix.

Over the years, you'd built strong friendships with most of the grid, but there were three drivers you were particularly close to: Oscar, Charles, and Alex. Each friendship had grown naturally, but in distinct ways.

Alex was the one who felt like a brother from the start. You clicked immediately, sharing the same dry humor, hobbies, and an undeniable love for animals. He was always there for you—whether it was picking you up from the club after too many drinks or cheering you up when your heart got broken again. If there was one word to describe your bond, it was siblings.

Then there was Oscar, your roommate. He ticked all the boxes for the perfect best friend. Your friendship took time to blossom, but once it did, you both quickly realized how well you fit together, purely platonically. The thought of taking it further had never crossed your minds—it just wasn’t like that. After moving to Monaco, you’d struggled to find an apartment, so Oscar offered you a place to stay. A year later, you were still living together because, honestly, it was too much fun to stop.

Then last, but certainly not least, Charles. Your bond with him was something else entirely. The connection between you felt effortless, almost surreal. He was the friend you could call at any hour to talk about anything or nothing. You could spend hours in comfortable silence, never growing bored. But Charles was also the friend that you had secretly been in love with for years. You knew you shouldn't be, your friendship worth way too much to risk it for a stupid crush. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get over him. Every time you dated someone else, it always came back to Charles.

But even if you'd allow yourself to feel the way you did about him, you'd already given up the hope of him ever feeling the same despite your friends insisting otherwise, pointing out how he smiled brighter when he was around you or how his gaze lingered a little longer. You were unable to believe it, the scenario seeming to good to be true.

There were moments—fleeting, breathless moments—when you thought something was there. Moments where your faces hovered inches apart, breaths mingling, hearts pounding. But right before anything could happen, one of you would pull back, retreating before the tension broke, both of you pretending it had never happened.

Charles had been in love with you longer than he cared to admit. Everything about you captivated him—the way your laughter filled a room, the ease with which you could calm him when he was frustrated, the way you just got him without him needing to explain a thing. Around you, he felt at ease and yet so unbelievably nervous. His heart would race whenever you were near, his palms would get sweaty, and he could feel the tension in his chest and stomach. There were so many times he’d wanted to pull you close, to feel your body against his, but something always stopped him.

It was fear. Fear that you would notice how much he felt for you and that it would scare you off. The thought of you realizing the depth of his feelings terrified him, because losing you, even as just a friend, was unthinkable. He tried to keep a distance for that reason, but it was impossible. You had this way of driving him wild without even trying, leaving him helpless in the wake of his emotions.

He’d fantasized about you more often than he dared to admit—so many nights spent alone in his apartment, hand slipping beneath his waistband, your name falling from his lips in breathless whispers. But it wasn’t just the physical desire; it was how much he felt when he was around you. You made him feel alive in a way no one else could.

And then, there was Oscar. The way you two were so close, always together, always laughing, sent a pang of jealousy through him. You said there was nothing romantic between you, but sometimes, Charles couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you felt something for him. It ate at him, the idea of someone else having what he wanted so desperately. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold back.

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The roar of engines echoed across the pit lane as the top three finishers of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix parked their cars by their respective signs. Charles finished 2nd, which made you incredibly excited for him, but your excitement today reached an even higher level by the one who finished first. Oscar just won his second Grand Prix in F1 and you were feeling so incredibly proud.

You were standing at the front of the crowd, engulfing Oscar's mom in a crushing hug, sharing your mutual excitement. You looked up at Oscar climbing out of the car, bumping his fist in the air, cheering enthusiastically.

"God, look at him, finally a win he is allowing himself to enjoy!" you chimed to his mom.

You watched as Oscar ran straight into the arms of his engineers, their shared happiness palpable in the air. The joy between them was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile as you took in the scene.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Charles climbing out of his car in the background, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Post-race Charles always did things to you that you couldn't quite explain. You wanted to wave, but he seemed busy with his team, so you decided to congratulate him on his podium later.

Your attention shifted back to Oscar just as he approached his mum, pulling her into a warm embrace while carefully avoiding bumping her with his helmet.

"I'm so proud of you, darling!" she cooed, squeezing him a little tighter before they eventually pulled apart.

Oscar removed his helmet and reached up to pull off his balaclava, revealing a blissed-out expression. His smile was radiant, a mix of joy and relief, as if the weight of the race had melted away in that victorious moment.

He caught your eye, and his grin widened. "I did it! I actually did it!" he exclaimed, still sounding like he couldn’t quite believe it.

"You did! You really did!" you gushed, your smile matching his as you shared in his happiness.

Without warning, Oscar launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you over the fence you’d been leaning against. He hugged you tightly, spinning you around as both of you laughed, the sound of your shared joy echoing across the pit lane.

The cameras were all pointed in your direction, capturing the moment. To you and Oscar, it was nothing more than two best friends celebrating a hard-fought victory. But to the outside world, the scene looked far more intimate than it felt.

Charles stood at a distance, watching the moment unfold. His chest tightened as he took in the sight of you and Oscar together, laughter and smiles shared so easily between you. You’d told him there was nothing going on with Oscar, that the two of you were just best friends—but looking at you now, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

It hurt. It hurt to see you in Oscar’s arms, when he wished so desperately that it was him instead. He felt a wave of frustration, jealousy swirling inside him. Oscar was his friend, someone he genuinely liked, but seeing you together like that made it hard to think straight. The fear that Oscar might steal you away—his girl, even though you weren’t even his—gnawed at him.

“She said there was nothing between them,” he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself.

Pierre appeared beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think it’s not what it looks like, mate," he offered, sensing Charles’ mood.

Charles shook his head, frustration still bubbling beneath the surface. "That’s what they always say when they’re denying it," he replied, his voice low. "I know she’s single, and she can do whatever she wants with whoever she wants, but… it just hurts."

Pierre gave him a sympathetic look, but Charles couldn’t shake the feeling. He wanted to punch something, not because he hated Oscar—he liked Oscar—but because seeing you so close to him made him feel like he was losing you, even though you were never his to begin with.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

Later in the day, as the adrenaline from the race began to wear off, you found yourself searching for Charles. You had spent the afternoon immersed in the celebrations with Oscar and the McLaren team, reveling in their victory. Despite the fun, your thoughts kept drifting back to Charles.

Navigating through the bustling paddock, you scanned the area for any sign of him. You wanted to offer your congratulations and express how proud you were, but Charles seemed to have vanished.

When you stepped into the Ferrari motorhome, you were greeted by Carlos. The Spaniard offered you a small, knowing smile. "Hey," he said as he approached you.

"Hey, have you seen Charles?" you asked, absentmindedly twirling a stray strand of hair.

Carlos's smile turned apologetic. "He already left for the hotel. Said something about not feeling up to it today."

Your heart sank a bit. "Oh, I wanted to congratulate him earlier, but I got caught up with the celebrations."

A flicker of realization crossed Carlos's face. "Ah, that explains why he seemed so on edge when he came back here."

Confusion clouded your expression. "What do you mean?"

Carlos’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "I think Charles got a bit unsettled seeing you so close with Oscar instead of him."

You frowned, trying to make sense of it. "Why would he be annoyed? My best friend won the race. Of course I celebrated with him. It's not like I didn't want to celebrate with Charles, it's just that Oscar is my best friend. And he also deserves the attention when he achieves something amazing like this."

Carlos’s smirk widened slightly. "That’s exactly his problem."

You stood there, grappling with the situation, struggling to find the right words. Carlos seemed to sense your confusion and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Maybe you should talk to him. There might be more going on between you two than you realize."

His words hung in the air, adding a new layer to your thoughts as you considered the possibility of unspoken feelings and misunderstandings.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

"You seemed awfully intimate with Piastri this afternoon, anything unfolding there?" you heard Alex tease on through the phone.

He had called you had texted that you were on the way back to the hotel, something you often did to just gossip and rant about everything that went on.

You rolled your eyes, and huffed "Why does everybody keep saying that. Not even in my wildest dreams, ew" you whined "I know he's good looking, I'm not blind, but the idea of doing something with him revolts me just as much as it revolts him"

The chuckle that Alex let out was audible to you "Well, to be fair, it didn't look like nothing on camera" he started, another chuckle leaving his lips "Have you checked your social media lately? Apparently the camera's catched Charles' reaction to your little moment with Oscar. The video is going quite viral. He is shooting daggers at Oscar, man. The jealousy is literally burning in his eyes"

You sighed "Don't, Alex" you whispered "Don't give me hope"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

You arrived at Charles's hotel room with a mix of anxiety and frustration swirling inside you. His abrupt disappearance after the celebration, coupled with his avoidance of your calls, had left you feeling unsettled and concerned. Your knuckles rapped against the door, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. When Charles finally opened it, his face was a mask of irritation, the tension in his posture unmistakable.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, stepping past him before he could react.

Charles’s eyes were dark with frustration. “Nothing,” he snapped, but the rigidity in his stance and the clenched fists he tried to hide told a different story.

You let out a sigh, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I know you’re lying,” you insisted, moving to sit on the edge of his bed, trying to steady your breathing. “Please, just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. What did I do?”

Charles stood with his back to you, his breathing shallow and uneven. “Why him?” he finally asked, his voice strained and raw.

Confusion creased your brow. “What are you talking about?”

Charles’s frustration finally erupted. “Why did you celebrate with Oscar and not with me? I finished second. I deserved some attention too.”

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm despite the rising tension. “Oscar’s my best friend too. This win was a big deal for him. I wanted to be there for him. I tried to find you, but you were already gone.”

Charles’s eyes flashed with hurt and jealousy, a dark storm clouding his gaze. “It feels like you care more about him than me. It fucking hurts to see you so close to him, probably even—”

His words struck a nerve, causing irritation to flare within you. “Oscar and I are just friends, Charles.” You stated, your anger bubbled over. “And so what if it was more? Why does it matter to you? I’m not your property. You dont get to decide who I spend time with. You’re my best friend, not my boyfriend.”

Charles’s face flushed with frustration, his voice rising with each word. “Merde, for fuck’s sake, I don’t want to be your best friend!”

His declaration stunned you, a mix of hurt and anger surging within you, causing tears to well up in your eyes. “Well, if you don’t want to be my best friend, I might as well go back to Oscar then. Since, according to you, that’s where I prefer to be. You apparently know me better than I do!”

Without waiting for a response, you turned to leave, but Charles’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a desperate grip. His eyes burned with an intense emotion, a mixture of longing and possessiveness that was almost palpable. Before you could react, he pulled you close, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was both fierce and consuming.

The kiss was rough, charged with pent-up emotions. Charles’s lips moved against yours with an urgent hunger, a reflection of the depth of his feelings. The heat of his body pressed against yours, every touch and caress infused with an intensity that left you breathless. His hands roamed over your curves, claiming you with each possessive stroke. You could feel the undeniable pressure of his arousal pressing against you, intensifying the moment.

He guided you gently back toward the bed, his touch both tender and commanding. Slowly, he lowered you down onto it, his hands caressing your sides with a reverence that spoke of his deep feelings for you. He leaned over you, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t want to be your best friend,” he said, his voice heavy with desire. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

You were taken aback by his declaration, the words resonating deeply within you. Before you could respond, Charles’s lips were on yours again, kissing you with a fierce passion that left you breathless. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, as he explored your body with a mix of urgency and tenderness.

You moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips as his touch ignited a fire within you. Charles’s arousal was evident, his body pressing against yours in a way that heightened your senses. “Tell me you think about me at night and not him,” he demanded, his voice husky and filled with longing.

The world around you seemed to dissolve as Charles’s touch and kisses overwhelmed your senses. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, caressing, igniting every nerve with a mix of desperation and adoration. His touch was both possessive and tender, his kisses deep and demanding.

“Tell me,” he urged, his voice a low, heated whisper. “Tell me you scream my name when you come and not his.”

You met his intense gaze, your voice breathless and filled with yearning. “Only you, Charles. It has always been you.”

Charles’s eyes darkened with satisfaction, his expression softening slightly as he continued his intimate exploration. He guided your hands to his jeans, his breathing ragged with desire. “Have you ever thought about him like this?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Touched him like this?”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and affection. “It’s only you, Charles,” you replied, your voice sultry. “I never saw Oscar that way.”

Charles’s frustration and desire mingled as he felt your touch, his body tensing and his control slipping. He moaned softly, a deep, guttural sound that reflected his overwhelmed state. His hands gripped the edge of the bed for support as you palmed him through his jeans, your touch eliciting a series of desperate groans from him.

Unable to hold back any longer, you undid the button of his jeans and slid your hand inside, taking him in your grasp. Charles gasped, his breathing coming in short, erratic bursts. “F-Fuck,” he whimpered, his voice strained. “That feels so good.” His body tensed and trembled, overwhelmed by the sensation of your touch. “J-Just like that,” he gasped, his voice a desperate, needy growl. “Show me you’re mine. I want you to think about me every time you touch yourself. I hope that after tonight, you can never touch another man without thinking about me.”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with passion. “It’s already been like that for years,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Charles’s gaze softened for a moment, but his need took over. He flipped you back onto the bed with a sudden, urgent intensity. His movements were driven by a deep-seated desire, his lips finding yours again, kissing you with a feverish passion that made your heart race.

As he undressed you, his touch was both deliberate and passionate. He removed the last bits of his clothing with a mix of urgency and tenderness, his hands lingering on your skin, savoring the feel of you beneath him. He paused, looking into your eyes with a mixture of tenderness and desire. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked, his voice a low, heated whisper. “Tell me, do you want this as much as I do?”

You nodded, your voice breathless with anticipation. “Yes, Charles. I want you. I want all of you.”

Charles’s eyes darkened with satisfaction as he positioned himself above you. His hands continued their intimate exploration, his kisses trailing down your neck and shoulders with a mix of urgency and tenderness. Each touch was a declaration of his intense feelings, a blend of passion and possession that left you craving more.

As the intensity of the moment built, Charles’s control wavered. He pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of need and desire. “Tell me you’re mine,” he urged, his voice a rough whisper. “I want to hear you say it, mon amour”

You looked at him, your body trembling with desire as he continued to touch and kiss

you. “I’m yours, Charles,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both need and certainty.

Charles’s expression softened into one of profound relief and adoration, but a trace of jealousy lingered in his eyes, his gaze never leaving yours. As he positioned himself between your legs, there was a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness in his touch. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, his voice filled with deep emotion and a hint of a possessive edge.

With that, he entered you slowly, his movements tender yet unmistakably possessive. His thrusts were gentle and loving, but each one was infused with a sense of claiming, as though he was marking you as his own. His kisses were gentle but urgent, his lips traveling down your neck as he began to suck and nibble, leaving marks that would clearly show his affection and his possessiveness.

You gasped, feeling the intensity of his touch. “Charles, be careful. They will be visible,” you said, your voice a mixture of concern and pleasure.

Charles’s eyes darkened with a mix of satisfaction and jealousy. “That’s the point,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl filled with both desire and a possessive undertone. “I want him to see and know that you belong to me. I want him to see what he’s missing, that you’re mine and mine alone.”

His words stirred something deep within you, causing a moan to escape your lips that was loud and unrestrained, a testament to the intense pleasure you were experiencing. Your hand instinctively traveled up to his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled gently but firmly. The sensation of his hair being tugged caused him to shiver, and he let out a deep, guttural moan that reverberated against your skin.

Charles’s reaction was immediate and visceral. He groaned softly, his breath coming in ragged bursts as the pull on his hair heightened his arousal. “Fuck...” he whispered, his voice trembling with both pleasure and disbelief. The feeling of your fingers in his hair only intensified his longing, making him feel as though he were losing control. “Merde… that feels so good,” he muttered, his tone rough and desperate. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

The way you tugged at his hair drove him to new heights of pleasure, his moans growing louder and more fervent as he lost himself in the sensations. Each pull sent a jolt of electricity through him, making his movements more urgent and fervent, as though he were trying to convey just how deeply your touch affected him.

As he continued, his thrusts maintained a balance of gentle passion and possessive claim, his hands gripping you with a mix of tenderness and assertion. The rhythm of his movements was both caring and commanding, a reflection of his deep, conflicted emotions. His kisses left a trail of marks, each one a silent declaration of his fierce, consuming love and possessiveness.

Charles’s eyes lock onto yours, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “I-I’m so close,” he gasps, his voice strained with the intensity of the moment. The desperate need in his eyes makes your heart race, his body pressing into yours with a fervor that only heightens your own arousal.

You can barely hold back your own pleasure, the sensations coursing through you almost overwhelming. “Me too” you moan, your voice trembling as you inch closer to the edge. “Come for me, Charles,” 

Your encouragement is the final push he needs, and his body reacts instantly. The combination of your words and the electric tension between you drives him over the edge. The urgency in Charles’s movements and the heat of his gaze as tumbles over the edge draws you to the peak of your ecstasy with him.

As the two of you reached the peak of your intimacy, Charles’s moans mingled with your own, creating a symphony of pleasure and connection that echoed through the room. The shared release was an explosion of ecstasy that left you both trembling and gasping, entwined in the aftermath of your union. 

When the world finally settled and the waves of pleasure began to recede, Charles held you close, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he whispered, “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been in love with you.”

You smiled through your own breathless satisfaction, responding softly, “I could say the same to you.”

Charles’s expression softened further as he kissed you tenderly, his hands caressing your skin with a gentleness that spoke of his deep affection. The moment was filled with a profound sense of connection and fulfillment, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of your bond.

masterlist

[naturesapphic]

Hi! Can you please do one for gip Scarlett.

So reader(fem) and Scar are like newly dating and reader is like a super famous singer song writer and after her first time with scar she releases the song Need to Know (by Doja Cat) and maybe put emphasis on the lyrics "I heard from a friend of a friend

That that dick was a ten out of ten

I can't stand it, just one night me

Clink with the drink, gimme a sip

Tell me what's your kink, gimme the dick

Spank me, slap me, choke me, bite me (ew)

Uh, wait, I can take it (ah)" and the whole world is kinda like shock cause readers music is generally family friendly and stuff also she promotes the song on like maybe Instagram live while the music plays and maybe when the part

"I heard from a friend of a friend

That that dick was a ten out of ten" comes she goes and says that Scarlett's (referring to her Dick) definitely didn't disappoint and she just breaks Instagram that it overloads. Also maybe there is like a gathering for the cast of Avengers(any movie) and they like tease her about including scar but they all get stunned when she just shamelessly grabs and rubs Scar's Dick through her outfit and just says it's definitely a ten out of ten and maybe the end smut?

Please make it a long one if it's not a bother

Need to know

G!p!scarlett Johansson x fem!reader

Warnings: g!p, scarlett being kinda rough, smut, little bit of fluff, breeding kink?

Word count: 1,303

You were an extremely popular singer/songwriter and you recently came out with a song called “Need to know”. It was a very explicit song as you usually do more family friendly stuff but after your first time with your new girlfriend Scarlett Johansson, you had to make a song about it. Here you were on instagram live playing and promoting your song since it came out a few days ago. You were doing a q&a when one of your favorite parts came on.

“I heard from a friend of a friend that that dick was a ten out of ten” you sang along with it and giggled. “Well it’s definitely a ten out of ten. It didn’t disappoint whatsoever.” You say bluntly and you thought instagram was gonna crash from all the notifications and comments you were getting all at once and you let out a chuckle. “Okay guys well I need to go get ready for a premiere I’m going to with Scarlett so I’ll see y’all babies later! Thank you for the support! Bye!” You say to your fans and you get off instagram and started getting ready for tonight.

~ later that evening at the premiere -

It was after the big premiere of a movie and the avengers cast was with you and Scarlett in the after party. Y’all were in a big booth just talking and the topic of your song came up and everyone started teasing you for it. You didn’t exactly mind it because it was all playful teasing but it was until Scarlett chimed in was when you started getting a little annoyed. You were about to tease the fuck out of her because of her little antics she was doing. They kept going and teasing but you weren’t even focused on them.

Your focus was on your girlfriend beside you, looking as good as ever in her suit she has on. While you had on a nice tight fitted dress that made your curves pop out, especially your breast. You had your hand on her thigh, inching closer and closer to the tent in her pants that was growing. You smirked as she stopped bickering and turned her gaze towards you, giving you a look that meant stop but of course you didn’t listen. If she wanted to join in on the bickering, she was gonna face the consequences. You continued teasing her for the rest of the night until she had enough of your behavior.

This was the last straw when everyone was leaving to go home and everyone stood up from the booth and someone decided to make one more comment about the song and that’s when you had it. You reached over to Scarlett and with no shame, grabbed her dick through her pants. Everyone stared and you stood there proudly, still rubbing it. “It’s definitely a gem out of ten. Better than all of y’all’s. So get off my pussy.” You said glaring at them and everyone quickly apologized while Scarlett stood there shocked like everyone was. She then grabbed your hand hard making you look up at her and she gave you a warning glare.

“Car. Now.” She said lowly and you quickly said bye to everyone and went outside to the car to wait on her. A few minutes later, Scarlett came out of the building and opened the drives side, getting in, not even acknowledging you. That’s when you knew you fucked up and were gonna get it when you get home. The drive back home was silent, besides the faint music being played on the radio. When Scarlett pulled up to the house and into y’all’s garage she looked over at you. “Get inside and go up to the bedroom. Strip and wait for me. No touching got it?” Scarlett demanded and you quickly nodded.

When she parked the car you quickly got out of the car and unlocked the front door. You hurried up the stairs and started stripping out of your dress. Once you were completely naked, you sat on the edge of the bed, anxiously waiting for her. It seemed like a lifetime when she finally came through the door, she had unbuttoned her shirt and tie, her sports bra peaking out. “Hm…finally wanting to be a good girl?” Scarlett teased and you didn’t say anything which made her suck her teeth. She went over to you and grabbed your hair softly, making you look up at her. “When I speak to you, you answer me.” She said lowly. “Y-yes daddy.” You whimper out and she smirks, letting go of your hair.

“Good girl. Now…I’m gonna lay back and you’re gonna ride me.” She stated and you nodded. Scarlett got rid of her clothes and went on the bed, laying in the middle of it. You crawled over to her and sat on her lap, your pussy hovering over her dick, precum leaking from the tip. You aligned it with your pussy and you slowly sunk down on it, feeling her stretch you out, inch by inch. Scarlett grunted when you bottomed out and you let out a cry of pleasure. You moved up and down on her, making her let out little moans and grunts. She leaned up and placed her hands on your ass, keeping you in place as you fuck yourself on her.

It wasn’t long before both of y’all’s orgasms were approaching and your movements were getting sloppier and sloppier by the second and Scarlett kew that. So she grabbed your hips harshly and started jackhammering into you making you scream out in pleasure. “Can’t even make yourself cum on my cock hm? Always needing help from me. Such a desperate baby.” Scarlett grunts out as she keeps fucking into you, your pussy swallowing her dick. You felt your orgasm consume you and you fell forward onto her, burying your face in her neck. A few seconds into your orgasm, Scarlett spills her seed deep into you, breeding you.

You whimpered when she completely stopped her movements and then started jackhammering into you again making you gasp. “You didn’t think I was done were you? Tonight is gonna be a long night for you babygirl.”

A/n: this was over a thousand words so I think that’s long enough lol thank you for the request anon, I hope you liked it. I hope everyone else did too. Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y’all :)

[rafecameroninterlude]

congrats on 5k! can i get a chocolate chip cookie🍪 for bitchykook! reader + ‘home to another one’ by madison beer

₊˚⊹ᰔ 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

pairing: rafe cameron x bitchy!kook!reader

summary: ❝call me baby, i know you go back home to another one.❞ — rafe still finds a way to contact you after being with someone else for over a year.

warnings: slight angst, rafe is so mean in this one, arguing, a little bit of name calling lol

word count: 0.5k

“why do you keep doing this?” you sighed into your phone, pinching the bridge of your nose. it was two in the morning, and of course rafe was calling you from an ‘unknown’ number. “i just wanna talk, please don’t hang up this time. just hear me out.” he whispered, making your eyebrows furrow. “why are you whispering, weirdo?” you sat up, taking his silence as your answer. “you, asshole! is she right next to you?” you gasped, getting out of bed and turning on your lamp. the nerve this man had. “no, no, no, i’m- fuck! i’m by myself.” he lied. you rolled your eyes as rafe shuffled around his room, finally deciding it was best to take this phone call somewhere where his girlfriend wasn’t sleeping.

“you’re the worst, you know that?” you ran your fingers through your hair. “yes- i know that, i know..” he trailed off. “look, i can’t do this anymore, i miss you and i need you back. this girl, she’s like a goody goody, alright? she’s boring.” you shook your head at his words. “boring? so you’ve been bored for over a year? you sound ridiculous.” you scoffed, putting him on speaker so you could examine your nails. “she’s talking about wanting to get married and having kids and shit, but i don’t even love her. we have nothing in common, i don’t know how she doesn’t see that!” you were in disbelief. “do you hear yourself? you sound like a psychopath!” you started, “why are you still with that poor girl if you feel this way?” you asked, genuinely concerned.

“i can’t just break things off with her if you won’t take me back, it defeats the whole purpose.” you narrowed your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “what do you mean ‘it defeats the whole purpose’?” you shot back. “i thought if i got with someone else you’d regret breaking things off with me and want me again.” you couldn’t believe your ears, surely they were playing tricks on you. without knowing what to say, you stayed silent. “she doesn’t fight me, she doesn’t resist me, she doesn’t keep me on my toes, i need that.” rafe looked around, making sure he was still the only one in the room.

one of the main reasons why you broke up with rafe was because he said he wanted a girl that didn’t do everything he just listed, and now that he has that girl, he’s back on your phone saying the opposite. “you’ll never be happy with what you have, will you? you calling me has nothing to do with wanting me back, but everything to do with the fact that you’re scared to be by yourself. i may be a bitch, but i’m not cruel. leave that girl alone if you don’t love her,” you took your phone back in your hand, “and if you call me again, i’ll make sure your ‘goody goody’ girlfriend gets all the screenshots of you trying to talk to me over the course of your relationship.. if you could even call it that. don’t you ever call me again.”

[darnell-la]

𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗜𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥

pairing: the wolverine x assassin!reader

warning: Wolverine struggling to regenerate, stabbing, brutal killing, manhandling, pinning, trapped, cutting clothes off, breaking skin, rough sex, begged, hard orgasm, etc.

request: After Logan gets taken back to Japan for his old friend buddy's last goodbye, idk if you've seen that movie but you know how their interaction goes, and then the old friend dies. Basically, people start going after his granddaughter uh sorry anyway after the old friend's funeral Logan gets away with the granddaughter and heads to the safe house. Once there Logan gets to relax for a few days till more bad guys show up and try taking the granddaughter. It makes Logan angry and as he ends up fighting one of the bad guys he discovers it's a female and that's when female y/n comes in place. Maybe Logan is just too tired and overall angry he takes it out on y/n in a very aggressive nsfw fashion of course

note: this story is a bit all over the place because of how angry the Wolverine is in here. He isn’t as nice as usual. He takes what he wants, and of course, y/n’s going to take it all.

Please comment, like, reblog, request, and follow us!

———

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

———

“Mariko?” Logan growled as he woke up on the couch he chose to take so the princess could take the bed. “Hey — Mariko!” Logan groans, sleeping from the well-needed nap after all he’s been through for the past few days.

“Hey?” Logan heard Mariko speak as she opened the front door. Logan quickly leaned up from the couch, remembering that there were people after her.

“Shit,” the man groaned under his breath as he got up, falling at first, but got back up and ran to the front door. She was speaking to someone who he couldn’t see.

“Alright, talk time over,” Logan said as he pulled Mariko from the door. He went to shut it until he saw who stood in front of him. A woman.

“Hi, I was just wondering if you were interested in some fruits?” The woman asked, making him look down at the covered basket she had in hand.

“Come on, Logan — We haven’t eaten a good meal in a while,” the princess spoke behind Logan. He had jumped at her voice, almost forgetting she was there. He was too focused on the woman standing before him in a white wavey dress.

“Uh- Sure, sure — Two for the lady and one for me,” Logan said as he dug into his pockets, looking down to see if he had changed on him.

As Logan locked for chained, he saw the woman open the basket. He saw the fruit, but under the few was a knife. A sharp snide that looked like it was made out of carbonadium. Something that can kill him.

“Shit- Princess, safe room-“ before he could finish as he turned around, the woman kicked open the door, making the man fall to the ground.

Mariko screamed as y/n ripped her dress off, showing her in a suit. The wavey skirt and the tight shirt that was swordproof, made Mariko’s heart pound. She knew this was the doing of her father.

Y/n jumped onto the man’s back as several other men came into the house from different angles.

Y/n quickly stuck the man in his upper shoulder, causing him to yell out in pain. She twisted in carbonadium knife, smirking at the pain he finally could feel. “You won’t be healing soon,” she said before getting off of the man to go after Mariko.

“No, no!” The man tried grabbing after the woman, but he couldn’t. The pain that went through his shoulder only angered him. This whole fucking situation angered him.

Logan growled as he struggled to get up onto his knees. It took him a while, but he finally got to his feet, almost tipping over, but he held himself together.

The man reached behind his back, struggling to find the knife until he did. The man gripped it hard before pulling it out with an animalistic yell.

“Hurry! He’s coming back!” Y/n, the woman yelled at her men as they tried breaking done the steal door Mariko was hiding behind. She was quick to run, giving Logan time to get up and active.

“Who sent you?” Logan asked, slightly knowing who it could be, but he needed to know for sure. “He’s back! Fight!” Y/n yelled, making her men turn around and attack Logan.

Y/n stayed behind, trying to cut the wires to the key, but it would take a while. She needed to cut the right ones.

The noises Logan made as he fought the men with carbonadium swords, slightly scared y/n. She told Mariko’s grandfather that she was ready, but she knew nothing about Logan.

He was an animal. An animal that has been holding anger for years, and these past few days have been bottling up inside of him.

The carbonadium wasn’t working on the man. Yes, it cut through his skin, making it sting worse than usual, but he still slightly healed. The adrenaline in his body was the danger.

“Retreat! Retreat!” One of her men said, making her turn around to see Logan rip apart the last few remaining. She jumped at the way his claws sliced one’s neck.

Logan was on one knee, in a superhero landing position as he breathed heavily, claws out and to the side as he tightened his fists.

“Shit,” y/n took off and ran towards the back door that was open after Logan looked up at her. His eyes were dark, his fangs showed, his mouth quivered and his growls were deep. She was the last one left. She needed to get out.

Y/n almost made it to the front door, hoping she could make it to the van they all came in, but she was caught and thrown back in the house.

Y/n whined as she grabbed her side, feeling pain in an instant. She was no mutant. She was a human. She’s trained almost her whole life, but she would never stand a chance against someone like the Wolverine.

“I’ll give you a chance like I gave you men. Who sent you!?” Logan asked, walking over to her as she slowly crawled backward on the floor.

“Please, spare me,” the young lady said as he held a hand out, still not willing to give up her senpai’s name. “Who the fuck sent you woman!” Logan yelled as he hovered over her.

“Logan! The fight is done, just let her go! This is not her fault!” Mariko yelled from inside the safe room. As Logan heard her pushing the codes, he ran over to the door and roped out the outside keypad, making the inside malfunction.

“Logan? Logan! Logan!” Mariko yelled, feeling his anger from inside the room. “Stay there, princess. I’ve got some business to take care of,” Logan said as he looked back at y/n.

Y/n quickly got up in pain and ran. She yelled, hoping someone would maybe hear and help her, but even if they could hear her, who would want to go against the Wolverine.

“You ain’t gettin’ out of here,” Logan lunged after the young lady until he got her, picking her up and slamming onto the hardwood table in the dining room.

Y/n yelped, trying to move and get rid of the pain, but Logan picked her up and slammed her back onto the table.

“Ow!” She cried out as he stared down at her in anger. One hand retracted his claws as he pushed her shoulder down and the other stayed out, hovering over her face.

“Don’t make me hurt you if I don’t have to, Bub. Who sent you?” The man asked as his blades slightly stuck at her neck to scare her.

Usually, he would’ve killed her but now, the way she looked at him in fear and struggled with his one hand on her shoulder, made his breathing slow down. She wasn’t alarming. She wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

“You were badass just a second ago. Climbing in my back and stabbing me with that carbonadium or adamantium shit,”

“Please, just- Just let me go,” y/n begged as the blades broke the skin, making tears slip from her eyes. “Why can’t you just tell me, kid. You’re risking your life for someone who doesn’t care for yours,” Logan said, feeling a bit sad for the young lady, but he couldn’t show that. At least not at this time.

“I will never give his name. I serve him with all my life,” y/n said, eyes so glossy, she could barely see Logan. “That’s a shame, princess,” Logan traced his blades down the girl's neck, making viable scratches.

The man watched the woman’s mouth part, trying to keep in the pain, but she was human. It stung like hell.

“You’ll do anything for your master? Anything?” He asked as his blade stopped in the middle of her shirt, at the top of the collar. “Anything,” she tried seeming tough, but that soon faded as the made ripped at her suit.

Y/n’s tits flashed the man, making him groan low. “No bra on a mission? What did you expect when you got here?” Logan said, making it seem like she dressed this way for him.

“W-Wolverine, please,” y/n sobbed low as his eyes trailed down the rest of her body. “Pretty girls shouldn’t be out on missions. Especially for me. Do you know what I do to those girls?” Logan asked as he slowly lifted her skirt.

Mariko had no idea what was going on from front the outside. He had destroyed the speaker on the keypad. He can tell himself he didn’t plan this, but distorting the speaker could argue against that.

“P-Please — Take her, and I’ll leave. I won’t follow,” y/n said, feeling her heart rate speed up. “But I haven’t told you what I do to pretty girls like you,” Logan said as his blade trailed down her stomach until it cut her panties.

Y/n whined as she bucked her hips, trying to get from under him, but there was no use. The man chuckles as he rips the rest of her panties off.

“I teach them a real lesson,” Logan said as he began tugging on his belt. “W-Wolverine, stop this. Spare me, I swear I won’t follow,” Y/n said as her eyes kept switching from his eyes to his crotch.

“After I’m done with you, you’ll be coming with us. You’ve fucked yourself over,” Logan said. “N-No — No, I can’t,” y/n finally began pushing at his arm and pushed her shoulder down.

Logan retracted his last claws before he reached into his jeans and pulled himself out. Y/n had stopped moving for a second, eyes widening as she scanned his length.

The man was painfully hard, cock red and slightly blue as pre cum slipped past the slit of his tip. “N-No,” y/n stuttered as she slowly began to fight again, kicking and clawing at him, but nothing was working.

“You said you’d do anything for your master. Let’s see how much you’ll do,” he said as he moved up in between her legs, making her legs part wide.

“N-No, sir!” Y/n pushed at his lower stomach as he pushed at her entrance. “C’mon, princess. Let me in,” Logan growled, hands coming to her waist to grip and pull her into him.

“S-Sir,” y/n stuttered with a whine as she threw her head back. The young lady's back arched as her hands grabbed his wrist, trying to grab onto something to help the pain she felt in her lower stomach.

He was huge, and he knew that. He was just too angry to care about it. He needed to take it out somehow, and this random assassin that was sent to kill him and take Mariko was perfect. She was perfect.

“Should’ve quit, baby. Should’ve said no to this mission,” the man began moving at a fast hard pace, watching her body jolt at his strokes.

“P-Please, stop!” Y/n cried out, feeling her orgasm near. She was going to cum by the Wolverine pounding into her. How could she? How could she do this to her people?

“You sure, Bub? You’re about to cum — I can feel it,” Logan growled as he snapped his hips faster, watching her grip his worst tightened and shake her head.

It was getting hard to hold in her moans. He used her so well, and she couldn’t lie and say she hated it. Her body said the complete opposite. She was going to gush around him, and he was going to shoot it.

“Names Logan, by the way, Bub, and I’m gonna use all my anger out on you,”

Logan pulled back and picked the girl up, throwing her over his shoulders, and made his way into the spare room he let Mariko have last night.

“L-Logan,” y/n said the man’s name, not actually knowing why. The man threw y/n on the bed, instantly hovered over her, and turned her onto her stomach.

“Please, spare-“ y/n went to beg again, embarrassed that she wanted to explode, but he ignored her as he forced his way back through her slit, stretching her at a different angle.

Y/n cried into the pillow as her hands flew back, trying to slow his thrust by placing her hands on his lower stomach.

The man was shirtless when he opened the door, and at first, y/n was thankful for that because she could stab him better, but now, she was glad that she could feel him.

She was a struggling mess, giving him a hard time, but she knew deep down she loved this. She loved being taken just like this by him. By the Wolverine.

“C’mon, baby — Take it,” Logan grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them on her back before pushing down and snapping his hips.

Y/m felt like her back was going to break. Her vision had already gone blurry and her legs had started trembling.

With no words, only moans, y/n came around Logan’s cock, soaking him and the bed. “Ah huh, ah huh,” the man groaned as one of his hands gripped her hair and pulled her head back to hear her.

“Don’t fuckin’ hide it, kid. Cry on my cock proudly. Keep sickin’ me in for your master,” Logan said with a smirk, knowing she’d feel embarrassed if he knew what she was up to.

“Assassin my ass — Look at you. Fuckin’ weak. So fuckin’ weak, you can barely talk,” Logan teased before pushing her head into the pillow she was just crying in.

“Take it, take it! Fuckin’ take me, baby,”

[rosenclaws]

Logan Howlett x gn!reader who’s not a mutant, but has a very high precognitive sense (in which they can sense when a ball might hit someone and catch it without looking / or anything similar to the matter heh)

warnings: gn!reader, the reader is crazy flirty with logan, some drunk assholes being dicks, it gets a little suggestive idk how I keep doing this.

a/n: Okay i can’t lie i was struggling a little bit coming up with an idea but i did my best. Shout out to @huffle-punk for helping me ily bitch

Logan was no stranger to seedy bars. In fact he might call them his home away from home. He just needed an out. A place that actually served alcohol for once. The mansion was nice and all but sometimes the man needed a drink. So he hopped on his motorcycle and rode for a while until he stumbled upon some hole in the wall.

He scoped out the bar as soon as he walked in. Taking note of everyone who was there. It was mostly dead. Some loud assholes by the darts and a few people sitting in the booths but that's about it. He was naturally alert. His kind weren’t always welcome in places like these.

“What can I get for you?" The bartender nods towards him as he sits on one of the bar stools. Logan takes out a 20 and hands it to the guy.

"You got Molson Ex?" The guy nods and cracks one open for him.

"Whiskey sour please." A voice next to him says.

He glances over to see you standing at the bar. Now that peeks his interest. You look too good to be here in a place like this. You catch his glance and smirk.

"Never seen you here before." You take the seat next to him. He was a stranger for sure but a very good looking one. Logan cocks an eyebrow before taking another sip of his beer.

"Not a talker huh handsome?"

"You always this forward with strangers?" Logan asks, slightly amused by your flirting.

"Only when they're hot. You should be flattered."

The bartender comes back with your drink and before you can pay Logan gestures to put it on his tab. You take a sip of your drink and set it down close to his beer. Logan turns his body towards you, letting you see just how built this man was. You bite your lip as you shamelessly look him up and down.

"You got somewhere to be?" Logan asks a playful smirk on his lips.

"Nope."

You don't know how much time has passed since you started talking to Logan. He was one of those mysterious brooding guys, not even a last name as you flirt up a storm. That's okay, you don't need to know his last name. The space between you two got smaller and smaller as the night went on. Moving away from the barstools to the back of the room. More hidden, more private. His hands have found their way to your back. Holding you close as he leans in close.

"Logan..." You hum as you trail your hand up his chest. Gently grabbing onto his shirt. You roll your eyes as the group of guys by the darts start to get rowdier. The more alcohol they have in them the more obnoxious they get.

"We should get out of here." He hums, he registers your words but he doesn't move. Instead leaning closer, his lips ghosting your jaw as he gently nips below your ear.

You body tenses as your hand shoots out before you can even think, catching the dart that was heading directly for Logan's neck. Logan looks at you in slight confusion. How you managed to react so quickly.

"Hey assholes!" You slip out from Logan's arms and march over to them.

"Watch where you're fucking throwing these things." You throw the dart on the table.

"Or what?" One them gets up, he's not as intimidating as he thinks but he's clearly drunk. You roll your eyes and turn to leave. A hand grabs your wrist harshly and pulls you back. In a flash Logan is by your side. Practically ripping the guys hand off you and pushing him into the table.

"Don't fucking touch 'em bub." Logan growls.

Your eyes widen as you see metal peek out from his knuckles. He's a mutant. The drunk guys scramble away from him. You tug on Logan's arm. Noticing stares from the rest of the people, fear in their eyes. "Come on," He sheathes his claws and looks around. Wordlessly he storms out of the bar with you hot on his heels. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a cigar, letting out a small groan as he lights it.

"You alright?" Logan asks, noticing that you've followed him out.

"Yeah I'm okay. Are you?" He takes another puff of his cigar and nods.

"Those are some crazy reflexes."

"Yeah, I don't know I've just always had them but I'm not a..." You trail off as you become unsure if you should say anything.

"A mutant?" He finishes for you. He laughs, shaking his head as he gets on his motorcycle.

"Wait Logan! I, I like you and I'm sorry those assholes ruined our night but I don't want it to end." You place your hand on top of his.

It's been flirty, fun, casual up until now but there's a clear attraction that you can't ignore, you don't want to ignore it.

"You sure you can handle a mutant?" Your hand jerks away as his claws come out. Oh that's how he wants to play it.

"I can handle some kitty claws Logan," You tease, running your fingers along his claws.

"The real question is, can you handle me?"

[trees-for-aidan]

THURS

SEPT. 19th

2024

7:25AM

🌿 A Late Birthday Tribute to Aidan Gallagher & His Father: Help Plant a Tree for Free 🌿

As a late birthday gift to Aidan Gallagher and his father, I invite you to join me in honoring them by planting a tree for free. 🌱 It would mean the world to me, and I’m sure it would to him as well, knowing who he is and what he stands for. Aidan has been doing incredible work for the planet, and if you care about the Earth—even just a little—this is a simple way to help.

In a cosmic sense, how can we expect kindness for ourselves if we don’t extend it to each other, or to the Earth? The planet needs us to show up for it, just as much as we need it to show up for us. So please, pledge to plant a tree in honor of Aidan and his father. 🌍💚

This cause is especially important to me because, when I think of the state of the world, sometimes it’s hard to find hope. But knowing people like Aidan are out there fighting for the future gives me a reason to keep believing. Sure, he’s just one person making a dent, but with enough support, that dent can become a full-on collision of change. 🌱✨ I believe in what he’s doing, and one day, I know the world will be greener because of him.

Aidan is incredibly passionate, well-spoken, and intelligent. If you’ve ever heard him speak, you know he talks with a sense of certainty and security, even if he doesn’t realize it himself. It’s comforting. He genuinely cares about the future of the planet, and his actions show it. He’s not just an entertainer, but someone who truly gives a damn about whether we live or die—and whether the planet lives or dies. That’s why I admire him.

I don’t have to do any of this, but I’m doing it because I see his vision. 🌍 I believe in it. I admire the work he’s doing. If we don’t take action now, who will? Every moment counts, and we can make a difference, right here, right now. We can live healthier lives that help both our bodies and the planet.

So here’s my pledge to Aidan’s mission. I may be new to his family, but I’m proud to be part of a community that stands behind someone who genuinely cares about the future of this Earth. It’s rare to find someone so mindful, so aware of their impact, and so committed to making real change. 🌿

Let’s help make that change. Let’s plant a tree for Aidan. 🌳

#PlantForAidan #AidansFamily #EarthFirst #GreenerFuture #PlantATree #AidanGallagher #EcoWarrior #BirthdayTribute #SustainableLiving

[schoenpepper]

Mwah!

Intro: Your way of love is spontaneous and loud, and your boyfriend is probably dying (affectionate).

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread

A/N: Sup. This is a request. K bye.

edit: totally forgot to tag mb i thought this was anonymous haha @fsh1

Masterlist

“What’s this?”

You glance at the large circular item in your hands. Sure the cake is a bit burnt, and the strawberries were a little more geometric than the hearts you had tried to shape them to be, but it’s not unrecognizable, is it? “It’s a strawberry shortcake,” you answer with a smile, “you like these, right? I made it myself.”

Riddle hesitantly accepts, but not without another question. “What is it for?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the occasion?”

You laugh and move closer to him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. He’s bright red, clearly flustered, and he shyly looks away as he raises the plate up to cover his face. “Riddle,” you whisper softly, “I don’t need an occasion to show my love for you.”

The housewarden of Heartslabyul cannot deal with random acts of love very well.

Especially if you do it in public.

He’ll reprimand you with a blush and claim something or the other is against the rules.

And as such, the best way to deal with him is to do all those things in the confines of his or your room. Somewhere away from the eyes of the public.

Unfortunately for him, that doesn’t exactly fall under “spontaneity”, does it?

Well, if you insist…

He’s a bit too whipped, for lack of a better word, to actually stop you.

Your hands cup his cheeks so lovingly while you’re seated on his lap, peppering his face with butterfly kisses. Try as he might, Azul can’t find it in himself to push you away. He’s almost shaking in embarrassment with the way you’re acting…

And because the two of you aren’t alone.

From another corner of his office, the twins are snickering and whispering among themselves, whereas his “client” is nervously averting his gaze from your scandalous behavior in between the eels. Azul puts his hands on your shoulders and asks with a trembling smile, “My dear, we’re quite busy here. Is there anything you require of me?”

You grin and shake your head, “Nope! I just missed you, that’s all.”

Your words are punctuated with another kiss to his lips.

Have you ever seen someone so embarrassed and shy that they physically collapse?

Dear, you will soon if you don’t stop barging into his meetings and flirting with him as if there was nobody else there.

Please have mercy on this poor soul.

His right hand man has gathered enough blackmail to last a lifetime.

(Jade wants you to continue, please, don’t stop on his account or his camera’s)

Azul isn’t very used to such flashy, random displays of affection.

But if it’s you…he supposes he can try to adapt. He’d rather not change you or your wondrous nature.

“Hold still, darling.”

You can’t follow Vil’s words—you follow the rush of adrenaline that zips through your veins and you move to kiss him, smearing the lipstick he’d just applied to your freshly moisturized lips. Your boyfriend looks at you exasperatedly while his vice housewarden (whom you did not know was in the room with you) is clapping and spouting nonsense.

“And which part of hold still did you not understand?” Vil raises an eyebrow.

“All of it,” you reply cheekily while wrapping your arms around him, “I feel like kissing you lots today. Is that bad?”

He huffs and rolls his eyes, but the slightest hint of a smile creeps up on his lips.

You’ll have to be a little more restrained, paparazzi’s always breathing down his neck and he can’t have the two of you be some after-dinner talk for others.

But in more private locations where he’s absolutely sure you’re alone, he’ll indulge you readily.

You can’t exactly control your PDA though, so Vil gets himself accustomed to magical disguises for outings.

Something about his favorite shade of lipstick makes you want to smudge it with a kiss.

It’s smudge proof, but keep trying.

Vil rarely gets flustered, but catch him when he’s super off guard and you can do it.

[wooziorgans]

moon song || ljh

warnings: post breakup au. ex idol!reader. reader has an implied suicide attempt(s) in the past. reader is implied to do something akin to relapsing at the end of the fic. ed talk. lots of pressure that comes w being an idol. clubs. drinking. seungcheol hates y/n for leaving. leaving the idol industry behind. seeing your ex after four years. hurt w very little comfort. right person, wrong time.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: vent piece mostly. abt my frustration of still being sick, abt my frustration of not seeming to get better, abt how it never seems to stop. abt all of my wasted potential as a person. all of it, none of it, everything and nothing at all. i am so tired.

please read with caution. this is just a lot of emotions all in one place.

The loud bass that hits your head as soon as you enter the club makes your head pound immediately. It’s been four long years since you’ve even been in this part of Seoul, let alone been in a club with this group of ex-colleagues.

Ex-colleagues is certainly one way to put it. They were all so much more, and you know that this is just an excuse for all of them to get drunk. You wonder briefly if Jihoon’s here. He never used to drink, but then again, he didn’t do a lot of things until you were in the picture. You wonder how much has changed now that you’re not.

The memory of him burns like a hot iron branding your back, and you head to the nearest table of refreshments to grab a drink. If he’s here, you’ll need all the alcohol you can get your hands on. Maybe that makes you no better than anyone else; no better than the scene you so desperately needed to leave four years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.

You’re no longer apart of it. What you do now won’t cost you your career. If the night ends with you passed out in an alley way simply because you saw your ex at an album release party for an album he produced, so be it. He never comes to these things anyways.

At least, he didn’t when you knew him. You haven’t known Jihoon for a long time. It’s been four years after all; a lot can change in a week, let alone four years.

Like your decision to leave the K-pop industry. You had mulled over it for weeks, before you brought it up to anyone, and you didn’t go to Jihoon first. He was the last person you told. At least, officially, that you were leaving.

All those years of work as a trainee, just for it to be nothing. All of the tears, the angry screams into your pillow, the poverty your company forced you into in the first few years of your career because it was boarding on bankruptcy. All of this wasted potential. Maybe you could’ve been someone great.

You were, for a few years. Your group took off, and the first few years of success made all of the hard work feel like it was worth something. But as the saying goes, too much of a good thing won’t be good for long.

The pressure started to build, and it built until it boiled over and you were found on the verge of doing something terrible in your bathroom by your boyfriend and your manager after a week of unusual silence. Jihoon never was a crier, but god did he sob as he held you in the back of the ambulance. He had never begged for anything the way he begged for you to talk to him.

Please, god, please talk to me Y/N. Please, baby. I can’t— I can’t lose you.

It’s funny, really, how things work out. You dug yourself so deep into this hole of despair from the pressure of being an idol, that the only way out of it was to completely separate yourself from that life and start over.

After terminating your contract, you broke up with Jihoon. Or, you didn’t break up with him, only told him that you needed to take a break while you sorted yourself out. After being on a break for four years, is it still just a break? Or are you broken up at that point?

Both you and Jihoon know the answer to that.

Three years of no social media, no articles about you, none of your old friends reaching out to check in on you because they held a contractual obligation to be nice to you in the hallways. Three and a half years out of the spotlight. Three and a half years of peace, of healing, of sorting your life out and learning how to breathe again.

It’s been four years without Jihoon, and you didn’t really think much about the consequences that potentially sharing a space with him would have. But now they’re suffocating. All you can think about is the potential possibility of him being here, which, he wouldn’t be, right? He hates these kinds of gatherings. He used to skip his own release parties to watch shitty romance movies with you on the couch in his studio.

Does he have someone new to watch romance movies with? Or has he given up romance altogether? You know from the first few months, updates provided by Soonyoung, that he didn’t take the distance very well. You know that he missed you, and he worried about you constantly. You know you’re spiralling, and you know all those years of therapy will be for nothing if you don’t pull yourself out of it.

You don’t have to do that, because Seungkwan does it for you. “Y/N? You came!” He seems elated that you’re here, off his rocker, probably drunk.

“Of course I came! It’s your first album as BSS, Seungkwan.” You smile, and it’s not forced at all. You have completely forgotten how easy it is to fall into banter with Seungkwan. It’s almost like you never left in the first place.

Except something in his eyes seems off. That’s your first red flag to turn around and get the fuck out of this club, but you don’t. “My god. It’s been so long. How are you doing?” With anyone else, the small talk would’ve taken you out back and killed you. It’s different with Seungkwan.

Different how? He was one of the only people who consistently checked in on you when you first left. As you settled into your new life, the texts became less frequent; now, four years later they’re hardly anything to notice, but he’ll still send you a text on every holiday, and he’s wished you happy birthday every year since you met him.

“I’m doing a lot better. I’m… I’m good.” You laugh softly. Seungkwan smiles at you.

“That’s good. I’ve missed having you around— of course I don’t expect you to come back into this scene, but it would be nice to see you sometime.” Seungkwan squeezes your shoulder softly and smiles wider.

“Yeah, of course. I know I’ve been gone, but I’ll make it less hard to get a hold of me. I’ve missed all of you, truth be told.” You smile back. “I’ve just… been doing a lot of healing and I think it’s about time I finally start reconnecting with people. Is everyone here?” You ask.

“Oh, yeah. We’re all here! I kind of spilled that I invited you so everyone decided to come just in case you showed up.” The depth of all doesn’t really seem to cross Seungkwan’s mind; he’s certainly not thinking about Jihoon right now, or Seungcheol for that matter. You’re pretty sure Seungcheol would punch you if he caught sight of you. Maybe Jihoon would too. You have no idea how Jihoon even feels about you.

“Even, uh, Jihoon?” The smile falls from Seungkwan’s face.

“Oh. Yeah. He’s here too.” Seungkwan swallows when he sees your face shift. “You… he-he wants to talk to you. It’s not my place to really say, but he’s not mad. I think he just wants closure.”

So maybe Jihoon wouldn’t punch you. That’s a bit of a relief.

“Oh my god! Y/N! You came!” It’s Seokmin, very clearly drunk. You didn’t keep in contact with him, though he did send you a few paragraphs over text as he wished you all the best, telling you to reach out if you ever needed anything. You didn’t take him up on the offer.

“I did!” You smile, tilting your head as you look up at Seokmin.

“Can I have a hug?” He’s already opening his arms and you slide right into them. His hug is firm and warm. You’ve missed Seokmin a lot more than you cared to admit. Seungkwan grumbles about how he should’ve asked for a hug and you laugh, pulling him into one.

You catch up with Seokmin briefly before he’s being pulled away by someone you don’t know. You stick with Seungkwan, talking about your life, the album, avoiding the subject of Jihoon.

And then you turn your head at the bright sound of laughter, and you see him. You see him, and he’s not the same mess he was when you left him with no promise of when you’d see each other next. He’s not the scared man in his early twenties who had no idea if you were going to die on him. He’s not the man who stayed with you in the hospital for days on end.

He’s not the producer you knew who’d slide his headphones over your ears as he pulled you into his lap. He’s not the warm hand that held yours because you forgot your gloves again. He’s not the hushed giggles at four in the morning, or the hurried kisses, or the soft whimpers and praises as you tangled yourselves in his bedsheets.

Jihoon isn’t yours anymore.

You had hoped he wouldn’t be such a sore subject for you anymore, but seeing him in all of his glory four years later… god does it fucking hurt. You’ve done a lot of healing in the last four years, but in that time you never really had the time to process the loss of Jihoon.

Soonyoung spots you, and that’s when you know you’re doomed, because if Soonyoung is distracted, Jihoon always notices the thing that catches him off guard. You try to pull your eyes away from Jihoon, but you can’t. You swear he’s gotten more beautiful in the last four years.

He’s gotten bigger, physically— far more muscular. You can see the curve of his pecks through his shirt, one that isn’t even tight against his body. Jihoon’s always been a big fitness buff, but it appears he’s put more effort into himself. His biceps strain against the fitted sleeves of his long sleeve black shirt.

Jihoon’s face looks different too. He still has the same round cheeks you used to always pinch and prod at. His jawline is still soft, but it’s more defined. His eyes are bright, and the bags under them are still there. You wonder briefly if he’s ever gotten rid of them; if the skin under his eyes has ever matched the rest of his milky complexion.

His hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it. Dark and flowy, it’s reflective and healthy, half tied up with what would be his undercut hanging freely. A few pieces frame his face. It looks soft and healthy. Jihoon looks soft and healthy.

He’s smiling as he scans the crowd to find what Soonyoung is distracted by, and then he spots you. The smile is wiped off of Jihoon’s face faster than your brain can even register it. Seungkwan stiffens beside you, hand finding your shoulder to steady you as you stumble briefly, but the pull between you and Jihoon is too much.

Both of you start moving towards each other, pushing your way through the crowd. “Y/N.” His voice comes out in a breath, chest heaving and then he’s there, right in front of you, after four years.

You don’t know what to say, can’t process the fact that he’s in front of you, as beautiful as ever. “Jihoon,” you echo, “hi.” You can’t help the small smile that threatens to pull at your lips. The tension on Jihoon’s face eases, but he doesn’t smile back.

“Hi. How are you doing?” Jihoon asks, and if it was anyone else, it would’ve been a sad attempt at small talk. It’s Jihoon, so you know he’s asking how you’re doing now, if you’re better. A part of him is asking if you still feel like killing yourself. The answer to the last part is no.

“I’m… better. A lot better.” You laugh awkwardly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t doing okay.” Now, Jihoon actually does smile at you, and though it’s small, it’s still there.

“You look a lot better. Healthier. I’m glad.” Jihoon takes a sip of his drink as he looks down at you. He’s right; you’re much healthier now. There’s solid meat on your bones, your thighs touch and your ribs don’t show anymore. Your face has filled out, cheeks full and round. Your eyes don’t look as though they’re sunken into your skull, they’re brighter now; they seem to shine with life in a way they never have before.

Jihoon takes you in properly, and god, you’ve gotten so much more beautiful since the last time he saw you. It hurts. It hurts a lot to see how good you look now, without him. He knows it’s a lot more complicated than that, but it still hurts nonetheless.

You look healthy, like an actual person and not a skeleton, and you were never that way when you were an idol. You were never like that when you were with Jihoon.

“Oh, um, thank you. Should we… should we sit? We have a lot to talk about.” You laugh again to hide your nerves. Jihoon can still read you, and he knows you’re brimming with nerves. He knows you’re a little scared, probably more than a little, and he is too.

You’ve never breached the subject, hardly even talked about your breakup. Jihoon doesn’t like to think about it. He just doesn’t. He doesn’t like to think about how much worse you were doing, even if it destroyed him. The breakup was harder on you, tenfold, and you went through it alone.

“I- uh. Yeah, yeah, we can go sit. It’s probably about time we talk.” Jihoon laughs nervously, closing his eyes for a second. He wordlessly starts walking towards the vacant booths of the club. You follow close behind.

Jihoon sits down, and you take a seat across from him. It’s silent for a few moments. Both of you are staring at your cups, not drinking, just swirling your liquids of choice.

Jihoon speaks first, but he can’t look at you. “Why’d you have to leave me?” He asks, and his voice breaks softly as he says it. You certainly weren’t expecting that as the first question he asked, but you don’t really know what else he would’ve asked.

“I… I had to leave everything that had to do with being an idol behind. You… you included.” It’s a shitty answer, but you can’t think in Jihoon’s presence.

“I understand that, but I would’ve been there for you. I would’ve helped you get help. You didn’t have to do it by yourself, Y/N. I loved you; I would’ve done anything to make sure you were safe.” Jihoon’s bites at his lip, eyes sparkling in the low lights of the club. He looks like he’s about to cry, and god does it break your heart.

He loved you, past tense. It’s jarring. It stings, but what else did you expect? For him to still want you? That’s unrealistic and completely unfair to expect from him.

It hits you then that you might still be in love with him. That makes this next part so much harder.

“I know. I know, but it made sense to me at the time. I can’t- I can’t rationalize anything that I did at that time in my life. None of it makes sense, but I made a lot of choices that I regret and I can’t go back on them now. It’s too late for that and I’m- I’m so sorry for everything I put you through, Jihoon. All of it; everything, god, I’m so sorry.” You spill, and the soft burn in the back of your throat makes it hard to speak as you try not to cry. “You didn’t deserve to deal with any of it.” You whisper softly.

“Y/N,” Jihoon whispers back, “I forgave you a long time ago. I just want closure.” Closure. Jihoon wants closure, meaning he wants to move on. The tears in his eyes shine brightly, though they don’t fall, but he’s crying nonetheless, and that makes you feel worse.

“I don’t deserve that though. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for just leaving you. Seungcheol still hasn’t forgiven me; why the hell would you?” You swallow hard, and that seems to break the dam as the first few tears slip down your cheeks.

“Seungcheol has his own issues. We never told him the full story, and maybe that’s why he’s still… iffy about the whole thing. But I forgive you. I just, I want to stop hiding from you. I don’t want to be worried about running into you somewhere and not knowing what to say. I still care about you, so much, and, god does it fucking kill me to still worry about you when you’ve never made an effort to reach out to me.” Jihoon’s always been blunt, so you should’ve expected this, but it makes you feel worse; guilty. “I would’ve answered your calls, in a heartbeat. You know I would’ve.” Jihoon blinks, and the first few tears fall down his face.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to call you after so long. I spent six months in and out of the hospital, and after that I had to get back on my feet. By the time I even had time to think about calling you, it’d been a year, and to me that was too late.” You close your eyes and exhale deeply, fingers twitching.

Jihoon used to hold your hands when you were upset to stop them from twitching so much. He used to pull your head close to his chest and wipe your tears with the pads of his thumbs. He makes no effort to do so now. Jihoon can’t even look at you properly.

He’s focused on picking at the calluses on his palms. Some things never change.

“You- six months? Y/N, fuck, I had no idea. I knew it was bad but, shit, really?” Jihoon’s voice breaks fully, and all you can do is nod. “How many more times? How many times did you—?” He can’t finish his sentence. His throat closes up.

“Four.” Jihoon has nothing to say in reply. He can’t, not with the deep hurt that settles in his chest, so you elaborate. “I really just wanted to die. The media was on my ass for the first year and it was just bad. I spent the next year after that in a rehabilitation program to fix my relationship with food and it helped a lot. I found a good therapist and I’m still seeing her. It’s helped a lot. I’m- I’m clean.” You pick up your cup, hand shaking, and take a large drink to calm your nerves.

“I’m really glad that you’re healthy now. Really, god, that’s such a relief.” Jihoon’s tears are steady now. He wipes at them with his sleeve. You mutter a soft thank you.

Outside of the booth, the noise has been blocked out by your conversation, but you hear something peculiar. It’s Seungcheol, his voice is loud and booming. He’s angry.

“What the fuck are they doing here?! Seriously, why did you even invite them?” Both you and Jihoon look up at the same time to see Joshua and Mingyu trying to deescalate the situation. Seungkwan is yelling back, face red as he tries to block Seungcheol’s view of the booth you and Jihoon are sat in.

“No, I’ve fucking had it with all of you. Defending them for just fucking leaving Jihoon without a word. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you bring them here?” Seungcheol is drunk and looking for a confrontation with you, and that’s enough of a threat to have you and Jihoon standing as he tries to usher you out of the club without Seungcheol seeing.

“Fuck, you should probably go.” Jihoon pulls you close to him, shielding you from Seungcheol’s view. You nod, walking fast beside him as you push your way through the crowd.

“Yah! You, get the fuck back here!” Neither of you listen as you push your way out of the door. You make the mistake of looking behind you to see Joshua and Mingyu physically holding Seungcheol back. Wonwoo is there now too, standing in front of him to prevent him from walking.

The outside air is cold and bitter. You shiver as you pull out your phone to order a ride. You and Jihoon are completely silent. He’s standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat radiating off onto you.

“I’ll wait with you. How long?” He asks, voice shaky.

“Two minutes.” You only have two minutes left with Jihoon. It’s so finite, the time you’re spending with him. If only you had more time.

You’re not afforded that luxury as you shiver beside him. “Can I- is it okay if I—?” You nod, unsure of what he’s asking. It’s a yes either way. Jihoon pulls you into his arms in a tight, warm hug. His hands don’t find their way into your hair, or rub your back. He just holds you. It’s all he can do.

Both of you ignore the mutual swell of warmth in your chests. You’re still in love with him, you know that, and that’s why the car seems to show up in no time. Your phone chimes as the car pulls up in front of the club as you reluctantly start to separate yourselves.

There’s so much you didn’t get to talk about. You tell him so. “We, fuck, I had so much more to say. I had so much more to explain. You, god, you were the right person, Jihoon. Everything else was just so wrong.” You thought the weight would’ve been lifted off your chest, but it only hurts more. You close your eyes as you turn away.

“Y/N, fuck, don’t do this to me right now.” Jihoon whispers, eyes filling with tears once again.

“I’m sorry Jihoon. I love you. I’ll see you around.” You open the door to the car.

“I, yeah. Take care of yourself.” Jihoon can’t look at you, no way in hell can he look at you as you close the door and drive off. He stands still in the cold, watching as the car disappears from his sight. He leans against the wall, head falling back as the tears start pouring freely.

As he pushes the door to the club open, it hits him hard, fills his whole body as a bone deep love for you settles. And it hurts, god does it hurt. Seungcheol’s calmed down, but the snide remark that slips past his lip doesn’t even register in Jihoon’s brain. All Jihoon recognizes is his tone, and that’s enough.

“I’ll punch you right in your fucking mouth, Seungcheol, I swear to god. Shut the fuck up.” Jihoon hardly ever makes threats, but when he does it has everyone going quiet. Seungcheol, Joshua and Mingyu stop in their tracks. There’s been enough drama for one night.

Jihoon grabs a new drink and chugs it, before he goes to grab his coat. He needs to get out of here before the sob building in his throat bursts.

You manage to keep your tears at bay until you enter your apartment. You find yourself in the bathroom, against the cold tile and the porcelain of the bathtub. You don’t do anything, just sit there and breathe as the tears flow freely.

It wasn’t supposed to end like that. You were supposed to have more time to reconcile with Jihoon. You and bathrooms have seen a lot of hurt. Most of your bad decisions are made in bathrooms. You don’t do anything, you just sit there for a few minutes as you cry.

Nothing happens the next night. Or the night after. A week after the release party, Jihoon still plagues your mind and that’s when you crack. Your old manager turned friend answers the phone.

“Hi. You okay?” Yena asks softly, voice ridden with sleep.

“Drive me to the hospital? I think I need stitches.” You laugh nervously. The adrenaline has worn off and all you feel is regret.

“Y/N.” She sighs, but it’s not disappointment. She’s seen a lot of things with you, and supported you through all of them. You’re the reason she quit being a manager and went back to university. You made her realize the idol life isn’t as glamorous as it seems, and you’ve formed a very solid friendship over the past five years. “You know they’re gonna keep you for a few days, right?”

“Yeah. I know. It was impulsive. Like, I’m fine now. I just couldn’t stop thinking.” You sigh.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be on the way. Cold water and pressure until I get there, yeah?” You laugh softly.

“Already on it.” The call disconnects soon after, and you look up at the mirror. Briefly, you imagine Jihoon standing behind you in a much different situation than the one you’re in now.

His thick arms are wrapped around your waist, head leaning against yours. He’s smiling in your vision. You smile softly in your reflection, though it’s strained. The blood on your hands pulls you out of it.

a/n: i wrote this when i was going through it. i’m fine now but i seriously can’t do angst like i used to so i might write a part two or something where they end up back together.

[its-avalon-08]

Hi. Could you do a Fernando Alonso one where reader are Carmen's sister and sometimes accompany her to races to spend time together due to reader's busy schedule with her modeling career and to the point where Fernando becomes interested in knowing more about her while George and Carmen try to set them up, since they realize how well the two get along and the tension that is in the air

meddling and podiums (fa14)

✦ pairing - fernando alonso x female!reader

✦ genre - friends to lovers, meddling george and carmen, cute, fluff,

The paddock was buzzing with the usual energy of race day. The sun beat down on the vibrant F1 scene, with fans filling the grandstands, drivers making last-minute preparations, and teams moving swiftly to ensure everything was ready for lights out. Amidst all this, Carmen and her sister, Y/N, walked through the paddock, turning a few heads.

Y/N hadn’t been to a race in a while. Her modeling career kept her moving from city to city, but today, she managed to carve out time to support her sister and spend some quality time together.

“I'm so glad you could make it,” Carmen smiled, looping her arm through Y/N's as they navigated through the McLaren garage. “Feels like I never see you anymore."

Y/N laughed, adjusting her sunglasses as she glanced around. "Tell me about it. I've missed this vibe. You know how crazy my schedule’s been. But I needed this. A break, some racing… and, of course, hanging out with my favorite sister."

“Your only sister,” Carmen teased.

As they walked past the garages, Y/N caught sight of the familiar green of the Aston Martin team and its star driver, Fernando Alonso. His presence was impossible to ignore—tall, rugged, and oozing confidence as he discussed strategy with his engineers. She had seen him on TV countless times but seeing him up close was something else entirely. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly commanding he was.

Carmen noticed her sister’s gaze lingering. "Interesting view?" she asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, though a smirk played on her lips. "Just… observing. No harm in looking, right?"

"Right…" Carmen said, clearly noting the spark of interest. "Come on, George is waiting for us at Mercedes. But, I wouldn't mind taking a detour near the Aston Martin garage later."

Y/N chuckled. "You're not that subtle, you know."

As they made their way towards George, Y/N felt someone’s eyes on her. Glancing up, she met Fernando Alonso’s gaze for the briefest of moments. He looked curious, like he was trying to place her face. She wasn’t just another person in the paddock to him. And then, just as quickly, the moment passed, and he turned back to his conversation.

They reached Mercedes, where George Russell was leaning casually against a wall, spotting them from a distance with a wide grin on his face. "Well, look who finally decided to show up—Miss World herself," he teased, pushing off and walking over with a playful bounce in his step.

Y/N smirked, rolling her eyes as she hugged him. "Oh please, as if you don’t love having me around to boost your popularity. Admit it, you’ve missed me."

"Missed? Try celebrating the peace and quiet since you've been jet-setting across the world," George shot back, ruffling her hair in a brotherly gesture. "Now you're back to ruin it all."

"Ruin it? I make everything better, Russ. Without me, you'd be bored out of your mind."

Carmen laughed as she watched them banter, but George wasn’t done. “Honestly, I think the paddock’s been too calm. Carmen’s always talking about you, and I’m like—great, now I have to deal with two of them. Double trouble."

Y/N punched him lightly on the arm. “Admit it, you love having me around to keep you on your toes."

George laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! You win. It’s nice to see you here, Y/N. It’s not the same without you stirring things up."

Y/N smirked. "That’s what I thought."

As they exchanged more playful jabs, George's expression turned more mischievous. "Oh, by the way, Alonso's been… asking about you."

Carmen and George shared a knowing look. "Well, you did just catch his eye. Plus, he's been asking questions like… ‘Who’s the girl that sometimes comes with Carmen?’ And ‘What does she do?’ You know, the usual."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. "He could just ask me directly, you know."

“Oh, I’m sure he’s thinking about it,” Carmen said, nudging her.

As they chatted, George’s phone buzzed. He glanced down and grinned. “Speak of the devil. Fernando’s just invited us to the Aston Martin hospitality. Care to join?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, pretending to think. "Isn't this a bit of an obvious setup?"

Carmen laughed. "It's not a setup if there's already chemistry."

George nodded, backing her up. "Exactly. Come on, Y/N. Just join us. I bet it’ll be fun."

Y/N sighed, though a flicker of curiosity burned in her eyes. "Alright, alright. But if this gets awkward, I’m blaming both of you."

"Deal," George smirked, already texting Fernando back.

As they made their way toward Aston Martin, Y/N felt the flutter of anticipation rise in her chest. She hadn’t expected to feel like this, but there was something intriguing about Fernando. The way he carried himself, the quiet confidence… it piqued her interest.

And if the way George and Carmen were looking at her was any indication, they were already rooting for something to happen.

---

The Aston Martin hospitality suite was buzzing with activity when Y/N, Carmen, and George arrived. The gleaming green branding and calm atmosphere contrasted sharply with the chaotic energy outside. Fernando was standing near a table, engrossed in conversation with one of the team members, but as soon as they entered, his eyes flicked toward them.

George waved, leading the way. “Fernando! Hope we’re not interrupting anything important.”

Fernando glanced up, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not at all,” he said smoothly, nodding at George before his gaze shifted to Y/N. “I see you’ve brought company.”

Y/N felt a slight flutter in her stomach as his dark eyes locked on hers. His presence was even more intense up close, and though he kept his tone casual, there was something in the way he looked at her that made her feel like they were the only two in the room.

“This is Y/N,” George said, clearly enjoying the moment. “You know, Carmen’s sister. We thought we’d drag her to more races since she’s been so busy.”

“Nice to finally meet you in person,” Fernando said, extending his hand toward Y/N. His voice was deep and calm, carrying a sense of quiet authority.

Y/N smiled, taking his hand in a firm handshake. “Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she replied, her voice steady despite the unexpected jolt that came from the contact.

“Only good things, I hope,” Fernando said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on hers.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. “Mostly.”

Carmen shot George a look, clearly noticing the subtle tension between them. “So, Fernando, you’re ready for today’s race?”

“Always,” he responded, but his attention was still on Y/N. “And what about you, Y/N? How does this compare to the excitement of your world?”

Y/N laughed softly, breaking eye contact for a moment. “A little different from the fashion shows, but I think I prefer the noise and chaos here. Plus, watching these races is a nice break from my schedule.”

Fernando’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “I imagine modeling takes you all over the world.”

“It does,” she replied. “But I try to make time for things that really matter. Family, friends… experiences.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his again, and there was no mistaking the subtle undercurrent in her words.

George, sensing the building tension, decided to jump in before things got too intense. “You two are making me feel like a third wheel,” he said, laughing awkwardly. Carmen elbowed him, but George just grinned. “Maybe we should give you a little more space.”

Carmen chimed in, smiling innocently. “That’s not a bad idea. George and I were going to grab some food, actually. You know, let you two get to know each other without us butting in.”

Y/N shot her sister a look, knowing exactly what she was trying to do. “Carmen…”

But George was already pulling Carmen along, leaving Fernando and Y/N standing there alone. "We'll be right back!" he called out, far too chipper as they disappeared into the crowd.

Y/N turned back to Fernando, trying not to laugh at her sister and George’s obvious meddling. “They’re not exactly subtle, are they?”

Fernando chuckled, his gaze softening. “Not at all.”

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t awkward. The air between them felt charged, like there was something simmering beneath the surface. Y/N could feel his eyes on her, the weight of his attention making her heart race.

“You’re close with George and Carmen?” Fernando asked, his tone casual, but his interest was clear.

“Yeah,” she replied, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Carmen and I are really close. It’s hard with my schedule, so I try to come to races whenever I can to see her. George is like an annoying older brother, but… we all get along.”

Fernando nodded, his eyes following her movements. “I can see that. They seem like good people.”

“They are,” Y/N said. “George is always looking out for Carmen, and by extension, me. Which is probably why they’re trying so hard to—” she paused, catching herself before finishing the sentence, but Fernando raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“To…?” he prompted.

Y/N smirked, shaking her head. “To do exactly what they’re doing right now—setting us up.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a small smile. “Ah, so you noticed.”

“Hard not to,” she replied with a light laugh. “They’ve been dropping hints for weeks now.”

Fernando’s expression grew more serious, though the smile never left his face. “And what do you think about that? Being set up?”

Y/N paused, meeting his gaze again. There was something about him—he was confident, sure, but not in an arrogant way. His interest in her felt genuine, and she couldn’t deny the chemistry that was already building between them.

“I don’t usually like being set up,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But… I guess it depends on the person.”

Fernando’s smile widened slightly, and he took a step closer. “And what do you think of me so far?”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat, the intensity of his gaze pulling her in. She smiled, tilting her head slightly as she held his gaze. “I think you might surprise me.”

Fernando’s eyes darkened with interest, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

Before Y/N could respond, Carmen and George reappeared with mischievous grins on their faces, carrying trays of food.

“Did we miss anything?” George asked, far too casually.

Y/N glanced at Fernando, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Nothing you two don’t already know.”

time skip

As the race weekend unfolded, it became clear to everyone in the paddock—especially to George and Carmen—that Fernando and Y/N were inseparable. Every free second, whether it was between practice sessions, during lunch breaks, or even casual moments walking through the paddock, they were side by side. Their conversations seemed endless, filled with easy laughter and stolen glances.

George and Carmen watched from the sidelines, their plotting almost becoming a sport of its own.

Friday afternoon

“Look at them,” Carmen whispered to George, nudging him as they stood by the Mercedes garage. Fernando and Y/N were sitting on a bench a few meters away, deep in conversation. Y/N was laughing at something Fernando had said, her face lighting up in a way that was hard to miss.

George smirked, crossing his arms. “I think we’ve done quite a job here.”

Carmen giggled, leaning into him. “You think they even notice how much time they’re spending together?”

“No way. They’re too busy making heart eyes at each other.”

Saturday, after qualifying

As the sun began to dip, the paddock was alive with chatter. Drivers were heading off for briefings, and team members bustled about. But Y/N and Fernando stood off to the side, leaning casually against a wall, completely in their own world.

“So,” Y/N said, leaning closer to him with a teasing smile, “you and George seem to get along surprisingly well. He’s not too annoying for you?”

Fernando chuckled, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “I think I’ve learned to tune him out when he starts talking too much.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “That’s the secret to dealing with George. He loves the sound of his own voice.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow, his voice dropping just slightly. “And what about you? Are you as good at tuning him out?”

“Sometimes,” Y/N said, biting her lip, her tone playful. “But mostly, I just out-talk him.”

Fernando’s smirk grew, the tension between them unmistakable. “I can’t say I mind that.”

The air between them grew heavier, but before the moment could deepen, George’s voice cut through the tension.

“Hey, lovebirds!” he called out, grinning widely as he approached with Carmen. “Need any more help getting through this weekend together?”

Y/N groaned, laughing despite herself. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

Carmen elbowed George, shooting Y/N and Fernando a playful wink. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous he’s not the center of attention.”

Fernando chuckled, his gaze lingering on Y/N. “I don’t think anyone could take attention away from Y/N.”

Sunday afternoon, post-race

The crowd was roaring as the podium ceremony wrapped up, and Fernando had just claimed an impressive P2. Y/N stood at the edge of the celebration, smiling as she watched him pop the champagne and soak in the cheers from the fans. There was something exhilarating about being part of this world, but today it felt even more electric. Fernando’s win wasn’t the only thing sparking the excitement in the air.

As the drivers made their way off the podium, Fernando spotted Y/N standing by, clapping and grinning at him. His eyes lit up as he made a beeline toward her, weaving through the crowd. Still in his race suit, champagne dripping from his hair, he looked like a man on top of the world.

As the podium celebrations wound down, Fernando made his way through the crowd, eyes scanning for Y/N. He spotted her standing just off to the side, her smile wide as she clapped along with the cheering fans. Despite the chaos surrounding them, she was a steady presence, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to her.

Still in his race suit, with champagne glistening on his hair and skin, he approached her, wiping a hand across his face as he grinned. “Not bad, huh?”

Y/N beamed up at him, her eyes bright. “Not bad at all. You looked like you were in your element out there.”

Fernando chuckled, slightly breathless but clearly energized. “I had some extra motivation.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, her voice teasing. “And what might that be?”

He took a step closer, the noise of the paddock dimming in his mind. “You.”

Her smile faltered for just a second, surprise flashing in her eyes before she tilted her head, amused. “Me?”

Fernando nodded, his voice lowering as his gaze softened. “Yeah. Being around you this weekend… I haven’t felt like this in a while.”

There was a moment of silence between them, the air heavy with unsaid words. Y/N’s heart was racing, the playful teasing that usually colored their conversations giving way to something deeper.

“Listen,” Fernando said, his voice gentle but sure, “I know this weekend’s been crazy, but if you’re not flying out tomorrow… I’d like to take you out. Just us, somewhere quiet. No paddock noise, no distractions.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, her gaze locking with his. There was something sincere and almost vulnerable in his eyes, and for a moment, she forgot about the crowd, the race, and everything else.

“So,” she began, a small, teasing smile playing on her lips, “you’re asking me out, Alonso?”

Fernando smirked, his usual confidence creeping back as he held her gaze. “I am.”

Y/N bit her lip, her smile widening. “I think I’d like that.”

His eyes brightened with a mix of relief and excitement, the tension between them palpable. “Good. I'll make sure it’s worth your while.”

Y/N stepped a little closer, her voice dropping to match the quiet intimacy of the moment. “I’m counting on it.”

For a brief second, the world around them seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them standing there, caught in the electricity of something new.

As George and Carmen celebrated their success from the sidelines, Fernando and Y/N exchanged a look filled with the kind of tension that only comes when two people know they’re on the edge of something more.

And for once, the noise of the race weekend faded into the background, leaving just the two of them in the moment.

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

The beauty of accidental marriage proposals

Yuuri very likely didn't intend to propse to Viktor at the airport but his heart knew what it (and he) truly desired and twisted his words into a proposal—or rather something akin to a proposal that resulted in a spontaneous engagement.

Let's unpack this.

Yuuri returns from the Rostelecom Cup with his mind full of things that he wants to tell Viktor. While we don't learn the details, his inner monologue in the previous scene gives us a good idea of the things he's mulling over.

Yuuri has convinced himself that Viktor will abandon him after the Grand Prix Final. Thus, that competition is his final chance to win gold and he's determined to fulfil the promise he made in his speech in ep. 5 and win that medal. But even if doesn't win gold, there is one thing that he feels he needs to do after seeing skaters and skating fans react to Viktor becoming a coach at two consecutive competitions.

Regardless of how much Yuuri has profited from Viktor's support, he is very conscious about the fact that Viktor belongs to the ice. Or at least that is what his anxious brain has convinced him of. In this sense, giving up his own career so that Viktor can resume his own is an act of love and the only possible solution for them to stay together (in Yuuri's brain).

We never learn about the end of Yuuri's contemplation, but the subtext of the next scene implies that breaking up with Viktor is not an option. Or if it was an option, it was off the table once he was back in Viktor's arms.

Since Yuuri has anxiety, it's safe to assume that he has been overthinking his talk with Viktor over and over during the flight, going through all kinds of scenarios based on Viktor's imagined reaction. After hours on the plane, his brain must have been on the verge of exploding, casting poor Yuuri into a state of total overwhelm. If you have anxiety, you can possibly relate.

However, the moment that he spots Viktor, his mind goes blank and instinct takes over as he runs into Viktor's arms and instead of whatever speech he has prepared, he just blurts out the following line:

僕も考えてた。引退まで 僕のこと—　お願いします！ "I've been thinking, too. Please take care of me until I retire!"

The English translation is a bit messed up here. In the original, Yuuri never uses the word coach in that line. "Please take care of me" is Japanese proposal language. The translators probably didn't recognise this nuance and sadly, the nuance is still lost in the Bluray version.

But that's why Viktor recognises the proposal in Yuuri's words.

However, based on the details given and the illogical ways anxious brains work, Yuuri intended to inform Viktor about his retirement plans and to voice his desire to make the most of the little time he thinks they have left. But that's not what his heart wants. And since episode 5 we know what that is:

初めて自分から繋ぎとめたいと思った人、それがヴィクトルです

A more accurate translation of that line is "The first person I want to tie myself to and never let go is Viktor" because 繋ぎとめたい means wanting to tie someone / something to you and never let it go (see this translation error masterpost).

Of course, Yuuri doesn't want his relationship with Viktor to end and no matter if his anxiety his skyrocketing in the face of the GPF looming ahead, that desire has taken root in his heart and brain. However, his anxiety stops him from proposing actually and turns his addition "until I retire" into a gentle prodding to find out whether he and Viktor are on the same page.

And of coruse, they are.

And it's all Yuuri has wished for. He's been anxious the whole time. Until Viktor recognises the proposal and response with a yes in the same fashion that Yuuri has asked.

To wrap all of this up:

Absence nurtures desire and in this case, the time apart has shown Yuuri and Viktor how much they want to be by each other's side. Because he missed Viktor so desperately, Yuuri's heart wins over his anxiety for once and enables him to tell Viktor his deepest desire. By recognising said desire, Viktor is able to accept the proposal and the two boys are now officially engaged. And that's yet another beautiful aspect about this show.

Unfortunately Viktor didn't really catch the part about the retirement, which will result in him thinking that Yuuri wants to break up when Yuuri announces his retirement plans in Barcelona. On the other hand, knowing that Viktor wants to stay by his side forever is a huge relief for Yuuri and allows him to enter the GPF without any emotional baggage.

Bonus: look at that cute tiny smile right between Viktor recognising the proposal and the second hug.

For further readings related to this please check out:

Japanese dating culture in YOI

Unwrapping "Let's end this"

On Yuuri's top-secret love life

If you enjoyed this meta you might like to check out my YOI canon works on AO3 or just support me by reblogging this post.

[reonnex]

The infantilization of book!Wylan and show!Wylan really needs to be looked at.

This isnt a call out, or trying to hate on anyone, just an overall thing I've seen throughout being in this fandom

In the books while Wylan is a child he is also 16. People underestimate him into innocent and even younger. And while he is naive, this does not make him innocent. He has his own morals, own judgment that havent been ripped away from him yet. He is just trying to survive.

People use the "we could wake them up line" a lot snd I agree! But to also look at the full lines as well

Wylan gestured to the guards. "Is it safe to leave them, you know-"

"Alive? I'm not big on killing unconscious men."

"We could wake them up."

"Pretty ruthless, merchling. Have you ever killed anyone?"

"I'd never even seen a dead body before I came to the Barrel." Wylan admitted.

"It's not something to be embarrassed about," Jesper said, surprising himself a little. But he meant it. Wylan needed to learn to take care of himself, but it would be nice if he could do it without getting on friendly terms with death."Make sure the gags are tight."

This isnt him being ruthless. Its him being logical. He is taking what Jesper says to heart. Wake them instead of killing them unconscious. Which they do end up tying the soldiers to the pole and leaving. Him having morals shouldn't contribute to claims of him being innocent.

Wylan is worried about hurting people but will do so if nessecasry to save his friends. We can see this in the show and books. In the show he does not want to make bombs for Kaz, but does so in the end because he acknowledges he has to survive. He is worried about Alby, but goes along with the plan still.

All these are what makes Wylan, wylan. It is his fundamentals, his morals and idels. They are not however claims to see how sweet and innocent he is and how he was corrupted.

Ontop of this, while it is never y it is hevaily implied that Wylan is also autistic. (Also, correct me if im wrong please, but im pretty sure Jack did talk about this.) Autistic people get infantilizated already, and I've had my own fair share of this as well. ( I am autistic and have a learning disabilitiy, as well a speech impedament that I still struggle with.) I have to work harder to make sure people treat me as a twenty year old. Because that is my age, and there is a significant difference in attitude in how people treat me when they know im autistic, and when they don't.

And for Wylan, I feel like its the same issue. While it may not be intentional, ive been people coo over the fact Wylan has done simple tasks or teen experiences. Him having Jesper read to him, getting flustered when talking to him, Wylan not understanding social cues as well as others and taking things to face value.

You can be excited for him and think it's sweet, but to also acknowledge that there is a line between "Thats adorable" and "He's adorable." Wylan is someone who is neurodivergent. He was extrmetly sheltred as a child and was never given the proper tools to help his dyslexia, due to this he has struggles that shouldn't be overlooked or seen as "cute" when he experiences outcomes due to the situation he was in. Whenever he doesn't understand social cues, i.e., "Whos mark." People giggling and saying it's silly or cute when he doesn't understand the cues. That's infantilizating! You are viewing things he struggles with in the lens of watching a child understanding the world. Which Wylan isn't. He is a teenager, no matter the circumstances. His age should be understood.

This infantilization also effects wesper in how people view the two of them. Many people view black people as "older, the man in the relationship, rugged" while the white person is seen as the "women, younger, more innocent."

Infact, I think the show only worsned it for Wylan. As now there are faces to names.

Jack does have a youthful face, but still looks his age. I have a babyface and even now at 20 I look much older then I did at 16. The same goes for Jack. He cant control how he looks but because of his youthful features people only push for this racially hetaronormative mindset more between Wylan and Jesper (Even if its untitional).

Even Kit looks his age as well and has a baby face. He's 29 right now but was in his mid twenties during filming. Season 1 was filmed back in 2019 but due to covid post production got set back, and season 2 was filmed in the beginning of 2022. But why is it only Wylan who is infantilizated? Jesper struggles just as much with his ADHD and trauma as Wylan does.

Jack and Kit are only one year apart, the same in the books but still ive been Wylan be portrayed as the "poor innocent child who was abused." and Jesper as the "he needs to get over his addiction hes a grown man/ he's too mean to Wylan."

In society now so many black teens are seen as adults and treated as such, while white teens are seen as younger and not pushed so hard. The same can be seen for wesper.

Ive even seen people on Tiktok and other socials claim that Jesper was rude to Wylan and abusive. (WHERE???). Both Wylan and Jesper have said things that hurt the other, and they both apologized for it, and get grilled as well. In the show and books they learn and grow. The infantilization of Wylan doesnt hurt just him but plays into racial stereotypes and also microagressions. Why is it that when the white character is calling someone out its "deserved" but when the black character (who might I add had no idea) makes a side comment he is labled as cruel and abusive?

In so many shows and books the black character is usually portrayed as the joker character. Six Of Crows does this as well, which is something important to not ingore. Jesper is seen as the flirty joke character. However the only difference is soc also show more sides to his character by letting him be vulnerable. Letting Jesper show his struggles to the audience as well, how his neurodivergece effects him, letting him dress in skirts and bold colors that step away from the gender norm. So many times in media the black character is just there for shits and giggles, or is used as the villan/antagonist.

It believe its really important to understand this, and to acknowledge if your infantilizating him, or even using microagressions on Jesper unintentionally, then to learn to understand why and to grow from them.

[pampushky]

Teaser: My Name Is Brutus (And My Name Means Heavy)

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader

oooo what's this?? me dropping a juicy little teaser of probably one of my favorite things I've written??

so. this is basically an ABO au with a race engineer & lauda mc, with the wonderful trope of enemies to lovers thrown in, as you will soon see from the scene I'm releasing a bit early.

other things about the fic: slow, and i mean fucking slow, burn. exploration of what disabilities would look like in the ABO world (especially centered around the sense of smell and how that could be considered a disability if someone doesn't have one in a world where most things are communicated by smell), societal pressures about what the ideal alpha/omega/beta should look like to the rest of the world which leads to Lando making assumptions about MC's secondary gender/sex, mentions of past emotional & mental abuse, PTSD, scarring, and worries about self-worth. Oh. and obvious hurt/comfort. But again, and I cannot emphasize this enough. Slow. Fucking. Burn.

uhhh i guess i'll do a tag list too for this so. tell me if you wanna be on that.

“I do have… issues, with the way you run things here,” you scratch your claw into the wood of the table, a low rumble in your throat. The scent blockers you have on are distracting to Lando. He wonders, briefly, what your scent is like, when it’s not so medicinal. “You need more discipline. Less media. It makes you seem… soft.”

“Soft?” Lando leans forward, tilting his head. You look back at him with your constantly blank stare, a slight frown on your lips, icy eyes that challenge even the Lauda death stare. “What do you mean?” You hesitate, looking to Zak and Andrea, who both gesture for you to continue. You then look at Oscar, who bites his lip and makes eye contact with you, and shrugs softly, as if permitting you to say whatever you were about to say.

“....you will take offense to what I’m about to say, I’m warning you.”

“Please, I’ll be fine,” Lando waves it off, grinning lazily. His nose twitches. The heavily medicinal smell of your scent blockers is getting to him. Do you truly need to cover your scent that much? Are you worried that he’ll act aggressively because you’re also an Alpha?

“.... no. You won’t. I’ve seen your interviews.” You say dryly, and fold your arms. Lando balks. 

“I beg you pardon?”

“You don’t take criticism well.”

“I take it just fine!” Lando shoots back, feeling himself starting to get frustrated. Why did you have to wear them? Even if you are an Alpha, the medication provided by the FIA should be more than enough to keep anyone’s tempers from flaring.

“Then you won’t throw a hissy fit when I list out all my problems with the way you work?” 

Your tone is icy. Even. Perfectly calculated. 

“Oh, you know I want to hear about your issues with me,” Lando slams his hands down onto the table, and you just raise an eyebrow at him. He’s down to his undershirt, his fireproofs hanging at his waist as you stare at him. “So say it! Don’t hold back!”

Andrea just massages his temples as Zak looks like he wants to be anywhere else. 

“Only if you don’t throw a tantrum when I’m right.” You state, examining your nails from where you sit, as though this is boring for you. Monotonous and icy-calm. 

Lando hates your voice. Specifically how robotic and monotone it sounds. What little he knows about you— which is as much as the rest of the world, with how private the Lauda family is— is that you apparently have some vocal chord and brain damage. Nothing substantial enough to impede your thought process or the way you speak to make you mute, but enough to have caused the monotonous way you talk. A small enough problem that Lando doesn’t feel like a total dick for what he’s about to say.

“Oh, just fucking say it, you robotic bitch!”

That gets your attention. You pause, slowly bring your hand down, and look at him. With the classic, terrifying Lauda glare. Your eyes pierce his soul, and for a second, just a second, Lando considers apologizing. Tucking his tail between his legs, his ears folded back. But then, he remembers who he is, and he meets your glare with his own, lips drawn back to bare his teeth....

[86espresso]

where do we go now? | qh43

-> 1.7k

sum: you’re the best in my life and I lost you

warnings: HAPPY ENDING in the second part don’t run away, not as heartwrenching as the song I promise, breaking up, angst, feeling like a pile of emotionless trash ❤️, she/her for reader, use of y/n. you’re Quinn’s age and your favorite flowers are marigolds btw.

a/n: I love this song, it hurts so bad <3

You flop on the couch, looking disheveled and tired. Junior year really brings out the worst in everyone. Quinn, who was sat at its end, immediately threw aside his phone and put his sole attention on you.

“Hi, Goldie. How was school?”

“Horrible. I’ll kill mys-” 

“Okay, okay I won’t let you finish that,” he muses. “I worry about you sometimes.”

“You don’t need to, Q. I’ve got it under control. Swear on Jack’s life.”

“I can’t decide if that’s reliable.”

“Hey!”

The younger boy was the one who gave you the nickname after your favorite flowers, and as annoying as he can be, he never fails to make you smile.

“Alright, boys. No need to throw hands. Quinn, could you wake me up in twenty minutes? Carla’s coming over for tutoring.” You add sleepily as you lay your head on Quinn’s lap, and he immediately threads his fingers through your hair, giving you a gentle scalp massage and acknowledging that he heard you. You really could get used to this everyday, til junior (closest thing to hell on earth) year ends.

The tutoring session with Carla goes by fast since its always fun with her sharp personality. She always has the right words at the top of her tongue. Which is why it was concerning to see her quiet after the session was over. 

“What’s up, Car?” 

“I don’t know,” she sighs, running a hand through her short hair, “You- well, it’s weird since I don’t seem like the type to talk about these things-”

“Spit it out, Carla,” You deadpan. 

“You’re, like, in love with Quinn, right?”

It catches you off guard and you check the door of your designated room in the Hughes’ house to be safe before answering, “Yeah?” 

“Do you ever plan on telling him?” 

You can’t help the way all of your insides turned to mush, “I did, actually. A couple of days ago.”  

You flushed as you remembered that night. 

You and Quinn had just sat down to study for the same stupid French exam you both needed to take. It was exhausting but studying with your favorite person made it so much better. 

“You know, you’re, like, my best friend.” 

You pause, but continue a moment later because you knew that Quinn could sit in silence for hours with everyone except you. 

“Yep.” 

“Okay.”

You laugh through your nose, he might be the most endearing person ever. 

“I love you.”

Now. 

You would’ve lied if you said you didn’t feel your stomach lurching in a good way. 

“I love you, too? Quinn, what’s-?” 

“It’s like.” He shuts his textbook. “You’re the one person who knows me inside out and you’re, like, always there for me. And I-“ he huffs, running a hand through his hair as if he couldn’t find the right words, slightly distracting you with his bicep. 

“I don’t know what I would do without someone as constant as you in my life, y’know?”

Quinn was definitely more empathetic than his brothers, but the sentiment was almost too much for you to handle. 

So, the sudden bravery and burst of emotion in you decided that you will not start crying and instead throw your notebook to the side and straddle his lap. And cup his face. 

As soon as you realized what you did, mortification took over all of your senses and before you could clamber off of Quinn’s lap, he puts his hands firmly on your hips to lock you in place. 

“Goldie,” he murmurs your sweet nickname as if in a trance. 

“Can I-?” 

“Please.”

His voice was borderline desperate when your lips collided in a firm, dizzying kiss. It started to escalate when the kisses went from soft to feverish and his hands were all over your body and tangled in your hair, French textbooks long forgotten. 

“I love you so much more, baby,” You managed to say between pants and stolen kisses here and there while you and Quinn stayed intertwined. That’s when he shoved your face into his chest so you wouldn’t see the blush on his face. 

You two eventually broke apart because it really was super late and even with the adrenaline, you weren’t sure if you could stay awake any longer. 

So, you and Quinn made your ways to your separate rooms, grinning like complete idiots but not without sharing a goodnight embrace. 

“Shut the actual fuck up.” Carla snaps you out of your trance, jaw hitting the floor. “Honestly, I never thought you would ever grow the balls to do that.” You could never stop smiling around Carla. 

“Well, I did grow the balls and you weren’t finished with what you were going to say.”

She looked uncomfortable again. You spared her the misery and said it for her instead. 

“Jack.”

“Oh god.” 

She buried her head in her hands. 

“I can’t have a crush. That’s literally so embarrassing, golds.”

“It’s absolutely not embarrassing, Car. It’s okay to like someone if they’re worth it, y’know?”

“I don’t like him.”

Sure she didn’t, but you ended it at that.

One thing you learnt from being the oldest child with neglectful parents was to lock up your own feelings and put them away in some dusty top shelf while you attend to others.

And now it was almost the end of senior year. 

The Hughes’ knew you since you walked into their life at 11 years old. They all, especially Quinn, understood you better than anyone else. 

They started noticing small changes. 

How you stopped spending special time with Luke where you both did his homework and helped with girl problems. How you stopped organizing pranks with Jack and his friends and having witty banters. How you’d started to shy away from Quinn’s touch and become nervous-uncomfortable around him rather than nervous-giddy.

Every time he would praise you, you would think of the lower than average score you got on the test earlier. Every time you two were out for lunch, you would remember how you started falling off in your favorite sport, and your hunger would go away. You felt sick to your stomach about every little thing you did. 

Quinn isn’t that much of an idiot though. He knew you needed space so he avoided prodding too much. 

“Hey, goldie”

You let out a soft hum, acknowledging that you heard Luke before he takes a seat next to you, a spot where you were usually found overlooking the vast lake. Luke would always be a little brother to you, even now that he’s 15 and understands so much more than he did when he was 7. 

“You’re sad,” he noted. The corner of your lips twitched.

“Not anymore, Lu, and you don’t need to worry about me,” you gave him a glance before shifting the conversation to him and asking about school and hockey. He took the bait, bless his heart, and talked while you gave the occasional hum and raise of your eyebrows. He knew not to be offended; you weren’t exactly… you anymore.

“You know.” He breaks the few minutes of silence. “If there’s something that’s really bothering you, you should tell us. Or at least Quinn. He’s worried.”

You were wrong. The little boy you grew up with wasn’t stupid enough to take the bait.

For the first time in days, tears sprang to your eyes. You look up at the sky that was getting darker with time, just like you.

“it’s just- everything, I feel so useless and sad and I’m always snappy, and.” You take a deep breath. “Quinn’s moving. He has his whole life planned out. And, so do you and Jack. What the hell am I supposed to do? Michigan is so far away from Vancouver, I don’t even know my majors yet I just-” You stop, because the boy who you were almost four years older to didn’t deserve to hear your worthless problems.

Regardless, he pulls you into a tight hug without intentions of letting go.

“Y/N.” You momentarily freeze at the lack of your nickname. “All of us can’t really imagine a life without you. Those stupid things don’t decide your worth. You mean so much to us, goldie.”

You knew his words held meaning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe them.

The next day, you were found at the same spot. Not by Luke this time, but by a softer, deeper voice that used to be sugar to your ears. Still is, but clouded with the mess of emotions in your head. Or lack thereof.

“Hey, baby.” The pet name actually did something to your stomach this time. You don’t deserve to be called baby by him.

“Hi,” You whispered back. You look up at him as he he sits next to you, mustering a small smile because its the least he deserves. He seems to light up at the slight display of emotion, and leans in to kiss your forehead.

You don’t deserve to be taken care of so gently.

You don’t deserve any of it.

His touch was so comforting but it felt like poison. You lean into it and pull away because this may be the last time you ever talk to him.

“We need to break up, Quinn.”

He’d spoken softer words to you at first but it escalated. He couldn’t be blamed for fighting back, because the girl he knew, the girl he laid his heart out for, wasn’t there anymore all of a sudden. His eyes were teary and yours were dull and dry. 

“Quinn, I’m leaving and you need to stay away from me.”

“No.”

“You look so hopeful, trying to convince me that we- we were made for each other and we’re supposed to last forever and that I have it figured out as well as you do. We are so different, Quinn. It was never going to work out.”

“Just-” he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “If it’s the space that you need, you know where I am.” His voice had grown soft, but you had already turned your back. 

The rest of it was a haze; packing the few clothes you brought with you to Michigan, leaving without telling anyone. Except Jack, who saw you packing through the doorway and got sad, knowing exactly what’s going to happen.

You went to your aunt’s home after that, which was in a small town that was annoyingly close to Vancouver. It was serene and quiet and Carla had committed to college there. 

If it’s the space that you need, you know where I am.

/

so part two yes no idk

love u all 💗

[moyazaika]

could you imagine a rapper yandere that disses anyone that even MENTIONS their darling/"girlfriend" is a way that isn't worshipping. and he disses hard.

When I say "girlfriend" I mean, the rapper knows the name, address, occupation, phone number, email, etc, has a shrine full of photos that he hired people to take over someone that doesn't know anything about it.

reader is just another person who listens to music and knows his name in passing and his reputation for dissing anyone who talks "bad" about his girl. reader respects it, but doesn't really listen to rap so they move on with their life, completely unaware that THEY are the girl.

it's a complete coincidence that the features and traits that he raps about are the exact same as them. There are plenty of people with that trait.

and no one bats an eye that no photos of the "girlfriend" exists to the public. It's no surprise someone with his level of fame would want to keep their girl private.

"I saw you yesterday at your grandma's, it's a real shame what happened to your grandpops, I need some new fertilizer in my garden, been growing some bad crops, your girl Morgan so bad you're getting blowjobs from your grandma?"

*camera noises*

(I'm not a rapper, apologies for ✨cringe✨)

hey so please don’t apologise i actually fucking love this idea. 😭😭❤️‍🩹 this would be so so cute bonus points for being set in the early 2000’s so we’re in that era of pop and rap where it’s rlly just a few big names dominating the charts, the fun awards shows, cool fashion; y2k baby!

and in this new age of music you’ve got this chart topping rapper who (unlike the other guys in his genre) seems to be rapping not about his opps or his cars or his cash or his bitches but… how much he loves his gf. it’s incredibly endearing.

if only his gf actually knew she was dating him!

and when he stays on top of those charts, wins all those music awards; there’s bound to be jealousy and bitter envy. other artists complain. celebrity interviewers and journalists eat it up; “so what do you think of this mystery girl that seems to be the subject of all his music?”

his competitor rolls his eyes, “dumb as fuck, the both of them. always banging on about how lovely she is how pretty and smart she is… this bitch is a one hit wonder, you feel me?”

… he did not like that. drake vs kanye 2.0 ensues except this time there is no coming back for the poor soul who has the balls to say that. rapper ‘bf’ puts the poor guy’s life on blast.

‘industry plant? least i’m not a plant by the government / makin’ sure them anti bullying campaigns is working.”

okay, that’s not so bad right?

“your funny’s up, but your syndrome’s down, like your money after i put this out—but your dick stays up / when you drive ‘round and look for little boys to spend a night with in town.”

oh! well. looks like nobody’s going to mention this mysterious girl rapper bf adores so much ever again :’)

[masonmontz]

hellooo everyone :) hope you like it

REMEMBER: english is not my first language

angst word count: 9,5k

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“Y/N has a new boyfriend” Declan spoke and silence was the response he received. Mason felt his heart skip a beat and then fall to the floor, causing Mason to get a lump in his throat.

He just stared at Dec, trying to swallow the food he had put in his mouth before hearing the news. It took a lot of effort to swallow.

“I’m not hungry anymore” Mason pushed the plate away, feeling the strange sensation in his stomach, the same feeling that kept him awake at night. 

Lauren looked at him with pity and Mason felt like an idiot. Declan cleared his throat, realizing he shouldn't have told Mason the news, but what could he do if you were friends with him and Lauren too?

“Sorry mate, I shouldn't have said that” Declan apologized to Mason, but he shrugged it off, not placing the blame on Declan. 

“Who is the guy?” Reece asked, because after all he is also your friend. The restaurant seemed silent with the awkward atmosphere that remained at the table and Mason just stared at the plate he barely touched. 

“David. They work together” Lauren spoke and Mason looked at her, but Lauren was already looking at him waiting for Mason's reaction. Mason looked down and felt everyone's eyes on him, Dec, Lauren, Ben, Reece, Aimee and Henry. 

Mason felt like he was a bomb about to explode and everyone wanted to see the moment it happened.

“Sorry guys, I’m going home” Mason got up quickly and without looking at his friends, ‘cause he already knew that everyone noticed how affected he was by the news that you were dating, but he didn't want to see the pity in everyone's eyes. “Declan, pay my portion and I'll give you the money later.”

Mason left the restaurant quickly, but he heard Aimee's heels behind him and he sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to outrun the stubborn woman running after him. 

“Mase, wait-” she called him, and Mason only stopped walking when he felt the cold air on his face, needing some fresh air. “Hey.”

“I can't take this anymore, Aimee. I can't” Mason's voice was cracked, and the state he had been in for almost two months was deplorable. “She left me in the shit.”

Mason knows that Aimee is your best friend and he knows that you two talk daily, but he needs to talk to someone ‘cause Mason feels like at any moment he will reach his breaking point. 

His eyes filled with tears, and he was looking out into the cold night but Aimee could see his eyes were wet. 

“I'm so sorry, Mase. I tried to talk to her about it but she won't let me” Aimee hugged Mason from the side, putting her arms around his shoulders, even though he was taller than her. 

Mason looked at her devastated, and Aimee felt her own heart ache at the sadness on Mason's face.

“I really can't take this anymore, it's too much for me, Aim” Mason sighed and brought his hands to his face, because he still felt his heart tighten in his chest, he wasn't hungry and he felt like he could vomit ‘cause of the emotions that were going through him.

He missed you.

He was sad.

He was alone.

And you left.

“You know you can talk to all of us, right? We're your friends, Mason, and you can run to us whenever you need to. You don't have to deal with all of this alone” Aimee held his hand and Mason nodded, but he knew Aimee had been busy lately because she was planning her own wedding with Henry, but she was so nice that she offered to be Mason's support since you left.

“I know, thank you” Mason tried to smile, but he knew he gave the saddest smile anyone had ever seen. “Tell them I apologized for ditching dinner.”

“Don’t worry, but please, take care of yourself.”

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

You and Mason have been friends for years, you met in school and you had some friends in common. Everyone knew that Mason had been in love with you since you were a teenager, but you were never able to see him as anything more than a great friend. Not since the night you kissed for the first time.

You also knew that Mason was in love with you, but sometimes things don't happen the way we want, and even though he always treated you much better than your boyfriends, there was nothing you could do if you didn't like him back.

The night you were celebrating your twenty-fourth birthday in a place where all your friends were was when Mason decided to make the first move. 

He asked to deliver the gift he bought for you away from the others, and he gave you the most beautiful bracelet you had ever seen, it was gold and had your initial as a pendant, but it also had shells and stars, books, teacups and everything you liked the most. It was so delicate that you were moved when you realized how much Mason knew you.

When you hugged and thanked him that's when Mason kissed you, and that's okay, at that moment you didn't care and kissed him back. It was terrible to realize that that was the best kiss you had ever had, no one had ever kissed you so intensely, with so much love and passion.

Your mistake was going home with him after the party, ‘cause Mason was all over you the whole night and everyone could tell something was up, and you were also wrong for kissing him back every time, maybe giving Mason hope that it all meant something. 

At first it didn't really mean anything, but after weeks of having sex with him, even you who had an impenetrable heart found yourself attracted and in love with him. Mason made you smile, Mason treated you well and always put you first, and when you realized that, you also realized that you never put him first. And you never would.

You were working so hard at work to get the job the company was offering in Australia that it wouldn't be fair to him ‘cause you wouldn't be able to give him what he deserves if you had to move. 

Mason didn't accept staying away, so he said he didn't care if you didn't give a name to what you had. You weren't just friends but you weren't dating either, you knew his parents but not as his girlfriend, and Mason accompanied you everywhere just as... someone you were sleeping with. That was it.

For months it was like this. It was your house that Mason went to after games, it was you he called when he lost a game and wanted comfort from someone he loved or when they won and he wanted to celebrate with someone. You, always you, no one else. 

Mason loved you so much that he felt his heart jump with joy every time someone said your name or when he saw a message from you on his phone. Everyone thought you were his girlfriend, but Mason was too embarrassed to tell you that you weren't his girlfriend. Even he couldn't understand what was going on between you, so imagine telling others.

But your time was limited, and everyone knew it.

Almost a year later you received the proposal you had dreamed of for so long, and you were so happy that the idea of ​​leaving England wasn't scary at all, it was wonderful. You only told your parents at first, then Aimee ten days before you left. 

You didn't know how to tell him that you were moving, especially since you knew Mason wouldn't handle it very well. He was injured and had some problems with his Chelsea contract, and Mason was looking to you every day for comfort to feel good. 

He found out before you could tell him, and only because you left the plane ticket where he could see it, but it wasn't intentional, you just forgot to put it away. You still remember his face when Mason turned to you with the ticket in his hand, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized the argument was closer than you thought.

“Why do you have a plane ticket to Australia?” He asked quietly, but deep down you knew Mason knew what it meant. 

You couldn't lie to him anymore and you had to be honest, no matter how much it hurt.

“Cause I’m moving to Australia” Mason looked at the paper in his hand once more, probably wanting to see the date. The day you would leave.

“In ten days?” You just nodded, sighing when you saw Mason’s lip tremble. He put the paper back where he had found it and stared at you. “And when were you going to tell me? When you were getting on the plane?”

“I was planning on telling you right away, you weren't supposed to find out like this.” 

“It wouldn't hurt any less if you had told me sooner. How long have you known you were moving?”

“Almost two months” Mason agreed and you could see a piece of his heart break, then another and another. “C’mon, let's talk about it.”

You held out your hand to Mason, but he didn't take it and just stood there staring at you. You walked over to him and grabbed his hand, pulling him onto the couch with you. Mason sat on the couch and you knelt on the floor in front of him, resting your arms on his knee as he stared at you in so much pain that you felt your heart clench.

“Mase, you know how much I wanted this job, I worked really hard for this transfer and I finally got it” you explained to him, gently stroking his leg. “Don't be mad at me, but we knew I would have to move if I got the job.”

“It's not that I didn't want you to get the job, I just didn't think it would happen, it seemed so far away and you didn't tell me. I'm the last to know” he spoke, staring at his hands without looking at you, but you brought your hand to his chin and made him look at you. “And we both know that our relationship isn't going to work out.”

“We just don't date because you don't want to, if it were up to me you know you'd be my girlfriend” he spoke softly and you sighed, knowing it was true.

“Mase, I know you have a crush on me and yeah, I have a crush on you but-”

“Y/N, I don’t have a crush on you, I’m in love with you. I love you” he said and you felt your heart race ‘cause you never let Mason confess his feelings to you, and you knew that what he felt was much bigger. “How can you say that I have a crush on you when I've been doing everything for you for almost a year? It's not fair to me.”

“Well, I never asked you to do anything for me. Mason, I'm sorry, but I also never promised to offer you more than I already do” you got up from the floor and sat next to him, but Mason continued to stare at the floor in front of him.

“I love you and I've loved you since before I kissed you for the first time, how funny is that? And even after months of sleeping next to you, having sex, wanting to be good enough for you, you don't feel anything for me? How can you be so cold?” 

“I never wanted this relationship to go ahead ‘cause I always hoped to go to Australia. You've got Chelsea, you've got enough women to last you the rest of your life, live it, Mason.” 

“I don't want any other woman, it's always been you, Y/N. It's always been you, and you acting like it's nothing is what hurts me the most” a tear ran down Mason's face, but he quickly wiped it away, which was in vain because he couldn't stop other tears from falling, and before you knew it Mason was crying, sobbing. “Why are you doing this to me?”

You didn't know how to respond, so you stayed silent as you watched Mason cry. And the scene was sad, because there was nothing you could do to comfort him, what was done was done.

“I will wait for you to come back” he whispered, and then turned his face to look at you.

“Mason, that’s the point. I don’t know if I will ever come back. What if I like Australia? Or if I find someone there?” At that moment Mason felt like he was going to have a panic attack, and he was sure he was running out of air to breathe. “Go and live your life and forget about me, that's what I'm asking.”

“I can’t do this, Y/N. I can’t. I love you and I have loved you since I was eighteen, how can you ask me to forget you? How can you ask me to forget you after sharing so much of myself with you?” He stood up, putting his hands in his hair and breathing quickly.

“Don't forget me then, but I won't promise you that I'll come back.” 

“How can you pretend you don't feel anything for me? You can confess it, no one has to know.” 

“Because I don’t love you back.” You said it, and even Mason knew it was a lie, but it still hurt.

“You do. Don’t lie. If you don’t love me you shouldn’t act like you do” he said between sobs. “Don’t do this to me, please. I’m begging you to stay.”

“I already made my decision long ago, you're not going to change that Mason” you spoke with a lump in your throat, wanting to cry but refusing to cry in front of him and making things more difficult. 

“Just say you love me back” he begged, and Mason looked like the saddest man you'd ever seen.

“I'm not going to say anything ‘cause things can't get any harder than they already are. Everything it's over between us, Mason. In ten days I'm going to Australia and you're going to stay here and conquer the world. Without me.”

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

Mason sighed as he entered his quiet London flat. It was strange to return to a place that had once been the place he considered home, but now London was no longer his home, and neither was Manchester. 

Because the place Mason considered home for a long time was in Australia, and now it was someone else's home.

Mason was going crazy and he was sure of it, but he swears that when he threw himself on the bed where you used to lie he smelled your perfume. That's where Mason broke down.

“Why did you do this to me, Y/N?” He spoke to himself, closing his eyes and feeling the tears run down his neck ‘cause he was lying down. A sob escaped his lips, it was the first time he had cried since the last time he saw you and Mason realized that he didn't know how to deal with the things that were happening in his life.

His contract with Chelsea ended and Mason joined Manchester United, but he was far from a happy man. Even with so many insults and threats, he didn't cry once, and every smile he gave when he went to Manchester United was fake. 

Mason was just surviving and doing whatever he was told to do, ‘cause all his thoughts were about you, from the moment he woke up in the morning until the time he lay down to sleep. 

And Mason even had the false idea that you were also thinking about him, but no, because now you have a boyfriend. Mason feels his own body heat up with anger when he thinks about another man touching you, kissing you in the same way he did. 

Mason's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he sighed because he didn't want to look at the message. And it was something that had become a habit for him, if no message was from you, why would he be excited to receive one?

But he still picked up his phone to check and was not at all surprised to see Aimee's message.

Mason threw his phone on the mattress, looking around the room and seeing that you hadn't left anything there, not even a sock, and it was as if you had never entered that room. 

The worst part is that every time Mason saw Aimee he remembered that you two were always together too, because you were like twins, you were always together and did the same things. He also heard that you and Aimee had a falling out over your decision to move to Australia, but had talked things through before you traveled.

Y/N has a new boyfriend. Declan's voice crossed Mason's mind again, and that phrase had been haunting him ever since he heard it. 

Mason knew you loved him, he could see it in the touches, the looks and even the secrets you shared with each other. You were too stubborn to tell him that, and Mason knew it wasn't fair to ask you to give up on a dream, but he wished he could have heard at least once the three words he always wanted to hear from your lips. Just once was enough, because then Mason would know that all those months together had been worth it.

Mason can't understand how you don't miss him, someone you shared everything with until months ago and now he's a stranger. How can you not miss him when Mason has been missing you even when he's sleeping? Don't you miss him when you're taking a shower with your new boyfriend? The thought makes Mason want to vomit.

But now you have a boyfriend and it's him you say I love you to, it's him who asks to hold your hand, it's him who admires you sleeping.

Mason didn't know it was possible to feel so jealous of someone while having a broken heart. It's been five months since you left and Mason feels like his heart hurts more every day, and he doesn't know how long it will take for him to heal.

He needs to forget you ‘cause you've definitely already forgotten him, but he doesn't know how. Mason discovered that he needs you the same way he needs air to breathe. 

But you moved on and Mason moved on with a broken heart, in a helpless state, and even though he'll never open up to anyone the way he did to you, at some point that pain has to pass.

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹ 3 months later ✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“No, I didn't forget the dress, mum” you said in a phone call walking through the London airport while talking to your mother. She was traveling to Ireland and wouldn't be back until next week, so you were alone for the next few days. “Yes, I will wait for you to come back, you know I will stay in England for twenty days. I know. Yes, I will. Bye, I love you too.”

You almost groaned at the amount of people walking around London airport, and it would be much harder to find Aimee than you thought. After eight months, you are back in the rainy, cold weather of England, and you missed it so much that you felt like you could cry at any moment.

Aimee and Henry's wedding is in three days, and that's why you've brought yourself back to England, ‘cause you wouldn't miss it for anything. 

Australia is a great place to live and you love your job there, you've made some friends but... Australia is not London. 

“Y/N!” You heard Aimee's voice before you even saw her, and your eyes filled with tears when you saw her waiting for you at the airport exit. It was like a scene from a movie, but you ran and hugged each other while you cried.

“How can you go and live far away from me? My God, I hate you, I was dying missing you” she cried, and you didn't let go of each other for long minutes. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course I missed you” you wiped the tear from your tear-streaked face, and it was impossible to stop smiling when you knew you were home again. “You look so beautiful. How is everyone? Are you looking forward to the wedding?”

“I can't believe I'm without my best friend when I get married, let's start there. And yes, everyone is fine, everyone is excited to see you again” you and Aimee walked towards the airport exit carrying your bags, and the reception you received was heavy rain at the exit. Nothing better than being in England.

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“I heard you have a boyfriend in Australia” Henry said with a smirk on his mouth, and you blushed. “Why didn't you bring him?”

“First, we’re just having sex, he’s not my boyfriend. Second, why would I bring him to your wedding?” You put a piece of pizza in your mouth, wanting to ignore what they were talking about. 

Josh wasn't really your boyfriend, you worked together and enjoyed being together, but he was in love with someone else and you knew it, so you never wanted anything from him. Your heart was only half in Australia too.

“And what was that photo you posted on Instagram months ago?” Aimee asked and you looked angry at her. They were nosy and wouldn't change.

“He mentioned me in his stories, what could I do?” You shrugged it off, because it really wasn't that big of a deal.

“Everyone saw it” Henry said, and he emphasized when he said “everyone”. 

You looked at him and thought of Mason. In fact, Mason hadn't left your thoughts for months, he was what you thought about twenty-four hours a day. You looked at the table without looking at the two of them, and even though you didn't want to show that you cared about Mason, they were able to read your face like a book.

“You know he's coming to the wedding, right?” Aimee asked and you agreed. “It's the international break and he has a few days off, he'll be in London during those days.” 

“I know.” 

You were nervous about seeing Mason again after so long, even more because you left without saying what he wanted so bad to hear. 

It wasn't fair to confess your feelings when you were moving to the other side of the world. It wasn't fair to him and it wasn't fair to you, that's why even after so many months with him and knowing how much he loved you, you refused to tell him how you felt about him, because you knew it would be worse.

Deep down you know that if he brings someone else it will hurt, but you can't feel hurt when it was your decision. Maybe, just maybe, if Mason is over you it means that going back to Australia and moving on is the best option, even if you feel incomplete. 

God, it's so hard to love someone and want to do the right thing.

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“Should I wear red lingerie?” Aimee asked and you looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re not supposed to have sex until the wedding” you looked at yourself in the mirror, admiring your bare legs in the long-sleeved black dress. “Do I look hotter or is it just me?”

“You are hot, baby.” 

You and Aimee are getting ready for her bachelorette party at a club in London, one you used to go to as teenagers. She's invited her bridesmaids and other friends, and it's sure to be an amazing night.

You can't believe your best friend is getting married. 

The club was full of people, the music was lively and soon you found the place reserved for Aimee's bachelor party, because there were balloons, glitter, feathers and lots of pink and white.

In Australia you made some friends but it was different being with the people you grew up with, who know you inside out and like the same things as you. 

Aimee cried every fifteen minutes when she remembered that she was going to marry the love of her life in two days, and in the end someone always cried with emotion with her. She and Henry loved each other since they met, it was incredible to see how well they worked together, how much Henry treated her well or did everything for her.

You always wanted someone like that by your side.

As you watched Aimee talk to Kylie, probably about the wedding or about Henry, you remembered that you had a person like that for you.

And you ruined everything. 

You felt your heart skip a beat when you thought about Mason again, and even after the drinks you had already had, you felt sad when you remembered that besides pushing Mason out of your life, you were also alone.

A few months ago, before you moved, you asked your mother how she knew that Richard, your stepfather, was the right person for her. She and your father had a bad marriage and she was not happy, and you and your sister suffered the consequences of that failed marriage, but with Richard she was glowing with happiness.

“It needs to be someone special.” 

Someone who doesn't argue with you, someone who celebrates the little things, someone who makes you happy most days. Happiness isn't eternal but it's moments, and if someone makes you sad more than happy, there's something wrong.

You had someone special, and you realized it when you stared into that empty, silent apartment in Australia, far from everyone you love. 

You were lost in thought, but you came back to reality when Aimee screamed and pointed behind you, and then you heard male laughter.

A laugh that you could recognize anywhere.

You smelled Mason's scent before you even saw him and your legs went weak as you realized what was happening. 

“Hi boys” Aime squealed, cheering as Henry walked up to her and kissed her in front of everyone, causing the girls to clap. You’d have smiled if you weren't feeling Mason's gaze on your back.

It was ridiculous that you were afraid to turn around and look at him, but you were scared to death. You turned so you could look at his face, even if it was the only time that night. You couldn't help yourself ‘cause you needed to look at him, so you turned around.

You met his eyes before you could react, because you knew he was watching you, his gaze heavy on your back. His face was serious now, and the worst thing was that you noticed that his eyes no longer had that sparkle they had when you were together.

You were the one most to blame for this.

You couldn't look away from him but you couldn't say anything either, you were just taken out of your thoughts and had to look to your side when Declan shouted when he saw you. You smiled at your friend, happy to see him, because Declan was your family too.

“Hello, D” you hugged him, closing your eyes and feeling emotional. You don't know how you managed to go so many months without seeing them. “How are you?”

“I'm fine. And you? Did you realize that England is your place?” Lauren walked over and Declan wrapped his arms around her neck. “This woman has been talking about you every day since you moved in, I couldn't take it anymore.”

“That’s not true” she complained and rolled her eyes smiling, because Lauren was also one of your best friends. “By the way, we missed you, Y/N.”

Mason was standing in the same spot and you finally turned to him after talking to Declan, and you almost rolled your eyes when you saw them all move away purposefully. It was like seeing a ray of sunshine after a storm, and you felt like nothing else mattered when Mason had his eyes on you like you were the only woman in the room.

It was ridiculous to try to explain how handsome Mason looked. He was wearing black pants, a black men's tank top, a white wool coat and Converse. 

“Hello Mason” you said, and even with the loud music he would hear, because it seemed like there were only the two of you there. 

Mason scratched his throat before answering you, he seemed as nervous as you were, and deep down, you were glad for that.

“Hello” he mumbled but you could read his lips. Oh, how you missed his voice.

You took a step towards him, ignoring that everyone was looking at you, and you were lost with the Mason colony around you. 

“You good?” You asked and Mason just nodded, but then Reece appeared hugging Mason by the neck and breaking the bad mood between you. He was drunk and you noticed, he was laughing at nothing and holding onto Mason. You smiled, because you had missed him too. 

“Oh, did you remember you have friends?” You rolled your eyes and hugged him, feeling Mason's gaze on you. “I missed you, Y/N.” 

“I missed you so much, Reece. There is no one like you in Australia.”

“Mason missed you too, but he doesn't tell anyone” Reece whispered in your ear and you smiled, not looking at Mason so he wouldn't realize his friend was talking about him, but before you could do anything, Mason left and went to Declan and Lauren. “He's been a complicated boy these past few months.”

“I fucked up with him and he hates me now” and it was true, Mason probably started to despise you after you were such a bitch to him. 

“He loves you, but he is so stubborn ‘cause you hurt him.”

Mason was now on his back, and God, you just wanted to hug him and feel safe again as you felt his arms around you. 

Mason ignored you perfectly for a long time, you couldn't get close to him and you didn't know how either. Was it fair to want to talk to him and then leave again? Maybe Mason is just protecting his own heart because you already broke his heart once, it's not right to break his heart again after so many months.

Henry said that he had decided to come to the same club as Aimee ‘cause he wanted to have fun with her and the boys, and you smiled at his confession. Aimee knew he was coming and hadn't told you anything, who thought it would be a girls' night. 

“Where's your boyfriend, Y/N?” Declan asked hours later when you were both sitting on the beanbags, the music lower now and you could talk without shouting. 

Before you could answer Mason stood up, saying he was going to get a drink from the bar even though the table was full of drink options. You looked at him disappointed ‘cause you wanted to be able to talk to him or tell him that you don't have a boyfriend, and he preferred to leave than hear you talk about another man.

“Our boy Mason is jealous” Reece laughed and you decided to go after Mason, without answering Declan's question.

It wasn't hard to find Mason, he sat in one of the chairs at the counter and had his back to you, so you quickly sat next to him. He noticed when you sat down next to him but didn't say anything, just continued to stare at the untouched drink in front of him. 

“Running away is not something you usually do” you said and Mason finally looked at you, raising his eyebrows.

“I used to do a lot of things that I don't do anymore” not that you deserve Mason being rude, but it's clear that Mason still resents you. 

“And that's why I know things between us aren't resolved yet” you saw Mason sigh, and you wanted so much to be able to hug him, but if you asked him to he would probably run away from you.

“Yes, everything is resolved. We resolved it when you decided to leave” Mason held the glass and threatened to get up, but you grabbed his arm and stopped him from leaving. “Please let me go, don't make me suffer again.”

“I don't want to make you suffer, Mason, I just want to talk to you for a while” you practically begged him, but Mason was still trying to pull away from you. 

“Talk about what? About how my life went to shit after you left? That I was here suffering while you started a new life in fucking Australia? You wanna know about that to laugh at me because I was an idiot?” 

“Don’t do that, please” you whispered, because Mason had no idea how much you suffered away from him. You never told him, of course he doesn't know.

“I gave my all to you, Y/N, and that's the worst ‘cause I still love you so much that my heart feels like it's going to jump out of my chest” he said looking at you and you felt your own hands tremble, Mason always had that effect on you. “You can't just leave and come back wanting to talk to me like everything is fine, because it's not.”

“Please don't act like it wasn't difficult for me too” You felt your eyes water and Mason shook his head in disbelief.

Because it was really difficult. You spent weeks thinking if you did the right thing, if leaving everything in England was the best option, if ending the best thing that had ever happened to you was the best choice, and there was only one answer in your head. 

“Yeah, I know. By the way, where's your boyfriend? Is that why your life was hard in Australia?” Mason asked and drank all the last drink he had ordered. “I went to hell after you moved out, and while you were there enjoying your new life I stayed here because I was dropped off without notice. Don't feel rejected because I don't want you to fuck me again, you rejected me first.”

Mason turned his back and left the club without saying goodbye, leaving you alone with the guilt and regret consuming you.

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

You took at least five deep breaths before ringing the bell on the white door in front of you. You also don't know how or why, but your fingerprint was still registered at the entrance to the building where Mason has a flat in London, and after convincing Aimee to tell you if he was there, she finally said yes. 

You regretted it the second you rang the doorbell, especially since it was only seven thirty in the morning, but you had been up all night and would go crazy if you didn't go there. You raised your finger to press the doorbell again but heard a grumble coming from the other side of the door, and you hated yourself ‘cause you probably woke Mason up.

He opened the door wearing only underwear and a crumpled face. You swallowed hard.

“Y/n?” He spoke in a hoarse voice, and before he could tell you to leave, you entered the apartment cause you needed to talk to him. “Is there something wrong?”

Mason closed the door and looked at you, waiting for you to answer. You took another deep breath, but it still wasn't enough to make you less nervous.

“It was difficult for me too, it still is” Mason raised his eyebrow. “Don't think that just because I never said what you wanted to hear, I didn't feel anything, I just knew that our time together had an end date and there was nothing to change that.”

“Look, I don’t want to-”

“You’re gonna listen to me, Mason” you stopped Mason from speaking, and then he kept looking at you. “It's not fair for you to say that I didn't suffer, because no one was in Australia with me to know that, you don't know how many nights I cried on the phone with Aimee wanting to give up everything to go back to England and to you.”

“And I don't care if you think I don't care about you, but know that you were one of the best things that ever happened to me and you can't treat me badly like you treated me yesterday, it's not fair to me either” you stopped for two seconds to breathe, and Mason looked at you without saying anything. “You know how much I always wanted this job, Mason, and you can't imagine how much it hurts me to realize that I'm gone and I was much happier here than I am in Australia.”

A tear fell from your face and you wiped it away, Mason brought his hands to his face and sighed, taking a step towards you, but you stopped him from getting closer. 

“I'm not here to ask you for forgiveness, I just needed to say a few things.”

And you were gone as quickly as you arrived, leaving Mason and his own thoughts alone.

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

Mason felt like shit for the rest of the day, mainly ‘cause he knew he treated you badly. The problem is that Mason gave you everything, and when he least expected it, you broke his heart into pieces.

Those were terrible months, Mason was training, he was irritated with everyone and especially on the field, which caused him to be sent off and made the coach discuss with him. Mason spent months without sleeping through the night, got drunk at every party he went to, and even spent weeks without talking to his own family so no one would ask about you.

Aimee and Henry's wedding is tomorrow and Mason would rather be anywhere but there. He can't even imagine what it's going to be like to see you so beautiful and in a relationship with another man who's oceans away, but Mason knows it's going to be very difficult.

“Why do you have such a shitty face?” Declan asked as he took the beer Mason handed him, and Mason had been quiet for minutes while they were watching an old football match that was on the television.

“Y/N came here this morning” Mason spoke softly and threw himself onto the couch, sighing as he remembered the words you spoke to him. “I feel like shit again, bro.”

“You've been feeling like shit for eight months, my friend” Mason rolled his eyes, but he couldn't disagree. You came back and turned over all the feelings that Mason thought were gone, when in fact they were stored and emerged to squeeze his heart again.

And he knows that in a few days you'll be gone again, he knows it'll be shit again and it'll be another eight months to forget everything. 

“I feel like we haven't ended things between us yet, but I'm not ready for that. Man, I love her so much, she's gonna kill me again” Mason confessed, and for months he hadn't talked about you to anyone but Aimee. His mother would always ask, but Mason wouldn't talk about it to her, or anyone else. 

The funniest thing was that even the fans said that there was something wrong with Mason, but he always said that everything was fine while putting that sadness deeper in his heart. 

“Don't let her bring you down again then” Declan said it like it was obvious, but it was easy for him because he had Lauren, Jude and he was happy.

“It's not that simple.” 

“Make it so.”

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“You look so pretty, I'm gonna ruin my makeup from crying this much” you said as you shook your eyes to stop crying as you looked at Aimee in the wedding dress. “I have never seen such a beautiful bride.”

“Please, stop, you're making me emotional and I can't cry” Aimee said looking at the ceiling, and then you approached and hugged her, saying once again how beautiful she was. “You look beautiful too, that color looks wonderful on you.”

“I know, I really look good in blue” you joked, and she laughed as the two of you checked to make sure everything was ready for Aimee to get married. “Let's check if we have everything.”

Aimee agreed and went to the window to see the place where the ceremony was taking place. All the guests were already there and in a few minutes it would be her turn. The day was beautiful, and everything was perfect. You walked over to the window, looking down at where the guests were sitting, and even without meaning to, your gaze quickly found the person who had been your thoughts for months.

Mason was laughing with Declan and Reece, and he had no way of seeing you there but you could even see his eyes closing as he laughed. He looked so happy, he didn't look like the same sad-hearted man you'd met two days ago, and for a moment you felt good that Mason was smiling.

“Did you talk to him?” Aimee asked, and you nodded.

“He hates me” you shrugged because it's the truth. 

“He doesn't hate you, don't be silly, Mason loves you so much, he just didn't know how to deal with you leaving.” 

“It doesn't matter now” you wiped away a tear and turned to Aimee, smiling at her. “So, something old?”

“My grandmother's earrings” Aimee pointed to her grandmother's gold earrings, and they really were beautiful. 

“Something new?”

“My dress.”

“Something borrowed?”

“My shoe.”

“Something blue?”

“The sexy lingerie I'm wearing underneath.”

“Oh, spare me the details” you rolled your eyes, and then smiled nervously ‘cause the time was finally coming. Aimee's father came in to call her and you finally left, but not before wishing her good luck.

You went down to where the ceremony would be and greeted a few people, some surprised and happy that you were back in England. Lauren waved and called you over, so you quickly walked over to her, sighing because Mason was there too. You felt your hands sweat as you walked down the hallway, as well as your heart racing.

“Hey guys” you said and almost groaned when you saw that the empty seat Lauren had saved was next to Mason. “Is this place for me?”

Mason looked at you and you almost forgot how to walk, because he had this effect on you, making you nervous with just a look. He was so handsome, he looked like he was ready for his own wedding. You quickly looked away from him, but Mason didn't stop looking at you for a second.

“Sure” Lauren smiled and you wanted to kill her. You sat next to Mason, controlling your breathing, and even so he didn't stop looking at you, leaving you blushing. 

“You're drooling man, control yourself” Reece spoke softly to Mason, and Mason cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, making RJ laugh. You were talking to Lauren because you had nothing to talk about with Mason, but his cologne was all around you, making you drunk by the smell of the perfume he had been using for years. 

Everyone cried or got emotional when Aimee walked in, especially Henry who cried like a baby when he saw her walking towards him. You and Lauren were almost sobbing throughout the ceremony, and Declan was already laughing at you. 

When they said their vows was when you and Mason looked at each other, and a racing heart because of his deep gaze on you made you come closer and hold his arm, leaning your face against his suit in a loving way, and it was the closest to love you had come in eight months.

Because Mason means love to you, and not even so many months apart have changed that.

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“I'm nervous, I forgot the speech paper” you whispered to Anthony, Aimee's brother, and he shrugged with a laugh.

“Not my problem, Y/N, I've already said my speech.”

“Okay, I can do this” you took a deep breath and he helped you climb onto a chair. Everyone had already eaten dinner and everything was so spectacular, it would be a wonderful night for your best friend. 

You trembled as you saw all the eyes on you, but you held the microphone and smiled to pretend you weren't nervous.

“I wrote some words on a piece of paper but I forgot the paper at home, so I'll have to improvise, I hope the bride and groom don't mind” everyone laughed at what you said and you felt your cheeks heat up, speaking in public wasn't very easy, speaking at a wedding was even worse. “I remember the day Aimee came to me when we were in college a few years ago and said she met the coolest guy in the world and I said "impossible, no man is the coolest in the world" and yet she said he was.” 

“In fact Henry, you proved that you are really a very nice guy and Aimee was right, ‘cause she shines when she looks at you, just like we can see in your eyes how much you love her. I could tell you all about some of the embarrassing moments of the two of them, but I prefer to talk about love cause I think everyone would like to hear it.”

“I once asked my mom how she knew my stepdad was the right person for her and she told me it had to be someone special. It's a person who doesn't mind being silent by your side because they know that everything is fine even without talking. It's someone who makes you happy just by remembering that person for a minute of the day or the whole day. It's someone who doesn't judge you, doesn't embarrass you or devalue what you feel.”

Even without wanting to, your gaze fell on Mason, and he was staring at you on top of that chair with a microphone in your hand. He was paying attention to every word that came out of your mouth and you almost lost focus because it hurt so much knowing that you would never have him in your life again.

“You two are each other's special person. I'm sure everyone here has someone special, and it's worth dropping everything when you know you have someone by your side to love you and go through everything with you, because that's how love works.”

Your eyes filled with tears and you had to stop looking at Mason ‘cause even he got teary-eyed listening to you. You looked at Aimee and she was crying and trying not to ruin her makeup as she ran her hand over her eyes, and Henry next to her smiled as he wiped a tear that ran down his face too. 

You also had to wipe away the tear that ran down your face. 

“Here's to Aimee and Henry. May their lives be wonderful” you raised your glass of champagne and everyone raised their own, toasting to their new life together. Anthony helped you down from the chair and you quickly went to your seat, but in reality you wanted to go out and cry.

Mason didn't take his eyes off you and you started to feel suffocated, especially since he hadn't even wanted to come near you for two days and he still left you in pieces when you tried to talk to him.

“I've never heard such beautiful words, Y/N” Aimee Aimee hugged you and you smiled, still with tears in your eyes. “Thank you for coming, thank you for being my best friend. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Aim.”

You didn't even make it to the table because everyone stopped to congratulate you on your beautiful speech, and when you finally got there, Mason was no longer there. 

“Where is he?” you asked RJ, and he said that Mason had gone to the bathroom, before anyone could stop you again, you went to look for him. 

You waited a few minutes before Mason came out of the bathroom and saying that he was surprised to see you waiting for him was nothing new. You stared at each other for a few seconds before another guy came out of the bathroom and you and Mason had to break contact, so you pulled him by the hand and walked down the hallway until you found another door. 

Mason didn't say anything as he followed you, and when you saw that it was a warehouse and there was no one there, you went in and pulled Mason with you, pushing him against the wall.

“I love you” you whispered and Mason's eyes widened, shocked because he finally heard the three words he wanted to hear so much. Maybe it was too late and you would never be together again, but at least you got your feelings off your chest and told Mason. “Oh my God, I love you.”

“What?” Mason put his hand over his mouth, not wanting to show his smile, but he was smiling so much it was impossible to hide it. “I didn't hear.”

“I love you, I love you, I love-.” You had never felt such relief when Mason reached out and pulled your mouth against his.

Kissing Mason is like Christmas morning, or the morning of your birthday or the birthday of someone you love. Feeling Mason's arms is like feeling like nothing in the world can bring you down ‘cause you have someone protecting you from everything and ready to fight with you. 

“Does he ask to hold your hand?” Mason whispered and then kissed you again, and you couldn't respond because you were busy feeling the wonderful taste of his lips. “I bet he doesn't kiss you like I do.” 

Mason held you with both hands on your neck, and then he brought his hand to the back of your neck and grabbed your hair, making you pull your mouth away from his and look at him.

Why did he have to be so handsome?

And that stupid blond hair, that made you want to take his clothes off completely.

The look on your face was probably desperate with desire ‘cause Mason smiled and ran his tongue over his lips, staring at your mouth. 

“No” you confessed, feeling Mason smile. “You're the only one who knows how to touch me and how to love me.”

Mason smiled when you responded and pulled your mouth against his once more, wrapping his arm around your neck and holding you against him. It was okay, you didn't want to be anywhere else but in his arms.

Mason pushed you against the wall and you gasped ‘cause his body against yours gave you protection. How did you manage to go so many months without him? You only knew one home, and that was next to Mason. 

You'll never be able to live in Australia alone again. 

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“Are you ready for a wedding?” Mason asked as he kissed your skin, and he whispered it because of the blue panties you were wearing. You weren't discreet when you left the wedding together and you heard your friends cheering when they saw you get into Mason's car, and you hadn't been able to stop smiling for hours, ever since he kissed you for the first time. “Something blue…”

You sighed as Mason showered you with kisses, you were numb with his body on top of yours. You didn't know how much you had missed this, these moments with Mason where you completed each other like soulmates, because only he knew how to drive you crazy. 

“There is still something borrowed and something old missing” you said, closing your eyes and bringing your hands to Mason's hair. His breath was on your groin and you almost moaned, because you were tired but you needed Mason so much that you felt like you were going to explode. “But we can think about it.”

“I don't want you to think about anything but me right now, love.”

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

It's been a month since you got back to Australia and you and Mason have been trying to keep things at arm's length, but it's really hard because when you're waking up, Mason's going to sleep or when you're working, Mason's waking up.

But ever since you set foot in England again, you knew that this was where you belonged, and when you returned to Australia, you didn't think twice when you asked for a transfer again.

Your boss agreed and said that you could get the same position in England, but you would have to wait a few weeks for all the paperwork to be ready. No one knew you were  coming back because it would be a surprise to both Mason and his mom or his friends.

And at that moment you were at Manchester airport ‘cause the first place you were going was home. Mason. You don't even know if he's at home, if he's training, he might even be with someone else there and you feel like you might faint when you think about it.

It's already getting dark and cold, but you’re at an Uber with the only two suitcases of stuff you'd taken to Australia with you. The car dropped you off in front of Mason's house and if you weren't so nervous you would roll your eyes at the size of the place. 

You rang the bell at the gate and after a few rings you heard a bark and raised your eyebrows, because you didn't know Mason had a dog. 

“Hello?” His voice was hoarse and you almost cried, you were missing him so much it was making you sick.

“Hi, were you the one who asked for a girlfriend?” you were smiling and everything was silent for a few seconds until you saw the door to the house open quickly. Mason ran barefoot on the wet grass and you couldn't stop the tears from falling down your face. 

“What the fuck? Are you insane?” Mason pulled you against him, lifting you off the ground as you jumped against him and wrapping your legs around his hips. “I thought you were in Australia, my god I missed you so much. I love you, I love you” Mason whispered and squeezed you, without letting you go. 

“I love you, I'll never leave, never again” you cried as you hugged him, trying to hold onto Mason everywhere so he would never let you go again. “You are my home Mason, I'm sorry for everything, I know I don't deserve it but I just want to be with you forever.”

“I can't believe you're back, I'm dreaming” Mason finally let go of you and put you on the ground, then he pulled you in and kissed you after more than a month away from your lips. “You're still going to kill me by doing these things to me.”

Mason pulled your bags and pointed to the entrance of the house, and you walked as he pulled your things. You stopped when a puppy ran out of the house towards you, and you bent down to pet it.

“Oh my God, we already have a child?” you joked and Mason just smiled and crouched down to be close to you. The puppy jumped on your legs and then ran to Mason, who petted his fur.

“This is Ace, he’s a boy and he has been my new company since you left me alone.”

“Ahh, poor boy, he had to put up with you crying for long weeks.”

“His mommy is home now” you stood up and looked at Mason, kissing him once more. 

“My home is wherever you are.”