#I would say no to that if someone were to ask me

[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.”

[a-lexia11]

Womanizer (Part 1)

Fuckboy!Alexia Putellas x reader

Word count: Around 14k

Warning:highly suggestive (minors DNI), some angst.

Based on this request

Part 2

Note: I will be posting Part 2 in a few minutes, I just need to proofread it!

You relocated to Barcelona, hoping for a fresh start—a new city, new people, and a chance to rebuild your life with your three-year-old daughter, Mia.

You needed a place where the past wouldn’t haunt you, where you could finally focus on giving Mia the stable life she deserves.

It hasn’t been easy. You spent five years with your ex-boyfriend, someone you once believed was your forever. But over time, the cracks began to show.

He cheated on you more times than you care to remember, always finding excuses, always making promises he never kept.

When you discovered you were pregnant, you thought maybe things would change—that becoming parents might finally bring him closer.

Instead, the moment he found out about the pregnancy, he walked out on you without a second thought.

He left you to carry the weight of it all alone—heartbroken, pregnant, and unsure of what the future held.

Here in Barcelona, you met your neighbor, Carmen, a true blessing in your life. From the very first day you moved in, she was there—knocking on your door with a plate of home-cooked food, her warm smile making you feel like you weren’t quite so far from home.

Additionally, Carmen speaks English, which has been a great relief. Navigating a new country is challenging enough, and trying to learn Spanish on top of it all has been overwhelming at times.

Still, you believe your Spanish is at a decent level.

So when you first realized she was fluent, it felt like another little gift from the universe.

Carmen, with her silver-streaked hair and lively eyes, quickly became a constant in your new world, someone who seemed to understand without asking too many questions.

“You remind me of my daughter,” she’d say often, her tone affectionate as she’d pass by your door or hand you a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery down the street.

It didn’t take long before she offered you a job at her pride and joy—her little flower shop on the corner. “It’s nothing fancy,” she’d told you with a shrug, “but it’s my heart. And I could use the help. You’ll like it, trust me.”

At first, you hesitated. You hadn’t planned on working with flowers, or working at all, not while you were still getting your bearings in a new city.

But Carmen’s offer came at just the right time, and something about her made it impossible to refuse.

The shop itself is small but beautiful. The soft light from the street filters through the windows in the morning, casting a warm glow over the arrangements of roses, lilies, and wildflowers.

You spend your first days trimming stems, arranging blooms, and greeting customers. It’s peaceful in a way you hadn’t expected—almost therapeutic.

——

One afternoon, while you’re carefully arranging a bouquet behind the counter, the soft chime of the doorbell rang through the shop. You glanced up, and there she is—Alexia Putellas.

Her arrival is impossible to miss. Not only because she’s Barcelona’s football darling, her face splashed across billboards all over the city, but because she’s also infamous for her reputation. A womanizer. The kind of woman who seems to have a new lover every week.

Carmen had spoken of her often, describing how Alexia visits the shop almost daily. To Carmen, she’s practically like a daughter.

But until now, you hadn’t seen Alexia yourself. She’s been away, traveling for football matches.

Your daughter, Mia, is a huge fan of hers, idolizing her both as a footballer and a larger-than-life figure.

You’d never told Mia about Alexia’s reputation though—it wasn’t something your three-year-old needed to know obviously.

Alexia entered the shop with that unmistakable swagger, every movement filled with a quiet confidence that immediately grabs attention.

She’s not alone either. A shorter woman is draped under her arm, looking relaxed and cozy, as if she’s used to being in such close proximity to Alexia.

It’s unclear whether she’s a friend or one of Alexia’s many "flings," but the way they moved together hints at something more, or perhaps nothing at all. With Alexia, it’s hard to tell.

Alexia greeted Carmen as though she’s just stopped by to visit family.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Carmen’s cheek. “¡Hola, Carmen!” she said warmly. “¡Qué gusto verte! Te he echado de menos.” (Hi, Carmen! It's so good to see you! I've missed you)

Carmen beamed, clearly delighted to see her. “¡Alexia! ¡Qué alegría verte de nuevo!” she exclaimed , her voice filled with affection. (Alexia! What a joy to see you again)

“Hace tiempo que no pasabas por aquí. ¿Cómo te ha ido? Todo bien con los partidos?” (It's been a while since you last came by. How have you been? Everything going well with the matches?)

“Todo bien, gracias. Una temporada agotadora, pero estamos ganando, así que vale la pena,” Alexia replied, her eyes drifting around the shop before locking onto you. (All good, thanks. It's been an exhausting season, but we're winning, so it's worth it)

“Esta es Laura,” she added casually, introducing the woman at her side. (This is Laura)

“Laura, te presento a Carmen, la dueña de esta maravillosa floristería.” (Laura, let me introduce you to Carmen, the owner of this wonderful flower shop)

Laura smiled kindly at Carmen. “Encantada, Carmen,” she said, her voice soft but genuine. (Nice to meet you, Carmen)

“El placer es mío, Laura,” Carmen replied. “¿Qué te trae por Barcelona?” (The pleasure is mine, Laura.What brings you to Barcelona?)

Laura shrugged with a small laugh. “Estoy aquí de visita. Alexia me está mostrando la ciudad.” (I'm here visiting. Alexia is showing me around the city.)

The conversation flowed easily between them, but Alexia’s gaze kept drifting back to you.

Her eyes swept over you in a way that felt unsettling—almost predatory, as if she were sizing you up.

It’s a look you’ve seen before—back when you were too trusting, too naive, and ended up burned by someone who once gazed at you the same way.

After a bit of back-and-forth, Carmen invited Laura to check out some of the newer flower arrangements, leading her away from the counter. And that’s when Alexia seized her moment.

She walked over to you, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Hola, guapa,” she said in a tone dripping with confidence. “No creo que nos hayamos conocido. Soy Alexia.” (Hello, gorgeous.I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Alexia)

You focused on your work, refusing to meet her gaze. “Y/N,” you replied coolly, your voice polite but distant.

“Un placer, Y/N,” Alexia continued, clearly undeterred by your indifference. (Nice to meet you, Y/N)

She leaned casually on the counter, her eyes following the movements of your hands as you arranged the flowers. “Sabes, tienes un gran talento con las flores”. (You know, you have a real talent with flowers)

You kept your expression neutral, fully aware of what she was trying to do. You were tired of smooth talkers, especially someone like Alexia, who likely believed she could charm anyone into bed.

You’ve seen it all before—Mia’s father had the same cocky attitude before he left you when things got tough.

Without looking up, you switched to English, knowing full well that Alexia speaks it fluently. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate you flirting with someone else.”

Alexia’s smirk widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ah, what a beautiful voice you have, Y/N,” she replied in flawless English, her thick accent making her cockiness even more apparent.

“She’s not my girlfriend, don’t worry. Just a friend… we have a lot of fun together.” She winked at you, making her meaning painfully clear.

You rolled your eyes and refocused on the flowers, hoping that by ignoring her, she would eventually leave you alone.

But Alexia leaned closer, not giving up so easily. “You seem annoyed. I could help with that, you know,” she said, her voice low and suggestive.

You let out a huff, finally meeting her gaze. “You’re the one annoying me.”

Alexia chuckled, clearly enjoying this. “Feisty. I like it,” she said, leaning even closer, her grin widening. “You know, people like you? They’re always incredible in bed.”

You shot her a withering glare but remained silent, resolved not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

You figured that if you didn’t engage, she would get bored and leave. Just before she could say anything else, though, Laura called for her from across the shop.

Alexia straightened up, glancing over at Laura before turning back to you with a smirk. “Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be right back,” she said, winking playfully before sauntering off.

You watched as she approached Laura, wrapping her arms around her from behind and brushing her lips against the top of Laura’s head.

As if sensing your gaze, Alexia glanced back your way and sent you another wink, clearly enjoying the game she was playing.

You rolled your eyes again, muttering under your breath as you gave her the finger. Alexia just grinned, clearly amused, before turning back to Laura.

Eventually, they returned to the counter to pay. Carmen chatted happily with them as they gathered their things, but you kept your focus on your work, doing your best to ignore Alexia’s presence.

As they finished paying, Alexia turned to you one last time. “Adios, Y/N,” she said with a playful wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You didn’t bother replying, simply giving her a blank look as she left the shop, the bell chiming softly behind her.

Once they were gone, Carmen walked over with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” she said gently. “I left you alone with Alexia. She can be… intense.”

“Intense is an understatement.”you replied with a small laugh.

Carmen chuckled, shaking her head. “Yes, I know. She really enjoys the company of women, but I promise you, she’s a good person at heart. You just need to get to know her better.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Sure,” you muttered, not believing a word of it.

——

“Mommy!” Your daughter’s voice called out as soon as you walked through the door of your apartment, returning home from work.

“Hi, baby! I missed you so much,” you said, scooping her up and wrapping her in a tight hug, showering her face with kisses.

“I missed you too!” she giggled, her small arms clinging to you.

You gently set her down and handed her the single flower you’d brought home. It had become a ritual—bringing her a different flower each week because she absolutely adored them.

“Ooh, this one is so pretty! Thank you, Mommy,” she said, planting a kiss on your cheek before dashing off to her room, likely to add her new flower to the others.

“Muchísimas gracias, María,” you said, turning to María, Mia’s babysitter, who had been helping you since you arrived in Barcelona. You handed her a small envelope with money. (Thank you very much,María)

“You’re welcome, Y/N. I love taking care of her. Es una niña maravillosa,” María responded warmly, her smile genuine. (She’s a wonderful girl)

María has been babysitting Mia since you moved to Barcelona. As Mia hasn’t started school yet, she’s still learning Spanish, and María has played a key role in helping her with that.

“Mia, come say goodbye to María, please,” you called out.

Mia came running, her face lighting up as she threw herself into María’s arms and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Adiós, María,” she said in sweet, accented Spanish.

“Adiós, Mia. Hasta mañana,” María replied, giving her a final hug before turning to you. “Adiós,” she said, and you echoed her farewell as she left.

After dinner, Mia begged you to let her watch the Barcelona match. You rolled your eyes internally at the thought of seeing Alexia again, even if only on the screen, but Mia’s big, pleading eyes made it impossible to refuse.

Now, you’re settled in front of the TV with Mia snuggled next to you, both of you watching the match. Mia is practically vibrating with excitement.

When Alexia scored a goal, Mia leaped up from the couch, clapping her hands and cheering loudly. “Did you see that, Mommy? It was amazing!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she mimicked Alexia’s celebration, kissing her shirt just like Alexia did on the screen.

“Yes, I saw that,” you replied, forcing a smile even though your heart wasn’t in it. You couldn’t ignore the pang of frustration at how deeply Mia admired Alexia.

“I want to be just like her when I grow up,” Mia declared, her gaze fixed intently on the TV. Her little hands were raised, as if she were celebrating her own goal.

“Eww, no,” you said without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Why not?” Mia asked, her voice quivering slightly. “I want to be a great player like Alexia. you think I can’t ?”

“Shit, Y/N, think before you speak!” you mentally reprimanded yourself, recognizing that your impulsive reaction could have hurt her feelings.

Your heart melted at the sincerity shining in her eyes.

“Of course you can be a great player,” you said, lifting Mia onto your lap and kissing her forehead.

“Even better than Alexia. But remember, you don’t have to be like her. You can be yourself and still be amazing.”

“Yes! I can be better!” she exclaimed, her spirits lifted. She turns back to the TV, still nestled in your arms, eyes glued to the game.

As you watch the match, you can’t help but feel conflicted. You understand that Alexia’s skill on the field has earned her immense admiration and a place in Mia’s heart.

Yet, you found it difficult to reconcile your daughter’s admiration for someone whose reputation clashed so sharply with your own values.

——

“Hola, guapa. I missed you since yesterday,” you heard Alexia’s voice, laced with her trademark confidence, as you arranged some flowers in a pot.

Startled, you turned to find her standing just behind you. With Carmen out for her dentist appointment, it was just you and Alexia. You let out a sigh, feeling a wave of annoyance wash over you.

You attempted to ignore her, concentrating hard on your task at hand.

“Hey, it’s rude to ignore a customer,” Alexia teased, her tone playfully mocking. “I might just have to tell Carmen about this.”

“You’re not a customer, just a nuisance,” you shot back curtly as you made your way toward the register.

Alexia followed you, casually leaning against the counter with her elbow propped up and her chin resting on her hand, her gaze fixed intently on you.

“Oh, me encanta cuando las mujeres se hacen las difíciles. Es un gran excitante“ (Oh, I love it when women play hard to get. It’s such a turn-on)

“I’m not playing hard to get; I genuinely have no interest,” you replied, focusing on cutting the roses.

Alexia’s smirk grew wider. “Oh, really? Who isn’t interested in me? Me has visto? (Have you seen me?)

You glanced her up and down, feigning disinterest. “Yes, I see you, but there’s not much to see,” you retorted, even though you couldn't deny her stunning looks.

“Por favor, amor, you and I both know you’re lying,” she replied with a smirk, clearly relishing the back-and-forth.

She continued, “You know, last night I had a match.” You merely hummed in response, your disinterest evident as you focused on your work. “Did you watch it?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of pride.

You made a face of mild disgust before lying, “No.”

“Qué pena,” she said with a self-satisfied grin.(What a shame)

“We won, and I even scored a goal—just for you,” she added, her tone brimming with confidence and a hint of arrogance.

You can’t help but scoff at her audacity. “Do you use that line on every girl you want in your bed?” you asked, finally looking up from arranging the flowers.

“A few of them,” she replied with a casual shrug, her playful smile still intact.

You tried to brush off the way she was getting under your skin. “So, what do you want? Carmen won’t be here until this afternoon if you’re looking for her.”

Alexia's eyes sparkled with mischief. “I didn’t come for Carmen. I just wanted to see you. Echaba de menos tu actitud atrevida,” she said, her gaze lingering on you as she bit her lip. (I missed your feisty attitude)

You pointed the flower cutter at her, trying to emphasize your point. “Don’t make me use this on you.”

Alexia’s grin only grew wider. “Dios, you’re so incredibly hot when you’re all aggressive. It just makes me want you more.”

You decided to ignore her comment.

“I want to buy some flowers,” she finally said, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Well, there are plenty of flowers to choose from. Just pick what you want, pay, and then leave,” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

“Hey! No need to be rude,” she teased, crossing her arms as she sat on the counter. “Necesito un consejo.” (I need some advice)

You looked at her, signaling for her to continue.

“So, what kind of flowers should I get to say I’m sorry?” she asked, her tone surprisingly earnest.

Recognizing her genuine curiosity, you decided to help out. “You might want to consider blue hyacinths. They symbolize sincerity and heartfelt apologies,” you suggested, motioning for her to follow you as you walked over to the flowers.

“Or red carnations,” you added, pointing to another option. “They also symbolize an apology and love.”

Alexia studied the flowers with a focused intensity that caught your attention, her fingers lightly brushing over the petals as she contemplated her choices.

Standing this close, the faint scent of her perfume enveloped you, making it hard to resist being drawn in.

You realize you’re watching her more than you intended, taking in how her long, blonde hair fell over her shoulders, glinting in the light.

Her hazel eyes appeared even brighter in the soft glow of the shop, framed by thick lashes that enhanced her striking beauty.

She stood tall, her toned figure moving with an effortless grace that naturally commanded attention.

For a moment, you're caught off guard, realizing just how incredibly gorgeous she really is.

“Ay! I can’t decide. Which one would be more fitting for ‘I’m sorry for kicking you out of my bed, bruising you, and making you leave half-naked because my sister was coming over? But hey, will you come back and have sex with me again?’” she said casually, pulling you out of your daze.

You stared at her in disbelief before finally saying, “The blue hyacinths,” and pushed them toward her chest before walking away.

Alexia headed to the counter, pulling out her wallet. “Gracias. I hope she’ll love them. How much?” she asked, her smirk never fading.

You told her the total, and she handed over the money. But rather than walking away, she moved around the counter with a sly grin.

Before you knew it, she had you cornered, her presence dominating the small space between you and the wall. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer.

“What do you want now? As a customer, you’re not supposed to be on this side of the counter,” you said, meeting her gaze with defiance.

Alexia leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear. “I’ll get you in my bed one day. I saw the way you looked at me. Estás tan cerca de ceder” (You’re so close to giving in)

“The only time I’ll be in your bed is in your dreams,” you whispered back, maintaining your defiant tone.

Alexia’s smile is both wicked and confident. “I can’t wait to fuck you in my bed, even if it’s just in my dreams,” she said before turning to leave.

She paused at the door, glancing back with a sly smile. “I don’t give up easily,” she added before walking out.

You watched her leave, a mix of frustration and unwanted attraction coursing through you.

——

The next morning, you found Alexia back in the shop, but this time, Carmen was there too, much to your relief.

As you stepped out of the back room, you noticed Alexia with a different woman, not Laura, whom you had previously met.

You assumed this was the woman Alexia needed to apologize to.

You arranged the flowers on display, offering Alexia and her companion a brief, polite greeting before moving to the other side of the shop.

While bending over to adjust some flowers, you heard Alexia’s unmistakable voice. “Hmm, me encanta ver a las mujeres inclinarse así. Es mi posición favorita.” (Hmm, I love watching women bend over like that. It’s my favorite position.)

You straightened up immediately and shot her a sharp look.

“I see the flowers worked,” you said, nodding toward the woman Alexia had entered the store with.

“Oh, that’s not her! But yes, they worked” Alexia replied with a self-satisfied smirk.

“I just wanted to thank you. Gracias a ti, tuve una noche increíble,” she said, giving you a playful eyebrow wiggle. (Thanks to you, I had an amazing night.)

You rolled your eyes and turned away, trying to ignore her.

Later, as you and Carmen are working at the register, Alexia and her date approached, carrying a bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, ¡buena elección! Las rosas rojas siempre son una excelente opción,” Carmen said enthusiastically, and the woman thanked her. (Oh, good choice! Red roses are always a great option.)

Alexia’s arm is draped casually around her current date’s shoulders, a gesture of intimacy that’s impossible to ignore.

As she pulled her wallet from her handbag, she handed Carmen a generous tip along with the payment for the flowers.

“Espera un momento para tu cambio; no hay suficiente en la caja,” Carmen said, her voice trailing off as she headed into the back room.(Hold on for your change; there’s not enough in the register)

With Carmen out of sight, Alexia turned her attention back to her date, a playful smirk curling on her lips.

She slid her hand around the woman’s neck, her touch both firm and tender, tilting her head back. Alexia leaned down slowly, her movements deliberate and sensuous.

She planted a deep, lingering kiss on her date’s lips.

As their lips met, you could see Alexia’s tongue gently sliding into the woman’s mouth, adding a more intimate, passionate touch to the kiss.

Her eyes though remain locked on yours throughout, a challenge in her gaze as if daring you to react.

The kiss seemed to stretch in defiance of time, with Alexia’s lips lingering and her fingers lightly tracing the woman’s neck.

The soft, rhythmic sound of their kissing was the only noise in the room, creating an almost palpable tension that seemed to fill the entire space.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, clearly relishing the provocative display she was creating. As she continued to kiss her date with a slow, deliberate intensity, she stared at you, her gaze both teasing and challenging.

With a playful wink, she seemed to savor the effect her performance was having on you, fully aware of the spectacle she was making.

As Carmen’s footsteps drew nearer, Alexia slowly and reluctantly pulled away, her expression one of satisfaction.

With a smirk, she casually wiped with her thumb the lingering trace of saliva from the woman’s lips, clearly pleased with the effect of their intimate display.

She turned to you, her expression a mix of mischief and confidence.

Her gaze remained steady, her eyes sparkling with amusement and a hint of challenge. You met her stare, striving to maintain your composure despite the palpable tension in the air.

You narrowed your eyes at her, feeling the heat of the moment as you struggled to maintain your professional demeanor amidst the charged atmosphere created by Alexia’s bold flirtation.

“Carmen, ¿podrías arreglar que estas flores se entreguen en mi casa mañana por la mañana?” Alexia asked sweetly, her gaze flickering to you with an almost imperceptible, suggestive glint. (Carmen, could you arrange for some flowers to be delivered to my house tomorrow morning?)

“Sí, por supuesto. Y/N, ¿podrías encargarte de la entrega?” Carmen asked you with a gentle smile. (Yes, of course. Y/N, would you be able to handle the delivery?)

You forced a polite smile and nodded. “Of course,” you replied, feeling Alexia’s gaze linger on you. She beamed, giving you a subtle, mischievous wink that made your heart skip a beat.

“¡Genial! Entonces, Carmen, te enviaré un mensaje con los detalles más tarde, ¿está bien?” Alexia said her tone almost triumphant as she looked at Carmen. (Great! Then, Carmen, I’ll send you a message with the details later, okay?)

“¡Claro!” Carmen replied warmly, handing back the flowers and Alexia’s change. (Of course.)

“Nos vemos mañana,” Alexia said with a lingering, teasing smile and blowing you a kiss before turning to leave. (See you tomorrow.)

Her smile promised more than just a casual encounter.

Carmen watched her go and then turned to you with a knowing grin.

“Please, don’t,” you said, shaking your head as you walked away, hearing Carmen’s amused chuckle behind you.

——

“Mommy?” Your daughter’s voice piped up during dinner, catching your attention.

“Yes, darling?” You looked up from your meal, focusing on her earnest face.

“One day, can I come to your work with you? I really want to see the pretty flowers,” she asked, her large eyes full of hope and excitement.

“I’ll have to ask Carmen about that first,” you said, and her eyes lit up with a bright smile.

“So that means it’s a yes, right? Because Carmen loves me so much. She always tells me she loves me,” she said, her grin widening as she swung her legs under the table.

“Of course, Carmen adores you. It’s impossible not to with how adorable you are,” you said, reaching over to gently squeeze her cheek.

You planted a series of soft, playful kisses on her cheek, making her giggle uncontrollably.

——

“Alright, it’s here,” you muttered to yourself as you arrived at Alexia’s apartment with her flower delivery.

She had ordered three large bouquets—two of red roses and one of white roses.

You knocked on the door, but there was no response. After waiting several minutes, you tried again, this time rapping more insistently. Still, silence.

Growing increasingly frustrated and determined, you delivered one last, resolute knock.

After a few more minutes, Alexia finally opened the door, looking slightly breathless and dressed only in a sports bra and shorts.

“Hola, guapa. Sorry for the wait, I was… busy. Please, come in,” she said with an inviting smile, opening the door wider as you stepped inside.

“Here. You can put them on the kitchen table,” she gestured to a white table.

“Were you working out?” you asked, noting her sweaty appearance and minimal attire.

She smirked, her confidence barely contained. “You could say that. Just working on my cardio.”

You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over her defined abs and the tattooed elegance of her back. She was stunning, a vision of physical perfection.

Your admiration was interrupted by the sound of voices. Turning around, you saw two tall and impossibly beautiful women, one brunette and one blonde emerging from a room. They looked like they could be models.

“Damas,” Alexia said, her voice dripping with satisfaction, “tuve una noche y mañana increíble con ambas” as she handed them the red rose bouquets. (Ladies,I had an amazing night and morning with both of you)

The brunette woman leaned in first, her lips brushing against Alexia's in a soft, lingering kiss.

Afterward, the blonde woman approached, her kiss equally tender, adding to the intimate exchange.

You couldn’t help but cringe at the sight, the display of affection feeling overly intimate and uncomfortable.

Alexia escorted them to the door, bidding them farewell with playful pats and a cheeky slap on each of their butts.

You once again cringed at the sight.

Once Alexia closed the door, she turned back to you with a smug, challenging grin.

“Can you please pay so I can get back to work?” you said, trying to keep your tone steady but feeling your frustration simmering.

“Yes, of course,but first I a gift for you” Alexia replied,she walked over to the kitchen table, picked up the bouquet of white roses, and handed them to you with an almost mocking flourish.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a surge of annoyance. “I don’t want it,” you said flatly.

Alexia’s smirk didn’t waver. “Fine. I’ll just give it to the girl I’m seeing tonight.”

“Yeah, do that. Now, please pay,so I can go back to work” you insisted, your patience wearing thin.

“Don’t you want to relax a bit? There’s a couch over there, or maybe something more comfortable—like my bed?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“That’s why you wanted the flowers delivered? To lure me into your bed?” you snapped, your anger boiling over.

“Maybe,” she said, her tone smug and unrepentant, and that was the breaking point.

“So, you had me deliver these flowers, made me wait outside while you were fucking two women, and now you’re trying to bribe me with a bouquet to get me into bed?” you demanded, your voice rising with each word.

“Exactly,” she said, her demeanor unshaken. “I wanted to show you that I can have any women I want. I just had an incredible night with two women. No one can resist me, so why do you?”

You were fuming, your words coming out sharp and hurtful. “"Listen closely, Alexia, because I’m only going to say this once. I would never sleep someone like you. You’re selfish, arrogant, and unbearably overconfident. You think no one can resist you because of your looks or your celebrity status, but that’s a mistake. People are drawn to the idea of being with a celebrity, not to you as a person. They use you just as you use them. You’re nothing more than a lonely woman who sleeps around because you lack meaningful connections. Your allure may attract attention, but it’s clear you have no real relationships. You’re just filling a void, and that’s not something I’d ever want to be a part of. You are pathetic.”

You locked eyes with her, every word stinging. “Stay away from me.”

Alexia’s expression shifted from smug to shocked, her face falling. Her eyes glistened with hurt as she stared at the floor.

“Um…okay… voy a buscar mi billetera. Vuelvo enseguida.” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly as she turned away quickly. (I’m just going to get my wallet. I’ll be right back)

As you watched Alexia turn away, a pang of regret began to sink in. You realized that your outburst might have been fueled more by your unresolved feelings about your ex than by anything Alexia had done.

The way she carried herself, her bravado, and her seeming lack of genuine connections struck a nerve, bringing your past frustrations to the surface.

You could see how your words might have been more a reflection of your own pain and disillusionment than a fair judgment of her.

Even though some of what you said was truthful, the intensity of your anger revealed how deeply you were affected by your own experiences.

Alexia returned with the payment, handing it to you with a subdued “You can keep the change.” Her voice was soft, her usual confidence replaced by a vulnerable quietness.

You took the money, nodding curtly. Without another word, you turned and left her apartment, heading back to the flower shop with a heavy heart.

——

For three days, Alexia hadn’t shown up to the store, and the gnawing guilt was becoming harder to ignore.

You tried not to dwell on it, but it lingered in the back of your mind. The shop felt quieter without her presence, and the longer the silence stretched, the more you felt the weight of your actions. You knew it wasn’t just a coincidence—your outburst had driven her away.

Carmen noticed it too. On the third day, as the two of you were arranging flowers for a new display, she finally spoke up.

“Has Alexia said anything to you?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of worry.

You shook your head, not wanting to meet her eyes. “No… Why?”

“It’s just strange, isn’t it? Alexia not coming by for this long, especially when she’s still in Barcelona. It’s… odd,” she said, glancing at you carefully.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you. Carmen was right—Alexia had been a regular at the shop, her visits frequent and, despite her cocky attitude, somewhat predictable.

You tried to focus on the flowers in your hand, but the words hung heavy on your tongue.

“Did something happen?” Carmen asked softly, her voice more knowing than questioning.

At first, you tried to brush it off. “Nothing happened,” you mumbled, but Carmen raised an eyebrow, her gaze unwavering. You sighed, knowing there was no point in lying.

“Alright… something did happen,” you admitted, setting the flowers down. Carmen leaned in slightly, her attention fully on you.

“She’s been… acting a certain way ever since I met her. You know, making these dirty jokes, flirting nonstop, doing things to get a reaction out of me.” You hesitated, unsure if you should tell her the rest, but Carmen waited patiently.

“She—uh—made out with someone in front of me while staring right at me,” you continued, feeling the irritation rise again as you remembered that morning. “But it wasn’t just that. When I went to her apartment for her flowers delivery, there were these two women at her apartment. She made me wait outside while she was… busy with them. Then she gave me some stupid roses, trying to get me to sleep with her.” The words spilled out faster now. “That’s when I snapped.”

Carmen looked shocked, her brows furrowing in surprise. “And what did you say?”

You hesitated again, but Carmen gave you an encouraging nod, so you told her the whole truth. “I basically told her she was selfish, cocky, and overconfident. That people only used her because she’s a celebrity, and she’s just a lonely woman who sleeps around because she has no real connections.” As the words came out, you cringed, realizing just how harsh they had been.

Carmen stared at you for a moment, processing everything. Then, she let out a soft sigh, shaking her head. “Wow… that’s… a lot,” she said slowly. “I understand why you blew up, honestly, with how she was acting. Alexia can be… well, a little much. But those words?” Carmen hesitated, glancing at you sympathetically. “I think they might’ve hurt her more than you realize.”

You scoffed lightly, though not out of amusement. “Hurt her? Carmen, she was literally flaunting two women in my face like it was some kind of power move.”

“I know, I know,” Carmen replied gently, “and that’s exactly why I think she was hurt. Look, Alexia may put on this big, confident show, but I’ve known her for a while. Underneath all of that, she’s a lot more sensitive than she lets on.”

You frowned, processing Carmen’s words. “She didn’t seem too sensitive when she was throwing those women in my face.”

“She’s hiding behind it,” Carmen said, shrugging slightly. “People act like that when they’re trying to protect themselves. Not saying it excuses her behavior, but it explains it. She’s not used to people seeing past the surface.”

You slumped against the counter, feeling torn between your anger and guilt. “I don’t know… maybe I took it too far. She just reminded me so much of my ex. It’s like I wasn’t just yelling at her, but at him too.”

Carmen smiled softly, her eyes warm with understanding. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Look, I get it. Sometimes old wounds can make us lash out at the wrong people. Alexia just happened to push the wrong buttons.”

You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “What should I do? I can’t just pretend nothing happened.”

Carmen chuckled softly, patting your shoulder. “I’d say maybe you owe her a conversation. But don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re both adults, and you’ll figure it out. Trust me, Alexia’s tough, but she’s not as unbreakable as she pretends to be.”

She gave you a playful nudge and added with a smirk, “Besides, you know what they say about love and hate, right? Sometimes they’re closer than you think.”

You rolled your eyes at Carmen’s teasing, but deep down, her words gave you a lot to think about.

——

Two days after your conversation with Carmen, Alexia finally made her reappearance.

You were busy assisting a couple of clients when, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed her walk into the shop.

She carried a bouquet of flowers in her hand, and for a brief moment, the world outside your conversation with the clients seemed to fade away.

The air felt heavier with her presence, but at the same time, the absence of the usual playful energy she brought with her was unmistakable.

The store had felt quieter without her, and the weight of the silence between you two was something you could no longer ignore.

You had driven her away. That much was clear.

You noticed Alexia standing by the counter, her eyes fixed on you.There was none of her usual cocky confidence.

Her posture was more reserved, even hesitant. When you finished with the clients and they finally left, it was just the two of you in the shop, the tension thick in the air.

She took a step closer, her movements slower than usual. “Hola, guapa,” she greeted softly, her voice noticeably different.

Gone was the teasing arrogance you had grown accustomed to. Instead, it was quiet, almost vulnerable.

“Hola,” you replied, matching her tone. You weren’t sure what to expect from her, but this... this wasn’t it.

She handed you the bouquet—blue hyacinths. The flowers of apology. Alexia had remembered.

“These are for you. I... I wanted to apologize for how I acted. What I did was wrong, and I’m really sorry,” she said, holding your gaze, her eyes filled with sincerity.

You took the flowers, their fragrance soft and delicate, but their meaning hit you harder. “Thank you, Alexia. I, um, I need to apologize too. My words that day were... I shouldn’t have said all of that. I was just really angry and—” You began to ramble, but Alexia gently interrupted you.

“No, don’t apologize,” she said, shaking her head. “You had every right to be upset. I made you wait, wasted your time, and I... pushed you too far. I’ve been making things difficult for you since day one. I made you crazy, though not exactly the way I hoped,” she added with a light laugh, trying to keep things casual. But as soon as the words left her lips, she grimaced, regretting the joke.

Before she could apologize for that too, you smiled—a small, genuine smile.

Alexia froze for a second, her eyes widening in disbelief. “What?” you asked, confused by her reaction.

“You smiled,” she repeated softly, her voice a mixture of awe and surprise.

You raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Nunca sonríes. Bueno... no hacia mí, de todos modos. Así que sí, estoy un poco sorprendida en este momento,” she said, as if it was the most mind-blowing revelation she’d ever had. (You never smile. Well... not at me, anyway. So, yeah, I’m kind of shocked right now)

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, Alexia, you’re ridiculous.”

But Alexia’s expression softened even more, her eyes full of warmth as she watched you laugh.

“And now you’re laughing too? Wow, a smile and a laugh in the same conversation? I must be the luckiest person alive,” she said, playfully over-exaggerating her excitement.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said again, though your heart wasn’t in it. Instead, you were secretly touched by her joy over such a small thing.

You brought the bouquet to your nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance as you studied her face.

Alexia’s gaze softened even further. “You have a beautiful smile, you know that?” she said quietly, the sincerity in her words catching you off guard.

You felt your cheeks warm under her compliment, and you quickly shook your head. “Alright, let’s not push your luck,” you said, still smiling despite yourself.

Alexia’s nervousness seemed to ease at your reaction, and she hesitated for a moment before holding out her hand. “So... am I forgiven?”

You pretended to consider it, watching the subtle anxiety creep back into her expression. Finally, you nodded. “You’re forgiven.”

A visible sigh of relief washed over her as she pumped her fist in a small victory. “Yes!” she whispered under her breath, her joy almost contagious.

She then extended her hand to you, a playful glint in her eye. “Dado que estoy perdonada, creo que deberíamos empezar de nuevo. Una pizarra limpia, ¿sí?” (Since I’m forgiven, I think we should start over. Clean slate, si?)

You blinked, surprised at her gesture, but after a brief moment, you took her hand in yours. Her grip was firm but gentle, her skin warm and soft. “Alright,” you agreed, amused by the formality of it all. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Soy Alexia,” she said with a grin, shaking your hand like it was the first time you’d ever met. “Encantada, Y/N.”

The absurdity of the moment made you both smile. It was corny, yes, but endearing in a way you hadn’t expected.

For a brief second, as you shook hands, you found yourself getting lost in her hazel eyes. There was a softness there, a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

She wasn’t just the flirtatious, cocky woman you had met. She was... more. And for the first time, you found yourself truly seeing her.

Before anything could be said, the sound of Carmen entering the shop snapped you both back to reality.

You quickly let go of Alexia’s hand, almost like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t have.

“¡Ahh, Alexia! ¡Has vuelto!” Carmen exclaimed, pulling Alexia into a warm hug. (Aahh, Alexia! You’re back!)

Alexia returned the embrace, though she shot you a sheepish smile over Carmen’s shoulder.

When they broke apart, Carmen affectionately pinched Alexia’s cheek before pulling her head down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Era hora, niña. La tienda ha estado demasiado tranquila sin ti provocando problemas.” (It’s about time, niña. The shop’s been too quiet without you stirring up trouble.)

Carmen’s eyes flicked to the flowers in your hand, and she raised an eyebrow at Alexia. “Hmm, jacintos azules. Buena elección” she remarked, giving Alexia a playful pat on the back before disappearing into the back room. (Hmm, blue hyacinths. Good choice)

Alexia laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck.

You smirked at her, your eyebrow raised. “So... did you cheat on us and go to another flower shop to buy these?”

Alexia’s laugh was light as she shook her head. “No way. I bought them here, I swear, you were not here. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater,” she joked, her voice playful yet sincere.

For some reason, you believed her. As flirtatious and free-spirited as she was, Alexia didn’t seem like the type who would betray someone’s trust.

That thought settled something inside you. You found yourself smiling again as you looked at her, the distance between you both feeling much smaller now.

——

From that moment, things between you and Alexia shifted. While her flirting persisted, it became less cocky or overconfident, but still very much her.

But became a little more softer and kinder, making you laugh instead of feeling irritated. Carmen had been right; Alexia could be genuinely sweet when she chose to be.

You never mentioned your daughter to Alexia, thinking it best to keep that part of your life separate.

If your daughter knew you were in contact with her idol daily, she’d beg to come along. Besides, despite Alexia’s more bearable demeanor, you wouldn’t want your daughter around her.

Alexia’s habit of seeing a different girl each day remained unchanged, but each time you saw her with someone new or flirting, a pang of jealousy twisted in your stomach.

One day at the store, it was just you and Alexia. She was recounting her morning training session, and the conversation flowed effortlessly.

At one point, you were telling Alexia a very interesting story. Alexia was hanging on to every word, her focus entirely on you, until the door swung open and a strikingly tall brunette entered the store.

Alexia’s gaze snapped away from you, her head turning to follow the woman’s entrance. She was instantly fixated, her attention now fully captured by the newcomer.

The woman greeted both of you, her gaze lingering a bit longer on Alexia. Seeing that Alexia had completely shifted her attention, you sighed and stopped speaking.

You resumed your task, trimming the thorns off the roses. Meanwhile, Alexia continued to stare at the woman, her eyes practically devouring her.

You walked out from behind the counter to put the roses on display, and only then did Alexia seem to realize you were still there.

“Ay, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Please, tell me the end of your story,” she said, following you with an apologetic look.

You sighed, trying to downplay your irritation. The shift in Alexia’s focus from you to the beautiful woman stung more than you expected. “It’s okay. You can go talk to her,” you said, avoiding eye contact.

Alexia hesitated, clearly feeling guilty. “No, really, I want to hear the end of your story,” she insisted, her gaze flickering back to the woman who was still eyeing her.

Were you jealous? Maybe a little but you had been through similar situations before and were determined not to fall into the same trap. Protecting your heart was crucial.

Despite enjoying Alexia’s company lately, you felt it was wiser to keep things minimal and friendly, especially with the feelings you were grappling with.

“No, it’s fine. Go talk to her,” you said, walking away.

Alexia, although still feeling bad, couldn’t resist and moved toward the woman.

From your position at the register, you watched as Alexia approached her with a wide smile.

You saw them chatting, smiling, and occasionally touching each other’s arms. Each gesture twisted your stomach with unease.

Eventually, as you were counting the register’s money, Alexia and the woman came back to you. The woman greeted you again, and you felt Alexia’s eyes on you, but you focused on the woman instead.

“Serán 12 euros, por favor” you told her. Before she could reach for her wallet, Alexia placed her hand over the woman’s, stopping her. (That will be 12 euros, please)

“Está bien, cariño. Yo me encargo” Alexia said, her smile gentle as she handed you the money. The woman thanked Alexia with a kiss on the cheek, making you roll your eyes mentally. (It’s okay, cariño. I’ve got it)

You accepted the money and then gave Alexia her change, avoiding her attempts at eye contact.

The woman thanked you and prepared to leave but then turned back to Alexia. “¿Podrías esperar afuera unos minutos? Ya salgo” she said, smiling. Alexia nodded and watched her leave. (Could you wait outside for a few minutes? I’ll be right out)

Alexia turned back to you, remaining silent. You looked up. “What?” you asked, confused.

“What’s the end of your story?” Alexia asked, clearly eager to know how it concluded.

You sighed. “Alexia, the girl’s waiting for you,” you said, not looking at her.

“But I want to know the end!” she said, almost pleading, her tone earnest and insistent.

“Well, you would have known if you had been listening in the first place,” you replied, your voice carrying a note of frustration.

Alexia fell silent for a moment. “I’m really sorry, I just got… distracted,” she said, her gaze drifting toward the glass door where the woman was waiting.

“Yeah, I know,” you said flatly. Alexia remained silent, and your patience wore thin. “Alexia, can you go now? The girl’s waiting, and I have a lot of work to do,” you said, exasperated.

Alexia bit her lip, looking at you as if you had done something cruel. “Yes, I’ll go. I’m sorry,” she said.

She walked toward the front door, glancing back one last time before leaving.

Once she was gone, you let out a deep breath. Damn it, you were jealous that Alexia was going out with another woman. This couldn’t be happening, you were attracted to her.

——

“Absolutely, Mia can come to the store!” Carmen responded, her voice full of warmth and enthusiasm after you mentioned the possibility of Mia joining you at work.

“Thank you so much, Carmen! She’s going to be ecstatic. She’s been asking me nonstop about it,” you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

And that was the truth—Mia had been relentless, pestering you every day with the same question. You’d been avoiding giving her a straight answer, constantly making excuses.

Mostly because of Alexia, who also frequented the store daily, and you knew it was only a matter of time before the two crossed paths.

As you and Carmen continued chatting, Alexia walked into the store, just as she always did. She approached Carmen first, who was standing closer, greeting her with a soft “Hola” and two kisses on the cheek, as was her custom.

Then, something unexpected happened. Alexia moved toward you, her eyes locking onto yours, and for the first time, she greeted you the same way, leaning in to give you two kisses on the cheek.

She had never done this before—usually, it was just a simple “Hola guapa” paired with her usual soft yet cocky smile.

“Hola guapa,” she said, her familiar words bringing a sense of comfort.

“Hola,” you responded, managing a smile, feeling the last remnants of nerves from yesterday dissolve the closer she got.

She was standing so near to you, her height forcing you to slightly tilt your head up to meet her gaze.

“How are you?” she asked softly, her voice holding a gentleness that made your heart skip for a moment.

“I’m good, and you?” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. You hated to admit it, but having her so close made you feel something—safe, but also a little flustered.

“Bien,” she said, pressing her lips together as an awkward silence started to settle between the two of you. You shifted slightly, unsure of what to say next. (Good)

Finally, you broke the silence. “Did you have fun with that girl last night?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, hoping to lighten the mood.

Alexia’s smile faltered for a split second, and she hesitated before answering, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Um... no.”

Her answer took you by surprise, and you furrowed your brow in confusion. “No?” you repeated, not expecting that.

“No,” she said again, this time more firmly but still quiet. Her eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe? You weren’t sure.

“Did you find someone better then?” you joked, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk, trying to coax her back into her usual lighthearted mood.

But instead of laughing, her expression grew more serious. “No,” she whispered, and this time, her voice carried a weight that made you pause. “En realidad... me sentí muy culpable por lo que pasó ayer” (Actually... I felt really guilty about what happened yesterday)

You blinked, caught off guard by her sudden shift in tone. “Guilty?” you repeated, the word hanging in the air between you two.

Alexia nodded, her gaze dropping momentarily before she looked back up at you, her eyes soft and sincere.

“About..you know..ignoring you yesterday,” she said gently. “I was out of line. I let myself get carried away,I let my... urges take over,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m really sorry. I know it probably hurt you, and that was never my intention.”

You stood there, processing her words, feeling the sincerity behind them. She wasn’t just apologizing; she was genuinely remorseful. You could see it in the way her eyes softened, the way her voice lowered with each sentence.

But despite her heartfelt apology, you hesitated. You weren’t sure if you could just forgive her so easily, not this time. It wasn’t the first time Alexia had done something impulsive, and you didn’t want to keep brushing it off like it was nothing.

“Alexia...” you started, unsure of how to continue. You bit your lip, avoiding her gaze for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts.

She took a small step closer, her expression pleading now. “Please, Y/N, I’m really sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I wasn’t thinking straight. You know me, sometimes I just act without thinking, but I would never want to hurt you.”

You sighed, crossing your arms as you weighed her words. “I get that, Alexia, but this isn’t the first time,” you said, meeting her eyes again. “You can’t keep doing things and expecting me to just... forgive you right away.”

She swallowed, her eyes glistening as if the weight of your words hit her hard. “I know... I know, and I hate that I keep messing things up between us. But please... this time, I mean it. I’ll be better. I promise.”

There was a long pause, both of you standing in the soft light of the store, the usual chatter and bustle around you fading into the background as you considered her words.

Finally, you sighed, shaking your head a little, feeling your resolve begin to waver. “It’s not that easy, Alexia. You can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be okay. I need to know you really mean it this time.”

“I do,” she insisted, her voice breaking slightly. “I swear to you, I’ll make it up to you. Just... give me one more chance, please.”

Another long pause. You could see the desperation in her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped slightly as if she was afraid you might walk away from her for good.

“Fine,” you finally said, though your voice was softer now. “But this is the last time, Alexia. I mean it. If you mess up again, that’s it. I won’t keep forgiving you.”

Alexia’s face lit up with a mix of relief and joy, and before you could react, she squealed and wrapped her arms around you, lifting you off the ground slightly. You let out a small squeal of surprise, not expecting her to hug you so tightly.

“Thank you, thank you!” she cried, setting you back down but not letting go just yet. “I swear, it’ll be the last time I do something stupid. I promise.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though you tried to hide it. “The last time, Alexia,” you warned, pointing a finger at her sternly.

She nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, the last time,” she repeated, still grinning. Then she gave you a pleading look.

“Now, will you finally finish the story you were telling me yesterday? I’ve been dying to hear the end.”

Just as you were about to tell her, the door chimed and a few customers entered the store. Carmen shot you a knowing look, subtly signaling for your attention.

“Another time,” you said with a sigh, gently patting Alexia’s cheek before walking away. “Work calls.”

Alexia watched you go, her eyes following your every move, and a huge smile spread across her face.

But as she stood there, a strange feeling stirred in her stomach. Something unfamiliar, something she couldn’t quite place.

She shook her head, brushing off the sensation as nothing more than hunger. With a shrug, she pulled out her burner phone, scrolling through her contacts before texting one of the many girls in her phone, asking if they wanted to come over later.

——

“Are you excited to spend the day with Mommy?” you asked your daughter as you walked to the store one morning.

“Yes!” she cheered, bouncing with excitement.

Some days had passed since Alexia’s latest apology, but things had remained mostly the same.

She continued to visit the store every day, buying flowers for whichever woman she was with at the time.

Her flirtation remained gentle and tender, but something had shifted, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

She frequently complimented your looks, outfits, and hairstyles, which you appreciated, even though it was rare for her to show this side of herself.

Despite this, she still made occasional risqué jokes about her various partners—and even you.

Two days ago, Alexia had been recounting a dinner she went to with friends and handed you her phone to show you pictures of the restaurant and the food. Unfortunately, she opened the “wrong album.”

You were shocked to see numerous pictures of naked women and nearly threw the phone back at her.

Alexia looked puzzled at your reaction but quickly masked it with a smirk as she glanced at her phone.

She began scrolling through the explicit pictures again, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Biting her lip, she seemed to savor the memories associated with each image, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she relived the moments she had captured.

“This is my special album,” she said with a teasing bite of her lip. “When I’m traveling and feeling lonely in a hotel room, it’s nice to have some… interesting pictures to look at.”

You made a face of disgust.

She leaned in, smirking. “Por favor, no me digas que nunca has enviado o recibido fotos como estas.” she teased, resting her chin on her hand as she propped her elbow on the counter. (Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never sent or received pictures like these)

“That’s none of your business,” you said, feeling your face flush.

“Oooh, you didn’t deny it, and your face is all red. You’ve definitely sent some,” she said with excitement.

With a cocky grin, she added, “I can’t wait to add yours to this album. It would make it so much more interesting…and beautiful.”

You looked at her in disgust and gently pushed her face away with your hand.

“In your dreams,” you said, smiling despite yourself. Over time, her flirting and joking were becoming less bothersome.

“You know what they say: never give up on your dreams,” Alexia said smugly. “Y me conoces lo suficientemente bien como para saber que nunca lo haría. Si lo hiciera, no sería la mejor futbolista del mundo.” (And you know me well enough to know that I never do. If I did, I wouldn’t be the best woman footballer in the world)

You shook your head, amused.

“I can’t wait to see all the pretty flowers, Mommy!” Mia’s excitement was palpable as she bounced on her little feet, her eyes wide with anticipation. You looked down at her, your heart warmed by her enthusiasm.

You had chosen this particular day for Mia to accompany you, carefully planning to avoid a potential encounter with Alexia.

Alexia had informed you the day before that she would be away from the store due to a demanding schedule of training, interviews, and a photoshoot.

You knew that if Mia were to see Alexia, she might freak out since she’s basically her hero.

While Alexia was known to be good with kids—something you’d observed in several videos—her frequent appearances with new partners and her tendency to be very touchy and affectionate in public could have made the situation awkward for Mia.

Your daughter’s inquisitive nature would surely lead to a barrage of questions, which you wanted to avoid.

“This time, I want to pick my flower of the week, Mommy, okay?” Mia asked, stretching her arms up towards you, signaling that she wanted to be picked up.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you responded with a soft smile, bending down to scoop her up. She nestled her head against your shoulder as you lifted her, her small arms wrapping around your neck.

You could feel the warmth of her little body and the soft rustle of her breath against your skin.

Together, you made your way to the store, ready to enjoy a day filled with flowers and moments of bonding, free from the concerns that Alexia might have brought.

——

“Mia, would you like to help me put the flowers in the pot?” Carmen’s voice was warm and inviting.

“Yes!” Mia responded immediately, her excitement evident as she bounded off with Carmen.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm as they disappeared around the corner, heading towards the back of the store.

The morning had been smooth and joyful. Mia had been gleefully exploring the shop, sniffing flowers and marveling at their colors. There had been no tantrums—a welcome relief—and you’d promised her she’ll be back at the store if she continued to behave so well.

As you worked on arranging bouquets for display, the bell above the front door jingled, signaling a new customer.

Looking up, your heart nearly stopped when you saw Alexia walk in. But she wasn’t alone—she had her arm casually draped around another woman, a relaxed smile on her face.

“Hola, guapa,” Alexia greeted you, approaching the counter. She momentarily released the woman to give you a quick kiss on both cheeks before resuming her hold around the woman’s neck.

Panic flared in your chest. “What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to keep your tone calm but failing to mask the urgency. Your eyes darted towards the back of the store, hoping Mia was still preoccupied.

Alexia’s eyebrow arched, catching your unease. “Is that how you greet me now?” she teased with a playful smirk. “Oh, and this is Isabel,” she said, introducing the woman. “Isabel, ella es Y/N.” (Isabel, this is Y/N)

You forced a polite smile at Isabel, offering a quick nod before turning back to Alexia. “You said you wouldn’t be here today. You said you will be busy all day.”

Alexia chuckled, clearly amused by your flustered state. “Plans changed. My photoshoot was canceled, so I thought I’d drop by and visit my two favorite flower girls.” She winked at you, trying to keep the gesture hidden from Isabel. “Where’s Carmen?”

Your heart raced. “She’s not here—she’s out on a delivery,” you lied quickly, hoping to get Alexia to leave. You were certain she would linger if she found out Carmen was still around.

Alexia gave you a curious look but shrugged. “Alright then...”

“Right, well, it was nice seeing you, and Isabel, fue un placer conocerte.” you said, trying to wrap things up. “I’m sure you have other plans.” (Isabel, it was lovely meeting you)

Alexia’s eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. “You’re acting strange. Are you trying to kick us out?” she asked with a grin.

“No, no, it’s just... you know, I’m sure you both have things to do,” you replied, glancing over her shoulder towards the back of the store again.

Alexia’s smirk didn’t fade. “Yeah, we do,” she agreed, looked down at Isabel.

She gave Isabel’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before intertwining their fingers and gently kissing the crown of her head.

A pang of discomfort hit you at the sight, but before you could react further, the sound of Mia’s voice cut through the tension.

“Mommy!”

You closed your eyes briefly, wishing you could rewind, you were so close…

When you opened them, Mia was rushing towards you, her small hands proudly holding a flower.

“Mommy, look! I found my flower of the week” Mia exclaimed, stopping right beside Alexia and Isabel, her face beaming with pride as she showed off her flower.

Everything seemed to slow down as Alexia’s gaze fell upon the tiny figure next to her. Her expression shifted dramatically from casual amusement to shock, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open.

It was as if she had been struck by a sudden realization.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. “Mommy?” she asked, her tone full of disbelief. “Tienes una hija?” Her words were tinged with a mix of surprise and confusion, as if the idea of you having a child was completely foreign to her. (You have a daughter?)

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat.

Mia, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, suddenly shouted in recognition, “Alexia!” Her high-pitched voice echoed through the store as she threw herself at Alexia’s legs, hugging them tightly.

Alexia stood frozen, her shock palpable as she looked down at Mia clinging to her. Her usual composure was replaced by a look of utter bewilderment.

“I love you so much! You’re the best player in the whole world!” Mia declared, her tiny arms wrapped around Alexia’s legs.

Alexia’s expression softened at Mia’s affection. Though still stunned, there was a growing tenderness in her eyes.

Slowly, she reached down, placing her hand gently on the back of Mia’s head and stroking her hair. “Thank you,” she said softly, still grappling with the surprise.

You stepped in and carefully pried Mia away from Alexia’s legs, lifting her onto your hip.

Despite Mia’s tight grip, you managed to ease her into your arms, hoping to shield her from the awkwardness of the situation.

“Mommy, look, it’s Alexia! We see her on TV when she plays her games!” Mia said excitedly, pointing at Alexia, who remained visibly shaken.

Alexia’s gaze turned to you, her eyes searching for answers. The realization that you had kept such a significant part of your life from her was evident in the way she stared, her expression a mix of hurt and confusion.

“What’s your name, pequeña?” Alexia asked Mia gently, her disbelief still evident.

“Mia!” your daughter responded enthusiastically.

Alexia offered a strained smile. “Nice to meet you, Mia. I’m a friend of your mommy’s.”

Mia gasped and turned to you with wide eyes. “Mommy, you never told me Alexia was your friend!”

Alexia gave a quiet chuckle, though her gaze remained fixed on you. “Y tampoco me contó nada sobre ti.” she added in Spanish, hoping that you daughter does not understand, her tone more serious now. The subtle accusation in her words was clear, despite her attempt at a smile. (And she never told me about you either)

Sensing the tension, Mia pointed to the intertwined hands of Alexia and Isabel. “Is that your girlfriend?” she asked innocently.

Your face flushed with embarrassment. “Mia...” you began, but Alexia merely laughed, her discomfort evident.

“Mia, it’s not polite to ask those questions,” you said gently but firmly.

“Sorry, Mommy... Sorry, Alexia,” Mia pouted, quickly shifting her focus to something else. “Did you hurt yourself?” she asked Alexia with concern.

Alexia looked puzzled. “No, why?”

Mia pointed to her own neck. “You have a bruise here,” she said matter-of-factly.

Your heart sank as you noticed the hickey on Alexia’s neck. Her eyes widened, and she quickly covered it with her hand, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“Oh, that? Yeah, I... got hurt playing,” Alexia mumbled, clearly flustered. Isabel, standing silently beside her, smirked at the scene.

You suspected Isabel might not understand the full conversation but clearly grasped what was happening right in this instance.

Mia nodded solemnly. “You need to be more careful, Alexia. Right, Mommy?”

You couldn’t help but smile at Mia’s concern, which mirrored your own words of caution. “Yes, sweetheart. Alexia needs to be more careful.”

Alexia met your gaze, understanding the underlying message. She gave a small nod, acknowledging the reprimand.

“You’re right, Mia. I’ll be more careful,” Alexia said, her tone softening as she pinched Mia’s cheek, eliciting a giggle from your daughter.

The moment of levity was short-lived as an uncomfortable silence settled over the group.

Mia, in her innocent way, suddenly blurted out, “Mommy says you’re hot!”

Your face flushed with embarrassment at Mia’s remark.

Alexia’s smirk widened, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, really?” she teased, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

While watching a game on TV with Mia the other day, you might have commented that Alexia looked "hot" when she appeared on screen, noting her sweaty, glistening skin, messy hair, and visible abs, completely forgetting that Mia was nearby and could hear you.

You felt your face grow even warmer. “Mia, that’s not... what I meant,” you stammered, but Mia continued, oblivious to the embarrassment she was causing.

“You said it when we were watching her game, Mommy. You said, ‘Oh my god, she’s so hot,’” Mia mimicked your tone perfectly, making you wish you could disappear.

Alexia’s smirk grew, clearly relishing the moment. “Well, I guess I should be flattered,” she said playfully, enjoying your discomfort.

“I meant... you were playing really well,” you said, trying to explain, but Alexia wasn’t letting it go easily.

“Oh, is that what you meant?” Alexia’s teasing tone only heightened your embarrassment.

Before you could respond, Mia added, “Mommy, does that mean Alexia needs to take her clothes off since she’s hot?”

You groaned inwardly, your face now burning with mortification. “Mia! No, that’s not what I meant at all,” you said, your voice rising as you struggled to regain control.

Alexia tried to stifle her laughter. “It’s okay, Mia. I’m fine just the way I am,” she said, winking at your daughter, which only added to your embarrassment.

Clearing your throat, you tried to redirect the conversation. “Alright, Mia, say goodbye to Alexia. She has things to do, and you need to get back to Carmen.”

Alexia’s brow furrowed. “So Carmen is here? Not on a delivery?” she asked, realizing you had lied.

“Yeah…” you admitted, and Alexia nodded, accepting it.

Mia reached out her arms towards Alexia, who looked at you for permission. You nodded, and Alexia took her in her arms.

Mia gave Alexia a warm farewell hug, her small arms encircling her. “Goodbye, Alexia. And goodbye to Alexia’s girlfriend,” she added, waving at Isabel, who responded with a courteous smile.

You let out a sigh, reflecting on the unintended label Mia had given Isabel.

As Mia turned and ran back towards Carmen, Alexia’s expression shifted from playful to serious.

She turned to you, her eyes lingering with unspoken questions. “We’ll talk tomorrow,please come to my place..you know where it is” she said softly, the weight of her words evident in her tone.

You nodded, feeling the gravity of the conversation that awaited you. There was a lot left unsaid, especially now that Mia’s existence was no longer a secret.

As Alexia and Isabel left the store, you let out a long, weary sigh. You leaned against the counter, feeling emotionally drained from the unexpected turn of events. Tomorrow’s conversation with Alexia loomed large, and you knew it would be a challenging discussion.

And, of course, you’d need to have a talk with Mia about the importance of boundaries—and perhaps a bit about keeping some things to herself as well.

——

The next morning, you headed to Alexia’s apartment with Mia in tow. Since it was a Sunday, María was off, and Carmen was visiting family, you had no option but to bring Mia along.

When you told Mia about the visit, she was ecstatic and insisted on wearing the Alexia jersey you had bought her a few weeks ago. She proudly put it on, her excitement evident.

As you arrived at Alexia’s door, you crouched down to Mia’s level. “Okay, Mia,” you began gently, “let’s remember to behave today, alright?” Mia’s face lit up as she nodded eagerly. “Yes, Mommy, I’ll behave,” she promised, and you planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

With a mix of nerves and anticipation, you knocked on the door. The last time you were here, Alexia had been with two other women, and the encounter had ended on a sour note. You were hoping this visit would go more smoothly.

Alexia answered the door almost immediately, her face breaking into a warm smile. “Hola, guapa,” she greeted you, her tone soft and inviting.

You returned the greeting with a smile, “Hola, Alexia.” From beside you, Mia’s small voice piped up with an enthusiastic “Hola, Alexia,” and she waved excitedly.

Alexia’s smile widened as she crouched down to Mia’s level. “Hola, nena,” she said affectionately, lifting Mia into her arms.

Mia wrapped her small arms around Alexia’s neck. When they separated, Mia proudly pointed to her shirt and said, “Look, Alexia, I’m wearing your shirt today!”

Alexia’s eyes twinkled with delight as she laughed softly. “Yes! That’s a fantastic choice,” she said, giving Mia a high-five, which Mia eagerly reciprocated.

You couldn’t help but smile at the heartwarming interaction between them.

“Come on in,” Alexia invited, opening the door wider and gesturing for you both to enter.

As you stepped inside, a small dog came bounding towards you, tail wagging furiously.

“Puppy!” Mia squealed, dropping to her knees as the dog jumped up and began licking her face. Mia’s laughter filled the room, and you found yourself laughing too.

You joined Mia on the floor, gently petting the playful puppy. “This is Nala,” Alexia said, introducing the dog with a smile.

“She’s adorable,” you commented, reaching out to give Nala a gentle scratch behind the ears.

“Sí, igual que su mamá,” Alexia said with a smirk, adding a playful tone in Spanish that made you look up at her and shake your head with a soft smile on your face. (Yeah, just like her mom)

“What that mean?” Mia asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“It means she’s as adorable as you are,” Alexia explained with a chuckle, ruffling Mia’s hair, which caused Mia to giggle even more.

Afterward, Alexia offered you both drinks, and Mia made her way to the living room, settling in to watch TV while Nala curled up contentedly on her lap.

You and Alexia sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee in silence. You weren’t sure how to start the conversation, but Alexia quickly took the initiative.

“So… you have a daughter,” Alexia said, glancing towards Mia.

“Yes,” you replied, nodding.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, confusion and hurt evident in her eyes.

You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. The truth—that you didn’t want Alexia near your daughter due to her reputation—seemed too harsh.

You looked away, avoiding her gaze as you fumbled for a response. Alexia seemed to understand your discomfort.

“You didn’t want me to meet her, did you?” she asked softly.

You didn’t respond, so she continued.

“I told you I wouldn’t be at the store this day, that’s why you brought Mia that exact day, right? Because you didn’t want me to see her?” Her voice held a trace of hurt.

You stared down at your coffee and nodded.

“And that’s also why you were so eager for me to leave? So I wouldn’t have the chance to meet her?” she persisted.

Once again, you didn’t speak, only nodding in confirmation.

“And you even lied about Carmen being on delivery duty to get me out of the store?” she asked.

You nodded again, meeting her gaze and seeing the hurt in her eyes.

“But why? I thought we were friends. I’ve shared so much about my life with you, and we’ve spent a lot of time together. Why keep Mia from me?” she asked, a mix of confusion and sadness in her voice.

“I... you know... you have a reputation. I didn’t want my daughter around you,” you admitted, noting the pain and disbelief on her face.

“Especially in the beginning, when we first met. You were insufferable and disrespectful, and I didn’t want my daughter exposed to that,” you continued.

Alexia nodded slowly, though her eyes still reflected hurt.

“I understand you wanted to protect your daughter from me,” she said. “I can be a lot at times.” Her voice carried a sad resignation.

You felt a pang of guilt seeing her so down, especially after witnessing how gentle and affectionate she was with Mia. You realized how wrong you had been.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, feeling deeply remorseful. Alexia reached across the table and took your hand in hers.

“No, don’t be. You’re a mother, and I understand that mothers will do anything to protect their children,” she said, her eyes meeting yours with a comforting warmth.

“Yes, and I was wrong. You were nothing but kind and loving towards Mia. As you can see, she absolutely adores you,” you told her with a gentle smile, which Alexia returned.

Her hand remained in yours, her touch warm and reassuring.

“So... what about Mia’s father or another mother?” Alexia asked cautiously, her tone tentative.

“Oh, the father isn’t in the picture anymore. He was terrible to me—cheated on me and left when he found out I was pregnant with Mia,” you confessed, feeling a wave of sadness.

Alexia shook her head in disapproval, her expression one of sympathy.

“That’s also why…” you started but trailed off.

Alexia’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Go on,” she urged gently.

You hesitated, knowing it was time to reveal everything and lay all the cards on the table.

“That’s also why I didn’t want you to know about her or meet her. You reminded me of him,” you began, and Alexia’s face showed clear shock, her eyebrows knitting together.

“He used to flirt with other women, even right in front of me. He was always so cocky and confident, never taking anything seriously,” you continued.

“When I snapped at you the other day, it wasn’t just about you—it was about him too. I used that moment to say everything I wished I’d said to him,” you added, your voice trembling as tears formed in your eyes, which you quickly wiped away, not wanting Mia to see you upset.

Alexia immediately stood up, gently pulling you with her.

“Mia, your mommy and I need to step into the bathroom for a moment. Is it okay if you stay here by yourself for a bit?” she asked Mia softly. Mia, absorbed in the TV, nodded without much interest.

Alexia guided you to her bathroom, closing the door behind you both. She enveloped you in a comforting embrace, your face nestled against her neck while her hands supported you—one at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist.

You let your tears flow freely, a release you hadn’t allowed yourself in a while. It felt cathartic to finally let everything out.

Alexia murmured soothing words into your ear, holding you close as you cried.

As you began to calm down, Alexia spoke softly. “You and Mia deserve so much more than that. I promise you, I’m not like him. I may be confident and a bit cocky, but I will never leave you. As long as you want me in your lives, I’ll be here.”

Her words warmed your heart. You pulled back slightly to meet her gaze. “Thank you,” you whispered, and Alexia gently rested her forehead against yours, offering a soft smile and cupping your cheeks.

The closeness made your heart race. Being this near to Alexia, after seeing her with other women, was a new and intense experience for you.

The memory of those other women made you pull back quickly, sniffing and smiling softly as you wiped your tears away.

“Thank you again, Alexia,” you said, drying your face.

Alexia smiled gently. “No need to thank me.” She then opened the bathroom door, and together, you both returned to the living room where Mia was waiting.

Alexia had convinced you to stay for lunch, and now the three of you were gathered around the kitchen table, enjoying bolognese pasta together.

Alexia and Mia were engaged in an animated conversation about football.

“Mommy said that one day, I’m going to be better than you,” Mia announced proudly, pointing her fork at Alexia.

“Did she now? Is that true?” Alexia asked, raising an eyebrow at Mia before turning her gaze to you with a playful smile.

“Yes, I did. Because it’s true, right, Mia?” you said, gently poking her sides. Mia giggled and looked up at you, her face glowing with joy.

“Yes, Mommy! I’m going to be the best when I grow up!” she exclaimed, and you couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Mommy!” Mia squealed with laughter, trying to wriggle away as you planted more kisses on her giggling face.

Alexia watched the scene with a soft smile, that familiar warmth spreading through her stomach, the same feeling she’d experienced the last time she’d apologized to you.

After lunch, you and Alexia tackled the dishes together while Mia, worn out from all the excitement, napped peacefully in Alexia’s bedroom.

“You know,” Alexia started, her voice carrying a smug tone as she stood by your side, drying the plates. “Now it all makes sense.”

You glanced at her, confused. “What makes sense?”

Her smirk grew wider, and you could already feel the teasing energy coming. “You always gave me MILF energy,” she said, eyeing you up and down like she was enjoying a private joke.

You felt heat rush to your face, but before you could react, she was already grinning even more, leaning in like she had a secret to share. “Especially when you get all serious and bossy with me. God, I love it when you’re bossy,” she added, lowering her voice. “It’s so hot.”

You didn’t waste a second. You nudged her hard with your hip, splashing water in her direction. “Don’t make me slap you,” you warned her, but she only laughed harder, loving every second of this.

Alexia recovered quickly, her smirk firmly back in place. “And by the way,” she added, wiping a plate with a casual air, “don’t think I forgot about you calling me hot.”

You froze, glancing at her quickly. “I—I did not call you hot,” you said, trying to sound firm, even though you knew you were lying through your teeth.

She chuckled, the sound deep and amused. “Oh, really? That’s not what Mia said yesterday. Maybe we should wake her up and ask her again.” She made a move toward the hallway, clearly teasing, and you immediately stepped in, placing your hand over her mouth.

“Shut up,” you muttered, your face burning as she laughed under your palm. You could feel her lips curve into a grin as she brushed your hand off with ease, cockier than ever.

There was a brief moment of silence between you two as you continued with the dishes, but the tension was palpable. Then, out of nowhere, Alexia’s voice broke the quiet.

“You know I’m not giving up, right?” Her tone was playful but serious, the teasing edge never quite leaving.

You turned to face her, already knowing where this was headed. “Still not having sex with you, Alexia,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest in defiance.

Her eyes darkened with that familiar mischief. She stepped a little closer, the smugness practically oozing from her.

“Come on, you think I’m hot, don’t deny it. Mia even confirmed it. And don’t think I don’t notice the way you look at me,” she added, her voice dipping just enough to make you shift where you stood.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart skipped a beat. “I think you’re hot, you think I’m hot, why not just… be hot together?” She shrugged, her expression impossibly smug. “In a bed. Naked.”

Tired of her arrogance, you decided it was time to play her own game.

You sighed dramatically. “Okay,” you said, making it sound like you were giving in.

Alexia’s cocky grin faltered for just a second as her eyes widened, surprised by your sudden agreement.

You stepped closer to her, and for once, she seemed speechless, unsure of what to do with her usual bravado.

As you closed the distance, pressing yourself fully against her, you felt her body stiffen, her breath hitching.

You took her hands, placing them around your waist, dangerously close to your butt. Her eyes searched yours, confused, intrigued, and undoubtedly turned on.

Without breaking eye contact, you wrapped your arms around her neck, leaning in until your lips grazed the shell of her ear. “How about tomorrow night?” you whispered, your voice sultry and slow.

“You can pick me up from work… take me back here… and you can fuck me… all. night. long.” You paused after each word, letting the sexual tension linger between you.

You felt Alexia’s sharp intake of breath, her body instinctively reacting to your closeness.

The faintest moan escaped her lips, her face pressing into the crook of your neck as if she couldn’t control the heat rushing through her.

Her hands moved lower, finally squeezing your butt gently, and you could feel her struggling to maintain her composure.

“And you know what the best part would be?” you whispered, your lips barely brushing her skin, your fingers lightly tracing the back of her neck.

Alexia, still caught up in the moment, could barely manage a hoarse, “What?”

Her hands kept caressing you butt, her body betraying just how much she was enjoying the moment.

You resisted the urge to push her hands away, knowing full well you enjoyed it too. But you had a point to make.

You leaned in even closer, letting her feel your breath against her ear. “The best part is…” you paused, feeling her anticipation grow. “This will all be happening… in your dreams.”

And with that, you pulled away completely, leaving Alexia standing there, utterly stunned, her jaw practically on the floor.

You smirked, enjoying the rare moment where you had the upper hand. “I’m gonna go check on Mia,” you said casually, as if you hadn’t just left Alexia breathless and flustered.

Alexia stood there, unable to speak, her mind reeling from what had just happened. She had always been confident, always in control, but you had completely turned the tables on her.

She was used to being the one who teased, the one who left others speechless—but now, you had her feeling things she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Wow,” she finally muttered under her breath, her heart still racing. She had been with plenty of women before, but none had made her feel like this—none had gotten under her skin the way you just had.

The way your fingers had trailed down her neck, the soft whisper of your voice in her ear… it had her unraveling in a way she hadn’t expected.

That familiar warm sensation bubbled up in her stomach again, the same one she’d felt earlier at the table.

She could still feel the ghost of your touch on her skin as she hurried to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to cool herself down.

But the truth was, she was hot. You’d left her wanting more—and for the first time, Alexia wasn’t quite sure how to regain the upper hand.

——

“Thank you, Alexia,” you said as you got back to your apartment.

After your hot moment in the kitchen, Mia had woken up, and it was time to head home. Alexia insisted on escorting you, so she, Mia, Nala, and you all made the walk to your apartment together.

During the walk, Alexia and Mia chatted animatedly about everything and anything, their laughter and conversation filling the air until you reached your front door.

But Alexia also stayed silent with you.Only talking with Mia.

“Bye-bye, Alexia! I had so much fun with Nala. Can I see her again?” Mia asked, her little arms wrapped around Alexia’s shoulders as they both looked down at Nala.

“Of course, nena. We can definitely arrange another playdate if your mommy agrees,” Alexia said, glancing up at you with a hopeful look. You nodded in agreement.

“Okay, and I want to see you again too. You’re my best friend now!” Mia exclaimed, snuggling her face into Alexia’s neck. Alexia smiled and stood up, with Mia clinging to her like a koala.

“You’re my best friend too, nena” Alexia said softly.

“Mommy is our best friend too! We can’t forget her,” Mia suddenly said, as if realizing she had almost overlooked you. She pulled her face away from Alexia’s neck and stretched out an arm.

“Mommy, come join the hug too!” Mia said with innocent enthusiasm. You smiled warmly as you stepped into the group hug.

As Alexia’s free arm wrapped around your waist, you draped your arm around both of them, leaning your head on Alexia’s shoulder.

Alexia looked down at the two girls in her arms, and a deep sense of contentment washed over her. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

The touch of her lips sent a pleasant shiver through you. You looked up at her, smiling gently, and she returned your smile with equal warmth.

As the hug ended, Mia gave Alexia one last kiss on the cheek and a pat on Nala’s head before heading inside.

“Thanks again,” you said with a smile. “You’ve been so quiet with me. Did something happen?”

Alexia rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, you turned me on really badly, and now I have to go home and take care of it myself,” she said, a groan escaping her.

“Oh, come on. I’m sure you could call one of the women in your contact list, and she’d be at your place in ten minutes,” you teased.

“Yes, I could,” Alexia said with a smug grin, “Pero preferiría imaginarte conmigo en lugar de con otra mujer. Podría llamarla por tu nombre por accidente” (but I’d rather imagine you with me than another woman. I might accidentally call her by your name.)

“Okayyyy,” you said, laughing.

“I have a new goal,” Alexia announced suddenly.

“What’s that?” you asked, intrigued.

“My new goal is to take you on a date,” she said with a mischievous smile.

“So it’s not just about getting me into your bed?” you asked, amused.

“Bueno, sí, pero quiero hacer las cosas bien. Mi nuevo objetivo es convencerte de que salgas conmigo.”she clarified. (Well, yes, but I want to do things properly. My new goal is to convince you to go on a date with me)

“I’m curious to see how you plan to achieve that,” you said with a grin.

“I’ll treat you well and completely stop flirting with or looking at other women,” she said confidently.

“You? Stopping from flirting with other women? Alexia Putellas?” you said, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Sí, definitivamente puedo hacer eso.”she said, feigning offense. (Yes, I can totally do that)

“Sure…” you said, still unconvinced.

“Alright, let’s make a deal. If I don’t flirt with, sleep with, or even look at another woman for a month, you agree to go on a date with me,” she proposed, determination in her voice.

You considered it for a moment, knowing she might find it challenging. “Okay,” you agreed.

“¿De verdad? ¿No es solo otra broma?”she asked, surprised. (Really? It’s not just another joke?)

“No joke. One month, no women, and I’ll go on that date,” you confirmed, and she cheered.

“Genial! Bueno, ahora necesito ir a cuidar de mí misma, si sabes a qué me refiero.”she said with a suggestive wink and you laughed a little. (Great! Well, now I need to go and take care of myself, if you know what I mean)

“Bye, Alexia,” you said.

“Adios, guapa,” she replied, waving as she walked away.

[ohtobeleah]

If Logan is one thing, it's protective. and not in a "You're mine and can't do anything for yourself" Toxic way. He's protective in an "I'll literally do anything and everything for you, come hell or high water, I'd throw my over-extended life on the line to keep you safe."

I could see the two of you getting in some sort of car accident. He was the one driving. Something he always insists on doing. You don't often fight him on matters like who does what and when. You enjoy the journey just as much as getting to the destination with Logan in all aspects of life. Just being in each other's presence is enough for you most of the time.

"Y/n?" Logan growls as he comes to. Hell if the impact was enough to rattle him, it had to be enough to be a cause for concern for you. "Honey?" He looks over to where you're slumped in the passenger seat. Not only had you been wearing your seatbelt, but with an instinct to keep you safe, keep you protected from harm's way, Logan had flung his arm across your chest to keep you back against the seat.

"Fuck, Honey, hey--?" Logans reaches over, groaning as he moves. there's shattered glass fragments and twisted aluminium all around you. "I've got you," He taps your cheek softly, trying his best to coax you out of your unconscious state. "I'm here, wake up for me?" Logan seems to be asking questions when in reality it's more of a statement. he needs you to wake up, he needs you to be alright. without you? Logan isn't sure if he could keep living.

"Don't do this to me, please?" He nearly cries as your head lulls to the side, blood dripping from your nose, and your mouth. "I love you," He admits softly while trying to assess the damage done from the impact. You're his girl, why would someone try and take you away from him like this? Had he not been through enough loss? enough hurt?

"Did you just say you love me, Lo?" You mumble as your eyelids flicker. Logan lets out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding in. "That's kinda sweet, I'm telling your boyfriend." Logan knew you were referring to Wade, but he didn't care. All he cared about was that you were still here with him.

"You're hearing things," Logan replied as a smile crept across his aging face. The salt and pepper beard prevalent on his cheeks is speckled blood. "Don't scare me like that ever again, you hear me?"

"You're the one who's driving," You look across to where Logan is sitting, the pair of you still trapped in a twisted mess. "And I think it's time for you to wake up now." You stare at him a little more seriously than what you'd just been. Logan feels himself slipping back to reality...only to wake up on your lounge, alone.

"Ahhh!" Logan wakes with an audible gasp as his claws eject from between his knuckles. It's something he's become accustomed to. Waking in the middle of the night from nightmares that haunt him from his past. But these ones were new to him. The fear of losing you had begun to creep into his subconscious.

He's sweating, shaking from a heightened level of adrenaline and fear. But your voice cuts through it all.

"You were dreaming again," You speak up from where you're perched on the kitchen bench. Just sitting, drinking a cup of tea. Watching the man who'd stayed the night sleep on your couch because he refused to stay in your bed. "Kept calling my name out, I saw your uh--claws and thought perhaps keeping a safe distance would be practical."

"Come here," Logan sighs in frustration on two fronts. One, from his utterly confronting nightmare. Two, you somehow manage to sneak up on him like no one else can. "Please?" So that's what you do. You pad over in your underwear and perch yourself on Logan's lap. "What happened Lo?" You coo as your fingers card through his locks.

"I don't know what I'd ever do if I lost you, Honey." He replies sincerely, softly. It's a nice juxtaposition to his normal brooding self.

"Good thing I don't have any plans on going anywhere anytime soon, huh?" You whisper through a smile as you gently press your lips against Logans. He accepts the gesture and goes with the flow. Leaning back against the couch as you deepen the kiss. "Come to bed with me?"

"You know I can't--" Logan whispers into your mouth. "But can you stay here for a few minutes?" He counters your offer with his own. "Please?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Lo." You remind him, kissing him gently and ever so slow as Logan melts against you. And for as protective as Logan is, for the first time, someone was just as willing to be his safeguard in return. "You're safe with me."

You keep him safe from himself.

Ilya

[running-with-kn1ves]

Satin Pillows To Cry On

CW: coercion with money, age gap(7 yrs), transactional marriage, obsessive/yandere behavior

gn! reader

﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀

You’ve got nothing else, no one else to rely on. 

‘You’re something he bought to keep from growing old.” 

Your clothes are worth small countries. Your cars stacked in 3-level garages. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls hanging from your wrists and ears, satchels made of endangered animal skins, different shoes for each day of the year. 

Your boyfriend of three years spat at your feet when you told him what you were doing. 

“His money can’t love you, not like I can.”

The wedding was only two months away when you broke up with him, told him you couldn’t live in his broke-down apartment anymore, that you couldn’t live with debt trailing wherever you went. You went so far as to make him hate you, to tell him that you never wanted to see him again, that you never loved him, that he better not bother showing up to the wedding. You didn’t want him there, you never wanted to see him again. 

“You’re lying to me; he’s making you say these things, he’s using you against me! You’ve known him what-- two seconds, and you’re going to marry this man?! He’s nearly a decade older than you!” 

Seven years of an age gap or not, he was still a thousand times more independent, wealthy, and a safer choice than your boyfriend. You weren’t some fresh college student new to the world, you had graduated over two years ago, still finding no luck in getting a stable income-- forget about whether or not it was in the field of your degree. 

You left in a single day, fitting all of your scavanged belongings into one of your fiance’s awaiting cars. You left anything worth of value with your ex-boyfriend, knowing he’d find more use out of it than you would. You would even leave the rest of your things there if he could find use for them, but you knew they’d just be one more painful reminder of your betrayal. 

He did as you said, not showing up to your wedding, staying clear, never appearing in your line of sight since the day you left. It made it easier…. For both of you that way. 

And now you were happy-- well, maybe not happy, maybe not even content, but you were… safe. You had everything you needed: a working car, a stable job that you felt productive in, a clean and comforting house to come home to, a spouse. Sure, maybe you didn’t get your new job yourself, or your house or your car-- but did that really matter, in this economy? Who wouldn’t trade their life and their independence for this kind of wealth?

And your husband… he wasn’t all bad. He might have only wanted you for the sake of having you at first, like a new jewel or the latest technological invention. But he was doting and caring in his own way. Maybe just a tiny bit too invested in you, in your schedule and who you talked to. A little too hateful towards your ex-boyfriend, the one who had you before he could. But everyone had character flaws, and on good days you could distract him from his grumpy mood and stress and obsessive behaviors by being the loving and oh so perfect spouse you had trained yourself to be ever since he asked to marry you. 

“Colder than all that gold…” You repeated in your mind, the words your family whispered to each other at your wedding reception only a few feet away from you. 

That was over six months now, though… the honeymoon phase never existed, you rarely saw your husband except for his midnight appearances back from the office, and whenever he would whisk you away for a weekend vacation to savor the time he had with you. For someone more sophisticated, much wealthier, and dare you say handsomer than the average man-- you were surprised to find he didn’t have a line of divorces behind him. 

No; he said, he had been “waiting for you.” whether  you or he knew it, he understood right from the moment of meeting you that you were the one he’d have for the rest of his life, even if it killed him. That severity… scared you. But in a sick sense, it made you feel relieved. Forever? This could be yours, forever? Your family would never have to struggle again, you would never have to worry where your next meal came from?

“I cleared your schedule until tuesday; we’re going to the isles. A mini vacation, you might call it. Get your things.”

He was cold, that was for sure. But, was he any worse than your ex-boyfriend, especially when he was offering you an expensive experience on top of that?

“All right..” You acquiesced. 

And now, you lied sunken into the bed feeling his loving, hot breath on your navel. Going so sweetly slow, so oddly and uncharacteristingly lingering with his touches as he gazes into your eyes. You didn’t like this; didn’t like that when he was cherishing you, making love to you, holding you so intimately, he was appearing… like a husband should. Where did he get the nerve to ignore you everyday, to have hardly any time for you, only to come back and beg for your love when it was convenient for him? 

But you keep your mouth shut, like you should, if you want to keep eating breakfast in bed, keep wearing silk robes while watching the view of the ocean outside your window.

“So beautiful…you’re like a work of art, the kind no amount of money can buy.” 

That was funny, hilarious even. Enough so to make you cry. 

A familiar face passes by the slightly ajar door to distract you, likely one of the housekeepers leaving for the night. But you swear the man’s figure reminds you of someone from your past, someone you loved and left for good. 

Your husband brings back your attention by placing a gentle kiss to your temple, blindly undoing the clasp of the necklace he bought you.

“I’m so lucky… so lucky to have been the one to catch you, forever. No one could’ve done it, not without what I have.”

He wanted you to kiss and caress back, but sometimes lying still was just enough. It was enough for him to witness you, basking in the glow of everything you wore from him, lying in the Egyptian cotton sheets he paid extra for, your body molded to the diet his personal chefs cooked. 

Even as he pushed a knee between your legs, traveling from your navel to your stomach with open-mouthed sucks and kisses in the rawest form of affection, you couldn’t help but turn your face deep into the pillow. So soft, the soft purple shielding your eyes from his tender gaze.

You might’ve given up love, given up everything familiar and those who you’ve cared for-- but at least you had satin pillows to cry on, and the finest jewelry to wipe your tears with. 

[checkeredflagggs]

Aftermath of a Storm

Pairing: oscar piastri x sargeant!Storm chaser!fem!reader

summary: people are shocked to learn about alice and oscar

a/n: tbh i really meant for the first part to have more of the other drivers learning about Barbie and Alice but obviously that didn’t happen 😂

a/n 2: timelines? What timelines? Idk know them

Part 1

Twitter

Private Messages - Logan, Oscar, Alice

Private Messages - The Grid, Fun

Private Messages - Logan, Oscar, Alice

mclaren

liked by drbarbie, teammate1, logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 4,822,445 others

tagged: drbarbie, oscarpiastri

mclaren: Check the weather this weekend! Because there must be a storm moving in —Oscar Piastri is taking Dr. Alice “Barbie” Sargeant, Williams Racing’s Logan Sargeant’s twin sister and notable storm chaser, on a hot lap here in Mexico!

view all comments

user1: oh my god this is everything I never knew I needed

user2: oh yeah hey mclaren don’t forget to mention THAT THEY ARE DATING

oscarpiasti: it’s gonna be a good time!

logansargeant: it’s been nice knowing you

oscarpiasti: I’m sure it’ll be fine

logansargeant: you sure about that? you SURE about that?

logansargeant: are we talking about the same girl?

user4: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

used5: LET US IN. LET US IN!! YOURE AMERICAN — SPILL THE TEA

landonorris: Oscar! You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend!!!! 😡😡😡

oscarpiastri: I’m sure I mentioned it.

landonorris: I’m sure YOU HAVENT!?!

oscarpiastri: of course I have. are you sure you were listening?

landonorris: of course I was LISTENING! You just haven’t said A WORD!? Since when have you had a girlfriend?

oscarpiastri: we’ve been together for nearly 7 years

landonorris: 7 years?!?

oscarpiastri: yes.

landonorris: WHAT?!??!

user6: WHAT?

user7: uhh raise your hand if you had Oscar Piastri has a secret girlfriend, Logan Sargeant has a twin sister, or the two would be the same person on your bingo card this year

user8: ok but if anyone on the grid had a secret girlfriend of course it’s gonna be Oscar?

user7: you got me there

user9: 7 years?!? How do you hide a girlfriend for 7 years? Especially one as cool as drbarbie?

user10: user9 asking the real questions

user11: right?? How did some guy who drives in silly circles score such a cool badass girlfriend?

drbarbie: I ran over him with my bike one day

user11: WHAT?!?

drbarbie: ummmm what is this??? oscarpiastri WHAT DID YOU DO???

logansargeant: apparently signed you up to tackle a hot lap

drbarbie: NO

drbarbie: ABSOLUTELY NOT

drbabrie: SPEED AND I DO! NOT! MIX!!

drbarbie: oscarpiastri ANSWER YOUR PHONE

drbarbie: nicolepiastri where is your son? I’d like to have some words with him

nicolepiastri: you and me both sweetie

user12: you chase tornadoes but can’t do a hot lap?

drbarbie: THERE IS A MAJOR DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TWO!

user13: and you prefer the storms?

drbarbie: YES!!

f1gossippage

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, teammate1, and 3,997,455 others

f1gossippage: a hot lap for the records! Oscar Piastri drove girlfriend Barbie Sargeant around the track twice today! Definitely seems like she’s not a fan

view all comments

user14: not a fan? I’d say 😂 I didn’t know anyone could scream that high tbh

user15: those were genuinely screams of terror…save my girl 😭

user16: Barbie Sargeant? Nah fam you did not do my girl dirty like that. Put some respect in her damn name. It’s DR. ALICE “BARBIE” SARGEANT

user17: oh thank god someone said it. She did not get 2 phd’s by the time she was 21 to have that be disrespected

user18: no shit really?

user17: yes! She graduated with double phd’s in meteorology and mechanical engineering from Cornell when she was 20!

used18: so fucking cool! And yea! PUT SOME DAMN RESPECT IN HER NAME!

user19: someone with more experience needs to watch this entire clip and then make gif sets of the ENTIRE thing because her face goes on a lot of journeys

user20: most of those journeys end in murder i think

drbarbie: they do. They will

logansargeant: maybe don’t threaten Oscar on a public instagram post?

drbarbie: for once in your life, stay in your lane. Unless you’d like to join him?

logansargeant: …carry on.

user20: logansargeant what was that??

logansargeant: I support women’s Rights and Wrongs

drbarbie: good

oscarpiasti: oh these are good pictures!

drbarbie: you are a dead man walking Piastri

oscarpiastri: would you really hurt me?

drbarbie: yes

oscarpiastri: what about my mother and sisters?

drbarbie: nicolepiastri soooo…you’re gonna be down a son soon. I can offer Logan?

nicolepiastri: oh we’d love to have the two of you visit again soon logansargeant and drbarbie

oscarpiastri: nicolepiastri mum??

user21: not nicolepiastri supporting this 🤣😭

teammate1: 😂😂😂

drbarbie: I sign your checks. Watch yourself

teammate1: girl this is too damn funny

drbarbie: 🙄😑

Private Messages - Oscar, Logan, Alice

drbarbie

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, and 3,728,388 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

drbarbie: it’s your turn now! 🥰

view all comments

user22: the hearts make this a very ominous message

drbarbie: it’s supposed to be!

user22: oh!

oscarpiastri: babe?

oscarpiastri: what do you mean my turn?

drbarbie: I told you! I’d only ever get in your car when you get in mine!

drbarbie: so convenient that you have a break and dolly is back from the mechanics right now! 🧡🩵🧡

oscarpiastri: ummm…🏃🏻‍♂️💨

user23: ok but is she really gonna take him through a tornado???

user24: that does seem like it’s the plan?

user23: I can’t watch this 🙈

user24: she’s a professional?

drbarbie: more confidence in me please

user24: you right you right

user: SHES A PROFESSIONAL

drbarbie: thank you!

logansargeant: good luck! Have fun!

drbarbie: 😊😊😊

logansargeant:…no.

logansargeant: What did I do?

logansargeant: come on I helped you

logansargeant: I’m on your side!!

teammate3: dolly is ready to roll!!

oscarpiastri: that better be a joke

teammate1:…

teammate2:…

teammate3:…

teammate4:…

teammate5:…

Private Messages - The Grid, Serious

drbarbie

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, charles_leclerc, and 4,288,373 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, logansargeant

drbarbie: don’t worry guys! They made it through the “storm” a-ok! (Come on guys, have a little faith. I’d never actually take someone unprepared into an actual tornado. Plus prime tornado season is over for the year!)

view all comments

user25: oh thank god. I was so very nervous

user26: girl you ain’t the only one. Check the video at 14:25. Oscar’s fingers are fucking white with panic 😂😂

oscarpiastri: thank you love for not subjecting me to a tornado

logansargeant: yes thank you my very favorite sister who is definitely the best and best and most wonderful

oscarpiastri: yes! Most wonderful and loving and beautiful girlfriend ever

drbarbie:…laying it on a little bit thick aren’t you?

logansargeant: quite literally whatever I have to do so I never ever ever ever have to get in that truck again!

drbarbie: don’t you dare disrespect dolly!

logansargeant: never!

oscarpiastri: dolly is a queen! We aren’t worthy.

logansargeant: yes! We definitely shouldn’t be in that truck ever again

drbarbie: babies…fine

user26: wow!!!! 🤩 those photos are stunning!

drbarbie: thank you! When I was planning this I knew the conditions were gonna be good for some nice thunderstorms but even I didn’t expect this level!

user26: so you just…followed them around?

drbarbie: yup! It’s something our parents used to do for me when logie and I were young - the driving being a lot more calm then normal is just about the only difference (my passengers complained the entire time 🙄)

user27: oh that’s so cute! (They seem like the type 😂)

landonorris: stunning

drbarbie: thank you!

oscarpiastri: no

landonorris: I didn’t say anything?

oscarpiastri: and yet the answer is no. Go away

georgerussell63: shut down!

landonorris: why am I catching strays on my comment thread???

charles_leclerc: these are magnificent photos! And it looked like a fun trip to get them

drbarbie: thank you! (Oh my god oscarpiastri I’ve been noticed by your father!)

oscarpiastri: that’s cool babe

charles_leclerc: yes! Welcome to the family. We expect you for dinner soon

drbarbie: score!

alicepublic

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 3,590,455 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

alicepublic: happy anniversary my love. The best 7 years of my life so far — with many more to go 🧡🧡🧡

view all comments

oscarpiastri: I can’t believe that it’s only been 7 years, I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime already — I couldn’t imagine spending it with anyone else.

alicepublic: oh my love…

user28: water is wet. Fork found in the kitchen. I’m sleeping on the highway!

user29: sleepover!!

oscarpiastri: You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me 🩷

mclaren: you won the race last week?

alicepublic: uhhh your point?

oscarpiastri: and? I said what I said!

mclaren: alrighty then! Well said!

charles_leclerc: happy anniversary my son and daughter in law!

alicepublic: not a daughter in law yet but thank you!

oscarpiastri: soon!

alicepublic: WHAT?!? 😳 🫢

logansargeant: 7 years of being a third wheel and they don’t even tag me…EVEN THOUGH I'M VERY BLATANTLY IN THIS PHOTO DUMP

alicepublic: chill out dude

oscarpiastri: thank you for being our favorite third wheel and for taking these wonderful photos

logansargeant: Oscar is my favorite

alicepublic: I’d be mad but same tbh

user30: it’s been years but yay! Dr Barbie’s priv account is finally open

user31: oh my god baby her and baby Oscar are so cute!

user30: I know!! I’ve been getting fomo going through her posts - like what do you mean I haven’t been growing up with them?

user32: yeah alicepublic can we get an explanation for that photo near the beginning of you on a bike and Oscar bleeding?

alicepublic: that was the first day we met! My bike broke (no brakes) and as I was trying to slow down I accidentally ran over Oscar!

oscarpiastri: best accident I’ve ever had!

user32: ok this is the cutest meet-cute! ♥️

landonorris: unfortunately you guys are cute…

alicepublic: what 🥺 🥺 …

oscarpiastri: what do you mean unfortunately?

landonorris: yeah — can’t have anyone cuter than me in the garage so you’re uninvited to mclaren

oscarpiastri: happily you can’t make those decisions (slides $5 to mclaren)

mclaren: don’t worry alicepublic ! Permanent paddock pass for you!

landonorris: WHAT? NO!

landonorris: IM STILL CATCHING STRAYS ON MY COMMENT THREADS

[in-class-daydreams]

cw. a lil age gap, but everyone is well over 18 (Gojo and Reader are ~40, Yuta is ~30)

Imagine the way ex-husband Gojo's eye twitches seeing how Yuta Okkotsu treats you.

You and Yuta had only seen each other in passing over the years. In fact, you never even officially met until he was several years out of school on the account of your innate technique causing Rika to go haywire. So while there was always a possibility of you seeing someone after the divorce, Satoru would never in his wildest dreams have guessed who it'd be. He'd heard through the grapevine that you only started seeing more of each other last year.

Satoru has to see you at the biweekly joint staff meetings between the Tokyo and Kyoto schools, made especially awkward after not one, but two (2) post-divorce make outs. The last time he kissed you while you were fighting, you shoved him away and booted him out of the house using your technique. Granted, you kissed him back, but you're not exactly on great terms right now.

So, it's bad enough that he has to see you as much as he does. Even worse is now that everything's out in the open, he has to watch you fawn over someone that's not him.

"You're so sweet!" you cry when Yuta surprises you during your lunch break with takeout from your favorite restaurant. "Thank you so much, but you really didn't have to do all this for me."

Yuta places a hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the door to the courtyard. Adjusting the picnic blanket slung over his shoulder, he asks, "Why not?"

"It's so much effort," you reply.

"For you? Nothing feels like much effort," Yuta says with a cheeky grin.

Satoru just catches a glimpse of you covering your face with your hand - as you always do when you blush - and then the two of you are out the door. It takes all his effort not to gag at how cheesy that was. Never mind how genuine Yuta looked about it.

Of course Satoru had taken you out for lunch while you were together. All kinds of lunches. Mom and pop shops, food stands, upscale restaurants, you'd done it all. Your new suitor wasn't doing anything for you that he hadn't done.

Suitor. What was this, the 1800's?

Suguru appears at his side while he stares after you.

"Was that Yuta?" he asks. "I'm impressed. He's supposed to be at a week-long training in Ibaraki."

Ibaraki? The prefecture that's over two hours away? He came all this way to have lunch with you?

Alright, Satoru never did that. Not that he wouldn't have! He totally would've if he'd, you know, thought of it.

Suguru seems oblivious to the emotional bomb he just dropped on his best friend. "I'm starving. Let's hurry up and go eat. I'm good with anything except KFC," he complains.

It takes a couple tries to get his attention, but Satoru eventually pulls himself out of his thoughts. He comforts himself with the notion that Yuta would be gone by the time he returned.

Imagine that while Yuta himself may be absent, his presence damn near haunts ex-husband Gojo to death.

You're already back in the meeting room by the time he and Suguru return from lunch, only you now have a full water bottle (he noticed you pout when you drank the last of it earlier), a sleeve of oreos sticking out of your bag, and a cute travel mug full of some hot drink that you definitely didn't have before.

If Satoru wasn't so preoccupied with insisting to himself that, 'I totally did things like that back in the day!' and provided his ex-wife wasn't the woman in question, he'd be thinking, 'Yuta Okkotsu, I was unfamiliar with your game.'

Even more frustrating is how energetic you look. You have your notes out and are nibbling on an oreo, kicking your feet back and forth as if there's not another two and a half hours left of this meeting.

It's not that Satoru doesn't want you to be happy. Quite the opposite, actually, since he'd gladly give his life if he thought he could guarantee your eternal joy and safety. He's just not sure what Yuta has that he didn't. Or doesn't.

"What does she see in him?" Satoru murmurs to himself later, when a bunch of the staff members go out for drinks. You're at the bar laughing with Yuki and Shoko.

He regrets speaking out loud when Sukuna snorts from behind him.

"How much time do we have?" your coworker says with amusement. He slides into the booth, nursing his sake bomb with ice. It's a travesty of a drink, if you ask Satoru, but to each his own.

"Great, it's my least favorite person," Satoru gripes.

Sukuna seems to take great pleasure in Satoru's misery. "I think Okkotsu's earned himself that title."

Now, Satoru hates the taste of alcohol nor is it ever a good idea for someone constantly using a cursed technique to get drunk, but he can't bring himself to care at the moment.

He snatches the drink from Sukuna's hand and downs the whole thing in one go.

Imagine how baffled ex-husband Gojo is when his son delivers a cursed artifact to him instead of you.

"Where's your mom?" he asks.

Sen hands over the small box covered in talismans while his best friend, Nao, lingers by the office door. Rolling his eyes, he says, "We had a mission in the area, so Sukuna-sensei had us deliver this."

"Not what I asked you, kid," Satoru replies, leaning back in his chair. He gestures for the boys to have a seat, but neither move.

Nao, who has a tendency to stir the pot if he thinks it'll be funny, pipes up, "She's on vacation for a week."

Since when did you take vacations? And why hadn't he heard of this?

"What's she doing for a whole week?" he asks.

Nao replies. "Okkotsu finished his training and whisked her away to some onsen in Obanazawa."

Sen smirks. "That snowy place that looks like it's from Spirited Away? How romantic."

"Super romantic." Stir, stir, stir, Nao Zen'in.

Sen was not a fan of anyone trying to get close to his mom. He'd seen how the divorce hurt you, but so far, Yuta worshipped the ground you walked on, so Sen was at least willing to not be too hostile towards him if it meant antagonizing his father.

Sen and his friend quickly say their goodbyes and head out to do whatever it is high school boys do. Once they're gone, Satoru pulls out his phone and searches 'onsen obanazawa.' The results show Ginzan Onsen, a place with traditional Japanese architecture with a beautiful snowy landscape. But according to the reviews, though a wonderful and charming place, it wasn't from the best onsen in Japan. He wants to scoff at the fact that his supposed 'replacement' chose anything but the best for you, but then he sees where Obanazawa is, which is in Yamagata prefecture.

Where you grew up. Where you and Satoru met.

How had it never occurred to him to bring you back there?

When he mopes on Suguru's couch later that evening, he tells his best friend the whole story. Suguru's delicate features are twisted into a grimace the whole way through.

"Why are you making such an ugly face?" Satoru asks miserably.

"I've never been ugly a moment of my life, Satoru."

"You know what I mean."

Suguru sighs and clicks his tongue. "They're not official?"

"So she keeps saying."

Though reluctant to kick his friend while he's down, Suguru decides that Satoru needs to know so he can mentally prepare himself.

"He's taking her on a romantic trip to a beautiful resort in her home prefecture. They may not be official now, but after a trip like that, there's no way she's coming back without a label. Hell, if they were official, she'd most likely be coming back with a ring."

Hearing that, Satoru contemplates finding a nice spot in the cursed artifact archive and falling into a coma for at least the next thousand years.

The plot McThickens

Find the other installments of this AU [here] | Find the #gojo sentaro lore [here] | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[ashwhowrites]

Hi! I'm so happy that you're inbox is open! I love your fics 💜

I have a few ideas for request but I don't want to overwhelm your inbox 😅

I thought about Eddie x fem reader where reader is not into PDA and all of Eddie's friends are telling him that reader is not into him and he should let her go. They don't believe Eddie saying the reader is crazy about him like he is about her.

She cares about him, help him with homework and even put his socks on when he's napping during movie night. Eddie's friends think that he sees her through rose colored glasses.

But one time Gareth or someone else saw how she threatened cheerleader that was telling shit about Eddie.

Or other time Gareth came to trailer park because Eddie had a cold and he was shocked when he saw reader taking care of Eddie.

Thank you for you time!

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

No PDA

Eddie found himself in a new relationship with Y/N, she was a cheerleader and popular. Their relationship was a shock to everyone and Eddie's friends were skeptical.

Gareth was suspicious from the start. To him, it was weird that Eddie and Y/N didn't act like a couple. They have been together for a few months and Gareth had never seen them do anything more than talking. He didn't think he had ever seen them hold hands or kiss, they looked like friends.

He had talked to Eddie about it many times but Eddie always said that Y/N was crazy about him and there was nothing to be worried about. Gareth wasn't sure if he could believe that without seeing it with his own eyes.

Eddie knew Y/N loved him. It was obvious in the way she took care of him. She wasn't much for public display of affection and Eddie was cool with that. He felt loved by her in different ways. She stayed late to help him with homework, bought his favorite snacks at the store, and always let him pick the movie for date night.

~~~

Gareth was walking down the hallway when he heard the sound of arguing. He looked around the corner and saw Y/N and another cheerleader getting into each other's faces.

"Keep his name out of your mouth. I'm not going to let you talk shit about my boyfriend. If I hear you say anything about him again, I'll get your ass kicked off the team."

Gareth watched as the other stomped and walked away, Y/N looked proud of herself as she walked in the other direction.

Well, Gareth had to give her a point there.

~~~

Eddie came down with a bad cold so he couldn't go to school. Gareth, as his best friend, collected all his homework and planned to drop it off. He stopped at the store for medicine and soup, just in case Wayne was too busy to grab some.

Gareth was confused when he saw another car parked in front of the trailer. He carried the bag of groceries and endless homework. He knocked on the door and called out for Eddie.

But Eddie didn't answer the door, it was Y/N.

"Hey Gareth, come on in," she said, a polite smile on her face

"What are you doing here?" Gareth asked, setting down the groceries on the table

"Taking care of Eddie," she laughed, "Homework and food?" she asked as she began to take out the food from the bags

"Uh yeah, I wasn't sure if Wayne would be able to take care of him," Gareth explained

"Yeah, he's at work, thank you for grabbing all of this. He's in his bedroom if you want to see him."

Gareth nodded, watching as she began to make soup on the stove. He walked towards to Eddie's bedroom, shocked to see how clean it was.

"I don't think I've ever seen your room so clean," Gareth said in awe as he walked in

Eddie tried to laugh but it came out as a harsh cough, "Yeah, Y/N cleaned while I slept."

"I brought you your homework and some soup," Gareth said as he put the books on Eddie's bed

"Thanks, man," Eddie said through sniffles.

"So how long has Y/N been here?" Gareth asked, standing near the door so he didn't catch anything.

"All day, once I told her I was sick she drove over here and has been taking care of me all day. Even put my socks in the dryer so they can be warm!" Eddie gushed, wiggling his toes in his warm socks.

"So she uh, really takes care of you, huh?" Gareth asked

"I told you, she cares about me and loves me. She prefers to do it in private," Eddie said, "and other things in private," he added as he wiggled his eyebrows

"Eddie, don't be a perv," Y/N said as she walked through the door with a bowl of hot soup

Eddie rolled his eyes but happily took the bowl of soup. He sat up as she set the bowl in his hands.

Gareth watched as Eddie ate his soup, and Y/N pushed back his hair to feel his forehead.

Maybe he should have believed Eddie in the first place

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[coco-loco-nut]

007 - part two

pairing: oscar x reader

summary: maybe a soulmate isn’t the worst thing to happen to you

masterlist part one part three requests open

——————

Oscar sent you a text that night. He was a little disappointed when it took you a couple days to reply, but that was quickly made up when you sent a time and location. The mystery around you is thrilling to him.

You wait in the corner of a cafe for Oscar, sipping a flat white. Your eyes immediately find him when he walks in, locked in on him. He quickly orders and makes his way to you. Oscar barely gets in a hello before you get down to business.

“I need you to know something before anything happens. I live a very dangerous life and I don’t plan on stepping away any time soon,” you leave certain things unsaid, like the very real chances of you dying. “It’s hard for the soulmates of those in my line of work. Suddenly the danger meter means more to them, and it can disrupt their lives,” you lean forward a little, subtly emphasizing how important it is.

“I’m a Formula One driver, I am familiar with the risk of dying. I know the risks associated with being your soulmate,” Oscar says and you bite back a remark about his job still being safer than yours. You need to try and be less standoffish.

“Right. Well, I can’t say that I know how to proceed with this. I’m a bit new to the whole thing,” you are a little embarrassed.

“I am too. We can handle it together,” Oscar smiles. He wants to reach across the table to hold your hand, but he doesn’t want to push it so he sips his coffee. “Tell me more about you, all I know is that you do a really dangerous job,” Oscar prompts you.

“Bold statement coming from someone who also has a really dangerous job. I really enjoy traveling, dislike paperwork. When I’m not working, I like reading or taking small trips. Um, I have a cat who is the light of my life,” you pause as Oscar lets out a laugh. “Tell me more about you, more than what your background check tells me,” Oscar sees the playful glimmer in your eye.

“Well, I’ve been getting into cricket and basketball. When I was a kid, I went through this phase where I thought I was a car,” Oscar admits.

“I would always sneak around as a kid, acting like a spy. I guess both of our childhood fantasies worked out,” you hide your bittersweet feelings. Oscar notices but doesn’t push it.

“So I guess you would be the Holly Shiftwell to my Lightning McQueen,” Oscar tries to bring up your mood but you give him confused look.

“But they were never romantic partners?” you say, a little confused with how happy Oscar looks. He’s just happy you have seen the movies and seem to like them enough.

“Semantics. What are you doing now that you aren’t chasing down criminals in the paddock?”

“You mean your soulmate? I’m being forced to take a break from missions right now. Apparently I’ve been hogging all the action and need to help in HQ for a few months,” your distaste for the orders is clear on your face.

“You can join me at a race. If you want to,”

“Really? I don’t want to be a distraction and I don’t know anything about Formula One,” you hesitate, not wanting to impose.

“I want you there. Who better to teach you the sport than me?” Oscar reassures you.

“Well, I guess I will have to take you up on it,” you take the little leap of faith. It’s not something you would normally do. But your soulmate is worth it… right?

You and Oscar agree to a race that is around a month later, giving you time to get to know each other and for him to teach you different aspects of the sport. The month still doesn’t seem to be enough as you arrive at your first race as his soulmate.

“Hey,” Oscar pulls you into a hug as you stand at his hotel room door. He presses a kiss to your forehead before taking your bag as you walk in.

“How was media?” you ask, making yourself comfortable on the bed beside him. It’s clear that he hastily straightened up the room when he got back from free practice.

“Boring, I was counting down the minutes until you got here,” he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you hum in response. You relax into his warmth, taking in the familiar scent that you’ve found comfort in.

“I couldn’t wait to get out of the office too,” you admit a few moments later. You left a little early to catch a flight here for the weekend.

“Still stuck on paperwork? I must admit, it’s nice not having your danger meter spike,” Oscar murmurs, a little sleepy.

“What’s on your mind?” Oscar observes your distant look when you don’t immediately reply, having learned how to read you more.

“What would you say if I left my job?” you say quietly, almost a whisper. Oscar sits up, needing to properly look at you.

“I’d be a little confused because you love it, but ultimately it’s your choice,” Oscar says, silently asking you to elaborate.

“Well, as soon as someone finds out who I am my cover is blown, putting both of us at risk. It’s a lonely life, and when it was only Boots and me that was okay, but I don’t want to be alone anymore,” you admit, not expecting to feel emotional about it.

“I’ll support you either way, but I don’t want you to quit just for me. What would you do if you left?” he asks, feeling a little guilty.

“The longer I stay in action, the more dangerous my missions will be. Most of mine before didn’t interact with targets, but things will get more dangerous from here. It’s what I’ve worked for my whole life. As for what I would do if I left…” you pause for a second, letting Oscar absorb everything. “Well, your security is seriously lacking, and as your soulmate I think I should do something about that. I was also offered a higher up position that would take me out of action for good,”

“Having my own personal security guard who is also my soulmate? That could be dangerous,” somehow you don’t think Oscar means the kind of danger that would raise your meters.

“Oscar!” Your cheeks flush as you bite back a laugh, acting scandalized. “Alright, I’m going to shower before bed,” you slide out of his arms, looking back at him, knowing what he is about to suggest. “No, you can’t join,” you laugh as he pouts. You two aren’t there yet, but he is proud at how comfortable you are around him.

Oscar leaves early in the morning for free practice, promising to meet you at the gates when you arrive for qualifying. You happily take the extra time to sleep.

Qualifying is your test run. You get a feel for the team and race environment while keeping a low profile. Arriving for the race is a different thing.

“Ready?” Oscar asks as he parks at the circuit. He looks so cozy in his hoodie, and to be fair, you woke him up half an hour before having to leave.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you nervously smile. You are never nervous, but this is different. You are dressed fashionably, but nothing that makes you stand out too much. Your dark sunglasses help hide some of your features as you walk in on Oscars arm. You both look happy as you walk in, and the media notices.

“Oscar!” Logan calls him over, you recognize the American from your initial background check.

“Hey. This is my soulmate, Y/n. Y/n, this is my best friend, Logan,” Oscar introduces both of you.

“Hi, it’s nice to actually meet you,” you hug Logan, taking him by surprise.

“Aww, you talk about me?” Logan coos at Oscar.

“You came up in her background check on me,” Oscar says causing Logan to let go of your hug.

“Weird, but I like it. We are going to be great friends, Leiter and Bond,” Logan rolls with it. He remembers the first time Oscar mentioned you and that’s enough for him.

“You are a sexier James Bond, license to kill and all,” Oscar chimes in, trying to flirt and joke at the same time.

“Oh baby, no. That is nothing like what we do,” you accidentally slip up, and Logan’s eyes widen.

“I thought you were joking. I will keep this to myself though. That’s so cool. Can we watch those movies together?” Logan quickly says, not wanting you to worry. Your initial coolness that Oscar described to him over the past month makes more sense to him now.

“We should get going, I don’t want Zak and Andrea to get mad,” Oscar says, leading both of you away.

“This is the McLaren motorhome, you are welcome to sit in the drivers lounge or in my room while I am in the meeting. Afterwards, I can introduce you to Charles and his girlfriend,” Oscar offers as you look around.

“They should have better security here,” you tut, looking at all the different ways you could easily get in.

“Don’t worry, other teams aren’t coming in and stealing our secrets,” Oscar kisses the side of your head as he leads you upstairs to his drivers room.

“I could always do some recon,” you slyly smile, anything to help him win.

“That’s okay, I don’t need that to win. I have you motivating me,” he smiles, one which falters as a man with brown curly hair comes barreling towards you.

“OSCAR! Is this her? Hi, I’m Lando,” the man, Lando, says, extending his hand.

“Y/n,” you coolly reply, defenses going up as he pulls you into a hug once you take his hand. Oscar can tell you are uncomfortable, Lando springing himself on you.

“Let me help her get settled and I will be down,” Oscar says, cueing Lando to go to the meeting without him. “You are going to look Lando up, aren’t you?” he asks with an amused smile once you are in the safety of his room.

“Yeah, get ready for all his dirty laundry to be aired,” you lightly laugh.

“I look forward to it. I need more blackmail on him. I’ll see you soon, this meeting won’t take long,” Oscar promises, leaving you alone. You spend the half hour he is away looking up his teammate and some other drivers.

“Did I do something wrong?” Lando asks Oscar on their way back to the drivers rooms.

“No, she just wasn’t expecting you. Y/n is pretty guarded around new people, it stems from her job. She will warm up to you,” Oscar replies, not wanting his teammate and soulmate to hate each other.

“Does she work for the government or something?” Lando jokes, a little too accurate.

“Or something, don’t worry about it,” Oscar says, excited to see you again. You wait at the door for Oscar.

“For a professional driver, you have a lot of traffic violations,” you tell Lando, who notices the amused glimmer in your eye and relaxes. Whatever you did during the meeting seems to have worked.

“I have the need for speed,” Lando smiles, happy that you’ve warmed up a little. “Wait, how did you-“

“Don’t worry about it, we will see you later,” Oscar cuts him off, taking you to Ferrari.

“So, Charles is your fake adoptive dad? He has a fairly clean record, I couldn’t find much on him,” you comb over what you learned in your mind.

“Oh, Max is going to love you. You both have cats and you could prep him for whoever he is meeting with,” Oscar laughs, glad that you are taking the time to know his coworkers even if it isn’t the traditional route.

“Max Verstappen? I don’t usually do hits, but I will take out his father for free if he wants,” the way you say it so casually causes Oscar to almost choke.

“I will let him know,” he says, a little unsure how one replies to that.

You are quick to befriend Charles and Alexandra, the latter offers for you to join her while watching the race. You politely decline, but promise to join another race. Oscar takes you around to some other drivers, including Max, before introducing you to more people at McLaren.

You settle into the garage as the race starts, nervous as you watch Oscar on a small screen. You are aware of cameras that are pointed at you, but you ignore them. They don’t know you, all they can do is speculate.

The race is going smoothly until lap 37. Oscar is fighting for position when you fell the sickening twinge of the meter on your arm increasing. Your eyes are glued to the screen as you listen to the team radio, feeling a pit in your stomach.

Carlos and Oscar made contact which at minimum punctured Oscar’s tires. You hear his frustration, but you are just glad that’s all it was.

“Check the front wing too,” you hear him say after confirming he’s okay. He makes it back to the garage safely due to the incident being close to pit lane, but they retire his car due to other damage. Oscar seems too calm to you as he exits the car. Even you would show more emotion in that scenario.

Oscar’s eyes meet yours and before you know it, you are on your feet walking to him. He wraps you in a hug and you gently rub his back. You hold each other for a minute, taking a moment ground each other.

“You okay?” you practically yell over the noise and he just nods, guiding you out of the garage.

“That’s not the win I wanted to give you,” Oscar sighs as you walk back to his room after he gets weighed.

“I hope I’m not bad luck,”

“Never. You are good luck, that should’ve been worse than it was,” Oscar reassures you. A small part of him is happy to be spending time with you.

“I’m sorry your race ended like that, you were driving so well,” you frown, as Oscar squeezes your hand.

“Nothing I can do now, next race is a new opportunity. I have to go do media, do you want to watch the rest in McLaren?” Oscar asks, wanting to know where to find you later.

“I’ll go to Ferrari and watch with Alexandra,” you decide, needing to have friends around here. Oscar nods, leading you to your new friend. He kisses you goodbye before you walk in.

“Hey, are you okay? Those are scary, no matter how minor,” Alexandra greets you when she notices you.

“Yeah. Osc is fine, I’m just upset for him,” you shrug. You’ve seen your partners in danger on missions, but this is a whole different ballgame.

“Grab a seat, want a coffee?” she asks, making sure you are comfortable.

“No, but maybe you can teach me better than Oscar,” you watch her face light up as she immediately dives into sharing her knowledge, explaining everything to you as it happens.

“Come and meet some of the others. Oscar will be pulled into meetings,” Alexandra says, pulling you away from Ferrari.

“Shouldn’t you be with Charles? He must be looking for you,”

“He can wait,” Alexandra waves your concern off as you galavant around the paddock.

Your great experience with the WAGs further conflicted you if you wanted to stay or leave your job. And it all came to a head when you were brought in on an emergency mission once you returned from your weekend away.

This might be your most dangerous recon mission yet. Your part is simple on paper, get in, copy the digital files, get out. It wasn’t simple in execution.

You just skimmed the files, getting crucial information that will stop the operation. Now for the hard part - getting out and getting away.

You slip out of the room, when you hear footsteps getting closer and closer. Just like the stereotype, you slide around a corner and hold your breath, praying they don’t turn your way. They are so close you can feel their body heat beside you. You focus on remaining calm, but this is the most on edge you’ve ever been. You close your eyes as you feel your stomach drop.

This is it. You can see Oscar’s face as he opens his driver room door, two agents standing outside. The agents are solemn as they deliver the news - you were captured and killed on a mission. Every word, every moment is played perfectly in your mind. And your cat, Oscar will have to take care of Boots, a constant reminder of you.

Oscar sits in his post FP2 meeting when it happens, feeling the sickening feeling of your danger meter telling him you were in danger. After it being normal for the past few days, his stomach drops at how high it is.

“I need five,” Oscar runs out like he’s about to puke. You promised in your hastily written letter that you’d try to be safe, but all you really said that you had to leave, couldn’t take your phone, and it was an emergency. He naively thought that you wouldn’t be in the field, that you were just needed on the sidelines. He wasn’t completely wrong, you helped from the side for everything but your part in the operation.

“Oscar? Hey, are you okay?” Lando asks, walking into the room where Oscar disappeared to.

“I- I don’t know,” Oscar looks at his arm, silently pleading for the meter to go down. Lando sees it and just sits beside Oscar.

“Wanna talk about it?” Lando says after a few seconds of silence.

“She left a few days ago with only a note and her cell phone behind. Got an emergency call while I was out. Poor Boots, he must miss his mom. And I know she’s not abandoning me, but I think I finally know how my mom feels about my career,” Oscar says after a minute.

“I assume she’s in the military, or like, a detective to be in danger, and that’s pretty badass of her. I know she came off as cold initially to a lot of us, except when she’s with you and some of the girls, but I can tell that she really likes you. And she seems like she holds her own,” Lando starts listing everything he likes about you from the couple interactions you had during the race day. It helps distract Oscar, calming him little by little.

You step around the corner as soon as the voices fade and come face to face with a security guard. You quickly land a few punches, knocking him out. In the moment you are grateful for your disguise and the cameras that are currently disabled thanks to your team. As you quickly exit the building, you notice another guard tailing you. You quickly get into your getaway car, turning it on and pressing the throttle. It lurches under you, making a hasty exit as they chase you.

Glances in the rear view mirror tell you that you aren’t out of the woods yet. You send a small prayer that Oscar’s talent will be enough as you speed down the street. The car just isn’t fast enough, you are being hunted and the hunter keeps creeping closer and closer. Once again you hope your luck hasn’t run out as you will the car to go just a little faster.

Lando stays seated beside Oscar, trying not to stare at the meter on his teammates arm. He watches the tears run down Oscar’s face as the meter creeps higher, higher, then drops.

[allllium]

Could I request a one shot with Simon Riley, where he is in a secret relationship. And one night when he was on a mission, at their shared home, one of their enemies (that they are hunting down in that mission) comes and kidnaps them. When they find the base where the enemy was, Riley went in to see his girlfriend being tortured? She gets rescued by him and seeks medical attention, as she passes out? But when she wakes up in the hospital it turns into a really fluffy moment? Maybe he gets on one knee?????

Not so Secret

~ I really hope I did your idea justice 🤞 I'm the best at writing for Simon yet or angsty hurty stuff so hopefully you enjoy this sweet little moment

~ Fluff, Torture (Mentioned), WC: 1,559

~ Simon can't live without you

Simon can feel his heart beating out of his chest. You're gonna be fine, he keeps reminding himself. No one on the team has anything in the last couple hours. Good thing. Simon might lose his mind if they try to make small talk in this situation. You're gonna be fine, he reminds himself again, leaning his head against the wall.

You were taken by the enemy team on what was supposed to be a perfectly safe mission. Get the information and get out. Simple. It only took an hour before they found you but in that time you were badly injured. You're alive he mutters under his breath. He can feel Price's eyes burning a hole into him but he still doesn't say anything.

Simon practically jumps out of his chair when the doctor comes through the door. Ignoring every word that comes out the doctors mouth, he pushes his way past and into your room. Price can deal with all the details, right now Simon just needs to see you. Just confirm that you're alive.

You're sleeping when he walks in. More like knocked out with drugs but either way you look peaceful. As peaceful as you can with bruises covering your face. He carefully takes a seat next to the bed. He lets out a deep breath as he sits there watching you. Thinking over everything that happened that day and everything he could have done to stop it, which was nothing.

He sits there long enough to doze off, something he rarely ever does when not in the comfort of his own home. You're presence just has the ability to make him feel comfortable anywhere.

"You're lucky it hurts to move or I'd have drawn a mustache on your face." You voice draws him awake.

"No one would see it through the mask." He responds, keeping his eyes closed. It's a weird feeling, having someone you love in the hospital. He doesn't want to open his eyes, he doesn't want to believe you got hurt.

"I'd know it's there and that's enough for me. Look at me Simon." You demand. He listens, opening his eyes to the brightness of the hospital room. The white walls, white lights, and white ceiling don't strike him as the best thing for healing patients.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, looking into your eyes.

"I'm alright, and you?" You sit up in the uncomfortable bed as an attempt to get more comfortable.

"I'm not the one in a hospital bed." He whispers. Eyes darting all over the room.

"True. It's not the funnest." You crack a small smile. You know exactly how he thinks, how much he blames himself. You know it's a result of trauma and you want nothing more than to be able to reassure him in times like this Unfortunately, words aren't enough to undo this way of thinking. "Join me?" You pat the empty space on the bed.

"No." He replies instantly, immediately worried about injuring you further.

"Okay I might have phrased that like a question but it wasn't. Get on this bed and sit with me so I can feel better."

He stays silent. Debating the options he has. Or more so the options he doesn't have.

"You have two seconds or I'm coming to you."

That gets him moving. At this point he knows better than to dismiss your threats. Before moving however, he takes a moment to take off his mask, something he never wears when it's just the two of you.

"Fine, you know you're not supposed to leave that bed yet." He tries to keep a demanding tone but to you it's just laced with concern. You have a wide grin on your face as he scooches in the bed with you. You end half way on top of him with how small the bed is.

"So what happened while I was sleeping?" You ask, absentmindedly tracing the tattoo on his arm.

"I have no idea. I've been here." He keeps his sentences short and simply. A habit he's picked up over the years.

"The whole time? Aw you big softy." Your heart flutters at his confession.

"M' not."

"Mhm. Whatever you say." You chuckle softly.

"Do you need anything? Water? Food? Drugs?" He kisses your forehead.

"I'm alright. Now stop it."

"Stop what? I'm trying to be helpful."

"No you're blaming yourself. I know you." You lean up in order to look into his eyes. He may be secretive but his eyes aren't.

"I'm not. I'm just thinking of all the ways I can protect you in the future."

"Okay let's say that I believe you. How would you stop this from happening again? You weren't even there." At this point you're sitting up as much as you can, putting an arm on Simon's chest to keep you upright.

"Well right now I'm thinking of locking you in my house so you can never leave and therefore never be hurt." He tells you, being completely serious.

"I'm gonna ignore that because you would like a stalker." You laugh. "Where's the rest of the guys?"

"Outside. I locked the door when I came in."

"Simon! Go unlock the door." You want to say you're surprised but not even a little bit of it is out of the ordinary for Simon.

"No. I'm comfortable here. And I don't wanna go back to acting all professional."

"Simon, you've been in here for what I'm guessing is hours considering it's now nighttime with the door locked. I don't think our secret is much of a secret."

"Maybe not. But I want you all to myself." The look on his face reminds you of a sad puppy. Which is a face he makes very often.

"And you say you're not a softy." You scoff.

"I'm not!" He exclaims, trying hard to protect his reputation that you don't believe for a second.

"Whatever you say, sweetie." You smirk as his face lights up a shade of red. Here we have a massive, cold, military man, blushing at one simply pet name, it's enough to give anyone a huge ego.

After you're little period of talking, you fall into a comfortable silence. With you laying back down onto his chest.

"How are you feeling?" He asks after just a few minutes.

"I'm okay." You quickly reaffirm him. "How about you."

"I'm fine."

"Nope tell me the truth. You've asked me that many times now."

"Just checking."

"Simon."

"I love you." He says out of nowhere.

"I love you too."

"Can we get married."

"What?!" You shoot up, wincing in the process.

"I wanna get married."

"Now??" You practically yell. Of course you wanna marry him but you're really confused.

"No I mean later. I just wanna know that we will."

"You mean be engaged?" You can't stop the strange expression that your face makes as you try and decifer what he means.

"Is that not what you want?" He asks, the fear evident in his voice.

"That's not what I said. But we've never talked about marriage I mean not as deep as we should have. I don't want you to want to marry me just because I got hurt." You start to ramble, talking so fastcyou don't even know if he can understand you. He can. He's gotten used to your nervous rambles.

He smiles bigger than you think you've ever seen him. "I've wanted to marry you since the moment we first met."

"Okay you sound more and more like a stalker the more you talk."

"Is that a no?"

"No, it's a we can be engaged as long as you're being serious. And we'll stay engaged for a while because we're not ready to be married anytime soon."

"So next months not gonna work for you?" He laughs, genuinely laughs.

"No I think I'm busy then." You retort. You want to marry him, you know that for sure, but not until you're healed, and not until you both get better at being together.

"I can wait."

"Can you go let the guys in? Cuz the way you're staring at me is making me nervous."

"I love you."

"Door, Simon."

You try to surpress the wild grin on your face as he gets up to open the door for the others. They all walk in with matching suspicious smirks.

"What have I said about eavesdropping?" You immediately question, looking right at Soap.

"Not to do it." He looks down at his feet like a child being scolded.

"That's right, yet here you are."

"It's not my fault!" He immediately defends himself and points to Price. "He's the one that walked by the door and talk me you were talking about marriage."

You turn your sharp gaze over to Price, "and here I thought you were the responsible one." You shake your head in disappointment. You can hear Simon and Gaz laughing behind them. Being more than amused at the scolding you give you captain.

"You're right. I will reflect on my actions and do better in the future." He jokes.

Also shaking his head, Simon makes his way back to your bedside. Sitting beside you and putting an arm around your waist. You have a feeling now that your secrets out he won't keep his hands off you. But you're okay with that.

[shadykazama]

Hello! Your headcanons on Wukong/Destined One had me giggling so much 😊 they're so great, couldn't stop rereading.

Um, if it's alright, can I ask for some Wukong/Destined One x Reader with their baby? Feral daddy monkey in his nesting phase with his mate and baby is so— 🤭

Absolutely! I have a lot of thoughts and the people demand more monkey business- so let's get down to it.

❤ Wukong

Starting with the pregnancy~

He is ELATED.

The idea of a proper heir had never crossed his mind because well- he's immortal. He doesn't need one. But that doesn't mean the idea of his own flesh and blood isn't positively exciting.

There's a chance he knows you're pregnant before you do. What with all of his special powers and heightened senses.

Celebrates privately with you of course but it becomes a mountain-wide event very quickly.

You are showered with praise and blessings by all the monkeys.

He will never miss a chance to brag that he's going to have a baby. And he's definitely smug about it too, thinks your child is going to surpass even his power.

When you start showing he gets more smothering.

Don't forget our king's fatal flaw! He thinks he knows what's best.

Will limit how much you travel and makes sure you always have at least two attendants by your side while he's gone.

Which, once you get further along, isn't often. There were plenty of superstitions about pregnancy in ancient China, as well as a high infant mortality rate- and that's not even counting what complications could happen due to the magical nature of your child. So he'd be stressed.

He expresses stress through aggression (canon), though it's never pointed at you. He'd be fiercely protective over the mountain, but especially any of the areas you regularly stay in. He'd be very snappy at everyone for the entire second half of the pregnancy, except you of course, who he'd be showering with praise and reverence.

Likes holding your stomach while you rest and tells your baby about the great lineage they're being born into, recounting his titles and strength and promising them they'd be greater.

He's hoping for a boy, but he's assured his child will be spectacular regardless of the gender.

When you give birth he will be extremely focused. He can't afford to be weak in a moment when you need him most. (Though your cries of pain and effort will certainly make his heart ache.)

As you're holding your baby for the first time, his teasing, smug attitude is nowhere to be seen. He just looks at you as if you'd given him the universe itself.

Cutest baby ever might I add 👆.

It's a Chinese tradition that only immediate family is allowed to meet the baby for the first 100 days after it's born, so it'd just be you and him for a majority of three months unless you invite your family to meet them.

In traditional fashion, on the 100th day a banquet is held to officially introduce the baby to everyone. And MY GOD would it be an event...

Besides all of the monkeys on the mountain who want to celebrate their new prince/princess, I can't even imagine how many celestials and demons would come to pay their respects and blessings- be it out of fear or respect.

Either way, expect a very long day and a LOT of gifts.

^ Wukong doesn't leave your side for the entire day. I dare someone to try and pull something.

You'd expect with his trickster personality that he'd be a very lenient dad, but Wukong is surprisingly dutiful in making sure your child doesn't turn out lazy or ignorant.

That by no means is to say he wouldn't be a wonderfully playful father. He'd have a wonderful connection with his child, and his most important lesson to them would be to respect their mother ;)

More of a one kid kind of guy, so he'd probably stop after the first, unless you had twins or triplets.

As protective as he was with you when you were pregnant, he's pretty chill with the actual kid. He knows they're durable and will let them get roughed up doing dumb stuff.

Carries them around hanging off his tail and will pretend like he doesn't know where they went.

It's like how cats will let their babies 'sneak up on them' to encourage them to keep trying. He does the same thing with your kid when they try to trick him.

Your baby would be the most respectful little shit ever. A little shit nonetheless, but would do anything for you or their father.

All the monkeys on the mountain help keep an eye on the little sage so you'll never feel lost or alone in parenting. It's very much a joined effort and your baby will see the other monkeys as their family as well!

This wonderful piece of Sun Wukong was done by @kanade-howl here on tumblr! They post their work on Twitter as well at @kanaade_ and @_liehuzuo please support them!

💙 The Destined One

Give him a bunch of babies I beg you.

He'd get addicted, he wants a big family for SURE.

When you first tell him you're pregnant he'll probably take some time to fully soak it in.

You'll be used to being patient with him at this point, but I imagine something like this is really nerve wracking so don't feel bad if you rush him for a response.

He'll put a hand on your stomach as if he's checking for himself before picking you up and smothering you with love.

He's not a chatty guy but he'll let you know how happy he is!

^ That being said, during your pregnancies is the most talkative he'll ever be.

He doesn't want you to stress about communicating and knows your body is going through a lot so he pushes himself to talk more to make sure you get everything you need.

That doesn't mean he'll be a chatterbox by any means. More than nothing is still very slim :')

Expect a lot of one word questions.

Trusts you more than he trusts his own instincts. His instincts tell him you shouldn't be climbing or moving around much- but if you want to, who's he to tell you what to do? He's not the one pregnant 🤷‍♀️

Follows you around like a guard dog when you do though, doesn't matter what you're doing.

Somehow even more physically affectionate than normal. Will insist on holding your hand when you walk so you can lean your weight on him.

When you start showing he'll be amazed. It's not that he's never seen a pregnant person before but like... That's his baby in there and he can't believe it.

His favorite thing to do is lay his head against your stomach while you're resting. Will kiss your skin and adore the life you're making.

You can catch him whispering things to your baby while he's resting his head on your stomach.

Your body is going to ache and he is more than happy to massage it for you. He doesn't even need an excuse to touch you, but he'll find them anyway.

Once you get further along and it gets harder for you to get around, he'll pick you up and take your wherever you want to go- within reasonable distance from your home of course. Not because he can't take you further, he just doesn't want to in case something happens.

But he wants to make sure you get fresh air and still see the beauty outside of your bed.

Doesn't trust anyone to watch you. It's him or nothing.

Makes offerings and prays to the goddess of childbirth. He does this a few times before you catch him and start helping.

He's a bundle of nerves when you're giving birth. If you weren't preoccupied, it'd probably be painfully obvious how nervous he was.

Holds you while you hold your baby and will not stop telling you how much he loves you and how perfect the baby is.

Gets baby fever bad.

Baby will be spoiled, and so will any other baby after that.

Huge advocate for carrying the baby. If you're not opposed to it, he probably carries them more than you.

Has the most deadpan look on his face as he looks at this baby but he has so much adoration for his little miracle.

Stressing over your baby crying in the middle of the night? Not with him! He's at that babies beck and call.

Watching a nearly mute man deal with a curious child is definitely amusing and you get a front row seat.

Your children kind of just accept that their dad doesn't talk much, but he'll always tell them he loves them if they say it to him.

Takes them everywhere with him so he can teach them. Is SO proud when the oldest starts helping teach the younger ones.

He's proud of them in general honestly.

Your kids are going to be super loving and curious. I think he'd foster really healthy relationships between all of them.

You'd have a whole team taking care of you if you ever got sick.

[flemingsfreckles]

Drunk Dial Pt. 3

Read the rest of the series here

Warnings: mentions of sex, illusions to sex, cursing, verbal argument, basically Jessie and R yelling at each other for the majority of this chapter

WC: 3.4k

A/N: this is the end of this little series, i have a feeling some of you won’t be too happy with this being where i leave it, but this is sort of a left up to your interpretation ending… don’t forget some of you voted for this ;) (unknowingly, but you did)

You stood looking at yourself in the bathroom off of Haley’s bedroom. Across your body, a sleep shirt from some college, not one you attended and it wasn’t the familiar UCLA logo you had grown to know. On your bottom a pair of sleep shorts you didn’t recognize either. You had just woken up but you were ready to go home, you didn’t need to stay here, you felt out of place being here. That’s when you see your phone light up, Jessie’s face across it.

“Shit shit shit.” You scramble to grab your phone.

You quickly pop your head into Haley’s bedroom. “Uh, sorry, phone call, I should take this. It’s um, work.” You lied, she nodded and pointed out the door toward her living room.

Once the door is closed behind you, you take a deep breath and answer the call, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hey.” You whisper.

“Hey, why are you whispering?” Jessie’s tone immediately turned accusatory.

“Um, no reason.” You say, clearing your throat and trying to make the hush in your voice less obvious. It’s not like you could tell her where you were, she didn’t need to know the choices you made last night and how regretful you were about them this morning.

“Okay, well I’m on my way over, we need to talk. About last night, about the other night, we need to talk about all of it.”

“Um.” You frantically look around the living room, finding your sweatshirt that had been haphazardly thrown off last night, slipping it over your head. “I’m not home right now. So just give me a little bit.”

“Where are you? It’s 8 in the morning.” You could hear traffic in the background of Jessie’s call, an indication she was likely already on her way.

“No where, I can be there in like 30 minutes.” You hang up before she can ask you any more questions about your whereabouts. You open the bedroom door, Haley is now sitting up in bed, the covers pulled up around her body.

“Hey sorry, I um, I have to go, work calls.” You play it off with a smile and a shake of your cell phone.

“Oh no worries.” She waves a hand at you and gives you a polite smile.

My clothes?” You question the girl.

“Should still be out by the couch.”

“Right, thanks.” You hurry out toward the couch, grabbing the pile of clothes before heading back into the bathroom, quickly taking off the shirt and shorts you had been lent, putting your own jeans and shirt from the night before back on. You walk out of the bathroom, giving Haley another look. “I put the dirty ones in the basket.”

“Got it, thanks.” She gives you a nod. “Have a good rest of your day, I’ll text you. Good luck with, ya know, everything.”

“Thanks.” You give her a tightlipped smile before excusing yourself and heading out her bedroom door and down the hall out of her apartment. You hopped in your car, barely letting it turn on before you threw it in drive. Driving faster than you should have, you raced to your place, hoping somehow you would be able to beat Jessie there.

Your heart drops when you turn the corner toward the entryway of your building and there stands Jessie. You can see the expression on Jessie’s face turn sour, nearly a smile at the start before she examines you and she’s suddenly sporting a scowl. “So I guess that date must have been better than you lead on.” Jessie states as she looks you up and down once you’re a few feet from her.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Are you sure? You clearly went to see someone after you left me.” She gestures to your clothing, you suddenly wish you had spare clothes in the car, or you had worn Haley’s clothes home, you could’ve played it off that you had bought new ones, that Jessie just hasn’t seen them before. But you were wearing the clothes she had touched and seen last night, she knew. “I have a feeling it was her. You left me, for her, for someone you barely know.”

“Jessie, that’s not what happened.” You notice your voice raising, trying to defend yourself in an unfortunate situation.

“You sure? Because that’s how it feels and that’s what it fucking looks like.” Jessie raises her voice right back at you, something she had hardly done when the two of you were together, occasionally during an argument but the Canadian held her temper and emotions close most of the time. She waved a hand up and down reminding you that you were in fact still in your clothes from last night.

“Can we do this inside?” You look around at the pedestrian traffic that is passing by the two of you. A couple giving you looks as the two of you argued.

“Sure.” Jessie says, rolling her eyes but following you silently as you open the door to your building and walk to the elevator. The ride up is quiet, as is the walk down the hallway. Once inside your apartment you find your way to the dining room, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

“So we should talk about what happened, all of it.” You say, a twinge in annoyance in your voice.

“Where do you want to start?” Jessie says, propping herself against the wall, her arms crossed across her chest.

the way she stood, arms crossed in defense as if you were the only one in the wrong here, pissed you off. “Oh I don’t know Jessie. Maybe the part where you hid the fact that I told you my feelings when I was drunk? Or how when I left the next morning you told me you weren’t in love with me anymore, only for you drunkenly invited me out last night only to drop the bomb on me that you do in fact still love me? Or how you were trying to get me to take you home and fuck you last night? We have options Jessie, where do you want to start?”

“Where do I want to start?” She stares back at you, raising her voice slightly. “You’re the one who broke the no contact that we had agreed on in the first place calling me after you got stood up! You’re the one who hid these feelings and were too scared to tell me all this time. Then you confess them while you’re drunk, leaving me in a weird spot. I didn’t know what to do. Not to mention your little “gift” you gave me. I’m sorry for calling you yesterday if that’s what you want to hear. But coming yesterday and then pawning me off to Arnold was a shitty move.”

“I didn’t pawn you off, jez Jessie, I wanted to make sure you were safe! You were drunk, it wasn’t the right time for us to talk, or sort this out.” You throw your hands up at her, fists clenched in frustration.

“But it was the time for you to go fuck some girl you hardly know?!” Her cheeks were starting to turn the familiar red that you used to tease her for, you always thought she looked adorable with the slight blush, only now that blush that was caused by compliments or teasing comments was now being caused by the way she yelled at you.

“I didn’t fuck her!” You scream back, your hand coming down to hit the table. You had never yelled at Jessie like this, not when you argued or fought, not when you broke up, never.

Jessie scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” She’s still defensive in her tone but it’s quieter, almost as if she’s scared.

You immediately drop the anger from your voice. “Jessie I didn’t. I wasn’t in a good mood last night when I left the bar, I panicked, and I called her because I needed someone. I got to her place, and when she let me in, we watched a movie and talked and I broke down about you to her. I was hysterical, I didn’t know what to do.”

That was the truth. You had been embarrassed about it, you showed up to Haley’s door. You knew she was likely expecting sex, that you had called her for a late night hook up. Instead what she got was you at her doorstep, asking to talk.

You started off by apologizing for wasting her time on your date earlier that day. You told her you weren’t ready to commit to anything, and you should’ve realized that before trying to date again. She had been understanding, not making you feel any worse for what had happened. The two of you agreed friendship could be the path you take instead. The more you two talked the more you told her. You told her about Jessie, your past and your current feelings. She offered as good of advice as she could and when you cried about it, she comforted you, offering you to stay the night due to how late it was. You took her up on the offer for the couch, and also for the pair of old shorts and shirt to sleep in. You thought nothing of it, no one would know, it wouldn’t be a problem. You hadn’t expected Jessie to call you bright and early the next morning demanding to see you instantly.

“But you spent the night, you were there this morning, that’s why you were whispering.”

“On the couch! I spent the night on the couch!” You exclaim. “Jessie, I don’t know how to prove it, nothing happened between her and I, we didn’t even kiss. She was being a friend, that’s all I see myself being with her.”

“I find that so hard to believe!”

“We didn’t do anything, nothing!”

“Fine, let’s say you didn’t fuck her, did you go with the intention of fucking her? Did you plan to use her to get over me, to get me out of your head?”

Her question catches you off guard. “I-” you stutter, unsure of what to say and unsure of what your answer even should be. The truth was, you didn’t know. Maybe some tiny bit of you thought maybe you’d get laid, maybe some bit of you just wanted attention, the comfort of another body on yours, some part of you wanted someone to rant to, complain to. You just wanted someone.

Jessie clicks her tongue as you struggle to find the right words. “That’s all I need to know.” She nods slowly before starting to turn away from you.

“No Jessie, wait!” You stand up fast, knocking your chair out from behind you, creating a loud crash that has Jessie turning back to see what had happened. You leave the chair, climbing over it to make your way closer to her.

“No, because clearly you don’t know what you want, I can’t get involved with you again if you don’t know what you want.” She says walking away and towards the door.

“I know what I want.” You say as you walk after her, you couldn’t let her walk out of that door on you, you couldn’t lose her for a second time. You reach your hand out, catching hers stopping her in her tracks. She shakes her hand from your grip.

“I’m leaving.” Her hand turns the doorknob and as she steps out she turns back. “Call me once you have your head on straight and can actually talk with me.”

Being beyond frustrated your anger comes back and you shout at her as you watch her head down the hallway. “Fuck you Jessie, you invited yourself over, no warning, nothing, what if I wasn’t ready to talk?!”

She doesn’t answer, she doesn’t even turn back, doesn’t lift her head. She ignores you. The door to the stairs is swung open and her figure quickly disappears as she leaves out of your building.

“Fuck.” It wasn’t going to fix anything but shouting made it hurt less for the time being, so did the swift kick you gave to the door as you closed it.

That was your chance. That was your chance and you fucked it up.

You sent the rest of the afternoon spiraling, unsure of what to say, what to do, nothing felt right. You had cried, your eyes and head both still throbbing as a result. You spent a fair amount of time staring off at the wall, feeling numb to your surroundings. It wouldn’t change anything, you had the opportunity and you failed to win her back. When you tucked yourself into bed early, you tried everything in your power but to think of that brown eyes girl.

But you couldn’t get her out of your mind, she was in every thought, every emotion you had.

“This is so stupid.” The same words you had mumbled to yourself as you got out of your warm bed you repeated to yourself as you started walking. You were walking down the streets of Portland at quarter to midnight, not your brightest idea but you couldn’t stop thinking about her. You should’ve driven, probably safer and faster, but walking cleared your head and that’s what you needed, a clear head.

You walked yourself all the way to the doorstep of Jessie’s townhome, banging on the door. Raising your fist again to knock the door swings open and you nearly punch the Canadian.

“Sorry.”

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is raspy, a little deep, you realize you’ve probably woken her from a sleep. She steps onto the porch closing the door behind her.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave earlier. I should have never let you leave. I still want you Jessie, I was stupid before, so stupid to let you ever go, I should’ve fought for you, I should’ve figured something else out, I should’ve tried something else before we called it quits.” You confess to her.

“So what, are you still in love with me?” The silence between the two of you after she asked was painful, you could practically hear your own blood pumping through your body. You definitely hadn’t expected such a direct question right off the start with her, but at least you’d get straight to the point.

“Are you?” You stare blankly back at Jessie, throwing her own question in her face. The two of you stand eye to eye, neither of you answering.

“What did I tell you at the bar yesterday?” Jessie finally says.

Squinting at her you’re not sure if it’s a rhetorical question or if you should answer, you take the safer option and just reiterate what she told you drunkenly last night. “That you were, you still loved me, you were still in love with me, that you had been too scared to tell me.”

“Then there’s your answer.” Jessie says, as if you were supposed to have assumed that on your own.

The longer you stared at her face the more you felt your anger and frustration with her fade and replacing it was the overwhelming urge to complete her request from last night, push her softly inside the door, kiss her against the wall, lift her into your arms and make the blind walk to her bedroom that you knew so well, take her to bed, make her yours again. Easier said than done and you knew taking her to bed would just complicate the already confusing situation the two of you were in.

“Then you know my answer too Jess.” The nickname slips out of your mouth, it wasn’t something you had called her in a long time. “I don’t know how to prove it, but please just trust me, nothing happened between me and that girl, nothing, Jessie I love you too much to do that.”

Bringing her hand up, she lets her fingers run through her hair before she pulls at the bottom of her sleep shirt. She releases a sigh and looks at the ground.

“So what does that mean for us?” She looks up at you, her brown eyes have a small glisten to them from the moon above both of your heads. You missed her eyes. You missed how she’d wink at you across a crowded room and your stomach would flutter, how she’d look up at you when you came to the side of the pitch to say hello after a game, how she’d steal glances at you when you sat snuggled into the couch. Those eyes made you feel seen in a way no one had before.

“What do you think it means?” You knew what you wanted it to mean, but you didn’t know if she felt the same.

“God some things never change do they?” Jessie fights back a smile as she looks at you with a small shake of her head.

“What does that mean?” You feel yourself starting to get defensive, your tone changing.

“You, the indecisiveness, you could never make choices when we were together. You could never pick a movie, never could pick a board game to play, never pick a restaurant, you never wanted to be the one to make the call, you could never pick anything.”

“I picked you Jessie. And I’d still pick you, everyday.” That was the truth, that was what you had been trying to say to her all along. She was your person, she was it for you, you just hoped she’d feel the same.

“If you’re actually choosing me then do it, pick me and tell me what you want to do, don’t put this on me, make a damn decision for once.” Jessie’s tone had shifted, less angry, less frustrated, it was soft and almost needy as if she was begging you.

“I’m not saying we're dating or that we even go on dates, or hook up, or anything. I’m also not saying we will ever go back to dating, we didn’t work the first time, who’s to say we would now, but I want to try, with you because I still love you, I’ve never stopped loving you. So maybe we start with removing that no contact plan we had? We talk again, we text again, you know, baby steps?” You feel yourself hold your breath when you finish speaking, as if you’re scared you’ve made a poor choice, that she’ll be mad at your proposal.

“Baby steps.” She gives a slow nod of her head, looking you up and down. “Okay, yeah, we can do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll uh, I’ll text you then.” You can feel the happiness blossoming in your chest.

“Sounds good, get home safe.” Jessie says before turning back to her door. You practically skip down the stairs and down the street all the way back to your home, feeling elated that you might have a chance to finally fix what you had broken months ago.

Jessie turned back, resting against the door, eyes closed. She perked up at the sound of footsteps coming in her direction, straightening up and blinking her eyes quickly as she made out the figure coming toward her.

“You alright? Who was that?” Jessie’s eyes fell on the dark haired girl standing in front of her who was wearing her old grey UCLA shirt that she had always let you borrow and a pair of her boxers. Jessie didn’t know her well, she hardly remembered her name as she stood looking at the woman. The dark red hickey that she had sucked into the unknown girl’s neck just hours ago was peeking out of the collar. Jessie knew there were a lot more hiding under her shirt as well. A wave of guilt flashed through her body, she had just been trying to get even. She hadn’t realized she’d woken her by leaving the bed, she had barely heard the knocking on the door.

Jessie shook her head at the girl. “No one. Wrong house number. You can go back to bed, I’ll be there in a second.”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

He Protecc ; She Sit Pretty

How I imagine the LADS Men react to someone hurting/disrespecting you. Even though MC can very well handle herself in many situations there's nothing wrong with a protective man.

Zayne

Type: Stern | De-escalator | Don't Start Nothin' Won't Be Nothin'

If Zayne were to witness someone hurting or disrespecting you he wouldn't immediately resort to violence. His cold demeanor speaks for him. He would grab you putting himself between you and your attacker and with a voice as cold as ice "Is there a problem?" He's a gentleman he won't immediately fight someone barefoot in the streets. He'd remove you from harms way and asses the situation.

Zayne is not one to start anything, but when it comes to the one he adores he will in fact finish it.

He would let your attacker ramble nonsense before turning to you rubbing your shoulders telling you it's okay. He would turn back to your attacker and with a voice as smooth as silk with unwavering confidence "Now I'm sure this could have all been a misunderstanding however, if you'd like to put up a fight you’re welcome to settle this with me"

Rafayel

Type: Extremely confrontational | All fight no flight | Condescending

In an alternate universe somewhere Rafayel is a street fighter or mma fighter or something I swear. This man is all fight no flight he's not de-escalating shit he's matching energy. If he happens to see someone putting their hands on you he's grabbing their wrist and wrenching it backwards while they scream in pain "Who said you can touch her?"

If he catches someone disrespecting you don't even sweat it. He would make your attacker feel less than the gum stuck to the side of a trash can. He is not playing any games about you. If people want to go low he's going to hell. He doesn't care about anyones feelings except yours.

Xavier

Type: Confrontational | All fight no flight | Silent Threat

Xavier doesn't need to say much when protecting you. He immediately pulls you behind him and sizes up your attacker. His demeanor is as sharp as a blade. "Walk away" is his only warning if your attacker tries to pop off at the mouth Xavier is immediately summoning his hunters sword and in an instant showing said attacker he could have severed their head if he wanted to. His two worded warning was not a suggestion.

Sylus

Type: Condescending | Intimidation | All fight no flight

Attacking/hurting you: Sylus is turning them into black and red energy he don't have time for that. Stop playing in his face.

Disrespecting you: He’s walking up and grabbing you by the waist immediately asking “What’s going on over here?” He would make them feel as if he’s sympathizing with them before completely crushing their spirit with a devilish smirk on his face. He would have them questioning their entire existence in that moment. He’d end the conversation with a smooth “Let’s get going sweetie” pulling you along with him leaving that person with tears in their eyes.

[lokisfirecracker]

toxic, older man!price x reader

summary; you catch price flirting with someone else when you’re out on a date together, you argue but price manages to plant seeds in your head that you were overreacting. this is you coming back to him, because john is always right, and he would never hurt you, right?

warnings- toxic, abusive relationship, smut, public sex, voyeurism, humiliation, boot humping

—————

it had only been 2 days since your argument with john. you’d thought that he was in the wrong, when you caught him chatting up a pretty blonde whilst he waited for you to be done in the bathroom at the local pub.

you’d thought he was in the wrong when he’d denied their conversation being flirty, saying that he could never want someone that wasn’t you, even though his hand had been awfully close to her ass.

you’d started being confused about who was in the wrong when he’d complained about you always picking holes in every little thing he did, that he felt like he was being suffocated by you, before storming out, leaving you to find your own way home.

now, 2 days later, you knew that he was right, you had been more clingy than usual lately, and you had been tending to tell him off when really, the things he’d been doing weren’t that bad. you shouldn’t have complained about him looking down the waitress’ top last week when you were on another date, he couldn’t help that his eyes were at the same level as her tits! it’s not his fault that his chair was the perfect height.

you were missing him desperately, wishing that you’d just kept you mouth shut so you could be with him right now. you’d been on the fence about calling him, not sure if he’d even want you anymore after your spout. so instead, you decided that the best course of action, was to get absolutely plastered and pretend nothing happened.

admittedly, it wasn’t the best plan you could’ve come up with, and you were slightly regretting it now that you’d found yourself stood on john’s doorstep, in the sluttiest outfit you had, hand hovering by the door because you were too scared to knock.

luckily for you, he opened the door, unlit cigar in one hand. your eyes welled up immediately at the sight of him, feeling overwhelmed with relief from how much you’d missed him.

he sighed heavily, not looking at all surprised to see you and leaned up against the door frame, “you come to apologise for your behaviour?”

you quickly looked down, tears streaming down your face and cooling your warmed cheeks. now that you were here, you were unsure what to say. how could you ever make it up to him, what could you do to repay him for being so mean and inconsiderate to your poor boyfriend.

“you gonna answer me? or did y’come just here to yell and embarrass me again?”

his words only made you cry harder, wishing you could go back to before and have your john back. you swear that you’ll never complain about him again if he forgives you, you’d do anything he asked.

“no i-,” your own sobs cut you off, and you scrambled to find the right words, eyes lifting to meet his. “i’m so sorry, i was so cruel, i didn’t mean to.”

“so you just meant to upset me then, just didn’t mean to do it so publicly?” he sneered, titling his to the side a little. the floor beneath him creaked as he pushed off the frame, stepping closer to you.

you rushed to shake your head, doing it so quickly that your head swarmed, stumbling a little.

“don’t be so pathetic, it doesn’t suit you baby,”

you whimpered quietly, “i didn’t want to hurt you at all, i promise. please, i need you, please don’t leave me. i promise i’ll be good. just tell me what to do and i’ll do it, please.”

your breathing was laboured, and your heart felt like it was going to pump out of your chest. you waited whilst he considered, hoping that whatever he chose, that it would be enough for him to consider forgiveness.

“on your knees,” he commanded, finally lighting the cigar and taking a pull.

you dropped down, feeling the twang in your knees that you knew meant they’d be black and blue later. you looked up at him, waiting patiently for his next order as tears continued to fall, “hump my boot.”

you moved to do as he’d asked, not wanting to be seen hesitating and he change his mind. you carefully lifted yourself up, and placed your weight down onto his leather boot. your tears finally began to dry up as you loosely wrapped your arms around his strong leg.

going slowly at first, you rubbed your cunt along his shoe, trying to avoid the laces. you tried your best to put on a show for him, wanting to make him pleased at your actions, but the feeling of the leather grinding against your clit was disturbingly good.

just as you were getting lost in twisted pleasure, you heard a long whistle from down the street behind you. your head whipped around, stunting your movements on his shoe. a couple of men had gathered around to watch, and you hadn’t even realised. had they been there the whole time? did you know them? it was too dark to be able to recognise them, but the porch light above john made you very visible to them. you only hoped they couldn’t see the way your swollen cunt was glistening against the leather.

you felt a rough tug to your hair, and squealed as he said, “did i fucking tell you to stop?” you shook your head again, knowing that any words you said would only anger him further at this point, and john didn’t tolerate prolonged disobedience.

resuming your movements, you tried not to think about the strangers, and focused only john and your quickly approaching orgasm.

you’d never felt so humiliated in your life, but you knew you deserved this. after all, this is how he must of felt outside that pub bathroom, with all those people around, watching. really, if you thought about it, you were quite lucky to only have a couple people watching you. john had been very generous with his punishment, and you’d happily take it like a good girl if it made him happy.

legs shaking, you moaned into his thigh, calling out his name like a chant. pleasure flowed through you as you released your cum onto his now shining boot. you collapsed against him, feeling exhausted and embarrassed. he gently pulled you up and into his arms, pressing his hard bulge into you as you tried to recover.

before you could realise what he was doing, you felt him flip up the back of your skirt, followed by a sharp burn against your ass check. you gasped, trying to move away from the source of pain. he shushed you as you began to cry again, rubbing your back and discarding the rest of the now put out cigar onto the floor.

“did so well for me, sweetheart. you’re forgiven, been such a good girl, haven’t you? how could i ever stay mad at that pretty face of yours, hm?”

he picked you up and walked around back into his house, slamming the door shut with his foot behind him.

your body continued to tremble as he placed you down onto his bed, lovingly tucking your hair behind your ears. he moved back to undo your laces and take off your shoes, focus moving back over to your face every once in a while. next, he unzipped the side of your skirt, and pulled your top off, leaving you in only your soaked underwear.

he admired the view, smiley softly when your eyes met and crawled up the bed to lay beside you. you always craved these moments with him, where you knew he loved you, where you knew that you were the one he wanted right now. you’d go to much further lengths than you had tonight on the porch to make him happy, if it meant that this is what you got in return. nothing felt this good.

he pulled you closer, his hold on your body tight, almost uncomfortably so, before his face turned serious, “you ever embarrass me again, and i’ll fucking kill ya, you hear me?”

you sniffled, eyes widening a little but refusing to squirm from his arms, “i won’t ever, i promise john,”

“good, that’s good,”

and just like that, he was his happy self again, like you’d never argued, like he hadn’t just threatened to take you life, like you didn’t know that he meant it. everything was good again, just don’t you dare say a word when the next week, you catch him sending pictures of his dick to his “doctor”.

—————

any feedback in the comments is massively appreciated <3

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi! I want to start off by saying that I absolutely ADORE your stories!! ❤️💖💖😁😁😁😁💖💖❤️ And I also really hope you make a series out of the de-aged Captain Marvel au! The potential cuteness and absolute chaos is great!

Tim Drake no longer owned Drake Manor.

When his mother died, it had fallen out of his family's assets as his father had been less than prepared to run the company. When he woke that was.

At the time, Tim had been struggling with the loss and the craziness life had become. Moving to the penthouse was a necessary evil because otherwise, Bruce would have noticed that his "uncle" wasn't around as much. He hadn't really missed the manor, but it was a comfrot to see it there, unchaning since his family fell apart.

He always told himself he would repurchase it, making a mental note whenever he was at Wayne Manor, but he never did for one reason or another. The building remained on the market, but it was considered bad luck among the elites to purchase ancestral homes and the regular populance could never afford it.

Tim would sometimes glance at the manor while driving his motorbike to visit the Waynes. Occasionally, he would stop at the gate, staring at the building and reminiscing.

It would help clear his head on some dark nights. He silently promised himself that when he retired from the field, he would come back home and maybe raise his own family here. It was likely a lie because he couldn't imagine a life without being a vigilante, but it was a nice thought anyway.

He did that today, going for a drive to clear his head and aiming to stop in front of his old home to climb over the fence and sit under the same tree when he realized with a start that the yard had been cleaned up and a group of people were moving items into the building. Yanking out his phone, Tim did a quick search, feeling all the blood drain from his face when the listing now read: SOLD

An overwhelming sense of numbness erupted from his chest as he looked back up, watching the moving crew go to and fro with the belonging of the new owners.

Someone had bought his childhood home. Tim had allowed it to slip through his fingers.

He doesn't have time to process that before a child's laughter has him swinging his head to the top of the gate pillars. There, a boy with bright blue eyes is watching him, eating a giant swirl lollipop.

Tim's heart launches when he realizes how close the child is to tilting over as he yells "Hi mister!"

"Hey there." Tim says as calmly as he can speak."Are you okay up there? You can fall."

"I'm fine. It's really easy to climb up here."

Tim knows. He used the same method to follow Bruce and Jason as a kid. Still, it doesn't make it safe so he steps closer, just incase he needs to catch the kid. It helps, having this distraction from the ache of his mistake in not rebuying Drake Manor.

He ignores the empty sign that the child is leaning against, the faded outline of his family name showing where they removed the metal shapes. He can't handle that right now.

"If you're sure. My name is Tim by the way. What's yours?"

"I'm Billy! I'm five years old! " the boy answers, holding up his hand with a cheer. He gives his lollipop two licks before he gestures at Tim with it."Why are you standing in front of my house?"

"I just.....got curious. You have a pretty house." Tim says as evenly as he can.

"It's super pretty inside, too! My Dad bought it for my Mom and Papa," the boy cheerfully tells him. We move next to my uncle because my Dad says we have to stay close to family."

Wait.

"Bruce Wayne is your uncle?" Tim asks, and the boy nods rapidly. He even points down the street to where Wayne Manor can be viewed from a far distance- neighbors, they may be- the two properties were very vast. "He lives over there with my cousins."

Cousins.

"Oh" Tim hears himself say "That would be me."

Billy eyes sparkle "You're a Wayne?"

"Yes, Tim Drake-Wayne."

"I'm Billy Phantom! Heir to throne!" Billy shouts leaping off the pillar cuasing Tim to launch forward with his arms streach out ready to catch. He hits the ground with a oof but a lack of weight in his hands says he failed to caught Billy.

Not that it mattered as Billy floated in the air harmlessly. Tim glances at the workers to see if anyone has noticed that the boy is apparently a meta, but they don't even look over. Maybe the information was disclosed upon hiring?

"Are you Robin?" Billy says in his face, flouting upside down and staring into Tim's round eyes. He still lays in a heap on the floor, position for a catch and it must make quite a sight to any onlooker. "You look to big to be that one."

Before Tim could even think of an excuse, multicolored rose petals started to fall around them in a dazzling down. It appeared like foral confiti falling from the heavens. Billy flips around to see a pale, beautiful woman dressed in a gothic attire walking toward them.

Behind her, plant life blossoms into a wonderful sight. "Mom!"

"Billy, what did we say about Uncle Bruce's secret?" The lady says, voice musical to the ear.

"But Mom! Only the ghosts are around!" Billy whines, pointing at the moving crew further down the driveway, who have yet to pay attention to them. They didn't care that a goth version of Posion Ivy had strutted by.

"That's no excuse. What would your auntie Jazz say?"

"She says I was not being trustworthy with secrets and other peoples' feelings. I'm sorry." Billy slumps, flouting down to pout on the ground.

"Exactly. Hello Timothy," the woman continues, turning her purple eyes towards the down boy.It's lovely to have family over. "I'm Sam, goddess of the Green. Bruce recommended this place to us. We are excited for the next ten year vacation"

Bruce has a lot to tell him, more then just selling his family house without letting Tim know.

[cosmicdahlias]

What You Deserve

a ford x reader fic

MINORS DNI

warnings: HEAVY NONCON, smut, possession

i really went wild on this one i hope y’all enjoy

Ford has been worrying you lately. His sleep schedule is erratic, he barely eats, and it seems like he’s always talking to someone that isn’t there. But there is someone, you’ve come to know him as Bill.

In Ford’s words Bill is his muse, his inspiration. You hadn’t questioned it at first, it kept him so driven. But now things were different, Ford wasn’t quite the same as when you first met him.

You’ve never spoken directly to Bill, only when he speaks through Ford via possession. You never let Ford know but it terrifies you to see Ford so unlike himself. He turns wild, dangerous, unpredictable. Sometimes disappearing for days at a time and returning with no recollection of what transpired. One time coming back sporting a tattoo of a star on his neck that he had no memory of getting, but a tattoo was the least of your worries.

You’ve started to hate Bill for what he’s done to your partner. You fear the day that you turn on the news and see that the local mysterious scientist in the woods has turned up dead.

You secretly love him too. He captivated you, perhaps that’s why you cared so much. If he was just your coworker it wouldn’t keep you up as often as it did. You wanted to take him away from all of this, to just kiss him and tell him that there was more to life than being Bill’s puppet.

These thoughts consumed your mind as you sat at your desk going over your research notes. You were so in your head that you didn’t sense the looming presence behind you.

A hand grasped your shoulder, you jumped nearly a foot out of your chair. It was Ford.

“JESUS Christ, Ford. A little warning next time?” You gasped.

He released his hand. “Oh dear I’m sorry I hadn’t realized I’d scare you like that, you just looked so wrapped up in your own thoughts. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You huffed. “Yeah, it’s just… I have a lot on my mind right now.”

“Oh? Perhaps I can take your mind off things.”

“How so?” You asked.

“Well for starters sweetheart I can rip off those clothes.” He cooed.

“What?” You stammered.

“You heard me.”

You blushed, this was so unlike him. “Ford are you feeling okay?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve never felt more like myself.”

It was then you noticed his eyes, the yellow tint and catlike pupils. Your heart sank. Bill.

“I know it’s you Bill. What do you want?” You spat through gritted teeth.

“I’m just doing old sixer here a favor. I’ve seen inside his mind and I know what he thinks about you. Thing is, he’s too damn shy to just go for it. So I figured, why not do it for him?”

You felt like a rock just sank to the pit of your stomach, you knew what that meant. Your thoughts quickly screamed at you to defend yourself. You knew you had a small knife in the drawer of your desk, but could you grab it before Ford, rather, Bill reached you?

You decided to take the risk, you shot up and darted your hand to the drawer, pulling it open. You quickly grabbed the knife and held it out in front of you. Your hands trembled.

Bill laughed coldly “That’s cute of you, but here’s the thing, you try hurting me and you’re just gonna kill Fordsy. And we wouldn’t want that now would we?”

Before you could say anything Ford descended on you, coming up behind you his hands gripping your wrists and wrestling the knife out of your grasp.

“Now listen to me toots, we’re gonna have some fun on behalf of my good old pal here. You can struggle all you want, but I think you and I both know he’s a lot bigger and stronger than you.” He said, running the knife against your throat.

You felt his teeth sink into your neck, rough kisses left at every bite mark, his hands traveling up and down your body. He hooked the knife underneath your clothes and began to tear away at the fabric, leaving your top half exposed.

You wanted to run, to scream, to cry, but you knew it would be in vain. Where would you run? To whom would you scream or cry to? You were all alone in a shack in the middle of the woods with a man possessed by a twisted demon.

The knife slowly cut away at your skirt, next your bra and panties. Ford kept a hand on your waist, the other still holding a knife to your throat.

“Now,” he said, his fingers massaging your breasts “I’m going to have my way with you.” His voice sent a cold chill down your spine.

In one quick motion Ford spun you around and forced you to the floor, hands holding down your wrists.

“But first, I think Ford deserves a good look at my work, don’t you?”

As you looked up at Ford you saw his eyes return to their normal whites and rounded pupils. He looked down at you, confused, then the horror set in.

“Y/n, what are you- oh god no, Bill what have you done?”

Before he could even remove his hands from your wrists his head snapped back violently, when he returned his gaze to you it was with the same terrifying look, Bill had retaken control.

Keeping a hand on your wrist he began to wrestle with his belt.

“I’ll never understand you humans and your complicated clothing.”

He slipped his pants low enough to reveal his cock, which was dripping with precum. You tried hard to fight against him but your efforts were in vain, Bill was right, Ford was stronger.

Sharply and violently he slid himself into you all the way to the base. You screamed from the pain and Ford let out a loud groan. He began to thrust hard and fast, growling and breathing heavily into the crook of your neck.

“Ah fuck, now I see why sixer wanted this so bad.” He hissed.

You felt your will begin to fade, you were stuck like this, there was nothing you could do, no one was coming to save you.

“I think Ford should feel this too, I never know if he feels anything I’m doing.”

His eyes reverted again, they widened.

“No no no, dear god, make it stop. I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Ford tried to fight it, he struggled to get himself off of you but Bill began to take hold again.

“Fordsy might be sorry, but I’m not. Quite frankly I always feel like you’re getting in the way of things, perhaps this will teach you to stay away.”

He resumed his brutal pace, the loud slapping echoing through the lab accompanied by his grunts and your whimpers. All you could see was his yellow eyes and wicked smile. This was pure hell, you wanted Ford, but not like this, never like this.

He could feel himself getting close, he grabbed your legs and hooked them over his shoulders. His nails dug into the soft flesh of your calves.

“Hahhh, hahhhh. I’m going to… make you regret ever agreeing to work with Ford. You’re gonna… keep your distance. You hear me?”

Tears began to stream down your face, you started to hope that Bill would just kill you after he was done.

Ford was fucking you at a punishing speed, as he forced a hand to your throat Bill released him right as he began to cum. Ford let out a deafening moan and his whole body shook. Everything went white for a few seconds, when his vision returned he was greeted with a frightening visual beneath him.

Ford let you go and backed up against the wall, he had to focus all of his attention on not vomiting.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

All you could do was lay on the floor, nothing felt real. Ford took off his trench coat and wrapped you in it. Tears began to fall down his face.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I never meant to hurt you.”

[worriedvision]

Ajaw ruins his relationship with you - Kinich

Gender neutral reader, angst. No happy ending here, borderline crack BC Ajaw is a cracky character let's be honest. Ajaws a little shit here

--

Kinich had, somehow, caught your eye enough for you to successfully land a date with him. One date becomes two, and the third one ends in you inviting him over for a drink. He accepts, and before you know it your home becomes a place for him to call home as well. While Kinich wasn't very emotive, he seemed to smile just a bit around you.

However, the couple affections you would expect from him in a relationship weren't coming. Nothing like kissing or hugging, and for a while you think it's because Kinich was not a touchy person. You also knew he was very busy with his work, which was why the first few times he left and told you not to wait for him you didn't think much. At the time, in fact, you were more attracted to him because he was honest with you.

"Don't wait up." He blankly states, every morning he leaves. If you're lucky, he comes back at night time only to sleep - he doesn't make himself any food or drink from your home.

You got suspicious of him when you were hanging out with Mualani, and she brought up the fact someone called Ajaw wouldn't stop nagging at Kinich. When you ask who Ajaw was, rather if this was his boss, Mualani laughs.

"Ajaw probably thinks so, but they bickering too often to do any work together." Mualani tuts. "Do you never hear Ajaw? That voice is so... Annoying to hear!"

"No...I've never met this Ajaw." You hum out, Mualani gasping.

"Tell me your tricks!"

--

Once you get home from your interaction with your friend, you've had enough time to think. After some long thinking, you come to a decision. You move the stuff that's Kinich's, leaving them by the front door, and add temporary locks in addition to the one your key locks until you can change the lock.

To your surprise, Kinich sounds surprised when he notices his bags out. You refuse to open the door, having more than enough time to waste as you had a day off, and Kinich defeatedly picks up his few belongings before leaving.

--

"Hah! You should see your face!" Ajaw jeers, Mualani and Kinich groaning out at Ajaws harsh words. "Good thing _ wisened up and realised they can do a lot better than some mortal being that can't even get himself a group of companions!"

"Because you always ruin things." Mualani sighs.

"Hey, I can't take credit for this one! I never even once spoke around _!" Ajaw shrugs, putting some sunglasses on.

"I was hoping to finally get to spend some time with them. I've finally got enough cover for a few days." Kinich states, seeming to realise what Ajaw did. "...Mualani, you know how annoying Ajaw is. Do you know if -"

"Oddly enough no! Honestly, I'm jealous. Ajaw doesn't know when to shut up."

"...It seems they do." Kinich massages his temples, Mualani making eye contact with him.

"...Do you think they were suspicious you were seeing Ajaw? Yuck!"

"Hey, I can hear you, ya know?!"

"It makes sense though. They don't know Ajaw isn't even human, and also isn't mortal."

"Hahaha! Oh boy, even I didn't think keeping my mouth shut around your potential love interests would give this benefit!" Ajaw cackles, seeing Kinich's hand flying towards him. "Hey, what are - AHH!"

--

You keep getting asked if Kinich is single, each time you saying he wasn't seeing you anymore before they seem excited to pursue a taken man. It's quite concerning, really, you think theres little dignity in being the other person in the relationship.

Kinich tried to talk to you, but each time you saw him you'd make an excuse for being too busy before hearing some weird child cackling and screaming in retaliation to someone reacting to them. As much as his hurt expression spoke to you, you still knew in your mind that Kinich was in a relationship.

Even if he wasn't, you would know in your mind that you were the second choice.