#I’ve been a bit busy lately and uh

[karmacomesaround]

Uh yippee :3

[mostly-imagines]

Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

[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.”

[misaerabl]

Off The Ice

HOCKEY PLAYER ABBY X JOURNALIST READER 

MINORS and MEN DNI / Word count: 9.9k words 

SUMMARY: You were tasked with covering your university’s women’s hockey team, you see it as your chance to prove yourself worthy of becoming the next chief editor. Your main focus is Abby Anderson, the team’s star forward known for her cold, distant reputation. After observing her a few times, you’re surprised when she starts to warm up to you—unveiling a side of her no one else seems to see.

WARNINGS: scissoring, eating out, fingering (both a and r receiving and giving). I would say this is kind of a fluff with smut TT.

A/N: this is my early Christmas present tee hee.. I went on a bit of a whim writing this…  SMUT WITH PLOT or PLOT WITH SMUT WTV (please let me know if I miss any warnings!)

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The newsroom is buzzing with the usual chaos of deadlines and last-minute assignments. You’re sitting at your desk, scrolling through your laptop when your editor, Dina, stands by the door, holding a clipboard with the next round of assignments.

“Alright, people, we’ve got some big matches coming up,” she says, her eyes scanning the room. “I need someone to cover the women’s hockey team. We’ve got scouts coming to the next game, so make sure it’s more than just a game recap. I want a real story, got it?”

You glance up, the opportunity immediately catching your attention. The women’s team has been making waves lately, and Abby Anderson, the star forward, has been all anyone’s talking about. Known for her ruthless play and icy demeanor, she’s a force on the ice but practically a ghost off it. No one has really gotten the chance to uncover what makes her tick.

“I’ll do it,” you say, raising your hand before anyone else can speak up.

Dina looks at you, surprised. “You sure? It’s a tough one. A lot of pressure to get a unique angle.”

“I think I’ve got a good angle,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I want to write about the team, but also about her. There’s more to Abby than just her game stats.”

Dina raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Alright, you’ve got the job. But make it count.”

As she walks away, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. This could be your shot at making your mark—and maybe even getting that chief editor position. You grab your notebook, already mentally outlining your approach. The real challenge, though, won’t be writing the story—it’ll be getting past Abby’s walls.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

A few weeks later, you're sitting in the stands of the rink, notebook in hand, watching the women’s hockey team practice. The cold air cuts through the arena, but you're too focused on your task to notice.

Abby Anderson moves like a storm on the ice. Her swift, powerful strides cut through the rink with precision, her eyes locked on the puck, her focus unbreakable. She’s the kind of player who makes it look easy, but you know there’s more to it than that.

You’ve been attending practices for days now, trying to catch glimpses of Abby when she’s not in game mode. But so far, she’s kept her distance. She’s all business, all the time, barking orders at her teammates and keeping her interactions brief. If anyone speaks to her off the ice, it's either short and to the point or completely ignored. You’ve yet to get more than a few sentences out of her.

You jot down a few notes, trying to focus on the team’s dynamics, but your eyes keep drifting back to Abby. She's skating alone now, practicing shots at the net, her intense movements betraying any hint of vulnerability. You wonder if she ever lets anyone see that side of her—the one that's not all about hockey, about being the best.

“Hey.”

You jump, startled, and look up to find Abby standing next to the railing, her skates still on, but her posture relaxed. She looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Uh, hey,” you reply, quickly trying to gather yourself. "Just—just taking some notes. You know, for the article."

She nods, glancing at the rink before looking back at you. “How’s it going so far? Got a good story yet?”

You hesitate, unsure how much of the truth to reveal. “I’m still working on it. It’s hard to find the angle everyone’s expecting… but I think I’ll get there.”

Abby studies you for a moment, her face still as hard to read as always. “Just don’t make me sound like a robot on the ice. I know how that goes.” She smirks, her first real hint of a smile.

You can’t help but laugh, relieved. “I’ll do my best to capture the whole picture. Not just the stats.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Good. Keep it real.”

With that, she turns and heads back to the ice, leaving you standing there, heart racing slightly faster than usual. You watch her skate off, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t much, but it was more than you had before. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to get past her walls.

But you also know it’s just the beginning. There's more to Abby Anderson than the game, and you’re determined to find it.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

A few days later, you’re standing in front of Abby’s dorm, the familiar nerves creeping in. The article deadline is approaching fast, and you’re still struggling to break past Abby’s walls. But today is different. After days of awkward exchanges and hesitant small talk after practice, you finally managed to convince her to sit down for a real interview.

You took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and heard the faint shuffle of movement from inside. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Abby in a casual hoodie and sweatpants, her hair pulled back in her signature braid. The intense, icy exterior you were used to wasn’t there—she looked... normal, like a regular college student.

"Hey," she said, offering a small, almost reluctant smile. "Come on in."

You stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the room instantly contrast with the chilly vibe Abby often projected. The space was clean but a bit cluttered, with hockey gear tossed on one side and textbooks scattered on her desk. It felt strangely intimate like you were seeing a side of Abby no one else ever had access to.

"Sorry about the mess," Abby muttered, gesturing to the pile of equipment. "I’m usually just too tired after practice to clean."

"No worries," you said, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. "Thanks for agreeing to this. I know you’re not exactly a fan of interviews."

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, instead grabbing two water bottles from a shelf and tossing one to you. "Let’s just get this over with," she said, her tone a little more playful than usual. It was as if the pressure from earlier had eased just a bit.

You smiled, grateful for her willingness. "I won’t take too much of your time. Just a few questions about... well, everything. Hockey, life. What it’s really like being Abby Anderson, off the ice."

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms as she considered your question. "What it's really like..." she echoed, her gaze briefly flicking to the window as if pondering the words. "You make it sound like I'm some mystery."

"Maybe you are," you said, more candidly than you expected. "No one really knows you beyond the ice. You're always the tough player who doesn't talk to anyone off the rink." 

Abby’s gaze softened at your words, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she fiddled with the water bottle in her hands, turning it absently as she seemed to think about what to say. There was a quiet tension in the air, one that neither of you had expected when you first agreed to sit down.

"Yeah, I guess I come off like that, huh?" Abby finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice had a quiet edge to it, almost as if she was admitting something she hadn’t said out loud before. "I don’t really know how to be any different. It’s easier this way."

You felt a shift in the atmosphere, like she was allowing herself to be more open than she ever had before. The moment was subtle, but you couldn’t ignore it.

"I get that," you said softly, leaning forward. "But you’re more than just a hockey player, Abby. I mean, you’ve got layers—there’s got to be more to you than what we see on the ice."

Abby’s eyes met yours then, the intensity of her gaze making your heart skip a beat. For a brief second, you thought she might brush you off again, but instead, she looked almost… vulnerable.

"You think so?" she asked, her voice quieter now, as though she was testing you, seeing if you’d take her seriously.

You nodded, feeling a sense of connection you hadn’t expected to feel. "Yeah, I do."

A moment of silence stretched between you, and you could feel the energy in the room shift. The playful banter had evaporated, replaced by something deeper, more intense. Abby’s eyes lingered on yours, her lips pressing together as if fighting back something unspoken. You weren’t sure what was happening, but it was as if the ice around her was finally starting to melt, and in the stillness of her dorm, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

"I don’t usually do this," Abby said, her voice a little breathless. "Let people in, I mean."

The admission hung in the air, and you realized how rare this moment was for her. It was raw, real, and far from the icy persona she’d shown everyone else. There was no game face now, no walls.

"You don’t have to let anyone in," you replied, your voice lower now, almost without thinking. "But I’m not like everyone else, Abby."

She took a step closer, her eyes searching yours for a moment. Then, without another word, Abby’s hand reached out, brushing against yours—light at first, like she was testing the waters. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart raced as the proximity between you grew more charged, more electric.

"Are you sure about that?" she whispered, her voice shaky, unsure, but her eyes steady as she closed the space between you.

Before you could respond, Abby leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft but insistent. You could feel the toned, muscular strength in her arms as she held you, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The warmth of her body radiated against yours, the firmness of her form pressing gently but surely as her fingers slid into your hair. It was as if her whole presence surrounded you—strong, sure, yet still carrying a touch of hesitation.

The kiss deepened as Abby caressed your hair gently, her fingers threading through it with a tenderness that belied her fierce persona on the ice. It was a contrast—the hard, determined athlete and the softness of the way she touched you. The moment felt like a contradiction, one that both of you were willing to embrace.

When she finally pulled away, her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. She looked at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parted as if she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Her hand remained in your hair, fingers still grazing your scalp.

Abby’s hand lingered in your hair, her touch soft but steady, as though she needed a moment to ground herself. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, eyes still locked on yours, as if searching for something—answers, maybe, or reassurance that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

"That was..." Abby’s voice trailed off, her lips curling into a small, uncertain smile. "I didn’t think you’d be... like that."

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the kiss. "Like what?"

Abby shrugged, a little bashful for the first time since you met her. "I don’t know. I guess I just figured you’d be... different."

"Different how?" you asked, your voice quieter now, but there was a playful edge to it.

"Like... not so—" She gestured vaguely between the two of you, looking for the right words. "I don’t know. You’re not what I expected."

It was your turn to feel a little bashful. You didn’t know what to make of this sudden shift in dynamics, but there was something about Abby’s vulnerability, her uncertainty, that made you feel like maybe this—whatever this was—wasn’t just some random kiss. It felt more like a beginning.

"Maybe I’m not," you replied softly. "Maybe we’re both surprising each other."

Abby’s eyes softened at that, and she gave a slow nod. She seemed to be processing everything in silence, unsure of how to label the moment. She was still the tough, intense player on the ice, but the cracks in that persona were becoming more apparent now.

"Don’t go thinking this means I’m some open book now," Abby warned with a smirk, though there was no real bite to it. "I’m still the same Abby Anderson."

You laughed lightly, the tension easing between you two. "I never thought you were an open book."

"Good," Abby replied, her smile returning, warmer than before. She finally pulled her hand from your hair, though she kept her gaze locked on you, her lips still lingering with a hint of the kiss you’d just shared. "But maybe... just maybe... we can see where this goes."

You nodded slowly, your heart still racing, but your chest felt lighter, freer as if a new chapter was just beginning to unfold. "I’m willing to find out."

The quiet between you lingered, the air between you charged with something unspoken. Abby’s eyes softened, and for the first time, she didn’t seem like the intimidating hockey player. She was just Abby, standing in front of you, her vulnerability laid bare.

"Maybe we don’t need to talk about the article anymore," she murmured, her voice low, almost like she was thinking out loud. "Maybe we can just... be here for a bit."

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could respond, Abby was standing up, closing the space between you. The shift in her demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. She was no longer the distant athlete; she was someone who wanted more than just the interview.

"You make it hard to stay guarded," she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath warm against your skin. Her hands slid to your waist, gently pulling you closer. Her body was strong, and solid, but there was a softness in the way she touched you, a tenderness you hadn’t expected.

You swallowed, your pulse racing as you met her eyes. "Abby..." You couldn’t find the right words, but you didn’t need to. The air between you both was thick with the weight of what was about to happen.

Abby’s lips found yours again, more urgent this time, less like a question and more like an answer. She kissed you deeply, her hands threading into your hair as she pulled you closer, her body pressing against yours with a heat that made everything else fade away. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as though she was savoring the moment. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you tight, like she was afraid to let you go as if the distance between you both had only made her want you more.

You melted into her embrace, your hands finding their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as if you could close the gap that had always been there between you. She groaned softly, the sound low in her throat, sending a thrill through you.

When the kiss finally broke, Abby’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. Her hands gently cupped your face, her thumbs brushing across your cheeks as if memorizing the feel of you.

"I’ve been wanting this," she admitted, her voice hushed. "More than I thought I would."

You smiled, still feeling the rush of the moment. "Yeah," you whispered back. "Me too."

Abby’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. "This doesn’t change anything, right?" she asked, her voice a little uncertain. 

You gently cupped her face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of her jaw as if to reassure her. "No," you said softly. "But maybe we can figure out what comes next..."

Her lips curled into a smile, and for the first time, it wasn’t guarded. It was real, and it was for you. "Yeah," she whispered, closing the distance again, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of something neither of you was ready to define just yet, but both of you were willing to explore.

And as the kiss deepened, you realized that no matter what happened after this, you had stepped past the barrier that had once kept you both apart. Whatever came next, it was something neither of you were willing to walk away from…

She pushes you down on the couch, her body hovering above you. She stares deeply into your eyes as if she was asking for permission. You nod in response. 

Abby buries her face in your neck, kissing and nipping it, making you moan in response 

Abby's touch is confident and assertive, her hands roaming your body with an intensity that mirrors her personality on the ice. She knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to take it. Her fingers trace patterns on your skin, igniting sparks wherever they touch.

Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingertips trailing along your sides, feeling the soft skin beneath. You gasped at the touch, your hips bucking slightly. Abby took advantage of this, her hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as she deepened the kiss.

She broke away from your lips, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered, "Can I... can we...?" She nuzzled her nose against your jaw, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "Can I take this off?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, and she reached for the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up and over your head.

As your shirt hit the floor, Abby's eyes roamed over your bare chest, taking in every detail. She reached out, tracing a finger over your collarbone, down your sternum, and across your abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

Her touch was light, reverent, as if she was worshipping your body. She looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire, and leaned down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your chest.

You hissed in a breath at the warmth of her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair. She continued to place kisses all over your chest, her hands roaming over your curves. She paused at the waistband of your skirt, looking up at you for confirmation.

Seeing your nod, she hooked her fingers under the hem, pulling it up and off. She took a moment to appreciate what was revealed - your smooth legs, the curve of your hips, the lacy underwear that matched your bra.

Abby's hands slid up your legs, her touch leaving a path of tingling heat. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, her eyes locked with yours. "Can I...?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper, full of need and uncertainty.

“Go ahead abby…” 

With a nod and a shy smile, Abby slowly slid your underwear off, tossing it aside. She paused, her eyes taking in every inch of you, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

She heard you suck in a breath above her, and she looked up at you with a mischievous grin. Slowly, she leaned in, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place as she pressed her mouth to you, her tongue parting your folds.

She started slowly, exploring you, learning what you liked. Your moans filled the room, encouraging her. She slipped a finger inside you, her mouth continuing its administration. You let out a low moan, your hands fisting the couch cushion as you tried to keep yourself grounded.

She added another finger, stretching you, preparing you. Your moans grew louder, your hips moving in rhythm with her actions. Abby looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears at your beauty. She withdrew her fingers and climbed up your body, claiming your mouth in a passionate kiss.

You could taste yourself on her, the evidence of her ministrations. You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around her waist, pulling her closer. "Abby..." you whispered, your voice shaky,

"Mmm?" She murmured against your lips, grinding against you. She was still fully clothed, her pants rough against your bare skin.

"You're still dressed..." You panted, your hands reaching for the hem of her shirt. She grinned and sat up, pulling her shirt off in a swift motion. She reached behind her back, unhooking her bra and tossing it aside.

Her breasts bounced free, and you reached up to grasp them, squeezing and kneading them in your hands. Abby let out a pleased moan, her hands reaching for the button of her pants. She popped it open and slid the zipper down, shoving her pants and underwear down her legs.

Now Abby was completely naked, sitting astride you. You looked at her, taking in her toned stomach, her full breasts, the curve of her hips, her muscular thighs. She saw the awe in your eyes, and it made her feel powerful.

With a predatory grin, Abby lowered herself onto you. She wrapped her legs around yours, crossing her ankles behind your knees. She slowly rocked against you, her wetness rubbing against yours. You gasped at the new sensation, your hands gripping her thighs as she continued to move against you.

She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against yours as she captured your mouth in a deep kiss. She sped up her pace, her breath coming in short pants against your lips. She reached one hand down between them, her fingers finding that bundle of nerves and rubbing in time with her movements.

You cried out into the kiss, your hips bucking up to meet hers. The sensation of her rubbing against you, combined with her fingers on your clit, was too much. You felt your orgasm building, your vision blurring as Abby continued to grind against you.

"Abby... Ab... I'm... I'm..." You stuttered, your words cut off by a moan as she quickened her pace. She felt you convulse against her, your hands clutching at her back, your face buried in her neck.

She smiled to herself, pleased with the effect she was having on you. She kept scissoring against you, her own orgasm building. "Look at you," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're so… perfect.”

As she spoke, she felt her own climax approaching. She increased the pressure between her legs, rubbing herself against you with frantic intensity. With a loud cry, she came, her hips jerking against yours as her orgasm overtook her.

She collapsed on top of you, her breath hot against your neck. You ran your fingers up and down her back, feeling the dampness of her sweat. "Abby... that was..." you started, but words failed you. She just chuckled and nuzzled your neck. "I know,”

She stayed on top of you, her arms wrapped around you in a loose hug. Her fingers traced patterns on your stomach as she nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent. "Can we just…”

"...Stay like this for a while?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She nuzzled your neck again, her body pressing closer against yours. She felt content, happier than she had in a long time. She felt a connection with you, a bond forged in the heat of passion.

You nodded, not wanting to break the moment. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as you both lay there in silence. The only sound was the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and the soft rustling of the sheets.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The next day came faster than you expected. You’d barely gotten any sleep, your mind constantly replaying everything that had happened after. But as you sat in the café near the university, waiting for Abby, your heart settled into something more focused. Today wasn’t about the sparks from the night before. Today was about the interview.

The café was quiet, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in the hum of conversation and the clink of cups and saucers. It was cozy, with warm light spilling from overhead lamps, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You had a lot on your mind, not just about Abby, but about the article and what this interview could mean for your future with the paper. If you did this right, if you got Abby to open up like she never had before, you might be able to prove yourself worthy of the next chief editor position.

A few moments later, the door to the café opened, and there she was.

Abby stepped inside, her usual confidence radiating from her as she scanned the room, her eyes locking onto you instantly. She was dressed casually—athletic but comfortable—and yet she carried herself with the same quiet intensity that made her a standout on the ice. Her gaze softened when she saw you, and the familiar spark of something more was there again, just beneath the surface.

She walked over to the table, giving you a small but genuine smile. "Hey," she greeted, taking a seat across from you. "You doing okay?"

You nodded, trying to steady yourself. "Yeah. Just a little nervous."

"Don't be," she said, her voice reassuring. "It’s just coffee, right?"

"Yeah. Just coffee," you echoed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "But you know... a little more than that, too. A real interview."

Abby chuckled, glancing around the café. "Right, well, let's make it count then."

You both ordered your drinks and for a moment, there was an easy silence between you. The pressure of the moment, of what had passed between you both, seemed to be melting away, replaced by something more comfortable, natural.

Finally, you picked up your notebook and pen, getting down to business. "Alright," you began, your voice steady but a little softer than usual. "Let’s start with hockey. You’ve been the team’s top scorer for a while now. How does it feel to be in the spotlight like that?"

Abby leaned back in her chair, her eyes focused on you. "It’s... a lot of pressure. But it’s part of the job. Being in the spotlight is something you just get used to. Especially when your team depends on you."

There was a confidence in her tone, but also something more—something that suggested the weight of being the best wasn’t always as easy as it seemed. You could sense the layers beneath her tough exterior, and you knew this was where the real interview would begin.

You pushed forward, asking more questions, and letting the conversation flow. As you spoke, Abby opened up more than you expected, revealing not just her thoughts on hockey, but glimpses of who she was outside the rink. She was driven, and focused, but there was a vulnerability to her that only seemed to surface when she talked about her team, her passions, and the sacrifices she’d made to get where she was.

The interview wasn’t just about facts anymore—it was about connection. And for a moment, you forgot about the article entirely.

After a while, Abby leaned forward, her eyes locking with yours, and you could feel the shift again. There was a quiet tension hanging between you both as if the world outside the café had faded away, and only the two of you existed in this small, intimate moment.

"You know," Abby said softly, her voice almost playful now, "you asked a lot of questions, but you haven’t told me anything about you. What made you want to write about me? About hockey?"

You blinked, taken off guard by her question. You hadn’t expected her to turn the tables. "I... guess I thought you were an interesting story. I mean, you’re kind of a mystery to everyone. The tough hockey player. The star who doesn’t talk to anyone off the ice."

Abby’s smile was small, but it felt meaningful. "I’m not really a mystery. Just... focused. You get that, right?"

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. "Yeah, I get it."

For a long moment, you both just sat there, the sound of the café filling the silence between you. The interview was far from over, but something had changed. It wasn’t just about the article anymore. It was about something else—something you both hadn’t been ready to acknowledge yet, but it was there, lingering in the air between you.

"You know," you said after a beat, "I think this might be one of the best interviews I’ve done."

Abby’s gaze softened. "Glad I could make it interesting," she said, her voice quiet but warm.

And as you sat there, talking about everything and nothing, you realized that what had started as a simple interview had turned into something else entirely. A new chapter, one you weren’t sure how to write, but were willing to explore.

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The final game of the season was just days away, and the energy around campus was electric. You could feel the anticipation building with every passing hour. The women’s hockey team had worked tirelessly all season, and now, the championship was within reach. For Abby and the rest of the team, it was the culmination of all their hard work. For you, it was the final stretch to prove you could handle the pressure of being the next chief editor of the school paper.

You’d passed the draft of your interview to Dina, the current editor-in-chief, and she had loved it. The words flowed smoothly, and she could sense the connection between you and Abby without you having to spell it out. That feedback had given you the confidence to continue pushing forward, not just for the article, but for everything you had on the line.

But the days leading up to the final game felt like a whirlwind. You and Abby were both consumed with your responsibilities—her with the team’s last-minute practices and preparation, you with your final edits and deadlines. It wasn’t the ideal time for the two of you to reconnect, but you knew that after the game, everything would settle, and maybe you could find out what this—whatever it was—meant.

You found yourself in the quiet corner of the student lounge, typing away on your laptop, trying to finish your article before the big game. Your mind kept wandering back to Abby, though—how her smile lingered after the interview, how she’d looked at you across the café that day, like there was something more she wanted to say but couldn’t.

You hadn’t had time to talk since that day, and now, with the pressure mounting on both sides, you weren’t sure when you’d get the chance to sit down with her again.

The door to the lounge opened, and you didn’t look up right away, assuming it was just another student coming in for a late-night study session. But then, a familiar voice broke through your concentration.

"Hey, you."

You froze, the sound of Abby’s voice sending a familiar rush through your chest. When you looked up, you found her standing there, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, her long hair tied back in a messy bun. She looked exhausted, but there was a spark in her eyes.

"Abby?" you asked, surprised but a little relieved to see her. You hadn’t expected her to stop by.

"Yeah," she said with a small grin, taking a step closer. "I, uh, figured we should talk before the big day. We’ve both been too busy, haven’t we?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. "Yeah, it’s been crazy. I’ve barely had time to breathe with everything going on."

"I get that," she said, her eyes softening. "But I wanted to check in with you. How’s the article coming along? You’re going to be on top of the world when they publish it, you know that, right?"

A warmth spread through you at her words. "It’s... going well," you said, trying to hide the excitement in your voice. "I think Dina liked the draft. She said it’s one of the best interviews she’s read in a while."

Abby raised an eyebrow, a proud smile tugging at her lips. "I’m glad to hear that." She leaned against the table, her tone turning more playful. "But you better not make me look too good. I don’t want to get all cocky before the game."

You laughed softly, the familiar spark between you two returning. "I think I can keep it balanced."

Abby’s smile faded just slightly as she looked at you more seriously. "Listen, about... what happened before. I know we’ve both been busy, but I just wanted to say... I don’t regret it. Us, I mean." She paused, her gaze softening. "I guess I’m just trying to figure out what this all means, but I don’t want to run from it, either."

Your heart skipped a beat, the tension in the air thick with unspoken words. "Me neither," you said quietly. "I don’t know what this is, but I’m willing to see where it goes. After the game, maybe we can talk more."

Abby nodded, a small, genuine smile returning to her face. "Yeah. We’ll figure it out." She glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at you. "I should go, get some rest. Big game tomorrow, right?"

You nodded, feeling that familiar pang of disappointment that she had to leave so soon. "Yeah. Good luck, Abby."

She paused at the door, turning back to face you. "Thanks. And... I’ll see you there," she said with a wink before she disappeared into the night.

As you sat back in your chair, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything—despite the pressure of the article, the looming championship game, and the uncertainty about what you and Abby were becoming—you couldn’t deny the excitement buzzing in your chest. Tomorrow was the big day, and whatever came after, you knew you’d both be ready.

The final game had arrived, and the energy around campus was palpable. The buzz in the air was electric, with every student and faculty member talking about the championship match. You could feel the weight of the moment—this wasn’t just any game. For Abby and the team, it was the culmination of months of grueling practice, sacrifices, and determination. And for you, it was the finish line for your article—and maybe something more.

You had finalized your piece, and after getting Dina’s approval earlier that morning, there was nothing left to do but wait for the game to unfold. But as you stood at the rink, the sense of anticipation made it hard to focus on anything else. You watched as the team prepared, Abby at the forefront, looking every bit the fierce competitor you had come to admire.

Her movements were fluid, and powerful, slicing through the ice like she owned it. You found yourself drawn to her, to the way she held herself—confidence in every stride, but you could also sense something else, something beneath the surface. And though you tried to concentrate on taking notes for the article, every so often, you’d glance at her, catching her eye.

You were almost caught up in the rhythm of the game when the buzzer sounded, signaling the start. The intensity was immediate, the tension tangible in the arena. The crowd’s roars filled your ears, the game beginning in a blur of motion. You scribbled down observations, the action on the ice more chaotic than you had anticipated. It was difficult to focus on anything other than the game itself. Every move felt crucial, and Abby was right in the middle of it all, controlling the pace with every turn.

But it wasn’t just the game that had your attention. It was the way Abby played—how she seemed to be everywhere at once, her energy contagious, urging her teammates forward. She was the center of it all, and you couldn’t help but admire how she took charge, and how her presence seemed to push the team toward victory. She was sharp, a calculated force on the ice.

And then it happened.

Abby made an interception, gliding effortlessly past the defense. At that moment, time seemed to stretch out, the entire arena holding its breath as she lined up for a shot. Her eyes focused, and in one smooth motion, the puck flew off her stick and toward the net. The sound of the puck hitting the post rang out, but Abby wasn’t done. She was already there, crashing the net, securing the rebound, and slamming it in. The crowd erupted.

Your heart raced, the realization dawning on you that her goal had put them ahead—and it was the winning goal.

The game continued, but the tide had turned. With seconds on the clock, the buzzer sounded, and Abby’s team celebrated their victory. You stood in the middle of the crowd, still processing the intensity of it all. Abby had led them to victory, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for her.

You waited near the locker room, hoping to catch Abby after the game. You hadn’t been able to keep up with the excitement of the game completely, but you had seen enough to know this was her moment. The sound of the locker room doors opening echoed in your ears, and you spotted her almost immediately.

Abby stood out from the others, her usual focused demeanor softened by the thrill of the win. She was still in her gear, her face flushed from the game, but there was a lightness about her that hadn’t been there before.

"That was incredible," you said, your words a little breathless from the adrenaline of the game still coursing through you.

She looked at you, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It was a team effort," she replied, but you could see the pride in her eyes. "Still, I’m glad you were here to see it."

You smiled, taking a step closer. "You’ve earned it," you said quietly, meeting her gaze, trying to find the right words. "I’m proud of you."

Abby’s expression softened, her usual confident exterior cracking just a little. She leaned in slightly as if weighing her words carefully. "Thanks," she said, voice lower than before. There was a moment of silence between you two, the noise of the locker room buzzing faintly in the background.

For a second, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. Abby’s eyes never left yours, a quiet understanding passing between you. There was no need for words, not now. The game, the season, the article—it all seemed to fade as you stood there, caught between the rush of the moment and the realization that this wasn’t just about hockey anymore.

As the team continued their celebration around you, Abby’s hand brushed against yours, a subtle connection that sent a jolt through you. She gave you a small nod before walking toward the rest of her team, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing from the game—and from everything that was unfolding between you and her.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

he newsroom was alive with a flurry of activity, papers scattered everywhere as the final touches were being put on the issue. The clock ticked toward 8 PM, and you were sitting at your desk, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The article was done. Your piece on Abby, her journey to the championship, and the thrilling game had come together perfectly. The highlight of the issue, the one everyone was talking about. It felt like the culmination of everything—your hard work, your ambition, and the connection you had built with Abby.

As the editors rushed past, congratulating you on how well the article turned out, you couldn't help but smile. A few of them had asked you how you’d managed to make Abby open up, some even teasing you about her sudden warmth toward you. "Did you sweet-talk her?" one of the writers joked. "She’s been ice-cold with everyone else!" You just shrugged, your mind drifting to her last words to you after the game. "Just doing my job."

But as the energy in the newsroom built to a crescendo, Dina appeared in front of you, leaning in with a grin. "I think you just earned the spot as the next editor in chief," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the buzz of the room.

Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked, not sure if you’d heard her right. "Wait, what?" you asked, feeling a flush of disbelief and excitement rise in your chest.

Dina chuckled softly. "You’ve earned it. You’ve got the article everyone’s been talking about, and you’ve proven you’ve got the skills. I’m officially putting your name in for the position." Her eyes twinkled with approval as she walked off, leaving you stunned, your breath caught in your throat. This was it. This was everything you’d worked for.

As the evening wore on, the final issue of the paper was ready to go to print, and it was only a matter of time before it would be released at midnight. You stayed in the newsroom, helping with last-minute preparations, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Abby. What she’d said, what she meant to you now, and how the chemistry between you had grown in such a short time.

In the midst of the excitement, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. The message on your screen made your heart race.

Abby 🏒: Hey, where are you? 

Abby 🏒: I’m still at the party btw

Abby 🏒: I want to see you.

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips as you typed your response, the warmth from her text a stark contrast to the cool air in the newsroom.

You: I’m at the paper, finishing things up. I’ll be there soon❤️

You felt a little giddy, your heart racing with anticipation. After everything, the article, the win, the promotion—it felt like the perfect moment to see her again, to see where everything between you would go.

As the clock ticked toward midnight, you closed your laptop, the rush of excitement bubbling up inside you. The paper would be published, and your future as editor-in-chief seemed all but certain. But as you left the newsroom, your mind was on Abby—and the night ahead.

As you turned the corner, the soft hum of the campus night air accompanied your steps. The excitement of the newsroom buzzed in your veins, but everything seemed to quiet when you saw her waiting for you.

Abby was leaning casually against the wall, a small smile tugging at her lips as she waited, the blue jersey she wore a bold contrast against the dimly lit hallway. It was the same one her teammates all wore, emblazoned with your university’s logo—proud and unmistakable. But even in something as simple as a jersey, there was still that undeniable pull to her presence.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you walked toward her. "You didn’t have to wait for me," you teased softly, though you were secretly glad she had.

Abby pushed off from the wall, stepping closer. "I wanted to. Besides, I promised I’d see you tonight, didn’t I?" Her voice was playful, but there was something softer in her gaze, something more sincere.

You nodded, the air between you light and easy, but still charged with that undercurrent of something more. "You did," you agreed. "And, uh, I actually have something to show you." You pulled out your phone, tapping through the screens until you found the article you’d written.

Abby raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the screen. "No way," she said, her lips curling up slightly. "You actually made me sound like a good person."

You laughed, but there was a warmth spreading in your chest. "I didn’t just make you sound like a good person, I made you sound amazing." You swiped down, showing her the headline: "Abby Anderson: The Heart of the Winning Team." The words felt just as true as when you’d written them.

She studied the screen for a moment, her fingers brushing lightly against the phone. "I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to get me to open up like this," she said, her voice quiet, almost thoughtful. "But you did. So, thanks."

Your heart raced at her words. The sincerity in her voice made everything feel more real, like something was shifting between you two.

Abby looked at you, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual, before the silence stretched. The sounds of the party down the hall faded in the background, the moment between you two feeling more significant than any celebration.

"You wanna head back to the party?" you asked, breaking the silence, though neither of you moved immediately

She shook her head, her  hand brushed against yours. She paused, her fingers lingering against your wrist, a soft smile on her lips.

"I think," she started, her voice low and steady, "I’d rather be alone with you right now."

Your heart skipped a beat, her words making everything feel just a little more intimate. The noise from the party down the hall seemed to fade away, the energy shifting in an instant.

"You sure?" you asked, your voice a little quieter now, as the anticipation between you two hung thick in the air.

Abby nodded, her eyes meeting yours, full of something unspoken. "Yeah. I’d rather spend some time with you... just us."

She gave your hand a gentle squeeze before she led you away from the noise, down the hallway, and toward her dorm room. The walk felt longer than it was, but it gave you time to let the anticipation build. Abby’s steps were confident, but there was a softness in the way she held your hand, something that made your chest flutter.

When you reached her dorm, Abby opened the door, stepping aside to let you in. The room was cozy, nothing extravagant, you took in the familiar feeling. It felt like a place where she could truly be herself. The familiar blue jersey she wore still clung to her frame, a symbol of her strength on the ice. But now, in the quiet of the room, she seemed different—less guarded, more present.

She tossed herself on her bed and pulled you in with her, planting kisses on you. 

The sudden pull caught you off guard, and you laughed softly as you fell beside her. Abby's arms wrapped around you, her strength both reassuring and gentle. Her kisses were warm, pressing against your skin with an intensity that made everything else fade away. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of the sheets and the sound of your breathing.

Abby paused, her forehead resting against yours as she caught her breath, eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You met her gaze, a smile curving your lips as you traced the line of her jaw with your fingers, feeling the tension melt away under your touch.

“You okay?” she whispered, her voice husky and low, a tender contrast to the fierce athlete everyone else knew.

You nodded, your fingers threading through her hair. “More than okay,” you murmured, pressing your lips to hers again. The kiss deepened, slow and steady, as if both of you were savoring the rare moment of peace away from the chaos of the rink and the noise of the world outside.

Abby shifted, pulling you even closer, her embrace tightening around you as if she wanted to make sure this moment stayed real. The scent of her, the warmth radiating from her body, made your heart race. 

You sit up and move on top of her, her gaze softening as you did. “I think… you deserve a reward for your excellent performance at the game. don’t you think?” 

Abby’s eyes widened slightly at your words, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She let out a breathy laugh, her hands finding their place on your hips as she looked up at you, a mix of amusement and anticipation in her gaze.

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow, her voice teasing. “Is that so?”

You leaned down, your lips barely brushing hers as you whispered, “Absolutely.” The playful tone sent a shiver through her, and you felt her fingers tighten their hold, drawing you closer.

Abby’s gaze softened, the fierce determination she carried on the ice replaced by an openness that was reserved for moments like this—moments just between the two of you. The space between you seemed to shrink as she tilted her head to meet your lips again, her kiss more insistent, filled with a new kind of energy that made your pulse quicken.

She sighed against your mouth, the sound sending warmth rushing through you. Her hands traveled up your back, pulling you down until there was barely any distance left. The room, once filled with quiet, seemed to pulse with the shared heartbeat between you.

“Best reward ever,” Abby whispered, a grin breaking through before she kissed you again, deeper this time as if she couldn’t get enough.

Pulling away from the kiss, you start to unbutton your shirt, watching her gaze on you. 

She bit her lip, her eyes never leaving yours as you began to unbutton your shirt. She felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached up, helping you remove the shirt, her fingers brushing against your skin. "You're so…”

"...beautiful," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of your collarbone, feeling the warmth of your skin. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the spot she had just touched, before moving on to kiss the sensitive skin just below your jaw.

She trailed her kisses down your neck, her lips lingering on your pulse point. She could feel your heartbeat fluttering beneath her mouth, quickening with each touch. "I want you," she murmured against your skin, her hands sliding down to rest on your hips.

She chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as she pulled back slightly. "You're right, I got a little carried away," she said with a playful grin. She settled back, watching you with hooded eyes, her hands resting on your thighs.“Ah! Not so fast Abigail. I’m the one who’s giving you this reward remember?”

You help her remove her jersey, and then the shirt she was wearing underneath. You trail down to her pants. As you began to unzip her pants, she lifted her hips, allowing you to slide them down along with her underwear. She lay before you, her body bare and exposed, her chest heaving with anticipation. Her eyes, filled with desire, followed your every movement as you leaned down.

She let out a soft gasp as you kissed her stomach, your lips trailing down to her hips. She wrapped her arms around your head, holding you close as you continued your path of kisses. When you reached her inner thigh, she spread her legs wider, giving you access to her most intimate area.

She moaned softly as you kissed her, the sensation overwhelming. Her hips buckled against your touch, her breathing growing heavier with each passing moment. She tangled her hands in your hair, pulling you closer as the pleasure intensified. "Please...please..." she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

She arched her back, her breath hitching as you continued to tease her with your mouth. Her legs tightened around your shoulders, her whole body tensing as the pressure built inside her. "Don't stop...please, don't stop..." she pleaded, her voice hoarse with desire.

Her eyes flew open, her mouth forming a silent 'O’ as you pushed two fingers inside her. She writhed beneath your touch, her hips bucking against your hand. "Yes...like that...please..." she moaned, her voice growing louder as the pleasure became almost too much to bear.

“Hm? You like it baby?” You hissed. 

“Oh god, yes...” She panted, her body tensing as your fingers curved upwards, finding that sweet spot deep inside her. Her head fell back against the bed, her body trembling. "More...I need more..." She looked at you, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.”

You smiled, pleased with her reaction, and added a third finger, scissoring them inside her. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as the stretch and pressure became overwhelming. "Fuck...fuck fuck fuck!" She chanted, her voice echoing through the room as she struggled to breathe.

She could feel the heat building inside her, her body growing warmer and more sensitive with each passing second. Her hands grasped at the sheets beneath her, pulling them taut as the tension became unbearable. "I'm...I'm going to...please, please!" She begged, her eyes wide and desperate.

With a final thrust, you pushed your fingers deep inside her, crooking them upwards. She shattered, her body convulsing as waves of intense pleasure washed over her. She screamed your name, her voice hoarse from shouting, her body growing limp as the aftershocks subsided.

As she came down from her high, she pushed feebly at your shoulder, her body still shuddering occasionally. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice still ragged from her release. She pushed you onto your back, straddling you before you could protest.

You landed on your back with a surprised grunt, looking up at her with widened eyes. She grinned mischievously, her eyes filled with lust and determination. She slowly began to kiss her way down your chest, her hands caressing your skin.

She continued her descent, her lips leaving a trail of kisses on your skin. Without warning, she reached out and tore open your already unbuttoned shirt, the fabric ripping easily under her strength. She tossed the shirt aside and moved on to your pants, roughly pulling them down your legs along with your panties

Once she had you fully exposed, she took a moment to admire the view, her eyes hungrily roaming over your body. She licked her lips before leaning down, her hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "I'm going to make you feel so good,”

She whispered, her voice low and sultry. Before you could respond, she wrapped her hands around your thighs, pushing them apart. She leaned down and slowly, torturously, ran her tongue up your length.

She took her time exploring you with her tongue, licking and sucking at your most sensitive areas. Her hands massaged your thighs, occasionally dipping lower to tease your entrance. She worked you with skill and enthusiasm, determined to drive you wild with pleasure.

Abby sucked on your clit making you toss your head back and grip her hair. You could feel her smile. She stops for a second and slides in her fingers inside you

She curled her fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot as she continued to suck on your clit. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against her face desperately. She added another finger, scissoring them inside you as she finger-fucked you relentlessly.

She could feel you tightening around her fingers, knowing you were close. She doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she pumped her fingers faster. Her other hand reached up to roughly grope your breast, pinching and tugging at your nipple. She wanted to feel you come undone.

The combination of sensations became too much and you came with a loud moan, your body shaking and convulsing. Abby continued to stroke you through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure. She slowly withdrew her fingers and licked them clean, savoring your taste. "Mmm, you taste divine," she purred.

She crawled back up your body, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She leaned down to claim your lips in a searing kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on her. She ground her hips against yours, her own desire evident in the way she rocked against you. She was far from finished with you… 

She kisses your neck, trailing down until she reaches your breasts, sucking on your nipples. 

She lavished attention on your breasts, suckling and kneading the soft mounds. She bit down gently on one peak, causing you to gasp. She grinned mischievously and continued her torture, moving between the two and back again.

“Mhmm.. Abby… Shit”

She heard your muffled words, your voice hoarse with desire. She knew you were helpless under her touch. She bit down harder on your peak, relishing your cry of pleasure-pain. She moved her hand down to toy with your slick folds, mirroring the action of her mouth with her fingers. 

You bit your lip, staring at her. as if begging her to give it to you. You wanted her fingers inside your walls once again.

Abby looked up at you through her lashes, a smirk playing on her lips. She slowly slid one finger, then two inside you, loving how you bit your lip and watched her with eager eyes. "You like that, baby?”

“Fuck yes…” 

Abby pumped her fingers in and out of you, curling them upward to hit that spot deep inside. Her thumb rubbed circles on your swollen nub. "Look at me while I touch you," she demanded. Your eyes locked onto hers as your hips lifted to meet her touch, silently begging for more.

She added another finger, stretching you. She watched your face as she increased her pace, her fingers slamming in and out of you. Your breaths came in short pants, your moans filling the room. She leaned down to capture one of your moans with her mouth, kissing you deeply.

Your legs shook as she worked you expertly. She could feel you tightening around her fingers. "That's it, baby. Come for me," she encouraged, her voice low. You shattered, convulsing around her fingers as you found your release.

As your climax washed over you, Abby gentled her touch, helping you ride out the waves of pleasure. She slowly withdrew her fingers.

She gathered you in her arms, holding you close as your breathing gradually slowed.

She stroked your back soothingly, placing soft kisses on your shoulder. "You’re gorgeous," she murmured. She reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a warm, damp cloth, cleaning you up tenderly. 

She tossed the cloth aside and pulled you back into her arms. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly. She nuzzled your neck, her voice laced with concern. You snuggled against her, your voice sleepy. "Content," you murmured. "So taken care of…”

She smiled, her heart warming at your words. She tightened her arms around you, her voice gentle. "Good. You deserve to be taken care of." She kissed your shoulder, her touch becoming slower, more loving. "Rest now, baby. I've got you.”

Abby’s gaze softened as she watched you sleep, the subtle rise and fall of your chest lulling her into a sense of calm she rarely found anywhere else. The room was quiet, the only sounds being your soft breaths and the distant hum of the city outside.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle in—a mix of contentment and the unfamiliar ache of something deeper. Brushing her thumb across your cheek, she whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me,” her voice so low it was almost swallowed by the quiet.

As exhaustion finally pulled her eyes closed, Abby held you tighter, as if anchoring herself to this moment. The worries of games and expectations could wait; for now, all that mattered was the warmth shared between you and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating as one.

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

[ace-of-zaun]

Kiss Me More. Pt. 1

silco x f!reader - 4.1k words - SFW

summary: “Whatever, all I’m saying is, I can teach you how to kiss,” Silco insists, before adding just a little too nonchalantly, “You know, if you want to.”

cw: first kiss, practice kissing, mild angst, fluff, jealous silco, first love, falling in love, friends to lovers, soft silco my beloved, young silco

PART 2

-

You can always tell if Silco is home by the level of carnage that your living room is currently exuding. 

Honestly, it’s like the boy arrives home from work, stands smack-bang in the middle of the room, and shakes off all his belongings like a dog caught in the rain. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if he did exactly that.

Vander, on the other hand, is at least a little bit more tidy. A little bit less chaotic. 

For example, you can tell that Vander isn’t home right now because his shoes aren’t lined up neatly next to the door (unless, of course, he’s come home barefoot which has happened before).

But, you know for a fact that Silco is home because his backpack is currently strewn across the sofa, his coat is somehow hanging off the lamp, and his shoes are leading an obvious trail through the room; one behind the other, like some abstract art of an invisible man walking. 

Oh, and also because you can hear him loudly cooking dinner in the kitchen. 

“Sil, I’m home!” you call out, toeing your shoes off and pushing them up against the wall by the front door with your feet.

“Hey! Just making us something to eat!” he shouts back.

Setting down your bag next to your shoes, you allow yourself to drop just as heavily onto the sofa, only pausing once to chuck Silco’s bag over the back of it, just so you can laugh at him when he can’t find it later.

A long day at work means you’re that kind of tired where you can’t quite tell whether it’s your muscles that are aching or your bones themselves. 

You’re completely still - head resting back, eyes glazed at the ceiling… for approximately two seconds before you realise your foot is tapping anxiously against the floor. It’s not long before your whole leg is jiggling, nervous energy building up until-

“Hey, Silco?” 

“Yeah?” he calls back, still in the kitchen. 

“How do people know how to kiss? Like how are you supposed to know what to do?” you ask, both still shouting somewhat to hear one another. 

There’s a pause. Then an incredulous-

“What?”

You’re not quite sure if Silco didn’t understand the question or whether he just didn’t hear you properly, so you ignore him until he finally pops his head around the open doorway of the kitchen to look at you.

His jet hair is mussed and a little wavy, probably from running his hand through it too much, and there’s a little streak of coal dust on his jaw. The thought of getting up and gently wiping it away for him flits through your mind but is forgotten entirely when he clears his throat, startling you back to his expectant expression. 

“I said, what do you think is the proper way to kiss someone? You know, so it feels… uh, good and stuff?”

Silco screws up his face in confusion.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You huff a breath of annoyance and tiredly run a hand through your hair.

“It’s just…” you begin, trailing off as embarrassment begins to heat your cheeks. But it’s only Silco. You’ve known each other for forever, so you power through in hopes of getting the answers you want. 

“It’s just that I’ve never kissed anybody before and I don’t want to mess it up.”

You’d been asked out on your very first proper date today and out of all the things you’re nervous about, kissing is, without a doubt, at the very top of that list. 

So what if people might think you’re a late bloomer - you’ve just never gotten round to it before! You’ve been far too busy working your arse off to make sure you and the boys could keep the home you’d all worked so hard to afford, let alone keep putting food on the table.

Plus, growing up and living with two ridiculous boys of your own had put you off wanting to spend time with any more for a good number of your teenage years (seriously, do all their bedrooms smell that bad?)

But today a boy you’d met a few times in the shop you worked in had asked you out on a date.

And maybe it was because he’d looked at you in a way that no-one else ever had before (in a way that made you feel like the only girl on Runeterra), or maybe it was because you felt like it was high-time you started thinking of yourself for once, but whatever the motive, you’d said yes.

Which had promptly led you to this current dilemma: One, what if he wants to kiss me? And two, how do I kiss?

Hoping Silco had heard some tricks from some of his friends at the mine, you thought he’d at least respond with some useful advice. You’re decidedly not expecting him to gawp at you like he used to do at the fish in the Undercity’s scuffed aquarium (also known as, sneaking into the underground factories at night to see the big glass windows lining the river). 

“You’ve never kissed anyone before?” 

A jerk of your head up to stare at him… 

He has?

“Wait, you’ve already had your first kiss?” you squeak, hopelessly trying to keep the wobble out of your voice.

He’s definitely never talked about having his first kiss before. Why wouldn't he tell you something like that? (And why is thinking about all of this making you feel so uneasy?)

Silco pushes off the doorway he’s leaning on and crosses into the living room, choosing to perch on the arm of the sofa next to you. He’s still holding a spatula in his hand, which you would have normally teased him for if you weren’t so caught up having a crisis over Silco’s apparent love life. 

“Yeah, when I was like, thirteen,” he answers flippantly, as if it’s common knowledge. Old news. Last week’s gossip. 

“What?”

You’re aghast. Stranded out in an ocean with no lifeboat.

There’s this weird feeling bubbling up inside of you and for some reason your brain is hissing the word jealousjealousjealous like a wretched, little goblin, but you’re not jealous, you have no reason to be jealous. 

Gods, it’s not like you and Silco even like each other, you’re best friends, always have been, always will be. 

“With who?” you demand, crossing your arms across your chest and then promptly uncrossing them when you feel ridiculous. 

“Gods, I don’t remember, it was ages ago,” he says, pure indifference just oozing from him. 

“Wow,” you exclaim flatly, your sarcasm nearly reaching slow-clapping levels at his gross attitude. “Woooow.” 

“What? I’m supposed to remember every single kiss I’ve ever had?” he retorts with a roll of his eyes. 

You think you might have pulled a kidney. Or maybe your ribs have come loose. 

There’s been more than one kiss? Too many to remember or even bother to keep count? 

You can’t help but fall silent, staring at the ground as a sick, uneasy feeling spreads through you at a rate you can’t even hope to control. 

Oblivious as ever, Silco doesn’t even notice your internal spiral. 

“Wait, why do you want to know how to kiss? Who are you planning on kissing?” he all but demands, concern creeping into his tone.

It’s matched by the frown that paints his features when you finally drag your gaze back up to his face. 

“Seven,” you tell him before mumbling shyly, more to yourself than to him. “And I don’t know for sure if we’re gonna kiss.” 

Now it’s Silco’s turn to blanch. 

“Who?”

“You know, that boy who comes into the shop sometimes,” you huff in annoyance. 

Janna, he never listens to you.

His reaction is to grimace and you’re not entirely sure why it warrants such a visceral reaction. 

“I thought you found him annoying,” he points out (rather unhelpfully, if you do say so yourself).

Okay, technically, you had said that. At first you’d found his hovering a bit stifling, especially when you were trying to work. But now that he’d asked you out, you think he can’t be all that bad. 

“Well, yeah, at first, but he’s kinda sweet when you get to know him,” you explain, unable to hold back the little smile that crosses your lips when you think about the moment he’d gently tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. It was probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. 

Beside you, Silco pretends to gag loudly. He’s gross. 

You’re just about to punch his leg as hard as you can in retaliation, but the exact moment you do, he reaches up to nervously push a hand through his hair. Except, he’s forgotten that he’s still holding the spatula, so instead he comically smacks himself in the face with it. 

Silco jolts backwards briefly before looking down at the utensil in his hand and you can just see the moment he remembers the food-

“Shit!”

He scrambles off the sofa and back into the kitchen, almost slipping on one of his own shoes in the process. 

“Idiot,” you mumble under your breath when he finally disappears from your line of sight. 

You cross your arms and slump back against the sofa, half in denial of the pout you know you’re sporting. That bone tiredness has been swiftly replaced with a strange, confusing feeling that you cannot for the life of you put a name to. 

Why would Silco care about who you go on a date with? If anything, you thought he’d be happy that you’re finally putting yourself out there. You know, exploring, having fun - something that isn’t just working and sleeping and yelling at Silco when he steals your tweezers. 

The sounds from the kitchen all cease in abrupt succession, silence ringing out when he finally steps back into the living room. 

His arms hang down awkwardly by his sides and he avoids eye contact with you, choosing instead to stare at the stain on the wall by the door. 

“Burnt it,” he announces sheepishly.

“Siiiiil,” you groan dramatically, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling as your arms drop heavily down against your thighs. “We can barely afford food as it is!”

“Oh, be quiet,” he hushes with a sneer. “I’ll give it to Vander when he gets back home and I’ll make us something else in a minute.”

Vander had been doing extra shifts in a pub most evenings, just to make sure you guys stayed in the green and didn’t lose the apartment or miss any unnecessary meals. Honestly, you have no idea how he does it after working all day in the mines. 

You roll your eyes at Silco but can’t find it in yourself to be truly mad. 

Instead of starting dinner again like he said he would, Silco carefully sits next to you on the sofa. You can tell he’s staring at you but you ignore him, keeping your gaze fixed on the window, eyes unfocused enough that all the neon lights blend together in a colourful swirl. 

It’s quiet for a little bit, bar the usual noise of the apartment building and Silco noisily fiddling with a clasp on his shirt, before he abruptly says out of the blue-

“You know, if you’re worried about not knowing how to kiss, you could always practise on me.”

A beat. Then you slowly tip your head sideways to look at him.

“What?”

“Well, you know what they say, practice makes perfect,” he begins, making brief eye contact before darting away like he’s been caught. “And if you want to impress this Six guy-”

“Seven."

“Whatever, all I’m saying is, I can teach you how to kiss,” Silco insists, before adding just a little too nonchalantly, “You know, if you want to.”

If you weren’t so tired, you might have laughed at him. Or smacked him up the head. 

But you must really be exhausted because you do neither of those things, instead squinting at him as the cogs turn sluggishly in your brain.

He’s not… wrong, per se. Practising would make you feel more prepared for it if it happens on your date. 

“I mean, I guess so,” you admit to him slowly. 

You shift your body to the side and really, properly consider him for the first time, trying to imagine yourself kissing Silco. 

And just like that, your stomach erupts into butterflies and you suddenly have no idea what to do with your hands. (Funny, you didn’t feel like this earlier when you thought about kissing Seven…)

To his credit, Silco allows you to consider his offer in silence as you try to figure out what you want to do.

You can’t really argue with his logic. It would be good to know what you’re doing beforehand so you can impress Seven, or at the very least avoid embarrassing yourself.

And Silco is safe. You’ve known him practically your whole life and he’s never truly let you down yet. 

The more you think about it, the more it feels like a good idea. (And it seems to pass you by that by kissing Silco as a practice for your first kiss, Silco himself will be your first kiss…)

You shift your body to face him a bit more, smiling up at him. 

“Yeah,” you say with a croak, before clearing your throat and speaking again just a little more confidently. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks, searching your expression for any sign of hesitance. 

But you’re not hesitant. A little nervous, sure, but this is new, it’s normal to be nervous. 

You throw him a big smile hoping he understands. 

"Yep!" 

Silco offers you one of the softest smiles you’ve ever seen from him and it makes your chest feel all fluttery and nice. 

Then, he slides closer to you and gently takes your cheek in his hand. 

“What, l-like, right now?” you stutter, eyes nervously darting up to meet his. 

Silco freezes and his gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips. 

“I mean, there’s no time like the present, right?” he says, waiting for your confirmation before moving any further. 

He just caught you off-guard, that’s all. It’s not everyday you kiss your best friend as practice for when you kiss your first ever boyfriend. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

You take roughly five seconds to fully prepare yourself - yes, this is actually going to happen - before shifting yourself to face him properly. 

“Okay. Ready now?” he asks, unable to hide the little smile working its way onto his lips. 

“Yep, ready,” you confirm, smiling back up at him as your heart begins to beat rapidly in your chest.

Silco leans down slowly, his hand still gently cupping your face, and your eyes close instinctively, suddenly giddy as his nose brushes your cheek.

Then, he closes the gap and presses his lips to yours.

For a second or two, you just get used to the feeling of him. How his lips are somehow dry and soft at the same time. How he tastes of peppermint gum laced faintly with cigarette smoke, even though you’ve told him repeatedly that he should stop and who the hell’s he trying to impress anyway?

You only just have the presence of mind to purse your own lips against his when he pulls back from you (and you force yourself to ignore the disappointment of that being it).

Luckily for you, that is not it. 

“Okay, not bad, now I need you to move with me,” he says, licking his lips and pushing back his hair only for it to flop back to the exact same spot.

Huh?  

“Move… with you?” you ask as if you’re in a daze. 

“Yeah, like, move your head and lips a bit more. Just follow my lead,” he explains confidently, almost indifferently. “And you can use your hands if you want.”

“What?” 

Okay, you’re baffled now. What do hands have to do with kissing?

“You could put them around my shoulders, or… or in my hair,” Silco tells you, briefly avoiding eye contact as he mumbles out the latter. 

The bashful way he says it makes you think that’s what he prefers. 

“Okay,” you nod slowly, trying to take it all in. "Move my head and lips, use my hands. Got it." 

This time you're the one to move closer to him, leaning up to place your hand along his jaw.

Silco joins you halfway, meeting your lips once more with a slow, chaste peck before he dives back in for more, this time a little bit deeper. 

He tilts his head a little and oh wow, that feels even better. 

You try to heed his advice, this time actively moving your lips against his. Silco must notice the change because he kisses you even harder, pressing forward until you sway back with the motion. 

A hand snakes around the nape of your neck, pulling you back to him and you think your heart swoops in your chest as he does. That same hand travels lightly down your spine, fingertips dancing along the back of your shirt, bringing out the most delightful shiver.

Fuck, you get it now.

Your own hands trail up from his jaw and slide smoothly into his hair, until your fingers accidentally get caught on a little knot in the strands, causing a rough little tug against his scalp.

And Silco groans, travelling from the back of his throat into your lips and it makes you jump back in surprise.

But he doesn’t let you go far, one hand darting to the back of your head to keep you close.

His lips brush against yours as you both breathe heavily, neither one of you wanting to move away. 

“Do you want to stop?” he says, voice husky and low.

A half second to catch your breath before a vehement- 

“No.”

And then he’s right back at it, kissing you even harder. Even more urgently. 

Now, his hands snake into your hair, tugging gently until you gasp at the pleasurable sensation spreading through you. 

Silco takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and you’re immediately overwhelmed by the heat that floods your body. 

It feels like your hands have a mind of their own because without even telling them to, they’re suddenly gripping at Silco’s shoulders, then his cheeks, and then yanking the short hairs at the back of his head. 

The noise Silco makes this time can only be described as a moan, low and throaty, and just when you think you couldn’t feel any hotter, Silco grabs your waist with both hands and pulls you towards his lap. 

You straddle one of his thighs, knees pressing into the sofa, hovering slightly above him as you continue to kiss, an ache building within you every passing moment. 

Gods, what is this feeling? You swear you’ve never felt like this before, like you could keep kissing him forever. 

But you don’t because suddenly Silco’s hand moves up the back of your shirt to land on the small of your back, and the feeling of his hot skin on yours makes you squirm in his grasp, breaking your kiss once and for all.

You lean back to stare at him, jaw slack. 

Did that really all just happen? Did you really just kiss your best friend and like it so badly that you want to do it again?

You’re both breathless, chests heaving like you’ve just run a marathon. And while your jaw may be slack, Silco’s is actually slightly agape, his eyes half-lidded as he stares at you. 

Heart racing, it takes you a few seconds to realise that you have no idea what he’s thinking right now. 

You’ve never seen him look like this before and you’re a bit scared to know what that means. It’s like he’s never seen you before. 

Of course, that’s when the panic starts to set in because, what if you’ve upset him? What if you’ve ruined everything? 

Physically unable to stand the thought, you begin to clamber up from where you’re still straddling his thigh when his hands instinctively dart out to grab your waist, keeping you in place above him. 

You look down in shock and only then does he let you go, almost as quickly as he’d latched on.

Dropping down heavily onto the sofa, you make an attempt to get your breath back, but don’t quite manage to calm your racing heart as you stare at the floor, hands curled around the edge of the cushion below you. 

Usually, round about now, Silco would say something witty, or make fun of you, but instead he’s eerily silent, avoiding eye contact like it’s the plague. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? 

Fuck, you can’t take it anymore. 

“Well, uh, thanks for the lesson,” you say awkwardly, shuffling off the couch and standing up. 

You need to go for a shower or maybe scream into your pillow for a bit. But Silco stops you in your tracks, grabbing your hand before you can barely take a step. 

“I don’t think you should go on your date,” he blurts out, the first thing he’s said in nearly a whole minute. 

Your head swivels to look down at him. 

“What? Why?”

Silco dares to look at you for a scant second before his eyes dart away like he’s embarrassed. He drops your hand, clasping his hands together as if your touch burned him. 

“Uh, ‘cause I need your help putting that shelf up.” 

He nods to the piece of wood currently lying up against the wall across the room, where it’s been for the last six months. 

“And someone needs to be here in case our parcel gets delivered,” he continues. You think he might be trying to look casual, but honestly, the way he keeps running his hands through his hair makes him look more insane by the second. 

You’re so distracted by it, you forget to point out that you haven’t even told him what day you were planning to go on your date. 

“Silco,” you huff, frustrated. “Vander can help you with the shelf and Mrs Oliver can take the parcel if no-one is in.”

You’ve never seen the old lady next door leave the apartment once in your entire time living here. 

“I still think you should stay in,” Silco insists. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air. “Putting up a shelf and taking in a parcel doesn’t take a whole evening!”

His whole body language shifts as he changes tack. 

“Where’s he taking you anyway?” 

“I don’t know, he said it’s a surprise.”

Silco’s response is immediate. 

“That sounds really dodgy,” he exaggerates. “Maybe I should come with you just to be safe.”  

Okay, maybe that’s what this is all about. Maybe he’s just being overprotective and trying to look out for you. You can deal with that. 

“Silco, I’ll be fine, I know how to look after myself,” you try to reassure him. 

“Yeah, but I don’t like the thought of you going somewhere I don’t know with a complete stranger. It’ll be safer if I come as a chaperone, I know how to handle things,” he tries to say wisely. It comes across a little bit smug.  

“You can’t even cook dinner without burning it to a crisp,” you point out. 

“It isn’t burnt to a crisp,” he hisses. “And that was your fault anyway for distracting me.”

Alright, that’s it. 

You put your hands on the back of the sofa and lean over him slowly, Silco mirrors the action as he leans back with you, his eyes widening as his hand clutch the sides of his trousers until his knuckles turn bone white. 

Your voice drops, low and (hopefully) threatening.

“Silco. I don’t care what you say, I’m going on my date. Alone,” you say defiantly. There’s a brief pause where you realise that statement is nonsensical, so you add, “With Seven.”

His awestruck expression melts into a scowl, but you don’t wait for his rebuttal, pushing yourself off the sofa back and straightening up, ready to walk out the room. 

“Where are you going?” Silco calls, slightly breathless for some reason.

“For a shower,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I used up all the hot water,” he says back. 

You’re far too frustrated to think of a reply so instead you just huff and stomp out of the room, leaving him to stare after you, as you wonder what the hell just happened.

-

PART 2

[moonstruckme]

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

steve harrington + friends to lovers maybe? definitely feeling lovesick steve rn 😮‍💨

Thanks for requesting lovely mal <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 698 words

The movie theater is dark, and yet Steve catches sight of you the second you step inside. His heart does a dumbass little somersault. 

“Y/n’s here?” he whispers to Robin, who’s sitting next to him and using her licorice as a straw. On his other side, Eddie’s kicked his feet up on the seat in front of him like a total asshole. 

“Oh, yeah.” Robin waves to you, and you spot them, heading over. “I invited her.” 

“You didn’t say she was coming.” 

Robin gives Steve a sideways glance. It’s tinged with a meaning he refuses to decode. “I didn’t realize I needed to check with you.” 

He huffs. You’re climbing the steps, still three rows from reaching them. “Move over by Eddie.” 

Robin turns towards him now, eyebrows raising. “You’re not serious.” 

“Go!” 

“Dingus.” She musses his hair spitefully as she stands, just so he’ll have to fix it, waving over her shoulder at you as you start shimmying down their row. 

You wave back, smiling bemusedly as you take her seat beside Steve. “Hey,” you say. 

“Hey.” He’s grinning like an idiot, and he can’t seem to stop. He wasn’t expecting to see you today. “Long time, no see.” 

You go a bit sheepish, the previews casting a red hue over your features. “Yeah, sorry. Work’s been keeping me busy lately. Three people quit at once, so everyone’s expected to cover until they can hire new ones.” 

Steve grimaces. “Yikes.” He has the urge to tell you to quit and let him pay for everything, as if that’s something he can fiscally manage or even remotely normal. “That sucks,” he says instead. 

“Yeah, hopefully it’s not for long.” You get comfy, slipping off your shoes and putting your socked feet up on the seat. Your knees lean onto your shared armrest, within a pinkie’s reach of Steve’s hand. “I actually just got off, I didn’t grab anything from concessions because I was worried I’d miss the beginning.” 

“Oh, no way.” The movie starts, and he lowers his voice but neither of you turn towards the screen. “Want me to run and grab you something?”

You give him a funny smile. It makes your cupid’s bow flatten out and Steve thinks that if he were to kiss you, he’d start there. “No,” you whisper, “you shouldn’t have to miss anything either.” 

“It’s okay,” he promises you. “I don’t even really care if I see this.” He has been looking forward to it ever since he saw the commercial, honestly, but he’s happy to miss it for you. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, “but thanks, Steve.” 

“At least have some of mine.” Eddie shushes him loudly, and Steve kicks the underside of his knee, making the other boy curse. “I’ve got coke and popcorn, that okay?” 

The movie glows blue over your face as you grin, eyes twinkling in the low light. “Classics. But I’m not gonna take your food.” 

“I’m not gonna eat it all,” Steve argues. “These are both extra-larges. You think I bought that all for myself?” He absolutely did. 

You lean in closer, your knees touching the side of his hand. “You paid for them,” you whisper. 

“So?”

“So, I’d feel bad.” 

“Then make it up to me.” Steve hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. He’s never been able to lay on the charm with you like he can with other girls, he doesn’t know why. Or maybe he does. “Come with us back to my place tonight. We’re ordering pizza.” 

“So,” you murmur through a smile, “make it up to you by taking more of your food, is what you’re saying.” 

“Uh-huh, exactly.” He takes a sip of his coke and then angles the straw in your direction. “Deal?” 

You drop your eyes for a second, shaking your head like he’s silly, and Steve knows he’s won even before you meet his gaze again. 

“Deal.” You wrap your lips around his straw, sucking in a mouthful before letting go. “You drive a hard bargain, Harrington.” 

Steve grins, laying bay in his seat and totally not thinking about how his pinkie is grazing your thigh. “Yeah, that’s what they tell me.” 

[artinvain]

Sevika takes care of you bc you’re working too hard 🥹 + squirting

‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙ you’d been working like a mad man. every day was 12 to 14 hours of work. it was safe for sevika to say you were a worse workaholic than she was and this week was particularly rough. “honey, come to bed,” you whine as sevika starts to massage your shoulders. they’d risen to your cheeks while your eyes trained on the video you edited, trying to get the perfect L cut but the sound refused to sync.

“jesus fuck! are you serious ?” you near yell when your machine starts to buffer and then shuts down. “I’m about to scream or cry,” you bite your lip, your face in your hands, wondering whether your work has saved while sev was thinking about other ways she could make you scream and cry.

“okay, that’s enough for today yeah? even the computer’s tired, come on honey. It’s time for a break,” sev cooes gently into your ear, easing you up from your chair with encouragement and rubbing your lower back. “s’okay baby, we’ll sort it out tomorrow,” she reassures you as you press your forehead against her chest. “I’m just so tired,” you relent, letting her arms engulf you, her fingers scratching your scalp.

“I know honey, that’s why you need a break,” sevika kisses your forehead, “let me take care of you yeah?” you finally nod and let sevika lead you to the bathroom where she had a hot bath waiting for you. “I’m so glad we invested in this stupid, giant tub” you moan as you sink into the hot water, sevika behind you. her hands immediately massaging your body, the soapy water glittered with essential oils relaxing you. you sigh, leaning back against sev, and letting her caress your body, until her hands and massaging your breasts. your breath hitches as she gently tugs your nipples, you turn your face into her neck and press firm kisses there as she plays with your tits.

“that’s it baby just relax for me,” she says so sweetly your body complies, melting into her as her fingers trail down your stomach, warm rough fingers circling your clit softly until you’re whining. “that feel good honey?” you girlfriend asks as she lets her fingers play with your clit, your back arching “yes sev, so good baby,” you sigh, your hand coming to rest of her wrist. you hadn’t realised how pent up you were, how much you’d neglected the bedroom and sevika recently.

“m’sorry I’ve been so busy babe,” you whine as her fingers dip down to your hole, “should be taking care of you,” you stutter as her thick finger fills you and curls. “nuh-uh, how many late night have I had?” she asks rhetorically. “you work hard and I’m proud of you,” she sighs against your temple, starting to fuck you slow. your head falls back on Sev’s shoulder, her cool arm holding your tits, playing with your nipples.

sev works you at a rhythm that has your hips bucking, riding her fingers as they fuck you deep and soft, “fuck, another, please another finger sev,” your girlfriend groans, “so perfect, asking for what you need,” she groans, feeling your pussy stretch around her fingers, pulling her in. the wetness of your walls the feeling of them soft against her makes her mouth salivate. she brings her bionic fingers to rest heavy on your clit, rubbing soft while her fingers hasten in pace. “so precious sweetpea,” sev smiles against your temple as you arch your back, “let me take good care of ya,”

she sets you off, the constant rubbing on your gspot and your clit. your legs are shaking and she has to carry you out of the bath. she dries you both off, kissing every bit of exposed skin as she does so. then lays on you the bed, rubbing her hands in coconut oil she presses them into your back. massaging out every kink and knot she can find, you don’t notice her wicked smirk as she slips your bulbous vibrator into you, making you whimper. you cannot move as sev sits on your ass, moaning quietly as she humps you, her hands still rubbing and massaging your back. your clit bumping the mattress as you feel her wetness spread against your ass. fuck you could lie like this with her forever.

you squeak at the pressure and sevika massages your shoulders, squeezes and pulls her hands down to your hips, leaning over you to kiss your face. “you’re fucking perfect you know that?” sev asks as she tightens her grip on your hips, grinding so you both feel that delicious pressure on your clits and the vibrator presses against your gspot. “love you so much,” she whines, kissing and licking your earlobe. grinding until you’re both huffing and sighing, Sev’s wetness making a mess on you, “and you’re so fuckin’ soft sweet pea,” she moans feeling her clit rub over your oiled ass and fuck when you turn your head more to capture her mouth, bite her lip as her brows furrow — she cums embarrassingly fast, gasping and groaning, her hips falter against your soft, plush ass.

sevika turns you over getting her legs over her torso and shoulders as she kisses down from your mouth so your wet lips, kisses your clit so sweetly. slowly licking and lapping in contrast to how she turns the vibrator up. “fuck, sev!” you have to grab for her hands, intertwining them as she laps and suckles at your clit, shaking her head from side to side. eating you as though she were ravenous. she releases one of your hands, guiding it to her hair and using her free hand to rub over your clit, watching your pussy clench around the vibe and your back arches as her fingers rub and swipe across your clit.

“so pretty under me, so fucking — god you make me so wet,” she groans, feeling her lips swollen and sticky as she licks over your whole pussy. sevika pulls at the vibrator, pushing it in the out against your gspot, sucking at your clit, her head bobbing with the movement of the vibe. sevika moans around your clit and it has you cumming, grinding up against your face your broken moans riling her up.

“god you’re so good to me, look at this pretty leaky cunt,” she moans, pulling the vibrator from you and lapping at your wet hole, sliding her fingers in in its place and curling them, holding them against your gspot, rubbing and grazing as she presses down on your belly. “oh god sev!” you’re squirming, “trying” to push her away, the pleasure overwhelming, “take it honey, want you to feel good for me,” sev groans when you clench down around her, “that’s it just take it,” her thrusts shallow and deep “feel so good pea, slippery pussys’ just pulling me in,”

you can feel her fingers grazing every part inside of you, she’s sucking on your clit and pulling off with a pop as you pant, your chest tightening. “sev, please please m’close,” you whine and sevika slows her pace slightly. grinding soft just barely grazing you until you’re trying to fuck yourself on her face and fingers. “okay baby cum for me yeah, want you to feel really good and make a mess on my face,”

sev moans, licking your clit and suckling again, her fingers curling and fucking you deep and hard her pace never faltering until you’re pent up, your body tensing with immense pleasure and warming as you spurt into her mouth. sevika whimpers as she tastes you, licking and swallowing and swiping her face back and forth across your cunt until her face is dewy with your mess.

Tags @archangeldyke-all @sexysapphicshopowner @sevsbaby @iamaboringrattat @sapphicsgirl @bimboprincezz

[i-cant-sing]

I’m letting him smooch my forehead for the nth time if it means I get affection and smooches 🥹🥲 I’m desperate ok?! 🫠 mf I’ve been single for way too long… I need some dopamine…. Also Forehead smooches just hit different

Ugh Baldwin is just so- imagine being mad at him for whatever reason (maybe he was a bit late to come when you called for him because he was busy with court affairs and now he has to deal with a pissed princess who's huffing and puffing because she cant get her time machine to work and out of frustration, she misplaces her anger and takes it out on Baldwin).

He has you trapped against the wall, arms on caging you as you refuse to look at him. Baldwin is trying so hard to supress his smile, because you look even more adorable when youre mad.

"Princess-" he smooches your forehead. "No." You puff your cheeks, brows furrowed as you look to the side, eyes full of anger and distress. Another smooch to you kiss. "Princess, Im sorry-"

"No." You cut him off and he automatically lands another kiss, this time right under your left eye, if only to make you look at him momentarily.

"I'm sorry I was late-"

"You said- no! No more kisses!" You evaded his lips as you glared at him, making him pout. "You said nothing is more important than me. That you'd come anytime I'd call you. I waited for 2 hours! TWO HOURS!"

"I know, my love and Im sorry. The council had some affairs that needed to be dealt with immediately, and time just slipped out of my hand. I promise, it wont happen again." He jutted out his bottom lip (and although anyone else wouldve looked ugly like this, this is Baldwin we're talking about. he's never ugly.) "Forgive me?" His blue eyes held remorse for his mistake, and it didnt help when he brought them even closer when he rested his forehead on yours, making your breath hitch.

"I- uh- fine! Fine! I forgive you!" You finally breathed as your face turned pink, moving it away from him, only for the king to chuckle as he sweetly kissed the apple of your cheeks. "Thank you, princess!"

Ugh. Pretty privelege.

You shot him a glare. "What was so important that the council wouldnt let you leave anyways?"

"Hm? Oh, they wanted to discuss who should be allowed to attend our wedding night."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Well, as per tradition, they wanted to discuss who would be allowed to see us consumate-" he burst into laughter as you threw a book at him. Your face was all red as you began pulling at his blonde hair and was about to beat him when Baldwin suddenly lifted you up and slammed you on your bed, knocking the air out of you as he caught your wrists in one hand while the other tapped your nose.

"As if I would let any see my pretty little prude." He grinned, leaning down to kiss your nose. "You're all mine, princess. All mine."

For the rest of the day, you were too flustered to say a word to him, or even look at him. And so, it never occurred to you to ask him how he convinced the council to make an exemption of this tradition for you.

If you'd asked, Baldwin would've told you that the council wanted confirmation that their monarchs did the deed... to which lover boy replied-

"When you see the queen having to be carried around after our wedding night, you'll know."

[angelicsoka]

SEE YOU LATER, q. hughes

word count | 1.3k

pairings | quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary | in which quinn and his high school sweetheart break up due to her fear of holding him back, only to meet again five years later.

warnings | not proofread, no use of "y/n". lowercase intended. use of the name “ellie”. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.

a/n | i know i’ve already posted today but i thought i would post this as well! i changed the plot a little bit from when i posted the draft reveal, but here it is! i lowkey hate this but i finally had a surge of motivation.

quinn hughes was in love; something he thought he wouldn’t feel until he was settled in his career. a dedicated hockey player, quinn didn’t pursue love or relationships. that was until he met her. she was the sun to his moon, his everything. everyone warned him about falling in love, especially at his age and with his future, but quinn hughes ignored it all.

the night it all fell apart was the night quinn hughes stopped believing in love. it was the night before he was set to leave for dallas, texas for the 2018 draft. the couple had just finished the cupcakes she had made and were now watching the stars; well she was, quinn’s eyes were trained on her face, following the features he had come to memorize. “quinny, you’re staring.” she giggled, turning to face him. 

“i can’t help it, i’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world by my side, why wouldn’t i be staring?” this enticed another laugh from her, quinn smiling at the way her face lit up. 

“i wish we could stay here forever.” she spoke after a few minutes of silence, unable to look at quinn. she felt guilty for what she was about to do, but it was the right thing to do. 

“come with me.” the statement shocked her, and apparently quinn as well by the look on his face. he shook off the shock before continuing: “i want you by my side.”

“quinny…” she trailed off, quinn sitting up. she sat up as well, still avoiding looking at him.

“don’t do this. please.” she wiped a stray tear, finally looking to him. “please.”

“i’m sorry, quinn. but i will only hold you back.” quinn’s eyes filled with tears, but he refused to let them fall. “you know it's true.”

“no, no it's not!” 

“quinn, we can still be friends! and maybe when you’re settled in your career and if we aren’t in relationships, we could try this again.” quinn shook his head, a tear running down his cheek. she reached over and wiped it, her hand lingering for a moment. “i love you, but this is for the best.”

now, it had been almost five years since quinn had seen his ex. he hadn’t had a serious relationship since, instead focusing on his career. now, the season was over and quinn was back in michigan for summer with his brothers and friends.

“dude, i’m hungry…” luke groaned as he sprawled out on the couch. beside him, quinn sat his phone on the cushion, looking to his youngest brother.

“go get something to eat then.” he said, luke groaning once more.

“nobody will go with me to the diner and i will not go by myself. i don’t need people thinking i’m a loner.” quinn huffed out a laugh at his statement.

“i think it’s a little late for that.” luke sat up, punching him in the shoulder. “fine, i’ll go, but you’re buying.” luke jumped up, grabbing the car keys.

“let's go!” 

the ride to the diner was short, luke practically jumping out of the car before it was even at a complete stop. “dude, what's the rush?” quinn questioned, following him into the diner. 

“i’m hungry!” quinn rolled his eyes, taking a seat across from luke in the booth he had chosen. quinn’s eyes were busy scanning the menu when their waitress came over.

“hello, how you guys doing today?” quinn nearly dropped the menu, his eyes shooting up to meet her’s. he could recognize that voice anywhere. “quinn?” her voice caught in her throat, her eyes wide. 

“uh, hey.” he coughed, his cheeks bright red. luke watched wide eyed at the interaction, his eyes widening even more when a little girl tugged at her shirt.

“mama?” now it was her turn to blush, turning to the little girl.

“baby, go sit down, i’ll be over in a minute.” quinn’s mouth dropped open momentarily, looking to luke who held the same expression. “uh, sorry about that. what can i get you to drink?” after taking their drink order, she hurried off to the table that the little girl sat at. 

“dude, that kid kinda looks like you.” luke said, glaring at quinn after he kicked him.

“luke, please shut the fuck up.” luke shrugged, his eyes shooting from the menu to the little girl. she came back with their drinks, quickly taking their orders. she kept the interaction short, wanting to avoid them all together. it was her fault that they lost contact and she was the one who broke up with him. all her feelings resurfaced the moment she made eye contact with him, bringing up the need for a cigarette. she kissed the little girl’s head, grabbing her pack from her bag and stepping out to take a couple drags.

quinn watched as she hurried out, a sudden urge of confidence filled him, and before he knew it he was following her out. “can we talk?” he asked, hiding his surprise by his own confidence. 

“about what?” she asked, her eyes following the cars that sped by. she took a drag from her cigarette, hoping this would be over soon.

“you know what.” quinn was angry. angry they had lost contact, angry that she broke it off. “is she mine?” she sighed, her head dropping. she knew it would come back to bite her in the ass eventually, she just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.

“yes.” she spoke no louder than a whisper but quinn heard her loud and clear. “i’m sorry–”

“don’t– i don’t want an apology cause i know you don’t mean it. why? why would you keep something so important to yourself? why wouldn’t you tell me? you know i would’ve stepped up, been there for you both–”

“that's exactly why, quinn! you would be so willing to drop everything, to end your career for us, for me. i didn’t want that, i couldn’t live with myself if that had happened! you can hate me for that, i don’t care, but you will not sacrifice your career to be a part of her life.” she wiped a stray tear, quinn staying quiet. “i will not stop you from being a part of her life, and i won’t force you either. i understand if you choose not to be around. i don’t blame you.”

“of course i want to be around.” quinn had tried to maintain eye contact, his eyes examining her face. he meant what he said, he wanted to be a part of his daughter’s life. he wanted to be a part of her life. 

“quinn, please.” she looked at him, “don’t feel like you need to do this. we are fine on our own.”

“i’m serious.” he held a straight face, “i want to be a part of both of your lives.” this cracked a smile on her face. she tried to hide it, dipping her head toward the ground. she put the cigarette out, flicking the butt. “when’s your shift over?”

“about an hour. would you like to meet her?” she began to walk back into the diner, quinn nodding as he followed. “ellie is kind of shy, you just have to be patient.” quinn shuffled in behind her, a smile gracing their faces at the sight of luke and ellie eating and coloring.

“oh hey, quinn! ellie was just showing me her art. i think she might be the next picasso!” quinn shared a look with his ex, a laugh bubbling up. he looked at the scribbles on the paper, a proud look on ellie’s face. 

quinn watched as his youngest brother happily colored with his daughter, a content smile on his face. he may have been thrown into a whole new world, but he could definitely get used to this.

[angeldiarybook]

𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐭𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary:Billy and stu aren’t friends anymore due to Billy getting with you after you and Stu broke up what happens when Stu catches you crying because of Billy at a party

“Billy?” I said out loud asking where Billy was

“Hey have you guys seen Billy?” I asked a random girl

“Ughh I’m sure he went to get some keg and some beer” she said

“Oh ok” I said before walking away

I plopped myself down on the couch next to Tatum and Randy

“Hey what’s up with the long face” Randy asked me as he was looking through Jamie Lee Curtis movies

“Nothing…just Billy” I said a bit irritated

“Uh-oh what leather face do this time?” Randy asked snarkly

“Nothing he’s just been distance with me lately and I’m not sure if I did anything wrong to upset him”I said in a low voice

“Most likely nothing.don’t think too much of it.Billy is just…Billy you know” Tatum said trying her best not to say shit about Billy

“Do you guys think Billy will break up with me like how Stu did..?” I asked nervously

“If billy breaks up with you he’s much more stupid than Stu’s dumbass” Tatum said

Right when she said that we hear hysterical laughing

We break our necks to see Stu laughing his ass off with some random chicks

Tatum scoffs as Randy shakes his head

I stared at Stu as his stupid long tongue stuck out as he laughed

“Swear wish he had a mute button” Randy said which caused me to giggle

At times I wish things were different

I miss Stu’s jokes and his goofiness

I wish he didn’t leave me so easily as if was nothing

He would constantly be way too flirty with girls so I guess I didn’t miss that so much

But I also guess Billy isn’t perfect

It’s not like I am either

those boys just have problems

I wonder how Stu felt after me and Billy got together

I’m guessing not happy since they’re not friends anymore

It’s still crazy to me that they’re not friends anymore over me?

I quickly break out of my thoughts

As I see Billy walk through the front door with a pack of beer that he harshly tosses to a random dude

“Damn what’s up his ass?” Tatum asked

I shrug

“I should probably go check up on him..” I said

As Randy made ‘Are you sure face you want to do that’ face

I groaned as I got up from the couch walking towards The stairs as Billy made his way up there

Billy banged on the bathroom door

“We’re busy!” Some squeaky female voice said

“Well hurry the hell up!” Billy said very aggressively which caused the girl on the other side of the door to become silent and not respond as whoever she was with groaned

I non-purposely sneaked up behind Billy grabbing his shoulder which caused him to almost shove me

“There you are I’ve been looking for you all night” I said with a soft smile and soft voice

Billy let out a sigh “it’s just you” he said relief

He banged on the door one more time

“Screw it” he said

As he started walking away

“Woah gloomy you ok?” I asked teasingly but still trying not to piss him off

As we entered a bedroom

“Just tired of people” billy said grumbling

“…including me..?” I asked in a quiet voice

“What?” Billy asked in a harsh tone confused

“…it’s just you’ve been cold and distance to me..did I do something to make you mad?” I asked confused

“Just because I’m mad doesn’t automatically mean it’s because of you stop overthinking” he said in a harsh tone which bothered me

“Well obviously something is bothering you I’m just try to help you come on tell me..what’s wrong..?” I said caressing the palm of his hand trying to comfort him

“It’s nothing” he said scoffing

“Well clearly it is” I said getting annoyed

“Just drop it ___” Billy said rudely

“No!tell me what’s wrong!?” I said getting worried

“___,stop!Just Stop!I did not tell you to follow me or to ask me what’s wrong you came on your own!” He yelled at me

“I-“ I tried to speak but my voice was breaking

“I don’t understand what I did wrong..” I said as my voice trembled as tears flooded my eyes

He made me so sensitive

I quickly made my way out the door

[Billy sighed regretting lashing out on you for no reason “You didn’t do anything wrong” he said mostly to himself since you were already gone]

I quickly tried to make my way down the stairs

“Excuse me.sorry” I said accidentally bumping into some people

As I made my way down the stairs I accidentally bumped into someone who was laughing I couldn’t quiet see due to the tears clouding my eyes

it was Stu

His whole demeanor changed as he saw that I was crying

“___? Are you ok?”

Stu asked concerned as his tall figured hovered over me

It surprised me since he’s never serious or concerned it also surprised me that he cared if I was okay or not considering we weren’t on speaking terms or good terms since we broke up

“Yes-no I don’t know” I stuttered as I wiped my tears

“What’s wrong what happened?” Stu asked me concerned once more with furrowed eyebrows as he grabbed my shoulder gently

Suddenly Billy came out of no where up behind us

Stu put one and one together realizing I was crying because of Billy

“Figures” billy said in a rude sarcastic demeanor towards Stu looking dead at him

Before walking away from me and Stu

I looked at billy with Sorrow eyes as he walked away

Suddenly Stu looked back at me then at Billy

And started making his way angrily towards Billy

“Stu!wait no!” I said quickly going after them

Stu grabbed Billy’s shoulder turning him towards him and punching him straight in the face causing Billy to fall straight into a dude holding a beer bottle making it spill every where

“FIGHT!” Some random screamed

As people started shouting

Billy quickly turned back groaning as he grabbed Stu punching him in his jaw

Stu quickly grabbed Billy throwing him as they somehow managed to make it to the next room

Stu was above Billy throwing punches at them

“GUYS!” I yelled as they ignored me

they got shoved into Tatum causing also her drink in her red solo cup to spill “stop fighting you idiots!” Tatum yelled angrily

Billy managed to tackle Stu as they continued throwing hits

“So umm do you like horror movies?” Randy asked a hot chick poorly trying to flirt with her

“Ehh” she replied shrugging

Out of nowhere Billy and Stu crash into Randy causing him to fall on top the girl hovering her

“Get off of me you geek!” She screeched as Randy body was crushing her

“I’m trying!” Randy exclaimed trying not to crush her body even more

“Break it up!” The party host yelled trying to break up the fight but ended getting pushed aggressively to the side by Billy

The host body almost hit Sidney but she quickly got out the way before his body could hit her

As they fought their body’s hit furniture causing the furniture to fall and break

Billy punched Stu really hard in the jaw as Stu pounced Billy’s head

Suddenly they somehow made it out the front door

As everyone ran outside

Billy and Stu were now fighting on the front lawn

“Guys Just stop!” I yelled since they already caused so much damage

I groaned rolling my eyes as they once more ignored me

Out of nowhere there were police sirens which made them stop

“Aww man cops” some dude said

Which caused them to break apart

They stood a good distance from each other

As they were breathing heavily and stared at each other like they were going to kill each other

I just stared at them with disbelief

As billy looked at me with no emotion before walking away

Dewey got out the cop car

“Alright drop your cups and go home kids” Dewey said

“Great could this night get any better” Tatum said irritated before grabbing my hand making me walk away with her from the so called party

@vzp1kl

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The extra money makes the after-hours work a little less sluggish. It will be worth it when you get the deposit. Even so, you’re only human and the needling between your brow pangs deeper and deeper. 

You can’t help but mourn your free time. You haven’t been to the gym in more than a week and most nights you fall asleep without dinner. It’s a stepping stone. Once you have a handle on things, it won’t be as bad. 

You yawn and lean your head in your hands. You glance up through the transparent walls of your office. Those in the shared space are long gone. There might be a few other execs like yourself left but otherwise, it’s desolate. It’d be peaceful if traffic wasn’t rushing and honking below. 

You rub your nose and sit up. As you do, your door swings open, jarring you so your chair squeaks shrilly. You blather out nonsense as Bucky strides in. His hair is sweaty and slightly askew and his metal arm is on full show as the left sleeve of his jacket has been removed to accommodate it. You haven’t seen him often in anything other than his faded tees and jeans. 

“Oh, hey, uh...” you blink and fix the tilt of your seat. “What are you, em, doing here?” 

He snickers and strolls around your office. He stops at the shelf mounted on the wall and toys with the little golden rose in a crystal vase. It’s one of the few pieces of decor you’ve moved in. 

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he plucks out the stem and admires it. “Working late? Again?” 

“You too.” You sit back to watch him. You cross one leg over the other and angle your head coyly. 

A ripple washes over you at the memory of your last time together. He was so rough and demanding. He’d kept you up all night, and in the morning, you as good as pushed him out your door. Something’s changed. Something you don’t quite like. 

“Oh, don’t play casual with me. I can hear your heartbeat jumping just like you wanna jump out of your panties,” he scoffs. 

You roll your eyes, “How many time do I have to--” 

“You say it but what woman doesn’t want a man who knows exactly what she’s thinking?” He interjects. 

“Like you do.” You shake your head and fold your arms. 

“Ah, come on, it’s been a while.” 

“I know. I’ve been busy. Working.” You pull your arms apart and roll closer to your desk. 

“I just got off myself so why don’t we get off together,” he twirls the rose as he nears. “Pull that skirt up, gimme a peek.” 

“Right. I really don’t have time. Sorry.” You look back to the screen as he stands just on the other side of the desk. Sweat beads in your scalp as he lurks there. He drops the artificial flower on the wood and huffs. 

“Strange. You’re too busy for me. Suddenly. Weren’t too busy a couple weeks ago. I seem to remember some begging,” he laughs. 

“Would you quit?” You sniff and look up at him, folding your hands atop each other. “This isn’t a game for me. I can’t fuck this up. Look, we had fun. It’s been fun but I don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s... too much.” 

He’s quiet. He slowly leans down and plants his fingertips on the desk. He stares you down and you look up at him cautiously. A divet forms between his brows. 

“You can’t break up with me. We’re just fucking, so save the it’s not yous, it’s mes,” he hisses. 

“Exactly. We’re not breaking up, Bucky, because this was only ever sex, so please, just go. Find someone who give you what you want. Once you figure that out.” 

His cheeks tauten and his jaw squares. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“I’m not trying to hurt you--” 

“Hurt? Like you said.” He pushes himself away and the desk lurches. “It isn’t a relationship. Just a dirty, nasty hook-up.” He paces around your office. “The way I had you on your knees. Fuck, the way you wagged your ass for me. Good times.” He stops and claps his hands as he faces you again. “One last hurrah, how about it?” 

You sigh. You shift uneasily and grunt as you try to put your desk straight. It’s just another reminder of how he can do more. 

“I don’t think so.” You look up at him. “You need to go.” 

“Really? I came all the way here.” 

“I didn’t ask you to--” 

“I know you didn’t fucking ask but you were desperate for me every other time, weren’t you? Don’t act like you never wanted me.” He charges forward and you press yourself against your chair. You gulp and bat your lashes. He stops short and snorts. “Relax. What am I gonna do, huh? What did I ever do but exactly what you begged me to do?” 

He throws his hands up and shoves the air. 

“Enjoy your fucking soul-sucking job.” He twists on his heel and marches to the door. He lingers in the frame as he turns his head, his profile shadowy in the dim light of the outer offices. “See how far it gets you.” 

He storms out, leaving you stunned. You rehearsed it over and over. What you would say, how you would say it. You saw him laughing it off. You saw him shrugging and sighing. That was more than you could predict.  

It was him who insisted it was nothing from day one. You agreed because that was easy. Now it feels a lot more complicated. Or rather, did. 

[backtothefanfiction]

The Pool 🔞

Summary: Ollie is still making you feel uncomfortable, but Felix knows how to fix things.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Ollie being creepy, Felix being foxy and a little bit of naughtiness in the pool.

A/N: Just a quick one before I go to bed. The first NSFW/18+ Summers at Saltburn piece. I’ve been busy lately so haven’t had time to write much for this series but count this as me giving you guys a well deserved meal and dessert for waiting. Enjoy.

“Fix have you seen my-“ you stopped short. You thought it had been Felix you saw moving about in his room through the gap in the door, but you were surprised to find Ollie. “Oh, I thought you were Felix.” You hesitated, your brow furrowing as you looked at the young lad stood awkwardly in the middle of your boyfriend’s bedroom. “What-“

“Felix is already down by the pool.” Ollie said cutting you off before you could ask what he was doing there. “I just wanted to grab a book to take down with me.” Oliver began to explain. “He uh, said that I could read that new Harry Potter book everyone’s been passing around once he was done with it. I thought he’d finished it, so I was just looking for it so I could take it down to the pool with me and… you know, read it this afternoon.” He shrugged as he rambled out his explanation to you.

“Oookaaayyy.” You said hesitantly, dragging out the word as your body seemed to tilt itself away from him, as if his awkward creepiness had its own physical form that pushed you away from him.

You knew exactly what book it was he was talking about. Had sat up last night waiting for Felix to finish it so you could have some fun before going to sleep. “Here.” You said walking across the room and picking it off the top of the desk in Felix’s room, where it had been in open view the whole time.

“Ahh thanks.” Ollie said, taking it from you with a tight lipped smile and a head bob of thanks.

“No problem.” You said, but you didn’t return the smile as he awkwardly passed you and left.

—————

“Hey. Is everything alright?” Felix asked when you made it down to the pool, walking around the edge of it where Farleigh and Venetia were splashing around in the water chatting.

“Yeah.” You sighed as you sat yourself in Felix’s lap on one of the chairs around the pool.

“You don’t sound convinced?” He said as his hand brushed gently against your bare thigh. It was both a statement and a question, pressing you to unload the thoughts clearly on your mind.

“Yeah, it’s just-“ you started, but your voice trailed off as Oliver came to join the group, sitting himself in a chair next to Felix and yourself. He silently held up the Harry Potter book in his hand, a silent nod of acknowledgment to the two of you, before he opened up the book in his lap and began reading.

Felix didn’t need you to openly say what you were thinking out loud. He’d seen the way your eyes had followed Ollie around the pool. Felt how your body had bristled before leaning closer into his warmth for protection. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.” He said. “I bet I could take your mind off him in no time.” He whispered into your ear as his hand began to glide its way further up your thigh and in towards your heat, his touch making your skin shiver, your core aching for him. You couldn’t help but pull your lips tight with a smirk.

He gave your thigh a light tap and you stood up so that Felix could stand too, pulling off his T-shirt over his head. He then stood at the edge of the pool and silently watched you as you stripped off your denim shorts and took off the open button up shirt you had slipped on as a cover up to come outside. Once stripped to your bikini you flashed him a look. He was looking you up and down intently. No matter how many times he’d seen you naked, there was always something about see in your body in a bikini that turned him on like a naughty school boy. He gave you a wry smirk and you just had enough time to look down at the problem growing in his shorts before he stepped off the edge of the pool and dropped into the water to hide his arousal from other prying eyes around the pool.

You slowly stepped up to the edge yourself. You could feel Ollie’s eyes looking over the top of the book at your body, but you willed yourself to ignore him. You instead looked down to Felix at your feet. “Come on, get in.” He encouraged you, tapping at the stones either side of your feet. When you continued to hesitate, he began to grab at your ankles, trying to pull you in.

“Ahhh, Fix.” You squealed as your feet began to hop about on the stones to avoid his hands.

In the end, you bit the bullet, doing a quick little run to the side away from Felix as he pushed himself up further onto the top of the pool edge to reach out for your legs. The water was shockingly cold against your skin as your head dipped below the water line but quickly acclimatised to the difference.

When you surfaced, you made your way back towards Felix, wrapping your arms and legs around his body like a koala. You could still feel his erection, pressed hard and flat now to his stomach where he had adjusted his shorts under the water. He looked over to where Farleigh and Venetia were talking at the other end of the pool, then back to you with a devilish smirk, his eyebrows raising suggestively.

You nibbled at your lip as you looked towards your pool companions who seemed to be giving the two of you some distance and paying you no mind; their conversation clearly to enthralling to break from just yet. You looked back to Felix with a twinkle in your eye. It wasn’t the first time you and Felix had partaken in this particular activity whilst you were in the pool together, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last; but you could still feel Ollie’s energy, his envious gaze fixated on you and Felix. You couldn’t help but find your head turning towards him.

“Just forget him.” Felix said, nuzzling himself into your neck, his lips grazing your ear as his hands on your hips began to push your core against his hard cock. “Please.” He cooed, his fingers already beginning to toy with one of the ties to your bikini bottoms.

You willed yourself to look away from Ollie and focus on your boyfriend again. You smashed your lips against his in a bruising kiss and you felt him smile against your mouth. He turned you both so your back was against the wall of the pool so you remained in place as his fingers pulled at the tie on your right hip, your bottoms floating to the side, only being held in place by one leg. He then shucked down the front of his shorts to fully expose his cock. He gave your folds a quick swipe, your slick mixing with the pool water before he dipped his fingers in and out of your aching cunt. It was only a couple of swipes- just enough to make sure you were ready for him. But you had been ready for him for most of the summer.

You took a quick glance over Felix’s shoulder to make sure Farleigh and Venetia were still occupied, whilst Felix looked over your own shoulder up at Ollie still sat, seemingly reading. “Look at me.” Felix urged you when he felt confident Ollie wasn’t paying any attention to the two of you.

You braced your arms tighter around his neck as he shifted you to sit on top of his cock. Your breathing hitched slightly and you fought back the moan that wanted to radiate from you at the feel of his length filling you up. “That’s my girl.” Felix cooed before he nipped at your lips with his own.

You never fucked in the pool. You once fucked in the pool house. But never in the pool. But you often did this- kept his cock warm whilst Felix walked you round the pool. To anyone else it would look like you were just having a cuddle and a chat as you slowly made your way around the pool- but you both knew what was really going on under the water. It was secretive and teasing and gave you both a thrill. Every now and again one of you would shift slightly and you’d have to hide the moan of pleasure that wanted to burst free. But you both lived for the edge- tormenting one another. Seeing who could hold out the longest.

And although you felt Ollie’s eyes on the two of you every now and again. Knew he was watching the two of you closely. Suspected he knew what was happening below the water and wishing it was him involved. You had to admit, Felix was right- this was probably the best way he could try and make you forget about the friend he had brought home and how he creeped you out.

[vinvantae]

heyyy! sorry if this request is vague but i lack your creative genius so how about the grid x reader with forced proximity (like the two being in a situation where they have to be really close outside of their respective wishes not noncon!). if not all drivers, then maybe just Charles, Lewis and Fernando? thanks love!

I am sooooooo sorry this took so long 😭 I’ve been mega busy lately and haven’t had the time to really sit down and write. Hope you enjoy regardless x

Lewis

“There’s no way this is actually happening right now.”

You stared down at the door handle that was currently laying in your palm, no longer attached to the door. Lewis quirked a brow and plucked it from your hand, turning it over in his a few times.

“I did tell them it was coming loose, didn’t realise it was this close to falling off.” He chuckled softly. “Cosy in here isn’t it?”

The room itself wasn’t that small, but now you had no escape - the walls suddenly felt like they were pressing against you. “Why do we even have this room?”

“I think Bono called it a panic room… apparently, just our luck, it’s also soundproof.”

You groaned and flopped onto the small loveseat that was tucked against the wall - letting your eyes cast around the room. “Have you-“

“Text someone? Yeah. They’re trying to find a way in.” His voice was soft as he sat beside you, a strong hand coming to rest on your knee - the heat immoderately rushing to your cheeks.

You’d had a massive crush on Lewis since the day you’d met - but he was levels and levels above you at Mercedes. You were but a simple social media admin, something he personally opted to not take part in very often so your paths didn’t cross often and when they did you found yourself feeling like a giggly teenager.

You could almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he studied you, a gentle sigh leaving his lips.

“…hey uh, feel free to report me to HR if this crosses some major boundary but I never really get to speak to you alone.” He was fully facing you now, his hand still pressed against your knee - thumb brushing across the black fabric of your work trousers. “You fancy getting dinner sometime or something? I’ve seen you around a lot and I just… I honestly can’t get you out of my head.”

“M-Me? Seriously?” You laughed, practically flooded with disbelief. “You’re Lewis Hamilton.”

He smirked. “Yeah, and you’re you… I’d really like to get to know you outside of this world, no Mercedes branding attached. I already like what I do know, I’d like to see more.”

Your eyes flickered across his face for a moment, trying to read him - and he seemed nothing but genuine. You gave him a cautious nod and his face lit up, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“We’re going to have a blast, trust me.” His grin lit up the room.

Before you could speak again there was a frantic knock on the door. “We’re about to take the hinges off! Stand back please!”

“All clear.” Lewis called back, before giving your hand a squeeze. “Ready to get back out there?”

You looked down at your entwined hands and smiled softly. “As I’ll ever be.”

Charles

Their music was quiet now, just softly playing in the background as Kika giggled - her boyfriend twirling her into his arms, a loving smile on his face. When she had insisted on hosting his birthday party at your shared apartment, you forgot to consider who one of Pierre’s best friends was, a man you loathed. And now, as the night rolled on and all of the other guests had filtered out - it was just the four of you left and whilst Pierre and Kika were still enjoying their tipsy states, you and Charles were as stiff as boards, sat as far apart from each other as possible.

Your eyes followed Kika as she stepped away from Pierre, circling the coffee table to approach you, manicured hands landing on your shoulders as she looked into your eyes. “We’re going to bed… you gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You forced a smile, one she was too inebriated to decipher. “I’m not tired, I’ll tidy up a bit.”

“Oh ‘miga. Don’t stay up too late.” She pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple before leading Pierre away, practically purring.

You rolled your eyes, still not giving the man beside you any attention as you stood up - collecting some cups from the table but as he started clearing the coffee table beside you, you couldn’t help but frown.

“You can go home, Charles.” You grumbled. “You don’t live here, y’know. It’s my mess to clear up.”

“Did Pierre not tell you?” He patted the back of the sofa. “This bad boy is my bed tonight.”

“…he did not. Well, I don’t want to keep you up, so I’ll clean tomorrow or something.”

He practically snorted out a laugh. “I don’t want to sleep in this mess either so, let’s just make it quick yeah?”

The two of you moved around each other quietly - you’d met through your best friends and very quickly decided that you didn’t get on. He was pretty and he knew it - he always had some stunning girl draped over his arm; at first you were just annoyed, just as you got to know her, like her even, he’d bin her off for a new model. He just didn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty.

“You uh, still with… uh Colette was it?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “She wanted something more serious, so no,”

Charles watched you roll your eyes as you shoved a paper cup into the bin bag in your hand.

“What’s it to you anyway? Jealous?” He smirked, throwing a balled up napkin in your direction.

“No. I just don’t understand why you hate commitment so much.” You scoffed. “You always find the loveliest girls and then-“

“I don’t hate commitment. I’ve just not found a girl who challenges me.” His voice was quieter with his admission. “They all will literally just agree with everything and anything I say just because they’re desperate to keep me happy… that’s just not… I don’t want that.”

The silence was heavy but you didn’t dare move, especially as he walked around the coffee table towards you - bin bags long forgotten as he gently took your biceps in his hands.

“I… I know you don’t like me… I don’t blame you.” He sighed softly, letting his hands slowly cascade down your arms until his hands finally found yours, his lips curving into a shy smile when you didn’t pull away. “But I like the way you call me out on my shit, and you make me want to be better.”

“Charles…” You felt breathless. “I don’t want to be the reason you treat women right, you should do that because it’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” A soft huff escaped him. “Can we at least maybe start over? Friends?”

Your eyes studied his face - almost as if you were seeing him for the very first time. The way his green eyes still seemed bright under the dim lights of the floor lamps, the way his lips were such a pretty shade of pink… shit.

“Depends… would friends do this?”

Charles stumbled back a little as you kissed him, hands quickly finding purchase on your hips. He groaned as you looped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

Oh he was fucked.

Fernando

You don’t think you could be pressed any further against the side of the van if you tried - Fernando’s manspreading had made sure of that. The two of you had somehow ended up in the back together, the third seat home to camera equipment as per the team’s request. It was supposed to be a quick trip, 20 minutes tops, but the roads were completely gridlocked so you found yourself stuck in the Spaniard’s company for a lot longer than you’d planned.

“Oh my god, Fernando.” You hissed, yanking the hem of your jacket out from under his thigh as he shifted. “Do you want to take up any more of my seat?”

The corner of his mouth tugged up into a small smirk. “Sorry.”

You rolled your eyes. “No you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

A soft huff left your lips, turning away from him to look out the window - noticing the view hadn’t shifted even a little since you last checked. You groaned. “Have we moved at all?”

“Sorry! It’s completely at a standstill, looks like it’s going to be a while!” The driver called back from the front, sending you an apologetic gaze through the rear view mirror.

Fernando couldn’t help but notice your demeanour shift, fully slumped in your seat at this point - a petulant frown on your face. He always thought you were pretty, but you seemed to have a vendetta against him since day one despite his best intentions. And after a while he just gave him, treating you with the same sass you threw at him.

“Do you want to lighten up a touch, cariño” He teased, leaning a little so he could catch your eye. “This car ride is already going to be bad enough without your attitude.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not exactly my favourite person to be around.”

“And why is that? Hmm?” His voice was patronising, condescending almost, and it made you want to smack him upside the head - but you’d definitely get fired. “Did I forget your birthday or something?”

He was surprised by the dejected sigh that left your lips, your eyes almost wet when you looked up at him. “…You’ve just always made me feel like a dumb kid. I know how to do my job. I’m smart, I’m capable. I’m not even that young! But god forbid I do anything myself. Let me move that for you. I’ve got that. Oh no, I’ll do it myself.”

“You think I did all that because I thought you were incapable?” He had to hold back the laugh of disbelief. “Cariño , that was just me being a gentleman… I was trying to be courteous, to impress you.”

Your cheeks heated. “Impress me?”

“Well, yeah.” This time he laughed softly. “You said it yourself, you’re smart, you’re capable… and, forgive me, you’re very beautiful. I never meant to cause upset or make you think I thought little of you.”

You felt beyond embarrassed - this whole time he was just being nice and you had automatically assumed he was looking down on you.

“…want to start over?” Your voice timid, unable to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

“I’d like that.” He held his hand out. “Hi, I’m Fernando.”

It was your turn to laugh as you took his hand in yours, his skin warm against yours as you gave it a firm shake - introducing yourself to him. His gaze was different as he looked at you now, his dark eyes no longer full of distaste but something new.

And you couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

I just know wade would be asking u to grind ur teeth down on it...i just know it....

hi anon ur so right wade actually has you do insane shit to him dick biting is just the BEGINNING‼️😮‍💨 and the first time he suggests it you’re mortified 😭 you’re giving him that gawk gawk 3000 typhoon top but he’s still kinda soft 😰 you’re lowkey worried feeling self-conscious about your head game until he cups your face and swipes his thumb across your cheek

“can i ask you a weird question?”

when you’re having sex with wade wilson, this could lead to literally anything. “does this bump on my nutsack look different than usual?”, “what’s your stance on the death penalty?”, “did i ever tell you about that time i got my dick stuck in the toaster?” you brace yourself for whatever batshit insanity is about to slide out of his mouth.

“yeah, go for it.”

“can you use your teeth on it? just, like… keep doing what you’re doing, please, it’s fucking amazing. i just want a little more texture.”

huh?! is he for real?! but you’ve worked so hard to NOT do that! years of toiling in the dick-sucking mines has trained that right out of you, and he wants you to throw all that away? why?! “uh… are you sure?”

he just laughs in response

“aw, you’re so cute! so sweet, worrying about me like that! think about it. why would i ask for this if i didn’t want you to do it, stupid boy?”

…y’know what? fair enough. you close your teeth around his shaft and cheese grater up and down the length of his throbbing, bumpy cock.

“OH~! fuck, just like THAT, baby, YES~! mmm… fu-u-ck, that’s perfect… like… like you’re trying to bite the batter off a corndog, baby, there you go…”

and when i say it gets worse from there i mean it gets WORSE!!!! like he’ll come up behind you while you’re cooking dinner.

“hey, slutter-butter, you got a minute?”

“uh… yeah, actually!” you put down the knife you were about to use to chop an onion, and spin around to face him. “haven’t really started yet, what’s—“

he’s holding a strap-on.

“yes, hi, this is wade wilson, i’ve got an appointment for a prostate exam at 4PM?”

you smirk and saunter towards him, eager to play along with this spontaneous bit, “hmm… i’m not seeing you on our records, mr. wilson. are you sure it was scheduled for today?”

“i’m not sure, actually. i’ve made that mistake before. but this clinic takes walk-ins, right?”

“yes we do, sir, but today’s been pretty busy.” you wrap your fingers around his on the silicone shaft and pull him into you. “but i’ll see if i can squeeze in you.”

wade bounces and squees with joy and hands you the strap. you don’t even get it all the way on your hips before he’s bending over. onto the stove. where you were preheating a cast-iron skillet.

“oh, shit, WADE—!”

“what?” he stares at you blankly, holding the hot pan you were about to use. he’s silent for a moment, then two, and then it clicks. “oh!” he sets the pan down in the sink, claps his hands together, then points at you. “forgot you’re a normie! logan fucks me over the stove all the time. doesn’t really matter for us, since we’re freaks of nature and third degree burns just tickle us psychosexually, but, uh… would you… wanna try it? do a little flambé action? roasted wade wilson breasts? i promise, it’s fun. it makes me moan like a coked-up whore late on rent.”

you snort at his stupid comparison, and it actually puts your mind at ease a bit. it doesn’t surprise you that him and logan get up to this kinda thing when you’re not around. in fact, you’re actually flattered to be allowed to take part in it. to take advantage of him like this.

“fuck it. bend over, you fucking weirdo masochist.”

“yippee! yay! thank you, daddy!!!”

wade eagerly yanks his shorts down, widens his stance, and slams his bare chest onto the glowing red burner. his leathery skin sizzles with the smell of cooked human flesh.

“ooooh, that feels so fucking good on my right nipple… lemme roll a little, get the other side, ah~! oh-h-h, it hurts so fucking good!!!”

you get into position behind him, but he holds his hand out backwards to halt you.

“wait! one more thing!”

he reaches over and grabs the gigantic chef’s knife, freshly sharpened and pristine, that you had lying on the cutting board next to a soon-to-be mutilated onion, and offers it to you.

“jam this through my palm when i say i’m getting close. that’s the finishing move. have me spraying a whole little league team out my dick.”

[w2soneshots]

Blind date -W2S

words: 0.8k+

warnings: talk of past relationship and break up.

summary: Faith sets you and Harry up on a blind date, little did she know you already dated him years prior.

notes: hi my loves, I hope you’re having a lovely day/night. I apologise for the lack of posting recently, I’ve been so busy! But I absolutely love this idea. Enjoy!!🤗💘

Today I'm going on a blind date. I've never done anything like this before but it's been set up by one of my new friends Faith, who I trust not to pick a dickhead. I'm meeting him at an Italian restaurant that's just a ten minute walk from my apartment. I'm nervous but also quite excited.

I spent extra time getting ready and picking a cute outfit. Once I was finished I began the walk to the restaurant. I took a deep breath before walking inside. I'd arrived a little bit late so I assumed he'd already be there.

I looked around for a moment before my eyes landed on Harry, the boy I dated two years ago. It only lasted a few weeks and we were never actually official. We just wanted different things at the time so both decided to go our separate ways.

"Oh my fucking god." I muttered quietly to myself. I turned around, quickly pulling out my phone. "Surely this is just a coincidence?" I thought. I texted Faith to be sure. "Did you set me up with Harry Lewis?!" I asked, trying to remain calm. She replied quickly. "Yeah, he's Ethan's friend. Do you recognise him?" "We dated two years ago Faith! What do I do?" "Omg! Was it toxic?" "No, we just wanted different things." "Go talk to him then! Maybe this is meant to be." I recollected myself, maybe it is meant to be.

As I walked towards him I thought about how on earth I didn't know that Faith's boyfriend Ethan was also Harry's friend Ethan, who I hadn't actually met when we were together since we weren't that serious.

I knew Harry did youtube and Faith had told me that her boyfriend's name was Ethan but I obviously never connected the dots. I have also only known Faith for a few months and we met through a mutual friend so we haven't really discussed our personal lives properly.

Harry looked up and his eyes connected with mine. A look of pure shock and surprise spread across his face. He stood up, stumbling slightly. "Uh- I- y/n?" He stuttered. I chuckled nervously. "Hey, long time no see." His hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "Yeah... are you my date?" "I guess so. I'm friends with Faith."

He sat down and I sat opposite him. An awkward silence fell over us. "So- uh- how've you been?" He asked. "Pretty good. I officially live in London now." One of the reasons our relationship didn't work was that I lived to far away but last year I moved into my current apartment to be closer to work. "Oh, you do?" "Mhm, my apartments just ten minutes from here." I replied, fiddling with my hands under the table.

We ordered some drinks and the conversation started to flow. He told me about all of the major things that had happened in his life since I last saw him and we discussed his friendship with Ethan. When we were "together" we had pretty good chemistry, I was always laughing and smiling when I was around Harry and I was starting to feel the same things I felt two years ago as the date progressed.

While we ate our food we moved onto the topic of how on earth we ended up on a date together. "So Faith had no idea that you knew me before setting us up?" Harry asked before taking another bite of his pizza. "No, absolutely no clue." "That's... really strange." "I know, like out of all the people she could have chosen she picked you." "Did you ask her to set you up with someone?" He asked, head tilted slightly to the side. "Mhm. I asked if she knew anyone since the dating scene in London is really shit." He chuckled, "You're not wrong."

After eating our pizza we left the restaurant, just as the sun was setting. We stopped outside for a moment before I spoke. "Did you wanna come back to mine for a drink or something?" His eyes lit up slightly. "Yeah- yeah, I'd like that." I smiled. "Okay then, this way." I grabbed his hand absentmindedly.

"Uh- sorry." I apologised as soon as I realised what I'd just done. He smirked slightly. "Don't apologise." I looked up at him. His eyes flickered from my eyes to my lips. My breath caught in my throat and my heart rate sped up. "I haven't ever liked anyone as much as I like you." He admitted. "Like, as in present tense?" I questioned. He nodded slowly. "Having dinner with you today made me realise how much I missed you." My face softened. "I missed you too," I whispered.

"So would you be willing to give us another go? You know, now that you live in London?" He asked hopefully. I smiled. "I'd like that." He placed his hand on the back of my neck, slowly bringing me towards him until our lips were just millimetres apart. I pushed myself onto my tiptoes, closing the gap. We both fell into the kiss, my mind immediately taking me back to two years ago as I realised I'd never really gotten over Harry Lewis.

[stubz]

late shift

Shuttle for Mars is departing now. Please keep hands, feet, tails, and other appendages clear of the yellow line.

‘Nice, finally get off work on time for once! Man is it empty, way less busy than the 5:45 one…

Are they sleeping? Please tell me they’re sleeping…’

“Snnrk…”

‘Oh good they are, oooh lots of empty seats next to them! Nice.’

The young human sits across the large figure and looks around.

‘Wonder why everyone else is sitting so far away from this guy? He’s not that much scarier than a Alteauh…OH! He’s an Orc! An actual Orc, oh this is so cool! Wait. Calm down, control yourself. Orc’s are people too, not some exotic animal in a zoo….he’s sooo cool looking tho!’

The human smiles and takes out their headphones and listens to some music and take in the view they see through the shuttle’s windows. From time to time they peek at the orc, can’t helping themselves from people-watching him.

Like what most humans imagined, he was huge. Easily more than 7 feet tall, with large calloused hands bigger than their head. He had large tusks but unlike the stereotypes he was well trimmed with well relatively kept hair. It would have neater had there not been dust in it. The orc wore dirty cloths and work boots. Beside them what looked like a tool box and bag.

‘Must be a construction worker or works in a trade’ they mused

‘Poor guy, he’s gotta be exhausted to sleep here. At least he gets to go home now.’

The shuttle shakes and with it so does the sleeping giant. Rocking side to side.

'That's not good.' They nervously slide off their headphones.

The turbulence increases until the sleeping orc leans too far and starts fall face first off his seat.

“OH SHIT!” Diving to their knees they manage to catch his head and shoulders.

“Mm?”

“You okay?” Damn he's heavy!

“Mmm…sorry.” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he slowly got back into his seat, the turbulence now gone.

“No worries, I just didn’t want you to hit your head.”

“Heh, wouldn't be the first time I’ve done it.”

after rubbing his eyes a bit more and a crack of the neck he looks at them, brain finally working to some degree.

“…wait. You caught me?”

“Uh-huh”

“But you’re so small! Are you hurt?”

“You're not the first sleeping giant I’ve caught. I’m alright.”

“I am so sorry for that. I just finished working a 12 hour shift fixing the 1st and 3rd engine rooms and couldn’t help myself from dozing off.”

They whistle. “12 hours? No wonder you’re tired! If I were you I’d be in a coma.”

“Ah but surely you have a difficult job yourself. How else would you be able to catch me?”

“No, nothing like yours! I just work at a youngling centre.”

“The one on the ship?”

“That’s the one.”

“...YOUR ONE OF THE BRAVE WARRIORS WHO RISKED THEIR LIVES TO PROTECT THE CHILDREN??!”

“…you’ve heard of us?”

“Every orc and warrior worth their blade knows of your valiant deeds!! Tell me, what is your name??”

“Kim, uh and you are?”

“Fenrir. It is truly an honor to meet someone of your bravery and intelligence."

"Likewise! I've heard that the orc species are a true warrior race."

For the rest of the trip the two talked. Kim sharing how her and Max built such a safe room in the centre, which lead to the two realizing how similar each other's planets are.

"You have wind whirlpools as well? I thought they only existed on Bantor!"

"Well we call them hurricanes and tornadoes but yeah. Do you guys have hail?"

"Not where I grew up but nearby farther up they get a week or two of light hail showers during the fall. What about animals? Do you have reptiles bigger than an adult with large teeth and live in rivers? We call them darthrang."

"Oh we call them crocodiles!"

"Amazing! To think that your species live in a world much like mine!"

When the shuttle finally reached it's destination the two went their separate ways. A few days later they meet again, this time on the later shuttle. They sit and talk and create a routine of sorts where they became each others travelling companion for the trip to Mars.

One day however, Fenrir stopped coming. The human was saddened as she enjoyed his company but was soon surprised when seeing him at the centre.

"Kim! I've been transferred to stay on the ship so I won't be taking the shuttle to Mars anymore."

"Oh...well, as you know I only go home at the end of the week so maybe we can hang out now. Like eat lunch together or have a drink after work...or something like that!"

"Actually we'll be seeing each other everyday now. But if you don't get sick of me then yes, lets each lunch together."

"Great! But why will I be seeing you everyday?"

"Because after telling my family about you and the centre they've enrolled my nieces and nephews and younger siblings here...and I offered to drop them off and pick them up."

It was then that Kim noticed the dozen of orc children hiding behind Fenrir. The tallest and what looked the eldest of them stepped forward.

"Hello, I am Athea, uncle Fenrir said your one of the ones who saved the centre."

"Yes, my name is Kim. It's great to meet you AtheaaAA!" The orc girl pulled the human into a tight hug, lifting the adult woman off of her feet.

"Thank you for saving Nova." she mumbled into her chest.

'Ah, the Captain's daughter' Kim thought. "I was just doing what any teacher would do."

After a moment the human was put down and lead the children into the centre. The day went well. Fenrir's young family members were quickly won over by the humans, first with the saving of the centre, then with how they understood how wonderful their planet was rather than terrifying or deadly.

They were also greatly intrigued by how such a small species could survive in a planet that was thought to only be habitable to orcs.

"How can you carry us?" asked Thor, one of Fenrir's youngest brothers. "We're much bigger than a human child."

"Yeah but your not bigger than my cousins who are teenagers. Also just last month I had like 10 kids climbing on me. Two were tighalaxes."

"Your joking!"

...

"It that tumpon?!"

"Hm? We call it maafe, but it's also known as peanut stew, do you want some? It doesn't have any meat in it though."

"Guys Max has tumpon!! Can you tell Fenrir where we can buy the ingredients?"

"Of course. Finally I'll finish what gran gave me without having to gain 10 pounds."

And thus the first day ended on a high note! Now if only Kim could figure out why the children looked at her and nodded while talking to Fenrir...

So this based off of a post by @llamagoddessofficial about humans meeting actual space orcs. Sadly I can't find the actual post. but yeah, here u go, space orc and human meet cute