#I’ve been staring at this painting I’ve been working on and it’s done something to my brain

[kissmefriendly]

Something about the nature of cyclical stories, Dracula Daily being an annual event, strong themes of abuse and trauma, the retelling of these stories over and over never letting the characters escape until the very end when they must repeat it all again, something something

[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.”

[angel5ofp0rn]

♡ part one ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

been thinking ab this post 4ever and need to get it out tbh.

**I’ve never done something like this b4 and I haven’t proofread so pls be nice 2 me ._. **

You have been divorced from your ex husband John Price for two years. Still, he comes over and shovels your driveway for you every time it snows.

He’s come inside and warmed up in the mudroom nearly every 15-20 minutes, puffing hot breath into his hands and rubbing them together for warmth before stepping back out and shoveling again.

You meet him in the mudroom for his fourth warm-up break and hand him a mug of hot coffee. Dash of cream, one sugar.

“Still how you take your coffee, right?” You offer a small smile, hugging your arms around yourself as John takes a sip from the mug.

“Still the same.” He nods before he takes another sip, the small smile that had appeared at the corner of his mouth quickly fading.

He leans up against the doorframe, the shovel leaning against the wall next to him. He peers out of the door's window, checking over his work.

“I'll get goin' soon enough. It ain't snowing right now, the drive's nearly clear.”

You thank him again, even though you never asked him to do this in the first place. You can’t help but look up at him, meeting his blue eyes for just a moment.

Before he could reply, your two children came running around the corner cheering and squealing when they saw their dad.

John's smile brightens at their presence, his body language immediately softening as he squatted down to their level.

“Hey, my little monkeys. Come give yer ol’ dad a hug.” He opens his arms out wide, inviting both of them to come to him. It doesn't take long before they both go crashing into him, squealing, smiling. Their giggles filled the small room.

You just smile. Even if you and John aren’t always on the best of terms, you can’t deny that he’s a great father.

“Daddy’s cold.” Your youngest shivers a bit from hugging their dad, who still had snow on his clothes and frost on his beard from shoveling.

John tries to shrug it off, but you ask him to stay and warm up for a while.

For the kids, of course.

Plus dinner is nearly ready, and you definitely made too much for just you and the kids, anyway.

More cheering, more squealing, more giggling as John finally agrees and kicks his boots off, hanging his coat on the hook.

John’s blue eyes scan the new decor and different paintings on the wall, but he doesn’t comment on how much the place has changed since he moved out.

After dinner, the two of you stand in the doorway as you watch the kids play together in their playroom, that used to be John’s “man cave”.

“They're gonna make you tuck them in.” You mention, sipping your glass of wine.

John smiles, a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Maybe you can convince them to go up and brush their teeth?” You lower your wineglass and offer a fake, pleading pout.

He looks down for a moment, pretending not to see the gesture. Instead, he looks back to the children.

“Right then, you two little monkeys. It’s gettin’ late. Go on up and brush your teeth. I’ll come tuck you in.”

Both children protest for a while, but eventually give in without too much of a fight. That’s a new one.

John lets out a chuckle as the children roll their eyes and go up the stairs. He watches them disappear from view before turning and meeting your eyes again, still smiling for this small victory.

As if he had just realized he was staring, John’s eyes darted down into his now empty mug.

"Let me take that." You reach for his mug but he shakes his head.

"I haven’t forgotten where the kitchen is," He smiles a bit. "'ll clean up and then tuck the kids in."

John makes his way over to the kitchen, placing it in the sink and starting water. You follow, and notice that he was also washing the dishes from dinner as well.

“John, you don’t have to-“

“I know.”

And that’s that.

You chew your bottom lip. This looked too familiar. It felt too familiar.

"I'm... gonna go check on them and get them in their pj's." You gesture to the stairs in the hall.

He looks up at you briefly and nods; "Be up in a bit, love.”

Once the water is emptied from the sink, he starts loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Once completed, he starts to wipe down the counters and stovetop, wanting to make sure he left no mess behind. Then he trekked back up the stairs to tuck in the kids.

You’re downstairs again, on the living room sofa. You wanted to let John have a moment alone with the kiddos before he left again.

He makes his way down the stairs and sees you sitting there in the dim lighting. He clears his throat a bit as he walks through the living room and back into the mudroom.

“They're tucked in. Not a whisper from ‘em.” He mentions casually as he gets his snow boots back on.

You thank him, turning to watch him leave, but notice him looking out of the door window and pause. So you make your way over to the door to see what he’s seeing.

It's started snowing and the driveway is completely covered again. It looks like he hasn't even shoveled.

John lets out a grunt of disbelief and sighs, pulling on his beanie and reaching for the shovel once again.

“Don't-“ You shake your head, placing your hand on the shovel. “It's snowing hard, there's no point in shoveling it all up just for it to be covered again. Why don't you... stay on the couch or something tonight.”

He stares down at the shovel for a moment, debating it. After a beat, he sighs a bit, nodding.

“I... could do that.”

You go upstairs to the bedroom and bring John some extra pillows and blankets to make a bed on the couch with.

You set everything on the coffee table and the two of you sit on the couch for a moment, just catching up and chatting about the kids.

“The kids both want to do soccer in the spring.” You mention, your cheeks a bit rosy from the wine you had with dinner.

“Football.” He corrects with a small smirk. You roll your eyes.

“Let me pay for the lessons.” He says; not asking.

Of course you refuse.

Of course he insists.

You settle on splitting it.

Then it happens again. Your eyes meet his. Neither one of you speaks. Suddenly you’re transported back to the first night you met; you were newly 21 and already tipsy when your eyes met those of an older man in his fatigues as he sat at the bar. You remember drunkly telling the older man that he had the prettiest blue eyes, and that you wanted a hundred of his babies that looked just. like. him.

You have two, at least.

“Oh!” You sit up a bit straighter, snapping out of your daydream. “I was going to ask you to look at something on my laptop. It's doing that thing again. It's upstairs.” You get up and head to your home office, John right behind you.

You open your laptop and hand it to John. He knew how to fix it last time, so it should take him no time.

He sits in your office chair and you step away into your bedroom across the hall to get into a pair of pajama shorts and a hoodie, since it's getting late.

The laptop whirred softly before he got it running again. Only took a minute. He sets it on the desk, leaning back in your chair with his hands behind his head as he looks up through the open door where you can be found, changing in the bedroom.

You were his wife at one point, anyway. Isn’t something he hasn’t seen before…

After you’ve changed, you lay on your bed, scrolling through your phone as you wait for John to fix the issue with your laptop, unaware that he was watching. Unaware that the laptop has been fixed for a while now, and he was just wasting time.

Eventually, his voice wafts through the doorway.

“Think I got it, love-“ He pauses for a moment. “Er, Y/N.”

“Ugh, thank you.” You sigh and sit up, taking the laptop from him and setting it on your nightstand. “Stupid thing always acting up.”

John sits on the edge of your bed as you take the laptop back from him.

“Not a problem. It was a quick fix.” He offers a small smile, rubbing the back of his head.

He takes a glance at you, noticing the pajamas you had put on.

"...Is that my sweatshirt?"

You blush a bit sheepishly, looking down at the oversized, grey 2XL Special Air Service hoodie you’re wearing. "Um..."

Another small chuckle escapes his lips. He shakes his head a bit, trying to contain his amusement.

“S’what I thought. You look... comfy." He reaches his hand out towards your leg, running his hand lightly over your bare legs, exposed by the shorts you were wearing.

Without realizing what he's doing, he has his hand on your thigh, and he gives it a light squeeze.

Eventually his hand travels higher to rest on your sex over your pajama shorts.

Usually, you'd tell him off. Monologue about how this isn't how things work because it complicated things and you both need to set boundaries.

But tonight you don't.

Maybe it's because you had two heavy-handed pours of your favorite wine with dinner. Maybe it was seeing him with your kids again. Maybe it had just been too long since you'd felt anything other than a cheap bullet vibrator.

So you let him slip his hand down your panties.

But it's a bit jarring to feel his wedding band still on his finger.

You look down at his hand for a beat when you feel it.

You look back up and place your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in and crashing your lips together.

John wastes no time in laying you back on your bed and tugging your shorts and panties off, tossing them somewhere behind him.

His lips are on your neck, his hands spreading your soft thighs apart. You can smell the musky scent of himself on him, mixed with that familiar cologne of his, and you breathe a sigh.

“Take this off f’r me.” He mumbles against your skin, sliding your his hoodie up your body.

Your body aches for this to continue, and John doesn't plan to disappoint, but he takes a moment to admire what's sprawled out in front of him. He lets out a satisfied smirk as he pulls you closer by your thighs. He's undone his belt and shrugged out of his jeans in no time.

You pull his shirt off over his head before you close your eyes and tilt your head to give him easier access to kiss your neck.

His scruffy beard tickles your neck, his calloused hands gripping your thigh and rubbing your slick, dripping pussy.

“So needy.” John observed as your back arched and your body squirmed at his touch. "Poor thing... No one's been keepin’ you satisfied, hm?”

You shake your head a bit. You hate that he’s right. You hate that he can tell. That he knows you too well.

But he’s right; no random Tinder hookup and no blind date that your friends have set you up with could ever compare to your ex husband.

“Should’a told me...” He murmurs as he leans lower, positioning his head in between your thighs, pressing desperate kisses to your aching clit.

He’s got you figured out completely. He’s always been good at that.

A smile forms as his hands move to grip your thighs. He lets out a quiet groan as your legs instinctively clamp around his head. The look of his veiny hands gripping your plushy thighs with that damn wedding band still around his finger is doing things to you.

His tongue slowly plays in circular motions, teasing you, loving the game. He takes his time, enjoying himself, as you continue to squeeze your thighs against his head. Hell, he’d let you suffocate him if it meant he could eat your pussy this one last time.

You try not to, but you let out a desperate moan of pleasure. He knew exactly what you like, exactly where to lick, exactly where to kiss, exactly where to nibble.

Damn him.

“You sound s’pretty, lovey. S’pretty f’r me.” He pants, his praise ending with a whimper.

Your eyes roll back. Fuck, he has you. He knows he has you. Your moans and whimpers are uncontrollable as he picks up the pace, all but slamming his thick cock into your pretty little hole.

You’re his, and he knows it, and in the moment, it’s true. Just him. Just you. The rest doesn’t matter right now.

John pulls out for just a moment while he swiftly flips you over, roughly gripping your hips and pulling your backside into him. He’s got the angle just right now, and your breath catches in your throat, followed by a needy whimper.

“Mine… All mine… Isn’t that right?” He whispers, more of a command than a question.

Your face is pressed against the mattress as John’s grip on your hips tighten. This angle, this position, John is so familiar with it. He knows what it does to you. He knows the way it makes you respond.

John lets out a loud groan as your whimpers and moans get more needy, desperate. He knows that you’re about to come.

He finishes right then and there, along with you.

You gasp a bit, surprised by the synchronization. Should you really be surprised, though? Only he would know your body like that. You’re his. He’s yours.

John slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, lying on the bed and pulling you into his chest. His hand grabs your thigh, draping your leg around his waist in an attempt to hold you closer.

He lets out a few deep breaths, letting the adrenaline and endorphins just fade away. Neither of you wants to move right now, both just content being in each other’s arms. Both content feeling the heat of each other’s bodies, just listening to each other breathing.

“Better than I remembered it.” John murmurs, his voice laced with a smirk.

You catch John’s left hand after he reached up to push your sweaty hair from your forehead. You hold it in yours, playing a bit with the wedding band.

next >>

[sleepingdead96]

Prepared for Anything

Part 2, MasterPost

Danny stared at the ceiling, bored, as the creepy clown laughed manically at a camera. Danny hadn’t been in this dimension for two minutes, (he’d portalled directly into Joker’s hideout) before he was promptly tied to a chair. He could get out of it easily.

Thing was, there were others here, restrained more thoroughly than Danny. They wore colourful, armoured suits and were obviously the vigilantes/heroes of this. . .place—Gotham? Danny’d heard the name mentioned a few times now—This Freakshow wannabe was obviously one of their villains. 

Danny had been hoping someone would show up without having to draw attention to himself. What was this dimension’s stance on halfas? Or ghosts?

But no one had come yet, it had been an hour, and he was getting stiff from sitting here so long without being able to move his limbs.

Danny heaved a loud, exasperated sigh-groan at the ceiling. The guy, face-painted like a toddler who’d gotten into their parent’s make-up, suddenly stopped monologuing. 

Good. It was getting annoying.

“Are you done yet?” Danny complained much like the impatient teenager he was. “I’ve got crap to do, wrap it up, would you?”

Danny came here to explore. He was not exploring. He should be exploring and it was all this dude’s fault.

Danny supposed he could go all ghost on him and bounce, but he came all this way. It wasn’t much of hassle, but still. Danny was stubborn. He knew this.

The warehouse was silent. The creepo wasn’t talking, anymore, he wasn’t doing anything, and Danny deigned to lift his head from where it’d been thrown back on the chair.

The costumed people were looking at him in horror.

Danny wasn’t sure why.

The walking fashion disaster began to cackle with condescending amusement.

Yeah, okay, whatever.

Danny ignored the man’s delve into something about Danny’s impending doom, or threatening him with pain, and something, something, something. Something about broken this, burning that, yada, yada yada, when Danny got an idea.

Behind the chair where his hands were bound, knowing no one was behind him, he quietly broke the ropes on his wrists. The vigilantes—a red one with bandoliers crossing over his chest and one who wore a largely grey and black suit with an R emblem on the left side of his chest—were valiantly trying to dissuade the psycho to leave Danny alone, who now realized the said psycho was coming towards him, carrying a crowbar.

How original.

The Joker, as Danny heard someone call him at some point, he’s not sure when, leaned in close. His breath stank. 

Danny made a disgusted face. “Do you not brush your teeth at all? Gross, dude.”

“You won’t be mak—“

Danny punched him in the jaw. The guy went down pretty easily. 

Danny made an annoyed noise as he bent down to untie his ankles from the chair legs. He muttered to himself. “Stupid villains, always gotta get in the way, why can’t I just have one nice vacation, huh?”

“How did you do that?” 

Danny looked up at the red one. “Do what?” He asked, standing and stretching with satisfying pops.

“Get free.”

“Oh. . .” Danny reached into his hoodie sleeve and pulled out a small hand saw. He guessed he coulda used a knife, but it was the first thing he'd thought of.

The guy spluttered. “You just keep a saw in your sleeve?”

“Yep.” Danny popped the P. No need for them to know he can make portals. As tiny as needed. “You guys want help out of those, or what?” Danny gestured to the chains keeping the two bound on the floor.

“No, Joker’s goons outside probably has the keys, we have back-up. . . .coming. . . .where did you get that?”

Danny didn’t miss a beat as he crouched to get a grip on the chain with the large pair of bolt cutters. “Ah, ya know, never leave home without a good pair of bolt cutters.” He offered. The room they were in was pretty bare, saying he found it “lying around” wouldn’t work. It’d be pretty obvious.

“That is absurd.” The younger one said. “Where did they come from?”

Danny snapped the red one free and moved onto the angry eyebrows one. How did they still emote so well through those masks? “Just had it on hand.”

“But wh—“

“Oh look! There ya go! I gotta go, nice being held hostage with y'all.” Danny ignored their calls for him, climbing out of the nearest window and disappearing.

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; you make coriolanus feel like he's losing control.

pairing ; peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader

notes ; nothing just a whole bunch of fluff honestly. and i'm not even going to lie... i loved writing this one. i don't think i've written anything as fast as i wrote this bc it truly just flew out of me. this man really has me acting up and i am so here for it.

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

coriolanus snow was never one to let himself be vulnerable in the eyes of another, and for as long as you had known him there was one thing you were always certain of, he had to be in control. he depended on it. craved it. the thought alone, of everything slipping from his grasp and not going to plan, made his head swirl and his skin crawl. 

so when he met you, he began to question himself. question everything he had been working for, everything he had been fighting for, as you slowly wiggled your way into his heart. he was taken by you, and that scared him. 

you were a breath of fresh air in his carefully curated world, a burst of colour amidst the struggles of his life. your spontaneity and liveliness enchanted him, capturing his attention and leaving him craving more. he had never felt this way about anything before. 

as you sat there in the beauty of the meadow, a gentle breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of the wildflowers. the sunlight streamed through the canopy of leaves above, painting a warm hue across everything it touched. the tranquillity of it all enveloped you, filling your heart with a sense of contentment.

you and coriolanus were close together on an old picnic blanket you had found, not needing any words to communicate as you took in the peacefulness. his presence alone was enough to make you feel safe and at ease.

you watch on as his fingers trail through the grass, stopping when he comes across a dandelion, and plucks it from its root, “it certainly doesn’t compare to the roses grandma’am grows.”

“some people think of them as weeds, but not me. i think they’re beautiful all the same,” you add, bringing a smile to each of your faces, and take the flower from his hands. “in some ways, i feel just like them; a weed in a world where i should be seen as more.”

coriolanus observes you as you take a closer look at the small flower, appreciating its simple beauty. the yellow, though not as vibrant as a rose, held its own charm. you don’t hold it for long before he takes it back, twirling it with his thumb and forefinger. 

he stares at the flower for a moment before reaching to brush the stem behind your ear, his fingers then lingering as he trails them along the line of your jaw, sending a surge of emotions down your spine. you smile at him, it’s all you could do. if you spoke you weren’t sure what jumbled mess was sure to spew out. 

you bring your hand up to meet his, intertwining your fingers as you lean into his touch. his eyes bore into you, taking you in, appreciating your features under the sunlight. 

“look what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, as if it were some unspoken secret. which, in your case, it was. 

intrigued by his statement, you perk up, “and what exactly is it that i’ve done to you, coriolanus snow?” 

you watch him intently as he opens his mouth to speak, a thought lingering in his mind before he stops and lets his head fall between his shoulders instead. his silence is heavy, lingering in the air between you. you can almost feel the weight of the unspoken words pressing against your skin. 

you reach out tentatively, your hand hovering just inches from his, wanting desperately to bridge the distance but afraid of intruding. the two of you have always shared a deep connection, but something feels different today. something is weighing him down, and you yearn to understand. 

as he continues to fiddle absentmindedly with a blade of grass, you can see that his mind is working overtime. thoughts and feelings swirl like a whirlwind, causing his brow to furrow and his grip on the grass to tighten. 

eventually, he looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty. two things coriolanus liked to keep to himself. 

it’s then that you decide to break the silence. “what’s wrong, my love?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, you know.”

he looks at you, gratitude mingling with a wisp of fear in his eyes. whatever it was bothering him, you could see that it was taking its toll, and you simply wanted to take him in your arms and kiss it all away, but you knew that that wouldn’t help. 

“i don’t know what i’m doing anymore,” he finally answers. “i feel like i’m losing track of who i am and what i want, what i’ve always wanted, the longer i’m out here.”

“things can change, coriolanus, and you don’t always have to live up to others' expectations of you. especially, your own. so long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.” his gaze falls from yours once again, but you refuse to let him suffer in silence anymore. so you reach for him, gathering his face between your fingers and pull him back towards you. “is it really such a bad thing? you get to be here with me.”

“that’s exactly the problem,” he admits, and your breath hitches momentarily as you wait for him to elaborate. “you make me feel like i’m losing control.”

for so long coriolanus had been bound by societal expectations and concerned with maintaining a pristine reputation. he had become so accustomed to a life ruled by rigid schedules and strict rules, never allowing himself to deviate from the norm. 

but with you, everything changed. 

you were afraid to ask, but you knew you had to, for your own piece of mind. “is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

he reaches to touch your face this time, your hands falling from his, and he pulls you closer towards him until your faces were merely a couple inches apart. “i have never felt so free, and yet, so scared in my life.”

“is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” you ask the question a second time, this time with more hesitancy as your voice shakes slightly. 

“it’s the best thing.” tears well up in your eyes as his words sink in. you never imagined that you could have such a profound impact on someone’s life, let alone someone as lost and conflicted as he was. “you’re my wildflower, and while i might not have been looking for you, i certainly found you where i least expected it.”

he smiles, his hands caressing your cheeks, as your heart thrums loudly in your chest, overjoyed and so full of love. leaning forward, you close the space between you, pressing a tender kiss to his lips, so full of passion that it almost envelopes you completely. 

you had brought coriolanus a sense of newfound freedom, showing him the beauty of embracing life’s uncertainties and every unpredictable moment. your spirit was infectious, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to your untamed soul. 

as he fell deeper in love with you, he realised that his heart yearned for the wildness and unpredictability you offered. he saw the vibrant world through your eyes, letting go of his inhibitions and stepping out of his comfort zone. 

you became his wildflower, a symbol of untamed beauty and unapologetic love. 

as you hold each other close, only pulling away to catch your breath, but not daring to pull away too far, coriolanus runs his thumb across your bottom lip. then, with his voice filled with tenderness and newfound appreciation, he whispers, “my wildflower.”

[soulofapatrick]

Rebuilding - Derek Hale x female reader

Summary: You show Derek the rebuilt Hale House you did for him

Words: 1.8k

warnings: none really; heavy making out

Notes: I can make a smutty part two

Y/N’s POV

The old Hale House had stood as a haunting reminder of the past, a testament to the tragedy and loss the family had endured. But now, it has been transformed into something new, something hopeful. With the combined effort of the pack and my Dad, it had become a symbol of rebirth and unity, a mansion that has welcomed every member with open arms and spare rooms for new pack members. 

As I stand in front of the restored mansion, I can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Derek, who had once lived here in its glory days, deserves to see what I’ve done to the place. He’s been through so much, and I wanted this surprise to be a new beginning for him… for us hopefully. 

The anticipation in the air is palpable, and I can’t help but fidget with the key in my hand as I wait for Derek. The old Hale House, bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, seems to hold its breath in eager anticipation of his arrival. And then, I hear it - the familiar purr of Derek’s car engine. It’s a sound that I’ve come to associate with his arrival, and my heart quickens in response. The car pulls down the long, winding driveway, and I keep staring at the house, my hands shaking a little as I fiddle with the keys. 

Suddenly, there he is. Derek appears beside me, his tall, brooding frame casting a shadow on the gravel driveway. He looks rugged and handsome as ever, with that alluring air of mystery that has always drawn me to him. His dark brows are furrowed in curiosity and confusion, his eyes scanning the mansion before us as if he’s trying to work out where we are. It makes my heart drop as he doesn’t recognise it despite me trying to keep it as near as I can to the original Hale house. 

But then, something remarkable happens. As his eyes roam over the mansion’s exterior, his brows furrow even deeper, and then there’s a hint of disbelief in his expression. It’s as if the familiarity of the place has begun to dawn on him, piece by piece. The realisation hits him like a tidal wave. His kaleidoscope eyes widen, and a gasps escapes his pretty and plump lips, “Is… is this….?” His voice trembles with emotion, and for a moment, he can’t seem to find the words. 

I hold out the keys for him and he looks between the house and the keys and then back at the house, “I can’t… I… can you…” His voice falters, and it’s clear that he’s fighting back tears, the enormity of the moment almost too much to bear. Without a word, I’m nodding and reaching for his trembling hands. Our fingers interlace, and with a gentle squeeze, I lead him towards the grand entrance. 

Derek’s eyes remain locked onto the mansion, his disbelief and wonder still etched across his features. But he doesn’t need to say anything more for me to understand the whirlwind of emotions storming within him. 

I turn the key in the lock, my own fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The door swings open, revealing the lovingly restored interior. The warm, golden light spills into the entryway, painting a new chapter on the old canvas of the Hale House. The grand entrance is now invitingly open, Derek taking a step forwards. His presence is so close to me that his chest is practically pressed against my back. The feel of him so near is electrifying, and it sends a shiver down my spine. 

“Welcome home Derek.” I say, my voice a soft, heartfelt whisper, as we cross the threshold together. 

The atmosphere inside is a mixture of nostalgia and fresh beginnings. The original features of the Hale House have been preserved, the hardwood floors polished, the walls adorned with artworks from the pack. The spaciousness of the rooms has been maintained, yet there’s a sense of cozy warmth that wasn’t there before. 

Derek’s gaze dances the space, a mixture of awe and sentimentality reflected in his expressive eyes. He appreciates the care and attention that went into preserving the essence of the house he called home. 

Then, he grabs my hands again with a gentle yet firm grip, leading me through the echoing halls as the pack gave us the house for Derek to see alone.  It’s a touch that sends a rush of warmth through me, the electricity of his touch palatable. We move through the house, our footsteps echoing, and Derek’s strides confident, as if he’s revisiting his own memories. 

As we ender the kitchen, Derek stops in his tracks. A soft, almost reverent sound escapes him, and his eyes widen again as he takes in the layout. It’s practically identical to the original Hale House kitchen, meticulously restored to match his recollections with the help of creepy uncle Peter. 

His grip on my hand tightens, and he turns to me, his expression filled with amazement, “This… it’s just like I remember it.” He says, his vice soft and filed with wonder, “You’ve brought it all back to life.” 

I can’t help but smile at his reaction. The kitchen holds countless memories for him, both happy and bittersweet, and seeing it so faithfully restored means the world to him. "We wanted it to feel like home," I reply, my voice equally hushed, knowing how much this place means to him. Derek’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, his touch conveying the depth of his gratitude. It’s a silent exchange of emotions, the unspoken understanding between us.

And then, something changes in the air. Derek turns to me, his kaleidoscope eyes now shining with warmth and something else, something that sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. His gaze flits down my lips, and in response, I can’t help but wet them with my tongue, suddenly feeling acutely aware of their dryness. It draws a small sound from Derek’s throat, low and almost involuntary, a testament to the magnetic pull between us. He leans in, closing the distance between our lips with a purposeful intent. Our mouths meet in a soft, longing kiss, a silent declaration of the emotions that have simmered between us for so long. 

His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a deliberate tenderness. I can feel the gentle, rhythmic movement of his mouth, each touch setting my heart racing. There’s a hint of urgency in his kiss, a desire that has been simmering just beneath the surface. Derek’s hands finding their way to my waist, holding e close as if he never wants to let me go. The touch of his fingertips against my skin sends shivers down my spine, and I press my body closer to his, wanting to feel every inch of him. 

My own hands move to rest on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath my touch. They gradually work their way up, entwining in his shirt, wanting to pull him closer still. The connection between us deepens with every passing second, a silent confirmation of the emotions we’ve held back fr so long. 

Derek’s hands, which had been gently holding my waist, suddenly tighten their grip and before I can react, he’s lifting me up with a powerful yet careful motion. My legs instinctively wrap around this waist as he sets me on the edge of the kitchen island, never once breaking the kiss. 

Our lips remain locked in a heated embrace, a heated embrace, a testament to the fiery passion that's been ignited between us. Derek's tongue brushes over my lips, seeking entrance, and without hesitation, I part them, with a small, embracing sound escaping my lips which he swallows, tongue slipping past my lips. It's a dance of desire, a clash of longing, and a melding of two souls that have been drawn together by an irresistible force. Our mouths move with a shared urgency, each kiss deeper and more consuming than the last.

As our tongues explore and intertwine, Derek’s grip on my hips tightens, pulling me closer until I’m arched on the edge of the kitchen island. The sensation of his body pressed against mine is electrifying, sending heat down south where I’m pressed against his growing problem. It has my thighs tightening around him, hips jerking a little and drawing sounds from both of us. 

Finally our lips part, but only slightly, our foreheads resting against each other as we catch our breath. Derek’s voice is a husky whisper, filled with raw desire, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He confesses, his words heavy with yearning, “ I couldn’t keep it in any longer.” 

My heart flutters at his admission, and I look into his kaleidoscope eyes, my own filled with the same longing, “Der…” I breathe, “I’ve felt the same way. I’ve wanted this as much as you have.” 

His lips find mine again, and the kiss that follows is fierce and fervent, a passionate culmination of our unspoken desires. It's a promise, a declaration, and a celebration of the love that has finally been acknowledged. 

But then, Derek's lips trail down from mine to my neck, and his kisses ignite a trail of fire across my skin. I gasp as his mouth leaves a mark, a fervent, possessive hickey, and another one right beside it. Each one is a silent proclamation of his desire, a mark of his longing for me. As Derek's kisses continue to trail down my neck, I gasp and my fingers clutch at his shoulders. The sensation is almost too much to bear, the heat of his mouth leaving a trail of fire across my skin, marked by possessive hickeys.

“Y/N,” He murmurs breathlessly voice heavy with desire, “If we don’t stop, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He pulls away slightly, his eyes dark and smouldering now and he lets out a low and sensual chuckle when an embarrassing moan escapes me. 

“Maybe…” I have to clear my throat, “Maybe we should check out your room.” My heart is racing as I say it, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and desire, eager to hear his response but also somewhat ready for the rejection. 

Instead, he groans, head falling to my shoulder before he growls out, “Don’t… don’t say things like that baby girl.” I stay silent, knowing there’s more and he kissing my collarbone sweetly before murmuring, “But, I think it’s a very, very good idea.”

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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Teen Wolf Masterlist

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@bellabadacadabra

[epiicaricacy-arts]

oh we’re still so young, desperate for attention

this was super experimental so i will talk about my process (+ clearer version) under the cut

i’ve been looking at a lot of “messier” or more textured painting styles recently and an artist that stuck out to me is clariondeluna ! they posted a self-portrait recently that i really liked and i was super interested in the brushwork seen in their work. i love all the textures and how the shapes feel so loose yet everything is so detailed.

that’s not a method for me at all!!!! i cannot paint like that at all and the stuff i like to paint is very different to theirs. which is okay!!!! i had no intention to copy this artists style so closely like with what i tried to do in my raiden painting, i just wanted to try this style out :^)

it’s been a goal of mine to avoid over-rendering like i tend to do a lot, and i think i’ve been doing good with that recently! the mindset i’ve got going on right now is that if i find myself staring at it too hard for too long, i have to leave it and move on. if there’s still something wrong with it, i can fix it later once ive got a fresh view!

i’ve been trying a lot of things with my art this year. i always try to challenge myself with each piece, and to end the year off i wanted to be as uncomfortable as i possibly could be with this painting. i let myself draw whatever i wanted because i still wanted to enjoy it, but everything i did in this process was new, including parts of the subject matter.

i’ve never drawn a head at an angle like this, and i struggle with drawing mouths open. i don’t do bold lighting like this, and if i do, it’s not fire. i’ve never drawn fire! i also rarely work with warm colours and i hate using green, so i combined those to be my colour palette. i like working cleanly so instead of having a dozen different layers for one section, each section only had 1-2 layers for rendering. instead of clipping masks i would simply paint over things loosely and clean it up later. i never like having limbs cut off in a drawing so i had his other arm go GOD knows where. i don’t like weird patterned backgrounds so i made myself figure out how to like it!

IS THIS MY FAVOURITE PIECE OF ALL TIME. no. absolutely not. but i’m very proud of how this came out with all the challenges i put on myself. i WANTED to get better at these things and be more broad with my art, both in terms of the styles and subjects i portray.

okay let’s talk about wtf this drawing is

for those who don’t know, the design in this painting is my fatui/“Father” lyney fan design (read the design post here). the concept isnt super complicated and i don’t really have much explanation for it, but i wanted to combine the story of how lyney wanted a delusion before getting his vision, fire eating circus acts and how olympic medalists will bite their medal to prove it’s real??? don’t quote me on that i’m like 75% sure that’s a thing that happens. i don’t watch sports though so im just believing someone i heard on the internet ages ago.

anyways. i think fire eating acts are cool. and i think the fact that lyney wanted a delusion is very interesting to me. scratches my brain in the right places. and yk as a magician lyneys character revolves a lot around fooling people and creating illusions so i guess what im saying here is that lyney is trying to prove to himself that this power he’s been bestowed is real. bc his whole life his only constant has been lynette so he is trying to see if he can trust this new power. cause i guess this is an alternate universe where lyney does eventually become “Father” but he never got his vision ??? idk im not making lore for this i just wanted to dress up this funny little guy.

ok i’m done

thanks for reading

here’s my dog

[issi-loves-dannyric]

Your beauty never scared me - Charles leclerc x reader

Warnings- none except for bad grammar

Charles has been around many models but none of them compared to y/n.

Y/n and charles had been best friends, so when he got into f1, she was happy for him. going to races until it became hard on her, Deep down he understood but he was hurt nonetheless. His head telling him, "She's supposed to support me every race, she's my best friend " leaving a bitter feeling in him.

After that conversation Charles gave up on asking her to come to races and started to avoid her.

And the truth of the matter is I never let you go

Y/nofficial

Liked by LandoNorris, DanielRicciardo, Carlossainz55 and 800,760 others

One of the two pieces I’ve been working on. Second piece’s inspiration left so might not ever get it.

User1: I need to be talented like you

LandoNorris: absolutely beautiful

Y/nofficial: Thank you Lan❤️

User2: YN wym inspiration left???

-User3: that’s what I’m saying

-user4: her and Charles haven’t been seen together in a while…

-user5: maybe they been busy(I’m crying)

Danielricciardo: stunning ❤️

Y/nofficial: thank you Danny❤️

Carlossainz55: Miss you but love seeing more of your art.

Y/nofficial: pick one sir☝️

Carlossainz55: just one race won’t hurt, maybe will bring back your inspiration.

Y/nofficial: soon 🙄

User6: y/n back in the paddock soonn

User7: more y/n Charles content

User8: girl is delusional (me too)

-There was no text or anything from Charles, it’s my fault for not being able to manage my time well but when I’m with him, it’s just easy to forget time even exist.

Y/nofficial: couldn’t leave you guys hanging while it was almost done. My inspiration changed so I changed the painting a bit. One for my person collection now.

User1: I’m not crying, I’m not crying

User2: WYM CHANGED

User3: did her aesthetics change dramatically?

-user4:yeah…

Carlossainz55: Amazing❤️

-liked by Y/nofficial

LandoNorris: You amaze me❤️

Liked by Y/nofficial

User5: maybe I’m delulu but Y/n hasn’t responded to other drivers

-user6: don’t make me cry (already am)

User7: WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT HOW THAT WAS THEIR HUG WHEN HE WON HIS FIRST GP

-user8:WAIT

-user9: she was working on painting their hug before he ditched…im crying so hard

The knock on the door interrupts me staring at whatever show was on. Opening the door, I move to side letting him in.

“For you” he says while holding out peonies, taking them from him I walk into the kitchen to set them up.

“I’m sorry for how I acted.” He starts carefully watching as I grab a glass vase.

“Yeah you’ve said you’re sorry but I want to know why instead of talking…you ignored me completely.” I calmly tell him, walking past him with the vase I start shuffling the flowers around to avoid looking at him.

“I missed you”

“You texted me everyday” I reply finally leaving the flowers alone, looking at him.

“I missed having you there”

“I’m still confused” I confessed finally just walking away from him back to where I had been sitting.

“I know, I’m sorry” he pauses sitting down next to me“I just…just have feelings for you so I was overthinking if you actually were working on painting or on a date.”

“Charles you should’ve said something”

“What do you mean”

“The painting I did was of your first F1 win”

“Yeah”

“The picture people took of our hug…” trailing off hoping he catches on soon

“Charles oh my god” I sigh looking at his confused puppy dog eyes, “ I have feelings for an idiot” smiling as he connects the dots. Putting his hand under my chin, he presses his lips to mine.

“I’ve wanted to do that for the past year” he says pulling away.

“Could’ve done it sooner” I reply.

Liked by Carlossainz55, y/nofficial and 6,300,899 others

Charles_leclerc: Her beauty never ever scared me

Y/nofficial: My love❤️

Carlossainz55: Finally

-danielricciardo: finally

-LewisHamilton44: finally

-charles_leclerc: shut up

Y/nofficial: You will never walk alone, you can always reach me

Charles_Leclerc: my love why that picture

-y/nofficial: I do what I want

Carlossainz55: finally

-danielricciardo: finally

-lewishamilton44: finally

-landoNorris: finally

-Charles_leclerc: shut up please

A/n: wrote this on my phone but will edit on my pc when I’m home from work

[yandere-sins]

Prisoner #006

a/n: A spin on the usual yandere situation, but this story has been sitting in my drafts for a while, I think it's time to release it ^^

Fandom: Genshin Impact Characters: Yandere!Prisoner!GN!Reader x Prisoner!Kaveh Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Reader is being psycho, lost of mentioning of murder and death, Reader stabs someone... a few times, Scratching, Intimidation, Threats, Cornering and intruding on personal space), Long Post

[Prison Project Introduction | Pinterest Moodboard]

Kaveh should have been afraid.

Deep down, he believed he wasn't as stupid and gullible as everyone made him out to be, and yet, he sat still as you drew meaningless little patterns into his skin. The stolen pen scratched over his arm, leaving the area next to the ink red and agitated, but he didn't have it in him to tell you to stop.

You've been a depressed mess since you came to prison, not your typical murderer behind bars. He'd been dealing with a lot of them, and if they weren't the psychotic type, they were haughty and always up for cruel jokes.

But not you. You were... peaceful.

Even when you cried and begged him not to hurt you after you've been brought to his cell despite his protests, the air around you was calm. Unlike the storm of personalities outside the bars of your cell, Kaveh actually managed to think in peace when he was around you. He had learned to navigate and time his way around the prison. Still, with the ruckus and disgusting things happening in the shadowy corners, there was never any space for him to let go and relax for a while—until he met you.

The knowledge about your prolific murders should have upset him enough to keep his distance, but you reminded him too much of himself when he first came here. Scared and unable to go anywhere without being harassed by the others. You clung to him desperately when he told you to tag along to the cafeteria on your first night, and you still asked him to go to the washrooms with you for safety. Kaveh couldn't blame you for being scared. It was a scary world, outside and inside of this prison.

So even though he knew about your wrong-doings, he let you scribble your marks on him in ink. You were humming a song he hadn't heard before, your mind in your own world as you left butterfly wings and flower petals on his skin, and Kaveh honestly had no complaints. Coming here, art had become sparse around him, the radio rarely running, the TV filled with sports but never dancing or acting. The paintings on the walls leading to the facilities were, frankly, hideous copies of capitalistic emphasis, and the prison layout was a smack in the face of any architect.

And then there was you. Not a Picasso per definition, but you drew the patterns effortlessly, unbothered by pressure to perform and perfectionism. Every stroke of the ballpoint pen was all you, not a style you worked to learn or something you copied from another artist. It was all and truly just you. Kaveh had no idea how much he could admire someone—even someone as terrible as you. But he did.

"Let's leave from here. Together."

The words slipped from his lips before he could even think about them. Alhaitham's plan of escaping was still fresh, depending on some hacker he met in this prison, and Kaveh should have never talked about it so casually. He couldn't promise it, couldn't say it would actually work. But when you stopped scribbling, he realized his mistake, looking up at you in horror over his own blabbermouth.

Only to be met with tears streaming from your eyes.

"You'd take me with you? After all I've done?" you mumbled, rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes.

"You... you didn't do it to me. We could start over, somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows our faces and just... live. Quietly and unknown. Only if you want to come... with me."

For a long moment, you stared at him. Unblinking, unreadable. Your arms were thrown forward, wrapping around his neck before your whole body jumped into his lap, discarding the pen and leaving it to clatter on the floor. "Yes!" you agreed euphorically, smiling from ear to ear.

Kaveh felt the heat rush into his face, happiness prickling in the corners of his eyes as he hugged you back. It almost felt like you agreed to marry him, rather than just join him on the escape. But he knew then that he'd work hard to become the man you needed in the future. Someone reliable, someone who could provide you with a life that wouldn't need you killing anybody anymore. So that the dream of you two living together in peace could become reality.

«──────── 🗡♡ ︎𓍝 ────────»

Kaveh should have been afraid.

Deep down, he was as stupid and gullible as everyone told him. He believed that you could turn over a new leaf. Running away with you could become a new start, different from the pitiful life you two had. That the two of you could live away from cruelty and bloodshed, in peace and quiet and togetherness.

And yet, he was staring down at the cold-blooded killer he fell in love with. Whose trap had been placed so subtly that Kaveh ran right into it. He didn't even know you had a knife ready on the day of your escape, and there was no one left—alive—aside from you two to turn to. Everyone who had fled had spread into different directions, and now it was only him and you and the dead corpses of the police that had caught up to you.

It was his fault, entirely so. They might have survived this encounter if he hadn't gotten close to you and you hadn't been convinced to run away with him. Had he not gotten himself caught, maybe you wouldn't have turned back to help him and had kept running instead, far, far away. Perhaps you wouldn't have pulled out your blade and killed these innocent men who were only doing their job to keep unruly people away from society. That kept psychos like you away from more victims to massacre.

"[Name]..." Kaveh stammered, not believing his own, wide-open eyes. The hand he was holding out towards you was shaking violently as he watched you slam the knife into the policeman's back again and again, blood spraying all over you and the squelching sound of flesh being stabbed echoing through the forest. Somehow, he had gotten back on his feet after being tackled to the ground. However, now that he had to watch you defend him so violently, Kaveh wished he had stayed face-down in the dirt.

"GET YOUR HAND OFF HIM! HE'S MINE!" you kept yelling at the dead body, and Kaveh couldn't help but feel pity for the guy as you mauled him. "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! HE BELONGS TO ME! HE'S MINE! MINE!"

Your voice was a screech in the dark, possessiveness thrumming in every word you screamed. Even if you two had grown closer the last few days, Kaveh couldn't understand your thoughts. Although you had protected him, seeing the blood drip off you in the moonlight only sent shivers down his spine rather than thankfulness. And where he felt a crush bloom in his heart before, there was nothing but terror and disgust left.

"[Name]--" he tried again, this time a little firmer as he grabbed your shoulder.

Instantly, you whirled around, fury and madness in your eyes. The bloody blade swiped up his arms, cutting up the beautifully drawn pattern left by you. Kaveh knew it was just an accident, but he couldn't help but yell, "Ow!" holding his own arm firmly against his chest as he stared at you fearfully. Stumbling back, he tripped over a root, the pain of collapsing to the ground shaking him, but fear forced him to keep watching you. What if he was your next victim? Nothing about you screamed trustworthy, and yet, when you came to your senses, you changed completely.

Suddenly, your body went slack, eyes swelling up with tears as you looked at him. "Kaveh!" you sobbed, the knife falling to the ground as you stumbled to your feet, knees buckling so you collapsed into the dirt before him. You stretched out your arms, but this time, Kaveh managed to jerk away, avoiding your blood-soaked hug.

However, you were just a little faster than him. A little more alert. You managed to grab the wounded arm, your tears stinging as they fell into his wound. Leaning over his limb, you cried bitterly, but Kaveh couldn't help but try and tug his arm from your hands. Immediately, your crying stopped, fingers clawing into your skin as he tried to get you off him—no success.

"You can't leave me!" you sobbed, looking up with tears in your eyes. Manipulative tears, as Kaveh began to realize, the reality starting to dawn on him. "I love you! We'll have a life together! We'll go somewhere no one knows us! I won't kill again, I promise! I just didn't want them to hurt you... I wanted them to leave you alone! I won't do it again, I can be harmless, I promise!"

His gut wrenched, hearing you throw his words back at him. Now knowing how easy it was for you to end someone's life, how much of a crazy person you really were, it felt like he was the one that had been gutted. Maybe everything would be fine this time, but Kaveh couldn't justify it with himself to find out. Your hands were already so bloody; no trying to pretend you were normal was going to wash away your sins. At least he never killed someone. He couldn't imagine someone doing it as easily as you had, not even thinking twice before attacking.

"N-No..." he stammered, unable to put all these feelings into words.

"No?" you repeated, the tears stopping suddenly. "What do you mean 'no'? I saved you, didn't I? Without me, you'd be the dead one!"

Your tone changed so quickly that it scared him to the bone. The fire started back up in your eyes as you glared at him. Kaveh felt your nails dig into his arm, tearing apart layers of skin as your anger turned towards him.

"You won't leave me! You can't leave me!"

With your voice raising back into screeching, Kaveh shuddered, eyeing the knife that laid out of reach. You didn't need it, your nails cutting into his flesh just as painfully. Fear was mangling every muscle in his body, making them tense and tainting his judgment.

"O-okay," he stuttered out, and immediately, the pressure vanished. Your shoulders slacked, and a smile crept back on your lips as you whispered, "Thank god..."

You hunched over his wounded arm, now punctured by your nails and the cut starting to dry up. The next thing Kaveh felt was wetness wiping over his wounds, your tongue lapping off the blood that stained him, whether it was his or the one dripping from you.

"I love you," you mumbled while licking. "I love you, Kaveh. You're so nice, so sweet. You're perfect, and you're mine. All mine. Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh..."

Looking down at the unsightly view before him, Kaveh couldn't help but pity himself. Had he known what he got himself into, could he have prevented this? Which version of you had been the real one, and had you pretended to be sweet and shy, tricking him into this all this time? Or was it real? So many questions and so few answers. All he could think of was how he had been scammed yet again as he watched the ink smear from your licking, the beautifully drawn butterflies vanishing alongside those in his belly, all of them dropping dead.

And now, Kaveh was afraid.

[moonchildxoxx]

Fated Encounter

Author’s note : hey guy it’s been a hot minute life’s been hell lately but here’s a little something until I have another prompt done which please send them in I’ve lost my whole inbox except 2 requests

When So’lek arrived to the resistance main camp he was told that someone from the Omatikaya clan had come to speak to get more information and they were outside in one of the caves waiting for him. When he arrived to the cave the female had a fire going cutting some fruit . Without looking up she spoke “ you are the one leading the resistance on the western frontier?” Spoke the female

“Yes , how did you find our location?”So'lek asked. “The Aranahe pointed me in the right direction “she answered. She offered him some of the fruit she was cutting. He leaned back in his seat and picked at the fruit she had given him as he considered her answer. “ we wish to work with your group out tactics are working but it would be better if we worked together “ It made sense why she was here then.

"How long are you staying?" He asked, getting more and more curious about her purpose being here . “ a few days at least to go over what we have been doing and what are your groups plans So'lek nodded again. This answer didn't completely satisfy him, but he decided against pressing her further for the time being.

”This fruit was very good, thank you." He picked out another piece of fruit and bit into it. She finally looked up at him but did not answer him He could tell she was still watching him. "What are you looking at?" he said with his mouth full of fruit.

"You look familiar, " she spoke softly.

So'lek raised an eyebrow as he swallowed the fruit. "How so?" He didn't quite believe her. How could he look familiar to her?

Maybe she has seen another Na'vi like him. He waited for her answer, his eyes focused on her.

“The first attack of retaliation against the sky people’s mining” she spoke

So'lek's face completely changed. A new level of seriousness overcame him as he remembered the event she was talking about. "You were there?" He said, trying not to raise his voice.

The thought that someone he knew could still be alive after all this time never even crossed his mind. But he didn't want to get his hopes up. She might be referring to someone else.

"Y/N?" So'lek repeated the name with a solemn expression on his face. He looked at her with a hard stare, waiting for her to continue.

She removed paint off her face revealing the scar that went from the middle of her forehead to the tip of her left ear.So'lek looked shocked as her face was slowly revealed. It could not be.

"Y/N?" Is that you?" he said, still stunned. He sat up a bit straighter as he tried to get a better look at her face.

He hadn't seen her in years, so he didn't immediately recognize her.His voice was shaky as he spoke. What if it wasn't her and he was imagining things? That mark was just like her's, but he hadn't seen that mark in a long time.

Their eyes locked as she processed what she was seeing. He looked just the way she remembered. It couldn't be a coincidence. She had to make sure before getting her hopes up.

"Say the word you used to say to me when we were kids." She asked her voice barely above a whisper So'lek was stunned. He was not expecting her to recognize him so quickly. Her eyes were now tearing up as she looked at him.

He wasn't expecting her to ask him that though. He cleared his throat. "hi'i txe’lan." He whispered back to her. The name he has always used with her. He couldn't believe it either. All this time and she has returned. It was all he hoped for for so long. "It is you." He said after a moment.

After he spoke she let out a small gasp. He watched her expression shift as she confirmed that it was him. She couldn't hold in her emotions any longer as tears begin to fall. He had to wipe away his own tears as he looked at her.

"It's really you," she said as the tears continued to flow. "I lost hope that I would ever see you again," she continued, her voice choked. "But you are here." So'lek looked at her in amazement as tears freely fell down her cheeks. He too started to tear up again at her words. He had thought her lost for so long.

He slowly moved closer to her. The feeling of having her near was overwhelming in the best of ways. "Y/N it is really you." He embraced her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close, taking in her familiar scent. "I've missed you." He whispered in her ear before pulling away. He looked at her, trying to see the same friend that he had a childhood with. All the time they had played together. When their world had still been peaceful.

"I've missed you so much " she spoke lowly she raised her hand gently caressing his cheek

He looked down at her as she caressed his cheek with her soft hand. So'lek's eyes were locked on to every feature of her face, taking in every detail of her appearance again after so many seasons. He took a step closer, slowly pulling her hand towards his mouth so that he could kiss it. "After so many moons without seeing you." So'lek paused. He had so many things to tell her. He leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"I can't believe you remember that name ." He said softly after kissing her hand once again.

"I'd never forget oeyä tstew txe'lan" she replied

He gave a light chuckle as he heard her say those words again. She was remembering their childhood. "You remember it?" He said with a smile. He looked back at her and took her hand in his. So'lek thought back to the days when they would get lost in the tall bushes of their forest.

Where they would run around and play. Where the rest of the world didn't matter because it was just them against the world. "I never thought I would see you again." He said to her. "Not after those years."

"I stayed with the Omatikaya after I heard no word from you, their Olo'eyktan offered me a chance to join them, so I took it" He listened intently when she started speaking about her time with the Omatikaya clan and how she came to be here. "I tried to find our clan after the battle." So'lek said. He looked away as he recalled the painful memories. The images of the battle replayed in his mind. The death of his friends and family constantly flashed on his mind when he least expected it. "It's been too many moons without you." He said.

I’m sorry So’lek but I need to return meet with the rest of my group but I will come back okay?" She spoke. So'lek was surprised to hear that she was headed back so soon. He had so many things he wanted to talk to her about.

He nodded at her, "It's okay...when will I see you again?" he said, still a bit confused.

"Please remember to come back."So'lek held onto her hand, not letting go. "I've missed you."

"I will come back" she promised

So'lek looked a bit sad as she talked about needing to leave again. He wondered why she was already heading back to her clan. But So'lek reluctantly backed away and let go of her hand after she gathered the horse's reins. "Then I will see you soon." He said to her while staring at her softly. He looked away for a moment. Her visit had been a pleasant surprise, yet so quickly she was about to leave. He only wished he could have seen her for longer than just a day.

"Take care of yourself." He said to her. She had just returned and was already taking off again, just like how they lost each other all those seasons ago.She mounted her ikran and flew off.

Later that night she returned her belongings strapped to her ikran. So'lek was sitting outside his shelter when she had returned in the late night. He was looking at the stars when he noticed the sound of her ikran. He rose to his feet and approached her as she landed her ikran on the ground. "Y/N!" He called as he ran up to her. The sight of her was such a welcome sight at night. She had only spent a day with him, but seeing her was as good as gold. "I didn't think I would see you again so soon. What brings you back?" So'lek said with a big smile. "you did not really think I was going to leave you after being apart for so long now did you?" He chuckled as he looked at her. He was still surprised to see her again. He could hardly believe it. "Did you accomplish what you needed to?" So'lek asked, wondering about her trip.

"Yes and I also thanked them for accepting into the clan but it was time for me to find a new adventure "

So'lek nodded. "A new adventure you say?." So'lek was intrigued by this. "And what adventure would that be?" He slowly raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "Ma Solek being with You, did you really I would leave your side once I found you again oeyä tstew txe'lan ?" So'lek looked touched by her question.

The old familiar nickname that she always called him during his childhood. It was like he was a kid again hearing the nickname and her gentle smile.

He looked back at her and gave a faint smile. He was glad that she remembered and gave him a nickname again. "Ma Y/N. I didn't, and I don't want you to go. I want to be by your side, to be with you again in every season," so'lek said to her. "Good, now how about you tell me how you ended up with the all the way out here?".

He cleared his throat before continuing. "After all these moons of searching and not finding you or our clan, I settled down on the edge of the Aranahe land ." He took a deep breath.

He hesitated to tell her what had happened. "Then...one day this group came up to me . They were searching for more Na’vi to help the western frontier resistance. And I had no one else to turn to." So'lek explained.

"You felt a need for revenge and joined the resistance " she finished for him

So'lek froze in place at the mention of revenge. That word was like a dagger to his heart. It was painful to admit it aloud to her. But he couldn't deny it when she guessed it right. He slowly turned away and looked at the ground, ashamed to admit what happened next. All the time his heart was hardened and his soul taken over by the anger within him. "Yes, revenge is all I lived for at one time." He said without looking at her. It was a hard truth to admit aloud. He didn't want to tell her this.

She pressed their foreheads together. So'lek felt her forehead against his. He closed his eyes and sighed slightly. He looked back and returned the gesture to touch their foreheads together. Their bond was stronger than he could have imagined.

He looked back at her and smiled.

"Ma'Y/N." he said quietly. He had never been this close to her in their childhood. He was grateful for this moment now. So'lek just wanted to cherish the feeling of knowing she was next to him again. “ I am here “ she spoke gently

So'lek nodded to her words. He had her by his side again, the same feeling he felt during their childhood. They didn't need to talk about the past right now, He continued to smile as they were close to one another. They could continue to spend time together. So'lek looked down at her again. It felt like a dream. This moment being back with her. She chuckled softly just happy she had found him again So'lek looked back at her again. Seeing her laugh made him smile again.

He gently caressed the side of her face with his knuckles and pulled her closer to him slowly.

He wanted to hug her for all the seasons he lost without her. He wanted to feel her close to him again. So'lek just wanted to forget about the past and look at her. His long-lost friend, now so close to him again.

A few nights later So'lek and Saren were inside his shelter after it rained. He was cooking some dinner for him and Saren. The smell of food filled the room. They both sat in front of the fire that So'lek lit up on the side of the room. It was a cozy moment, them both sitting down on a rug in front of the fire.So'lek was smiling and looked over at her. This could be their chance to talk about what happened during their time apart. As She helped him prepare the meal she gently hummed a song from their clan one he had not herd another voice singing in almost two decades. So'lek was sitting on one knee as he cooked the ingredients. He listened intently to Y/N humming. His ears picked up every single note. He looked over at her again before slowly walking over to her. So'lek listened to her humming. It felt like he was at the gathering of hunters and hearing his people again. He continued to listen until she stopped humming. So'lek took a seat next to her and just listened to the sounds of them both breathing. "Ma'Y/N," he said while staring at her.

“What is it is my heart" she answered softly. So'lek held her hand and looked her directly in the eyes. He wanted to say so much, but he didn't where to begin. "Y/N...!..." He hesitated before speaking but knew that he had to. He couldn't keep it all inside of him anymore. So'lek then spoke the words he had kept inside of him for so long. The words that he didn't speak so many seasons ago. "I love you." He said quietly, looking away for a second as he spoke from his heart.

She moved to his side gently putting her hand against his cheek making him look at her " ... you love me ?" She whispered softly Solek nodded and looked at her again. His heart started to race a bit, but he knew it was right to say this to her. "Yes, Y/N...I have been in love with you for so many seasons." He said, softly touching her face. "I'm sorry I didn't say this to you sooner." So'lek couldn't hold back his feelings anymore. After all these years, he no longer feared what would happen if he told her. He knew that he wanted her by his side forever.

She learned forward kissing him her hand never breaking contact with him So'lek was surprised to feel Y/N's lips against his. It was not what he was expecting, but he welcomed the feeling of her touch. The sound of their breathing mixed together in a pleasant way that he had never heard before. He pulled her closer to him, allowing their chests to touch as their lips continued to meet. So'lek gently put his hands around her waist, wrapping them around her in an embrace.

Her presence against him felt natural and So'lek wanted to keep it that way. She pulled away once out of breath resting her head against his " I love you too ma So'lek " So'lek took a deep breath once their lips separated. He stared into her eyes and watched her, the flames of the fire making her face glow. He had wanted to tell her for so long, but he feared what she would say in return. But now he knew that she felt the same way after all these moons. So'lek wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him again. He brought his face closer to her and nuzzled her neck gently. "I love you." He whispered again to her softly.She caressed him, So'lek felt Y/N’s touch and he enjoyed the feeling.

He brought his face closer to her neck and started to kiss her neck. The warmth and softness of her skin caused a soft smile. She caressed him So'lek felt Y/N's touch and he enjoyed the feeling. He brought his face closer to her neck and started to kiss her neck. The warmth and softness of her skin caused a soft smile. So'lek kept his eyes closed as he slowly continued to kiss her neck. He enjoyed the feeling of her on his side. He felt so happy knowing that she loved him back. So'lek continued to kiss Y/N's neck as he held her close to him. He brought his lips lower on her neck, leaving small pecks on her skin. His hands caressed her body, running up and down her body. He pulled himself slightly back so that his eyes met hers. "Kiss me Ma'Y/N ." She smiled moving closer to him kissing along his neck and his throat So'lek felt her lips kissing along his neck. It was almost ticklish yet felt nice at the same time. He enjoyed the feeling of her touch. His body trembled slightly at the feeling of her lips against his skin. She had made him feel different that night.

So'lek put a hand on her face and looked into her eyes. He wanted to appreciate this moment with her forever. The fire burned softly next to them, and he could feel the heat of the flames.

He pulled her even closer to him. wanting more of her touch. "Tell me what you want ma Yawntu

" She murmured.

So'lek looked at her briefly, feeling a little bit of a blush on his face. He chuckled softly and looked her in the eyes.

He smiled to her words and was silent for a moment. He thought it was best to tell her how he felt that night. "I want you Y/N..." he whispered softly while gently touching her chin.

His heart raced at the thought of her knowing what he wanted exactly. He had enjoyed spending every season with her next to him.

She was his first and only love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

© Moonchildxoxx 2023 | all rights reserved. do not republish, repost, steal, modify, translate or claim my work as your own.

[hoshikarasu]

LOOKS BETTER ON YOU. — CHOSO X M!READER

❛ ⠀♡ . ˑ⠀featuring   :    choso with a male reader .

❛ ⠀♡ . ˑ⠀synopsis   :    trying the lipstick trend with choso ! — WC: 1.1k

❛ ⠀♡ . ˑ⠀notes   :    male reader . you/your pronouns . reader wears lipstick . choso briefly thinks about the idea of being marked by reader . not proofread . this is entirely self-indulgent .

“I’ve never seen you wear lipstick before.”

Granted, Choso can’t say he has ever seen you wear any type of makeup before. You didn’t particularly dabble with it aside from the occasional eyeliner, but even then, you didn’t see it as necessary to include in your routine.

It was a surprise to see you return after a trip to the store with a few tubes of lipstick in different shades of red and purple; the same colors that he answered with when you asked him for his favorite color before you left.

The tubes of lipstick sat innocently at your desk for a while before he finally caved into his curiosity and asked if there was a reason you bought them. It seemed as if you were waiting for that question, a light flickering in your eyes, as you explained to him how you saw this trend on Tiktok. (He would later go track down Yuji to ask him what a Tiktok was and listen attentively to his younger brother’s explanation.) 

You then mentioned that you wanted to try this trend out with him.

Now here you both are, finally having free time to spare from your busy schedules, and you wanted to film that Tiktok today. And Choso could never say no to you. Especially when you looked up at him with a hopeful, excited look. 

At his observation, you glanced up from the mirror you set up before you. The corners of your mouth curved into a smile. “There’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think it’s coming out great?”

His eyes dropped back down to your mouth to examine them. There was something mesmerizing about the way you applied the lipstick. Despite your lack of experience with makeup, you could’ve fooled him with your precise movements.

You chose one of the red shades to apply on. The one that was a deep blood red and reminded you of his blood manipulation. 

It felt like an eternity of him staring at your lips being painted before he swallowed down the thoughts that crossed his mind briefly. “What.. should I be doing?”

Choso can’t help but feel a bit guilty for simply admiring you and doing nothing else. He glanced over to where you set up your phone for a moment before he turned back to you. 

“Nothing yet. I still have to do something, so you can just stand there looking pretty for me.” 

Your words brought a tint of pink to his cheeks as he struggled to think of a response. He soon settled with murmuring your name in a quiet, low voice. 

Turning his head away, he heard your muted giggles and felt his face grow even warmer.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before you’re suddenly right in front of him. You’re forced to stand on your tippy toes just to reach out and cup his face, guiding him to look into your warm gaze.

It’s then that he noticed how perfectly painted your lips were. You looked absolutely breathtaking. Any and every thought in his mind disappeared, far distracted by the sight of your lips coming closer to his face. 

Pleased at the prospect of a kiss, something he’ll never say no to, Choso leaned forwards.

Except right when he was about to capture your lips into a kiss, you tilted your head and pressed your lips against his cheeks. Your lips lingered against his skin for a moment before you finally leaned back and admired your work. 

A stain in the shape of your lips is left on his cheek.

He can vaguely see it from the mirror you had been using. He can’t pull his gaze away from his reflection. The mark kept him in a trance that his heart skipped a beat at the thought.

He really likes the thought of having marks adorning his skin if they’re left by you.

A part of him wants to ask you to leave behind more marks, to smear your carefully done lipstick across his skin. But luckily, you sense this desire within him. Or maybe it’s simply because that’s what the trend requires (Choso wouldn’t know, he didn’t ask for the details on what this trend was about).

Either way, Choso’s pleased to see the way you leaned forwards again and smudge your lipstick by pressing more kisses on his face.

A significant amount of the lipstick is wasted in planting perfect marks all over Choso’s face. By the time you’re satisfied, he looked a bit dazed, resembling a love struck teenager who just kissed his boyfriend for the first time.

He can hear you barely holding off your chuckles before you make a comment, “This looks better on you than me.” You shoot him a grin and walk over to your phone, motioning him over.

Without hesitation, Choso slides up in the space beside you. You gave him a quick rundown over what you want for him to do, which he took to heart seriously to not disappoint you, while you set up the timer on your phone.

Like you requested, he ensures that he’s off to the side enough that he doesn’t appear in the frame of your phone.

Your phone displays the countdown and the selected audio you chose starts to play. You began to apply the lipstick on your lower lip, which you had apparently wiped clean at some point without him noticing. 

The lipstick drags across your lower lip with bolder movements than your first attempts now that you have some experience under your belt. You soon ‘accidentally’ drag the lipstick down past your lip, leaving a smudge against your skin because of this mistake. 

Ah, his cue.

Reaching out to grip your chin, Choso watched how you craned your neck to look up at him, and used his thumb to gently wipe away the stain. 

The phone captured it all thanks to your subtle shifting of the phone to pan over to Choso. He looks as he always does, a bored expression resting on his face, but there’s no denying the fondness in his gaze. 

His attention is solely fixated on you, never sparing a glance at your phone, until the audio comes to a stop and your phone replays what was just filmed. He refuses to move from his spot though his grip is loose for you to move out of it when you turn towards your phone.

He watches over your shoulder as you do all that is necessary before posting the Tiktok and redirecting your attention back to him. 

You notice that he seems a bit lost in thought.

Before you could ask him what’s wrong, he speaks up.

“Can we use up the rest of your lipstick?”

And just like him, you can’t find it within yourself to tell him no.

[enzenwriting]

7 days-without a week pt3 (2.3k words!)

Jake sim x reader. #childhood friends #angst #fluff

If someone said the days came easy to you, they’d be wrong. so wrong.

your days started with Jake and ended with Jake, so when your mind and heart finally decided to let go, filtering Jake out was almost impossible.

you almost walked to Jake’s car, you almost yelled for him across the street, you almost messaged him, and you almost always wanted to stray towards him.

Ah. How embarrassing. Maybe you were clinging to him too much for a best friend only.

the argument and his words still felt very raw as if it’s the only memory you have with Jake.

“I was really being too much for a best friend huh. Now I see it and I don’t blame him for making me realise”

“Don’t be stupid y/n. Anyone would kill for a best friend like you. He’d wish he would’ve realise it sooner” euijoo

but you wish that soon never arrives. You’d rather be caught drinkjng expired milk than to be how embarassing you used to be.

“Well, there’s no point on that now. It’s time to focus my energy somewhere else. I’d get rid of this feelings for him so I can be good best friend again someday”

euijoo hated how hard you were to yourself 😔

you were initially hurt because of the rejection and then embarrassment settled.

Each emotions was a rollercoaster everyday :(((

the second week was going a lot easier, you’re attending the art club for help to busy yourself from Jake.

YOU THOUGHTTT

only to find him walking inside the classroom too????????

Jake’s eyes found and focused on yours ONLY, and suddenly he’s sitting next to you. He doesn’t even hear his friends call him

because jake was going to finally fix things with u

after he’s done shaking internally

Jake sees you concentrates back on painting. He realises it had been a while since he’s watched you in serenity.

Ah Adorable.

But he’s got to do something than stare like a creep

“uhm... so are we supposed to just colour this anyway we like?” Jake felt SICK and nervous speaking to you

and you’re no better. first his voice surprised you, then nervous settled because he was speaking to you as if nothing had or is happening between you two

You only hum and nodded, returning back to your work

awkward 🐦‍⬛

He felt awkward. He longs to talk to you and spend more time with you without having this awkward tension. Jake just wants to talk to you about anything and hear you rant about absolutely anything and everything.

So he tries again

“can… can we share paint? They didn’t give me any”

“Sure... Or you can have mine. I can ask euijoo to share with me instead” he missed your voice but the ugly mention of the male’s name struck a bullet.

just when you’re about to stand, he holds your wrist, stopping you from moving.

Ah… he should’ve done this when you first walked away he thinks.

He should’ve followed those kdrama moment

“No, we can share instead right?” his hold on your wrist loosen but his eyes on yours are still strong

“and you know I don’t like sharing what’s mine with other people” he mumbles, maybe without a thought to his words.

Uh? Did he mean you? The audacity

“This isn’t about the paint anymore… right?”

“Y/n, I’m really sorry about that day.”

“I was… I was really annoyed that day. I know it’s not an excuse, and I should’ve spoken to you about it maturely but I- um... AHHH”

Jake sim is frustrated at himself

“Look, what I’m trying to say is. I’m so sorry for all the shitty things I’ve said and done. I just- I miss you. I honestly really miss you and I just want my best friend back. Can we start over?”

What? To start over? “What does that even mean?”

“I think I- no, I like you too y/n.” He bites his lips “and I really miss you-“

Ahh. So that’s what it was about.

“You don’t like me Jake. You’re only saying that because I’m no longer around you. You’re only feeling guilty and you’re mistaking it for something else”

“Y/n no-“

“I don’t want to start over.” To start the embarrassment all over again? no. you don’t want that

“You’re mean y/n. You don’t get to decide whether I like you or not”

“I’m mean? If I’m mean, then what were you that day? Just give up on this Jake”

“Look, I’m already apologising for that. I’m sorry again but I won’t give up. I can’t give up” he knows it sounds desperate and embarrassing but he can’t give up

“ I’m saying it nicely Jake. I don’t want to start again”

“That’s unfair. You didn’t give up for years, aren’t you being a hypocrite?” oh that shouldn’t have slipped out

“I’ve given up now. You should too-“

“Nope! I’m not giving up y/n. I’ll show you it’s real, be prepared for it!” and he’s off, leaving a half painted bear.

Sim Jake stuck to his word.

“The turn have now tabled” Riki laugh, watching Jake run towards your direction with a hot chocolate in hand early in the morning.

“He really isn’t giving up huh” Sunghoon laughs but is impressed at how much effort their friend is giving

Jake had been going strong in his pursuit for 4 days. Greeting you every morning, asking if you want a ride, messaging you, trying to talking to you, and is always gravitating towards you.

You’re afraid to say Jake had also been acting beyond the boundaries of friendship.

One day, you’re wearing a short sleeve when a cool breeze took over the afternoon. Heeseung saw you shiver and offered his blazer. Jake stood up, threw the clothing on the floor and zipped his hoodie on you instead.

rip Heeseung’s blazer💔

Another one was when he joined yours and euijoo’s walk to the shop just outside of the campus. He noticed you’re walking towards the road, so he jogs next to you, shielding you from an incoming slow vehicle.

The one which stuck out to everyone was that time after one late lecture. Jake who happened to be waiting for you outside of your class, instantly saw it wasn’t your day when you walked out.

His heart broke for you :( (his bby is stressed) so without a word, he walked up and engulfed you in a hug amidst the crowd. His hands covered your ears preventing you from hearing the whispers until everyone dispersed

that day , you followed as he took you to his car and sat you on the back seat. He wrapped you with his spare blanket (he’s always had for you) and played your playlist to calm you down. He never left your side until you were calm enough to go home (driving you home too ofc)

“I can’t believe not only you rejected him, but also not giving in when he makes moves on you. I’m kinda impressed but also confuse” euijoo comments.

“He’s returning your feelings and showing he’s determined, but you still haven’t changed your mind?”

“What if it’s only temporary joojoo? Jake can be easily influenced sometimes and I’m scared this is one of those times”

“Well, i think this influence might a good thing this time and if it’s coming from the right people like Jay, heeseung and the rest? I don’t think it’s anything to be scared of. You trust them too right?”

You do. but you’re still scared

even if your heart does little flips each time he’s around you

“day 5 of Sim Jaeyun being a total simp!” Riki laughed.

“My guy is going strong but y/n isn’t changing her mind still” Heeseung joined “rightfully so”

“Stop, I can’t think of anymore ways to tell her I actually do like her, and I feel like each day I lose her” Jake slumps on his friend’s bed

“Is she going to the match this Sunday? You can totally ask Press Yang to come up with a plan. He’d be totally down for it. That guy loves drama”

Oh! That’s it.

“Hey, I have to go. Just thought of something” Jake is already rushing out of the door; the the way all his friends wave him off except Jay, busying himself on his phone.

On the 6th day, you find Sim Jaeyun outside of the library after your study session.

He waits for the crowd to disappear before he speaks.

“can i- can i try one last time?” you’re confused

“One last time y/n. I’m showing you I’m serious about you and us this time. And if- if you still want me to give up after, I’ll respect that”

“what do you mean”

“We have a match tomorrow in the school court and I’d like it if you came.”

“Oh! But it’s totally up to you, but it would be cool if you came… um because it felts empty not seeing you there- I mean. Oh my god, this isn’t part of what I practised”

There’s your awkward first year highschool Sim Jaeyun

“Here too. It’s not much and there’s a note inside for you too. Don’t read it now before I leave so” you take the folded fabric and watch as Jake makes a run for it

The boy literally pulled lighting fucking mcqueen🏃🏻‍♂️

His antics makes you chuckle. Brings you back to first yesr uni

you reach for the note inside and pocket it before unfolding the piece of cloth.

It’s his jersey with his name and your favourite number

You don’t remember Jake having this number on the back of his uniform. It had always been his lucky no.5

You reach for his note and read it.

“Hey yn, I know this isn’t much but, as you can see, I changed my jersey to your lucky number. It might seem cheesy but, I realise I’ve always been lucky with and by your existence around me. You’re my lucky charm. I was a little stupid to realise that a bit too late. I’m sorry. Initially, I felt embarrassed planning on this, but then I felt happy and excited to do this for you. I understand why you like to gift me things now :)”

Jake sim is a silly silly boy

“I don’t know if you can tell yet but I actually really like you. And I really want this to work for us if you’re willing to trust me again. I would try my best not to fuck it up.

I know this probably isn’t going to make up for all the damage I’ve done but this is my best for now. If you decide not to come, I totally understand and I’ll stick to my words. I miss you. I miss my best friend and Layla’s adopted mom. I’m sorry that it took this much for me to realise how important you are”

Silly boy. Your heart hadn’t really changed huh

Jake Sim feels sick once again. He’s in the court with his new number on the back. The game starts is a couple of minute…

BUT HE CANT FIND YOU.

He knows it was up to you at the end of the day but it doesn’t stop his heart break when the whistle blows and the game starts without his lucky charm.

Jake is now alone by his locker. He refused celebration invites by his team member after a huge win.

He didn’t feel like he won at all because he lost you.

He understands now. He understands how you felt at that moment when he said those words 2 weeks ago. He knows how it felt to be abandoned by your own best friend. The pinky promise you both made not to leave each other at the age 10 doesn’t matter.

All because he broke it first

Jake felt the tears come down and he can’t blame anyone but himself. He’ll have to live with it.

Jake Sim is ready to face his new reality. He walks out of the court towards his car-

to find you leaning on it.

shivering in the evening breeze with his jersey on your body

Is he dreaming? Is he hallucinating again? But you weren’t in the court?

“Oh! Congrats Mr. MVP! You played well there. was it the lucky charm on your back?” you grinned “had to sit somewhere else today. You’re too popular”

Jake feels his knee wobble, and wobble they did until he’s kneeling with a tear rolling down again.

Oh so that’s why you weren’t in your seat

You were there. You’re in front of him now.

His breath is shaky but a release of relief comes out.

You jog towards him, sitting down to his level, wiping his tears. “Why are you crying? You literally won”

“You?”

You nod

Jake Sim really won. In a quick swift, he lifts you in a tight hug, spinning on the spot.

“I promise I won’t hurt you again. I promise I’ll be your best friend. I promise I’ll be your soulmate. I promise I won’t make you leave like that again”

“You’re my best friend. I won’t let you”

“And as your boyfriend I promise I’ll keep my promises”

“And as your girlfriend. I keep reminding you”

7 days a week, what did they mean to each other.

ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

an: that’s allllll for me! I hope you also found the Easter egg in there🤭

lots of love🥰

7 days masterlist / main masterlist

[z3nitsusgf]

I, The Sun

Ch. 1 - In My Mind

ford pines/reader: NSFW, murder, violence against women, possession, manipulation, occult themes, dark fic.

first chapter of something I’ve been working on, it’s more of a introduction/exposition rn but I promise it gets better.

1976 - Gravity Falls, Oregon

Ford has been having these dreams lately. Unpleasant ones. Ones that leave him feeling sick, where he wakes up with his tongue stuck to his gums, and his body is in a cold sweat.

Where they feel so real that when he wakes he checks himself for injuries to see if it was a memory or not. He can't grasp the material reality with full intensity, a part of him seems to reside far away and beyond what's tangible.

His mind playing tricks on him, a cruel joke. Because the next flash of dreams is him on top of a woman, his hands strangling her until she gives way to the darkness and he’s plunging a knife into her abdomen over and over until she’s nothing more than minced meat. He realizes too late it’s you.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” A voice purrs in his ear, Ford is feral and bloodthirsty, ripping apart human flesh as if it were animal. A laughing soprano rings through his head and it hurts.

Ford wakes with a gasp, clutching his chest. He’s in his room, in his home, safe and sound. He attempts to slow his breathing, the dreams reeling through his head like a spool of film. The moonlight shines through his stained glass window, filtering in through shades of light pink and blue.

He sighs in relief, “just another nightmare.”

Something wet drips on his forehead and he wipes it away, when he looks at his fingertips it’s not water. Something thick and dark is smeared across the pads of his fingers. And Ford looks up slowly, he almost screams. Almost, another splat of blood falls into his parted mouth and Ford scrambles.

There, mounted on the ceiling of his bedroom, a doe head has been nailed to the wood. Mutilated and dripping its fresh wounds onto the scientist, its heart stabbed with a dagger and left to rot.

A painted message of red is smeared next to the head, it reads; ‘can’t run’.

Ford’s vision goes black.

-

You chewed on your pen cap, the smooth plastic sliding against your molars.

You sit at your cubicle, which was for a lack of a better word - missable; covered in pages from your previous articles and various bands. Rings of coffe stains and energy drinks line your desk, pens and notebooks scattered like autumn leaves. You stared at your computer screen, your new story a sort of meloncholic evil.

A man in your city had gone mad with schizophrenia and slaughtered his entire family. When the police entered the scene, there were decorations of blood and entrails around the apartment, the suspect rocking himself in a corner and wailing. You can imagine him, 45 year old Richard James. Skin and bones, reeking of innards and cigarettes.

Wondering how he got to this point of his life. When just a couple years earlier he was a school teacher and going to dinners with his wife and kids.

It’s a half-written entry, a simple narrative of the events. There was nothing special about it. You look up only when your editor called you into her office.

Miranda Perkins, a fat older woman who wore Hawaiian shirts and smelled of cat litter. Her office is straight out of a 60s JC Penny catalogue. Her window overviewed the parking lot, a shitty sight. But for the daily post in Sacramento, it was as good as it was going to get.

You sit in her uncomfortable chair, moving side to side until you feel any semblance of relief.

“How’s your story coming along, hun?”

She tapped her French tip nails along her desk, looking at your through big rounded coke-bottle glasses. A string of pastel crystal beads hanging from the sides.

“I’m almost done.” You were nowhere near that.

“Good, good. Abandon it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Abandon it!” She singsongs, waving a gaudy looking pen in her hand, “leave it for someone else.”

She was soft with you, probably because you reminded her of a daughter, or because you were soft. You sat in an uncomfortable silence, listening to the ticking of her wall clock and the hum of the FCU.

“How do you feel about Gravity Falls?” She asks suddenly, holding her pen to her temple. A small dot of ink left behind.

“It’s a small town, smack dab in the center of Oregon,” Miranda loved the facts, she got her socks off when writers knew the basic demographics of small unnoticeable towns. You preferred not to discuss your hometown however.

“It was founded by Nathaniel Northwest in the 1800s, it’s got a big touristy lake and the biggest business is logging. It’s full of old money, trash, and tourist traps.”

She hums, “So what’s going on down there?”

You sat in silence, thinking of anything important that you might of missed. Gravity Falls was a town that was not noticed, tucked away beneath Evergreens and trailer parks. The most that befell it was the occasional flood or simple robbery. You had hoped that when Miranda called you in, it would be to compliment your work, or even give you a raise.

“Your family still there?”

“Mom. Estranged dad.” And your half siblings that were born after you had left. You always forget their names though.

“You ever talk to them?” Not since Christmas when your mother sent a gimicky card of St. Nick that read, ‘Have a Joyous Holiday!’ It was polite, you figured after downing four whiskey sours that you could give her a call.

“Not recently.”

“Jesus, read the news once in a while. There’s been a murder. A woman slaughtered in the woods.”

You nodded like you knew, your mother was the only one you had little conversation with and she had said nothing. Curious.

“There’s been three in the past four months, police are saying it’s a cult. Sounds like a serial to me.”

You fiddle with your sweater, a gnawing feeling in your stomach.

“Go drive up there, get the full story.”

No fucking way.

“We’ve got freaky stories here, Miranda.”

“Yeah. And we have half the staff as we used to and half the cash.” She adjusted her glasses, the beads making a small clinking sound.

“This is our chance at a big story.”

You still didn’t want to go, hands gripping the arms of the chair as if she’d force you out. Miranda sighed, “Look hun, if you can’t do it… you can’t do it. But think about it, it’d be good for you.”

Miranda was a surrogate mother in a way you never expected. She always backed you, even when you fell short of expectations. You had the strange feeling of not wanting to disappoint her. You gnawed on your lip.

“I’ll go pack my stuff.”

-

You packed enough for seven days, confident that you’ll be back by next week. Also taking with you the notes and articles about the case and your notebook. You threw in a pack of Marlboro green and some shooters. As you glance around your apartment you realize how messy it is. Scattered articles, news clippings, take out containers, dead plants.

As you take a final look at your place, you look at a framed picture by the door. A young twenty-something year old you in 1972, hand in hand with your best friend and first ever boyfriend from college - Stanford Pines. You’re in front of BU Univeristy, freshly graduated with your degree in journalism and Ford in his anomalies.

You’re laughing, about what you can’t recall, but you haven’t ever had a smile that big in years. You hold his palm, lovingly. You wonder what he’s up to now, it’s become a mystery. You knew he had grant money for his research, you never followed up to where he went. You fell apart after college, the tether straining when Ford started to dive head first into his career, he became distant.

You like not knowing. In reality, you don’t know why you still have it. Especially displayed in your home as if you were still together. Perhaps that romantic side of you enjoys the nostalgia of it all.

You’d rather not divulge that can of worms.

The drive to Gravity Falls would take eight hours, by the time you make it to the shoddy motel on the outskirts you’re no more than ten miles outside of your hometown. It makes a thick seedy feeling creep up your spine. To be so close had vomit pooling in your stomach.

You down a couple shooters in your motel room, the sheets are dusty and leave you itching. You should probably think of questions to ask the detectives, you decide to down more shots of fireball and vodka. You pass out dreaming strange things; you dream of your childhood, the occult nature of the case, the eerie events that happened so long ago you weren’t sure they were real - you dream of Ford.

-

When you wake, you snatch a stale bagel from the open kitchen downstairs, heading to your beat down Buick and driving into town.

Gravity Falls couldn’t be spotted from a distance, the tallest building was the water tower near the center of town. The drive is nostalgic in a sickening way, the scenery is visceral. The majestic trees are broken up by the strip of road in the center. You pass the welcome sign, big wooden letters before you’re driving by the gas station.

You know this place like the back of your hand. On the Main Street, you find remnants of the charming town. A beauty parlor, a clothing store that sold exclusively knitted sweaters and skirts, the up-in-coming VHS store that sold second hand movies. There’s only one real place to eat here, and it’s a greasy spoon called ‘The Greasy Spoon’.

The people in this town were what you called - complacent. They grew up here, lived till they got old, and died here. People out here, it’s like they don’t even know the outside world exists.

You see familiar faces as you drive. Susan Wentworth, the diner woman who always called you honey and wore too much blue eyeshadow. Dan Corduroy, the large ginger lumberjack who inherited his family’s pass-me-down flannel and could eat 20 hot cakes without puking. The Valentino’s, who were funeral directors and were some of the nicest people you’ve ever met, fucking strange though.

You decided to drive to the police station first. When you approached the receptionist desk, she regarded you with chilled contempt. Filling at her red acrylic nails and motioning you to sit and wait.

“Deputy Blubs with be with you shortly.” She smacked her gum at you. You sat like a patient dog, the shitty AC churning in the afternoon heat. You read the outdated magazines splayed on the small table, the scent of old paper and dust filling your nose. The magazines were from the 60s, full of outdated trends and styles.

When Blubs walked in he was already sweating through his uniform. Blubs was the upcoming deputy of the town who had a handlebar mustache and never took off his aviators. The receptionist motioned to you with her pen, mouthing the word “journalist” with disgust.

“Deputy Blubs, I’m with the Daily post in Sacramento.” You shake his hand, giving him your name as you follow him to his office.

He raises a brow, “Why are you all the way up here?”

He plops in his chair, “I want to talk about the recent events happening here, the women in the woods.”

“Good lord, how the hell did you hear about that all the way in Sacramento? Jesus.”

You shrug, “it’s a big deal, women going missing and showing up dead.”

“Listen,” he sighs, heavy and tired, “I don’t want this to get out.”

You gesture with your hands, “not really up to you Deptuty, the public deserves to know the danger going on.”

Blubs scoffs, looking out his window, “why’da you care now? You people never cared before about Gravity Falls.”

“You’re right. But this isn’t gonna be some exposé. This is important. And besides, I’m from Gravity Falls.” You let your voice die off at the end, like admitting it was some awful curse. He stares hard.

“What’s your name again?” You tell him, he rubs his stubble.

“My mother married out of her maiden name. It’s Evans now.”

“Ah, I know ‘em.” Everyone knew everyone here.

“Listen I can’t tell you much,”

“I don’t need much.”

Blubs sighed, contemplating.

You left the police station with a location of where the most recent woman was found. The old church back up in the woods.

Mallory Windsor, 22, found in the ruins of the old church. Couple of raw-boned, edgy teens found her when they were vandalizing the decrepit building. She’d been strangled, bound, stabbed 25 times, and her teeth were missing. Safe to say her funeral was a closed casket.

You trek through the woods to the taped off crime scene. The cawing of ravens bounced off the trees and your boots crunched the pine needles on the ground. You notice traces of dried blood on the cracked floorboards, claw marks from where she was dragged, and a tuft of blonde hair that’s stuck in between a broken branch.

You noticed in the plank on the wall, carved into the wood, was a triangle with an eye in the center a circular ring around it with markings unknown to you. You drew it in your notebook, you’d have to look that up later. As you walked around, you collected as much as you could with what Blubs told you.

Mallory worked at the boutique in the town square, she was considered playful and gentle by her family. They said she recently started going to church, that she had found God. Others say she was a no-good sneaky whore, running off in the night to hang with married men. Her mother was devastated to learn of her daughters death, saying her sweet little girl was taken too soon. The people of Gravity Falls were gossipy, they loved having “friends” over to discuss their neighbors or coworkers or what have you.

You, despite being a journalist, hated picking apart peoples lives like they were nothing more than a dead frog on a table. Perhaps that’s why you’re not a top story writer.

Your mind wandered, thinking about pre-teen you, running through these woods and scraping your knees and getting bug bites the size of pennies. Those strange little creatures that would run past you, growling when you got too close. You stopped and touched the crumbly dirt, picking at stones and watching little ants march their way through the muck.

You shivered at the feeling and felt as through you were being watched. But when you whipped around to stare, all the stared back was the towering evergreens and the sunlight filtering through.

This place always did leave a bad taste in your mouth.

-

You decide to end your night at the Greasy Spoon.

Walking in the log shaped diner, the scent of butter and too much maple wafted through the air. The tables were 50’s linoleum, the booths sticky with syrup. When you entered you noticed Susan still serving, some things never change.

“Just take a seat hun, I’ll be with you in a moment.” She swivels on her kitten heel, her big up-do bobbing. You always wondered how she could handle the weight of that on her head.

You pick a booth close to the back, the only other patron a man with his head glued to the local newspaper. You didn’t need a menu, and you’re sure as shit it hasn’t changed. Simple as a rock and cheap as dirt.

When Susan approaches, she holds her notepad and pen. She looks up with a smile that turns into a gasp.

“Oh! Oh my goodness gracious, why sweetheart I haven’t seen you in ages!” She leans over the table to give you a side hug. It’s awkward and leaves you drifting on one side as you pat her back. Cheeks hot with the attention.

“Hello Susan, nice to see you again.” You give her a half smile, nails digging into your jean-clad thigh.

“My, you’ve grown! Gosh you look like your mother. Anyways, same as before right? Steak and eggs?” You nod, a little awed she still remembers, and you don’t have the heart to tell her you’re not in the mood for meat right now.

“I’ll whip that up in a jiffy.” She singsongs, happily trotting back to the kitchen, shooing at a raccoon that had crawled into the window sill. You glance around the diner, looking over the jukebox and the stool-top. It’s all the same picture perfect small town diner like when you left.

You glance up, happening to look at the booth across from you. In it, you see a ghost. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. Your breath hitches, you’re starting to pick at the skin at your fingertips, feeling the raw bite of plucked flesh.

Stanford fucking Pines. In the flesh.

He’s staring, looking at you with wide owlish eyes, the brown gleaming under his lenses. He’s grown older, the lines of his face getting deeper, more textured. The crows feet between his brows is more prominent now.

“Ford-“ Susan plops your plate down in front of you, a heaping steak with eggs over-medium and potatoes. She puts a bottle of hot sauce on the table and winks,

“What brings you back here, hun? Seen your momma yet?”

You nod, a lie. “Just up here for work, Susan. Writing about the Windsor girl.”

Her smile drops, a flush of red creeping up her puffy cheeks. “Oh, that was a horrible thing. Poor girl, I can’t believe it.”

You nod, poking your egg yolk till it pops and spills golden liquid all over your potatoes. There’s a beat of intense silence, it’s uncomfortable.

“Well, I best let you enjoy your dinner, hun.” She waves her red acrylics and smiles, turning around to busy herself with the register.

When you look back at Ford he’s still star-struck, almost as if he’s looking at someone’s faded memory of you. He stands quickly from his booth, collecting his newspaper and book. He dresses almost the exact same as he did in college; dawning a soft red turtleneck, slate colored khaki’s, and a beige trenchcoat. His hair is still long, the ends fluffed up and starting to grey. Streaks of white striping like paint. His eyes were tired, heavy bags that were almost purple. He looked exhausted.

For a moment, you think he’ll walk past you without saying anything. Thinking that after all this time, he’d not want to speak to you. You’d rather that than make painful small talk about your life.

But he stays, sliding into your booth with nothing more than a shy, “Hello, it’s been a while.”

You nod, sipping your tap water. The tension is unbearable, you have no idea where to start or end or if you should even be talking to him in the first place. Things didn’t end so sweetly.

“Listen-“

“I-“

You both speak at the same time, blinking hard and looking down. You breath in, almost choking on the smell of a burning skillet and the insufferable feelings molded on your stomach.

“How have you been, Stanford?”

You offer this, a small olive branch.

He gives this grin that’s more of a grimace. Smoothing his hands over his journal, he can’t see the way you grip the booth cushion. He nods, “I’ve uh, I’m good. Research is going good.”

Always awkward, even in college. He was a nerdy little thing, more boy than man. So wrapped up in his books and notes and anomalies. You liked it, you were obsessed with the way he was so passionate. No one back home did anything with their lives except smoke, drink, and gossip.

At first, you hated him. Hated his ego and how he thought everyone around him was a sorry excuse and a waste of space. Something changed, things happened, you hate-fucked and bit one another, then you thought about how secretly sweet he was. You remember your first kiss with him, how he held your face and you panted into each others mouths.

“How did you end up here?” You ask, stabbing a potato with your fork. How long has he been here? Becoming infected with your town; grocery shopping where you first worked, strolling through the park you beat up a bully on, passing by your elementary school. How long has he lived in the place you wanted to forget existed?

“I, um, I moved here right after we graduated. Built a cabin, started my research, even had Fiddleford come help me a bit.”

Fiddleford, your cookie-cutter southern country boy. He was interesting, thick accent and smarter than most. You hung around him when you were seeing Stanford. They were buddies, college roommates, and now you learned - research partners.

Your food was growing cold, you could not stomach any of it. A rotting feeling of apathy was gnawing at your stomach. Ford waved his hands in the air, “Enough about me, how are you? Why are you here?”

It makes a fish-hook bite of anger pierce through you.

“I’m from here.” You mumble, shoving a forkful of runny eggs and potato in your mouth. Ford’s eyes widen, like a slap of realization.

“Right. Right you are, I had-“ forgotten. He had forgotten almost everything about you. You expected as much.

“You haven’t been up here in a long time.” It wasn’t a question, he was stating the obvious. You knew that if he was here since college and you weren’t such a coward, you’d have seen him sooner. Perhaps, you would have come up to reconcile had you known. A falseness you tell yourself.

“You mentioned you’re writing about the Windsor girl, how’s that going?”

You flick your eyes to his neck, trying to look anywhere but his eyes, it’s mostly shielded by his red turtleneck. But you see the creeping of an ugly hickey, dark maroon splotches sucked like leeches onto his skin. You clench your jaw.

“Fine, all’s fine. Gotta interview a couple people. Why? You knew her?”

Ford sips at some coffee leftover, eyeing you over the rim. You’re different now. So… sullen. He still remembers the softness of your voice, even now with the rasp of time and cigarettes. You’ve still got that snappy little bite, the one that had him wrapped around your finger.

“No. Never met her.”

There’s a trickle of something faintly sulphuric in the air, you think you’re hallucinating or Susan has burnt yet another hot cake. Probably just tired from today. Ford gives you a small smile the lifts the corner of his lips.

You and Ford make more pitiful conversation on the way to your car. It slowly dissolves into something that could be considered good-natured. A distant association, something platonic.

“Where you staying?”

Where indeed. You could go back to the motel but you haven’t got much money. Or you could stay with your mother. You grimaced at the thought and Ford notices your contemplation. You might just sleep in your car.

“Could stay the night with me.” He shrugs, hands deep in his pockets as the nighttime breeze drifts through the air. You look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Not like that!-“ he holds his hands up, “I have a spare bedroom.”

You nod, toeing the dirt path with the toe of your boot. It’s like being in college all over again.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles, gesturing to your car.

“I’ll give you directions.”

You take your keys out and unlock your driver door, “You didn’t drive here?”

He shakes his head, “No, I was out collecting specimens for my research.”

His research, he never did tell you what exactly he was studying. You shrug, “Okay then, hop in.”

-

Stanford’s cabin is out of the way of town. Far out into the woods, surrounded in towering trees and foliage, you pull of the main road and onto a dirt one. A clearing in view, there sits his home.

It’s nothing special, simple construction with a lopsided roof and creaky splintering wood. It looks haunted, you don’t say that out loud though. That would be rude and you don’t want to be rude to the man about to share his home with you, no matter how dark and creepy it looks from the outside.

Inside isn’t much better, it’s hardly decorated. You almost chuckle in a way, it’s so similar to your own apartment. Papers and notes are tacked into the walls, jars and bottles of strange things are lining tables and shelves. He has warm citrus colored lightbulbs, it illuminates around the cabin and makes it glow with an orangey hue.

“I apologize for the mess, I don’t have many visitors.”

He scrambles to collect notes and papers strewn like confetti, huffing at the state of his home. You wave him off, “Nah, don’t worry about it.”

You’re getting eye level with his shelf; there’s jars of eyeballs, mysterious goo that shimmers iridescent, and other weird stuff.

“What is all this?” Ford straightens his back, adjusting his glasses.

“My research. I’m here investigating the anomalies of Gravity Falls.”

You purse your lips, a strange feeling creeps into your body.

“What do you mean?”

Ford gives you a stifled look that screams ‘really? Gonna play that game?’ And you shrink away.

“Are you saying you never experienced weirdness here? Strange things in the woods?”

The woods. Blonde hair, hanging entrails, missing teeth. Your breath quickens, you feel yourself sinking. Everything is fuzzy and you can’t breathe, he shouldn’t be poking around a place like this. He touches your shoulder and you flinch harder than you should.

“No! No, the only thing weird around here is how the people are so fucking happy to die in this shithole.” You swipe his hand away from you, flashes of childhood summers spent exploring those woods.

When you would wade in the creek with your head poking out to watch the gargantuan wooden monsters slowly drag themselves through the forest. Creatures that would follow just two steps behind you, cracking joints each time they moved. Monsters that would take shape of familiar animas, then skitter away when you got close. Screams would echo throughout the evergreens, things unseen. How can anyone witness a tree falling if they didn’t hear it?

Ford retracts his hand, looking at you with worry. Eyes softened, lips slightly parted, brows furrowed. You hate it. You hate when people look at you with pity and anguish, like you’re a soft underbelly of a doe waiting to be sliced open.

You shudder, “I’m sorry, sorry. I just, I’m tired. This case got me all worked up.”

You rub your own arms in comfort, avoiding to look at Ford in his big watery browns. He nods, “of course, I’ll show you to the room.”

He leads you gently to the spare, bag in hand and other on the small of your back. The room is clean, neat, and painfully sterile. Devoid of any personality or substance. It’ll do just fine.

“Not many people use this, sheets are clean and there’s a bathroom down the hall to the left. I’m only the next door down.”

You nod slowly, the wearing exhaustion is making your head throb and your bones ache from sitting for so long. Ford pats your shoulder, “don’t be afraid to knock on my door if things go bump in the night.”

You want to hit him. He chuckles at your sour frown, turning to leave you when you call out to him.

“Thank you, Stanford. I really do appreciate it.”

He gives a half-pained, half-sincere smile and walks into his room. You hear the clicking of his lock, you do the same.

There is an ominous silence that makes the cabin, so deathly quiet that you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. You scramble to turn on the lamp, exhaling in relief at the warm glow on your face.

Ford is next door, you are not with your mother, things are fine. You are fine. You will not acknowledge the scratching at the walls, nor the tapping at the window. You will pretend everything is normal, that this town is normal, that you are normal.

You fall into a restless sleep, tossing and turning until you succumb. Ford is prowling, just beyond your bedroom, he has slipped outside into the cool night and has disappeared into the woods.

You won’t even know he’s gone by the time you wake up in the morning.

[luvjunie]

hiiiii!!!!

idk if ur taking requests or not, but can you scenarios about miles 1610 and 42 (or just one of them) if they were your older brother reacting to you having a boyfriend/girlfriend taking you out or something (they radiate overprotective brother energy idk why😫🙏)

LOVEEE your work!!😊

AW THANK YOUUU SM 🫶🏽 miles42 a/n: this is exaggerated a little for comedic reasons lolll. and ik i’ve done something similar to this alr but i’ll honestly never get tired of writing siblings bickering so idc skskdkd

“Bye Miles I’ll be back by 9 don’t bother waiting up for dinner!” You rambled out in one quick breath as you whisked passed your brother’s open door.

“Aht aht, come back,”

Your lips smacked against your teeth when you stopped in your tracks. He had his damn Beats on and was literally bobbing his head to whatever he was listening to, how did he even hear you?

With the inside of your cheek between your teeth and a huff pushing from your nostrils, you spun on your heels and begrudgingly stomped a few paces back to see him already facing the doorway. You stared at him with an oblivious look that had an attitude written all over it, arms smacking against your sides and head moving like a chicken’s when you asked,

“What?”

He pushed one of the ears to his headphones back and gave you a curious look. “Where are you going?”

“Out, clearly.” you blinked.

“Yeah, no shit, but where?”

You looked to the side, then back at him. “Does it matter?”

“Uh, yeah,” Miles huffed a humorless chuckle. “Mom ain’t here, so that means I’m responsible for you. And even when she is here I’m still responsible for you. Shit, soon as you were born I was responsi—“

“A boy,” you quickly clarified with a hand out, hoping to avoid one of his soap-box rants. “I’m going out with a boy. Cool?”

“Cool, cool.” His lips puckered when he nodded to himself, screwdriver tapping against the little mechanical trinket he’d previously been working on.

Here we fucking go.

“What’s his name? He got siblings and if so, how many? Where he work at? Does he even have a job? Cause if he don’t he a bum. What car he drive or are y’all takin’ the train?”

You stared at him, bewilderment painted on your expression in the form of a scowl.

“Who are you, the CIA?”

“Doesn’t answer my questions.” He disregarded your own with a derisive shrug.

“Jalen. His name is Jalen. What you gon’ ask for next? His mother’s maiden name?” you joked. “Or what, his social security number?”

Miles glanced to the side, pretending as if he were actually considering it.

“Honestly, that would make things a whole lot easier.”

“Dude,” You rubbed your forehead, hand thrown to the air in exasperation. “How would I know half of those things?”

“Wha—You’on see where we live at?” Voice upped an octave in astonishment, Miles gestured towards the window behind him with his thumb. “There’s some crazy mfs out there, trust me I know—“

Your head dropped back when you groaned. “Oh brother—“

“What you should be asking is why don’t you know those things.”

“Look I’m not about to do this with you. You act like I don’t know that you weren’t at Uncle Aaron’s last night. But that’s what you told Mom, ain’t it?” You folded your arms and tilted your head. You looked far too complacent for him to call your bluff.

“Yeah,” You nodded at his silence with a smug smirk. “You think I don’t know about you and Aliyah by now? Especially when last week you were all ‘Mami, she’s my partner for a project, can she come over?’” you mimicked him in an insultingly goofy voice that wasn’t anywhere near close to his.

“Since when do you do ‘partnered projects’?” Your eyes narrowed.

His mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water told you everything you needed to know but you played on; all in a day’s work of sibling banter.

“Huh? What was that?” you cupped a hand to your ear, lashes fluttering when you looked to the side.

You: 1

Miles: 0

He cleared his throat, looking away once his face started to get hot.

“Aight, whatever bro. But share your location with me. Seriously, I’m not playing.”

“Yeah yeah,” You rolled your eyes, opening up your phone and clicking his contact.

“And if ole’ boy try anything, tell him I keep a pole.”

It was a joke. Kinda, but not really at the same time. That wasn’t the exact weapon he used, but it was close enough.

You scoffed. “Stop cappin’, you’ve never even shot a gun before.”

Miles didn’t say anything, but the look on his face suddenly turned dead serious. And as the both of you stared at each other in an eerie silence, you made a wise decision to not take the subject any further.

“Whatever,” You shook your head, motioning to your outfit. “Do I at least look nice, though? Be honest.”

Miles looked you up and down, his top lip arching when he did a so-so motion with his head. He knew you were genuinely asking, but what kind of brother would he be if he didn’t mess with you a little bit?

“Ehh, yeah.“ he shrugged, looking unimpressed on purpose. “Fit coulda been harder though. Shoulda asked me for help, I woulda got you right.”

“Oh good-fucking-bye.”

“Dude, I’m kidding!” he called out with a laugh as you stormed off.

[obrowne21]

ʙᴀʙʏ ɪ’ᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

Chapter 2 - “Hates the Perfect Word”

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“Don’t stay out here too late, Baby.”

Sergeant Ken Lemmons was only partly joking with Baby when he said this to her. However over the three weeks of getting to know the stubborn blonde, he realized it wasn’t so far fetched for her to lose track of time.

And that would be proven correct as Baby was still out on the Airstrip, working away. She found it difficult to leave seeing as the view was so beautiful. The sunset painted the sky a warm orange and pink tone. A calm breeze briefly passed her, ruffling the tall grass, the trees, and even the bottom of her dress as it did so.

Sighing, she found a comfortable spot on a nearby crate. Busying herself by screwing two engine pieces together with a basic rod. The action was done smoothly like muscle memory.

A loud sound of an engine and the screech of tires had broken her peaceful state. Internally rolling her eyes, Baby prepared herself.

That could mean only one thing.

The jeep made a rough stop in front of her causing her to look up at the person responsible for the interruption.

Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan.

Even the thought of his name sparked annoyance in Delilah. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him that was so infuriating.

Maybe it was the way he walked around base like he was the king of the world. He had everybody under his spell, especially her brother Gale. She couldn’t understand how the two had ever became friends.

Or maybe it was how he would sometimes get caught looking at her but would never say anything.

It was like a game of tug of war. Always giving her signs of interest but then taking it back as if he physically and mentally couldn’t bring himself to go there with her. Like something was stopping him, more like someone.

She had a pretty good idea of who.

“A little birdy told me you were out here.” Leaning back in his seat, Bucky faced the woman.

Delilah, uninterested, gave him a nod before focusing back onto her work. “Never really liked birds.”

“Sad to hear that. They’re real fascinating creatures. I’m more of a unicorn guy myself-”

“I bet you are.”

After a beat of silence, Delilah glanced up to see him staring at her once again. It could’ve been because she had just rudely interrupted him but by the way the corner of his mouth twitched into his signature smirk made her think differently.

His eyes held nothing but admiration as he kept his gaze on her. The way she smoothly worked away like it was her second nature was wildly attractive. Not to mention the quick wits that shamelessly left her pretty mouth, which instead of feeling insulted he would always feel more amazed by her.

“Gale send you out here?”

“No.”

“So tell me…Major Bucky,” The name rolled off her tongue as a taunt. Placing the tool and engine piece down beside her, she leaned back onto her hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being in your presence?”

Bucky watched as she seductively crossed her legs and tilted her head awaiting for an answer. The reminder that she was his best friends little sister kept blaring in the back of his mind. But it was so damn hard to listen to.

“Maybe I just want to be in yours.” Copying her action, Bucky tilted his head. “You ever think of that?”

”It’s hard to when you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

He knew exactly what she referring to. Part of it was intentional but at the same time he really never knew how to approach her. Which was odd for him.

John Egan never struggled in talking to women. However he would always overthink with Delilah. She made him nervous, in a good way.

“Can’t say I know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” Bucky let out a nervous scoff knowing he had been called out.

The use of the nickname made Baby raise her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a new one.”

“You like it?”

“I’m not sure yet.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been called many things, Major Bucky, but sweet has never been one of them.”

“What?” He dropped his jaw dramatically, pretended to be shocked. “You’re the sweetest.”

Bucky watched as she let out an adorable laugh as she threw her head back. A small wave of pride washed over him at the fact that he got her to smile, let alone talk to him for more than five seconds.

“If I’m sweet then you’re a good singer.” She playfully jutted.

“Oh,” He placed a hand on his heart. “You wound me, Baby. I’d have you know I’m an excellent singer.”

“A little birdy told me differently.”

Looking away Bucky chewed away on the piece of gum in his mouth. Damn, she was good.

“If this birdy happens to be tall, boring, and has a head full of blonde hair on his head than you should ignore him and come see for yourself.”

Delilah laughed not taking him seriously. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious.” He said. Eyes connecting with her honey brown ones. “There’s a dance, day after tomorrow. Come and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Might skip out on this one.” She declined.

Nodding Bucky looked down. An idea popped into his head that might change her mind. “Huh, guess you Clevens are more alike than you want to admit.”

If there was anything he learned from witnessing the Cleven sibling duo was that they both were complete opposites. Buck was more serious, rule follower, and never really liked to do anything risky.

And although he didn’t talk to Delilah much, he would notice how she liked to do things in an untraditional way. Her presence here as one of the first female mechanics proves that. She also loved to make fun out of most situations. A small joke was always at the tip of her tongue and she could never keep it there.

He’d like to bet she loved to dance too.

Picking up the tool beside her she pointed it at Bucky with an annoyed glare. “Take that back right now.”

Bingo.

“Makes sense.” He shrugged his shoulders innocently. “Guess the ‘never have a good time’ genes got passed down to both of ya.”

“I can have a good time.” She rebutted.

Bucky nodded, not really convinced at all. “Okay.”

A moment of silence passed as Bucky continued to poke fun at Delilah as she thought over his words.

Letting go of her cheek, the one she was anxiously biting, Delilah sighed. “What times the stupid dance?”

A smile of victory took plastered across the Major's face as he mentally celebrated. “I’ll be there at 8:00, that’s when the real party starts.”

“Can’t wait.” She gave him a fake smile.

Taking a look around, they both knew that it was about to get dark soon and should head back.

Reaching over the passenger seat of the Jeep, Bucky propped open the door with one arm. “Hop in, sweetheart. I’ll give you a ride back.”

“I have a bike, you know?”

“That old thing?” Simultaneously the two turned to look at the bike leaning on the side of the crate she was sitting on.

“Yeah,” Delilah smiled proudly. It was one of the things she built on her own when she first got here. “Isn’t he pretty?”

“He?”

“Well you men always refer to your cars and planes as woman, so I’d thought I’d return the favor.”

As the blonde continued to admire her piece of work, Bucky’s gaze shifted to her. Taking in her smooth tan skin and pretty freckles that he’d like to individually kiss. And finally her full lips that were just calling his name.

He watched as she grabbed the handles of the bike and easily kicked her leg over to get on it. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Baby?”

“I’d rather ride a thousand miles on this old thang than one in there with you.”

He was left speechless as she petaled away without a second thought. The fact that her and a Buck were siblings was still a shock to him.

No matter how different the two were they both had something in common. The Clevens had captured John Egans heart. With a Buck it was respect and friendship. And with Delilah.

Oh, Delilah. He hadn’t even got to know her fully yet and she already had him hooked.

Snapping out of his trance he started the engine before catching up and riding along beside her. Now he was back to looking between the road and her pretty side profile.

“Still got you to go to the dance with me.” He gloated.

Once again, John Egan had managed to make her smile. Shaking her head she tried to petal faster but he would just match her speed. “I hate you!”

“Hates a strong word.”

“Hates the perfect word.”

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A/N : As y’all can tell I love a good slow burn. Hope y’all liked it! Let me know your thoughts on it please, I love to hear feedback.

ALSO DAYUM YALL REALLY CAME THREW WITH THE LIKES ON MY POSTS

Tag list(I can’t believe I have those now🤭):

@valenftcrush

@justheretoreadthhx

[wwilloww]

sh. | chapter twenty three | jhs

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 5.8k WARNINGS AND TAGS non penetrative sex. some mild angst.

AN hey :) i'm that dude sliding into ur dms after not responding to ur text for three months but i AM here with a new chapter for you all. this one, for some reason, was a doozy to write, but i hope you find something warm in it waiting for you. more to come soon! love you--and thank you for sticking along with me on this ride!

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: WITHOUT A GOAL

Hoseok’s hand is warm in yours. You smile at him as he tugs you from Jimin’s bedroom. For a moment that is all there is: you, Hoseok, and the singular place where your bodies are joined. You are silent, curious about where he is bringing you. 

Namjoon calls your name from within a door. 

He jogs out before you have a chance to respond. “I’ve been looking for you!” he says with a grin. 

“Have you?” 

“I need a hand organizing some of the books in the library.” Then, sheepishly, “I thought you might like looking through some of them. I was hoping you’d help me.” 

You glance between Namjoon and Hoseok, trying to read their expressions, wondering if this is some remnant of your dream or if this is simply a perfectly normal conversation. 

“Hobi-hyung!” Taehyung calls, appearing at the end of the hallway. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

You and Hoseok share a look. “Apparently we’re quite popular,” he muses. 

“It seems,” you reply. 

“Sorry—” he mouths at you, as Taehyung slips his arm through Hoseok’s and tugs him away. You watch each other until the other disappears from view. 

Looking at Namjoon shakes loose the dregs of the dream from last night—the swirling mist of early morning, the possession in his eyes—as Namjoon leads you to the library. You watch his face closely for any recognition that the person you saw in your dream is the one standing before you. But his face is open– happy, even–taking in the sights and senses around him. 

“Is there a reason you keep pulling me away from Hoseok?” you finally ask Namjoon.

“No—why would you say that?” Namjoon asks, his brow furrowing. You shrug it off. 

“No reason.”

The day speeds by in a blur, and before long you find yourself at the dinner table, crowded around with your friends. Jin has whipped up a fusion meal: gochujang parmesan pasta with a whole brown butter spatchcocked chicken. It’s rich, creamy, and zings with acid at the end of the palate. You all coo over Jin’s culinary accomplishment, which he happily soaks up.

Jimin is a little quieter than normal, but when he’s not staring at his hands beneath the table, he’s consistently glancing at you, like he’s looking for something.  You offer him small smiles when you catch his gaze. He quickly looks away. It doesn’t feel like him. You have the sense he’s standing across a bridge from you, a forest, large and looming at his back. 

Where are you, Park Jimin?

—--------------

When dinner’s done, you all stay seated for hours around the table, laughing, talking, sharing small moments from your day. Jungkook shares that he tried to find a way onto the roof, which procures a very large, very enthusiastic scolding from the rest of you, Taehyung found some paints in an unexplored closet and has begun painting in his free time, and Yoongi sheepishly shares about a new song he’s been working on, in very vague, humble terms. You and Namjoon excitedly detail your work in the library, sorting books, and the discovery of a locked box of books. Everyone is enchanted by the story, and Jungkook offers to try to break the lock with a hammer, to which Namjoon shudders deeply.  

Though you never explicitly agreed to it, it’s become a tradition that you all eat dinner together each night. As the conversation winds down, your cheeks are heated from laughing, talking, and smiling so much. The gang breaks apart, some of you shifting back into the kitchen to finish dishes and tidying after Jin’s masterpiece. You and Jungkook tag team the table, collecting remaining dishes and napkins. 

Jungkook pauses, and leans across the table towards you. 

With a smile, he asks, “Wanna stay over tonight?” He waggles his eyebrows. 

“We’ve been meaning to have a moment alone,” Hoseok cuts in. You look up from your dishrag and spray bottle to find him standing in the doorway. You wonder how much he overheard of your conversation. We, you think. Hm. “Do you mind?”

You glance between Jungkook and Hoseok. 

“I did promise him earlier,” you say with a shrug to Jungkook. 

“Don’t you worry, Jungkook,” says Jimin, who also appears from the kitchen and lounges against the door. Somehow he manages to make every position—seated or horizontal or standing—look luxurious and effortless. “Why don’t you come hang out with me tonight?” 

“Really?” Jungkook says, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah—yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Mind if I join you two?” Yoongi chimes in. He, too, has emerged from the kitchen. Jungkook and Jimin nod, Jungkook’s face reddening slightly. You can read on his face what he’s imagining: the three of them tangled up in bed. 

This is may be the first time you’ve noticed Jimin and Yoongi being so straightforward with each other. You had always noticed the way that Yoongi would watch Jimin a little bit extra carefully than the others, his eyes tracking Jimin’s movements and the immediate surroundings whenever the latter was present. Before your group agreement you had always attributed it to Yoongi’s protective side, how he looked out particularly close for Jimin, despite Jimin’s lack of need for a guard dog. It had always seemed to you to be some kind of disagreement in perception, one you couldn’t always understand. Jimin had never needed protecting, not with his quick words and sharp judgment. But now, alone, stranded in the wilderness, who was Yoongi protecting Jimin from? 

“I, um, wanted to do some reading tonight anyways,” Namjoon chimes in, poking his head through the entryway. You exchange a glance, your gaze asking what no one wants to ask aloud: Do you want to be alone? He nods in response.

With arrangements settled, Hoseok slips his hand into yours. You look down at it, a little surprised. 

“Come on,” he says, and leads you to the back of the house. 

In the bedroom, you take in the sight of what is supposed to be your room (even if you share it). The last time you were here, you were getting ready for the dinner party that changed everything. The room remains unchanged, and yet it feels entirely different than the last time you were inside. 

You wonder where that red dress went. Knowing Namjoon, he probably returned it with a careful touch to its proper home shortly after the orgy. 

Standing in this room, something in you feels older, a little more mature. That’s not the word…

—Bigger?—

Yes, like you had grown, larger, more expansive, around the edges of your previous self. Has it really only been a couple days since you left your belongings here and began wandering the beds of the house? (Officially, and with everyone’s knowledge, that is.) The distance between now and then feels like it stretches weeks, time itself stretching taut and thin, despite it only being a handful of days.

Time seems to move so strangely here, in this house, like a river, barely moving in some places where it collects, stills, and becomes cold in the far reaches of its depths. And yet, there are other days that speed by with the quickness of a white water rapid. Right now, there is a part of you that feels caught in the eddies: whipped along and holding your breath. 

“You probably just want to just go to bed, don’t you?” Hoseok says as he strips off his sweater, revealing a simple t-shirt beneath. “You must be tired.” 

You come up behind him and wrap your arms around him, standing on your tiptoes. With your head on his shoulder, you look at him in the mirror. 

“Mmm. A little. Not too tired though.” The end of your sentence remains unspoken, but still understood: Not too tired to touch you.

You catch his gaze in the mirror and hold it for a moment. He smiles. A sense of ease and affection flutters in your chest. 

After a moment, though, that warmth becomes too warm, searing into your cheeks and making your heart flutter, and you break away, your hands falling to your sides as you take a step back. 

“Almost everyone in this house has asked something of me today, but I never learned why you pulled me out of Jimin’s room in the first place,” you say. 

“Do I need a reason? I just wanted to spend some one-on-one time with you. Is that too much to ask?” 

You startle, but gather yourself.“Never.” 

You both get ready for sleep, as if there’s nothing else to do. And when you have very thoroughly brushed your teeth and washed your face twice, instead of climbing into bed, you grab the book you were reading earlier in the tree and Hoseok promptly grabs his journal. You are avoiding the bed. 

You settle on the couch by the fireplace, sprawling out comfortably. The two of you lay there for a while, both minding your own business. It feels awfully domestic. Like you’re a married couple already settled into routine. The difference is—not a single word of the page in front of you is sinking into your mind.

 The difference is—you’re burning up, your whole body tuned to how close he lies—where his hands are (they’re playing with the edge of the page)—how his foot brushes against yours—how deep his voice resonates when he apologizes for nudging you. 

The difference is—you notice every edge of him. 

“Don’t apologize,” you say firmly. 

“Sorry—Don’t? Why not?”

You laugh. “I don’t ever want you to apologize for touching me. If anything I want you to touch me.”

“You do?” He stares blankly at you. 

“My god, Hobi,” you say, rolling on your side and discarding your book. “Sometimes you can be so thick.”

“Me?? I’m the thick one? And what about you? I’ve been waiting for days for you to pull me into a closet or a spare room or—god forbid—just kiss me out there in front of everyone—”

You reach for his hand, pulling it away from his book, and into yours. For a long moment, you both stare at each other, as if waiting for the other to make a move. And then, making a decision, you both move at the same time, hands reaching for faces, lips magnetized towards lips. 

Hoseok’s hand trails down your body, slipping beneath your pajama pants. Your hand wraps around his wrist, stopping his movements. 

“But—Jimin—” He said, I’m not allowed to come.

He chuckles. “It’s so sexy when you say another man’s name in my bed.”

You roll your eyes. “Behave,” you remind him. “But I did make him a promise. And in all honesty, I have no interest in being punished again. Today was enough.” 

Hoseok’s brows raise, and for a moment you think he’s going to ask about what happened between you and Jimin, and will end up hurting himself by wanting to hear the gritty details. But instead, he shakes his head and continues. “You know, not everything about sex has to be about orgasm,” Hoseok says, raising and waggling an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” 

“Sometimes sex can just be about pleasure. Instead of trying to chase something down, like a goalpost or, um…” he searches for the words. “Like some kind of race, where the only objective is to come. It can just be about the sensations along the way. Gentle pleasure.” 

“Edging, you mean,” you say, a little bit of disappointment in your voice. You have had enough of edging in the last weeks to last you an entire lifetime. You would consider yourself the resident expert of edging, considering how many orgasms you’ve been denied since arriving at the doors of this mysterious house, though you have a sense Jimin or Jin might try to come for your title. 

“No, not quite.” He frowns, trying to find the words. “I think edging brings you right to the cliff of an orgasm and hangs you over the drop for as long as you can hold out. The thrill is in not knowing if you can hold on or not.”

“Oof, all this talk of edges and cliffs hits a little too close to home,” you giggle.

“Okay, yeah that wasn’t the best way to say it.” He smiles. “But you know what I’m trying to get at, right?” You nod. “What I’m proposing, we just get to feel each other. Make each other feel good—without running. Running towards a finish line, I mean.”

That sparks an idea in you. “Where did you learn all of this?” 

Hoseok flushes. “Oh… You know.” 

“I don’t.” 

“It doesn’t really matter. Former partners. Reading.” 

You pass quickly by the first answer and focus on the second. “You read… about sex?” 

“Yeah. Sex. Psychology. Sexual health. Namjoon is my dealer.” 

You laugh. “Your dealer?”

“My book dealer,” he grins. You nod knowingly, well aware of one of Namjoon’s favorite activities: shipping his friends books during quarantine in the city. He sent the books out wrapped messily but compactly in brown construction paper. You can picture his notes, scrawled in pencil in the margins. He hated the thought of permanently marring a book with an ink pen, but in the same moment, couldn’t shut up with his brilliant ideas, even if it was received by the silence of a page. 

Namjoon had always been the designated librarian of your friend group, and was ever enthused to coerce anyone into reading whatever book suited his most recent interest with him. He had been trying to get a book club with you all up and running for years now, and yet—

“Never thought much about what it was that Namjoon was reading,” you murmur. 

“He’s got a diverse taste, that’s for sure,” Hoseok chuckles. “So, what do you say?” He leans in close, his fingers gliding over your belly. “Want me to make you feel good?”  

You’ve never really thought about the possibility of sex without a goal, without an orgasm to reach for at the finish line. But you nod, and smile, and his fingers slip beneath your pajamas again. 

At first he just explores you, his fingers tracing around your lower lips, pressing here, circling there. He doesn’t kiss you, but lays close enough, watching your face as you try to hold it together. But you can’t help it: little gasps slip out and pattern the silence. A gentle warmth begins to build in your belly. But without the urgency, the rush, the goalpost of it all, you find yourself focusing on the sensations in a deeper way than usual.

“Hobi—” you breathe. “It feels good.” 

“Good,” he grins. You reach for him, to slip your hands into his own pants, but he stops you. “Just let me make you feel good, okay?” 

That’s when he slips a finger inside you. He begins by pumping shallowly and oh-so painfully slow. You can feel every inch of him as he slips deeper on each thrust, opening you up for him. He’s careful, deliberate. 

“Close your eyes,” he whispers. “With your mind, I want you to trace where I’m touching you. Focus on the sensation of it all. Put all your attention there.” 

His other hand wanders your body, a gentle finger tracing your collarbone, a palm cupping and pressing against your breast, swirling touches against your belly. Your attention follows his. You feel your skin brighten, warm. All of it culminates in a sensation that he’s exploring you, learning you with a careful sense of duty. You can feel his diligence. 

“I want to be closer to you,” you gasp as he adds a second finger to you. And you mean it in more ways than one. But he answers the surface request, pulling you flush against his chest, lifting your leg over his hip. Your fingers cup his face, tracing over his features. 

He builds you to a slow, radiating heat, one that sifts through your whole body. You burn like embers, flushed and gulping for air. 

“Where are my hands?” he asks gently. “Follow them. Tell me what you feel.” 

“Warm. So warm, Hobi. Like sunshine.” 

Where he touches light radiates through your skin, down to your bones. It’s sex like nothing you’ve had before. There’s a part of you that keeps wanting to shift away from the slowness and sense of it all, to grab for more, to beg him to let you chase pleasure. It is the same part that has whispered since you arrived at the mountain house: run, run. The whisper turns to a shout: run, run. But when you breathe in deep and bring your attention back to touch—his finger circling your nipple, your bare feet brushing against the soft cotton of the sheets, his lips biting down on the soft flesh of your earlobe, his fingers moving slowly in and out of you—there is a new awareness, golden and bright. 

You take a deep breath. You settle into the feeling. 

It feels like forcing open a door, hinges rusted shut from disuse. 

It is a door that leads into your own body. It’s traitorous territory. But you breathe once, then again, sinking deeper, deeper, led by his touch.

You let your hips move against him, a slow grind. His hand is now between his and your pelvic bone, and you know that as you rock against him, he can feel it too. You shift closer, so you’re intentionally pressing against his groin, your hands tangling in his hair, raking slowly against his scalp.

The closer your bodies move, the more his touches blur into pleasure against your skin, the more the lines between you blur too. This is what you had all anticipated a few days ago, right? The muddling, the mess. You had told everyone you wanted to lean into it. But as sensation bubbles to the surface of your skin, so does something else within you: something dangerously warm. Something dangerously happy.

When he groans into your mouth, echoing your own pleasure, you know you’ve gotten what you want. 

Tonight, it’s so easy to find a quiet rhythm with him. It feels like it was never any other way. Without the element of chasing down an orgasm, there’s nowhere to go except here, now. Nowhere to go except towards him. 

That’s how you fall asleep, your bodies slowly grinding against each other’s, gasping against the other’s mouth, the other’s neck, the other’s chest until sleep swallows you whole. 

-----------

When you wake up Hoseok is pressed close to your face, his eyes wide open, a grin on his cheeks. 

“Oh my god are you watching me sleep?” You roll over, away from him, sleep fogged and groggy. 

“Come here,” he rolls you back towards him. “I was waiting for you to wake up. I have something to show you.” 

With his urging, you quickly get dressed, grab some coffee and something quick to eat, and head out. You’re sure he’s going to bring you outside.

“Hobi, maybe we shouldn’t,” you say. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, a look of genuine confusion on his face. 

“I don’t think any of our stints outside were any good,” you say. “Can we stay inside today? Please?” 

Hoseok nods. “That was the plan anyways. No outside for us, at least not for a while. We’ll stay inside today.” 

You smile at him.

He leads you to the back door, but instead of going outside, he takes a turn down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. It leads to a spiraling, narrow staircase descending down into the unknown depths of the house. Though the white walls of the passageway are narrow, as if they might lead to a basement or root cellar, the steps shine as if they’ve been polished recently. As you step onto the first step, you notice a thin carving on the edge of every stair. A woodland scene: a bear, an evergreen forest, a collection of tree-loving creatures. The wood itself is gorgeous: a reddish lumber that glows in the dim light. A delicate handrail leads your descent.

“Where are we?” 

You’re in shock that even after all this time in the house, there are still parts you haven’t explored. A dark basement is hardly something you’d like to explore alone, but you trust Hoseok, so you give him your hand and let him lead you down the stairs, trying to ignore how they seem to melt into the darkened floor below.

The sound from upstairs dampens, the voices of your friends blending into silence as you journey deeper. 

The temperature too, drops, raising goosebumps on your skin.

You emerge into a dark hallway, and Hoseok’s grasp tightens around your hand. 

“This way,” he whispers. 

There’s a doorway at the end of the hallway, a simple thing, and you know that’s where you’re headed. 

Hoseok pushes the door open and light spills all over you. 

The room that opens before you is walled by a thousand mirrors, an oak-golden floor, and a sweeping modern chandelier dangling from the ceiling. To your right, a wall of windows looks over the valleys and peaks of the mountains. Today the light is bright and warm, and as it spills over the changing leaves, you feel like you are held in the center of a pendulum. 

You’re standing in a ballroom. 

“This is it.” 

“Goddamn, Hoseok, this is beautiful.” You step away from him to wander the room. In one corner is a baby grand piano, and you run your fingers over the keys. Perfectly tuned. 

“I thought you would like it.” 

“I love it.” 

There’s something about the open space and the reverberating light that fills you with energy. 

“Yoongi showed it to me,” Hoseok says. “I bet he loves coming down here.” He plinks a key too. “Where he can play and sing without anyone listening.” He smiles fondly, and then turns his attention to you. “I thought maybe today I could give you a dance lesson?” Hoseok offers. “It’s something we could do together. You know. Without having to fight off a rabid bear or dangle off a cliff.” 

“Risk management. I like it,” you laugh. 

“But also selfishly—I was missing dancing with someone. And I’ve been working on a new piece of choreography, and, well, it needs two people. Will you help me with my little experiment?” He gives you those doe eyes you know better than to say no to. Still, you hesitate.

“You know I’m no dancer.” 

“But you’re good enough.” 

“Are you saying ‘I’ll do?’” you laugh.

“Yes, basically. But also, I wanted to do this—”

Hoseok steps closer to you, wrapping his hands around your lower back. 

You had danced with Hoseok in the past,  stepping in when he needed a hand or wanted to practice teaching a new dance before bringing it to a studio. You were decent, you could admit that, but you were no professional. 

“You just want to touch me, don’t you?” you tease. 

“Of course I do.” 

“And last night wasn’t enough?”

“Of course it was enough. And now I want more.”

“Ah…” You trail off. “I dunno. I’m not at the level you’re used to.” 

“You’re at the perfect level,” he grins. “Please? For me?” 

You sigh and nod. “Fine. But you owe me.” 

“I owe you times a hundred! Yes! Thank you!” 

He bounds away from you, before flicking on a stereo. A remix of an old waltz comes on, synths and electronic iterations dotted throughout the classical sound. He pauses, puzzling over how to start. You can see it in his eyes, all of the steps of the dance existing at once, the story of the dance, and the logistics of how to pull it out of the trenches of his mind to share with you. And then it clicks.

“Maybe we can just start out with a basic waltz? Just to warm up?” 

“Absolutely,” you say, and offer him your hand. He messes with something on his phone—speaking of, when was the last time you checked your phone?—and the song changes to a traditional waltz. He sweeps you into his arms. 

And like that, you’re off. His left hand holds your right tightly, while his right hand presses gently against your back. You’ve done this with him before, and the steps come back quickly and easily. Before you know it you’re laughing gleefully as you twirl around the room. 

You can’t help but compare it to the dream. There’s that same warmth, the way both dream Hoseok and real Hoseok had felt identical. Or no-–that wasn’t it. You had glowed identically in their presence. 

That was it. 

“I dreamt about this,” you blurt, before you can think of what you’re saying. This is the first time you’ve spoken about the recurring—and intimate—dreams you’ve been having about your friends to anyone beyond Jimin.

“So you’re dreaming about me now?” When you don’t answer, he asks, “What did you dream?” 

“That you wanted me—to marry you or something. It was some old timey thing. There was a barn. And lots of candles. And you teased me, endlessly. And you wouldn’t kiss me.” 

“I’m sorry—” 

“Hobi, it was my own imagination that didn’t kiss me, not you.”

“Well dream Hobi was right about one thing.” 

“What’s that?” 

“That I want you.” 

You flush, letting your eyes drift down. 

The dance comes to an end and Hobi puts the original song back on. He shows you the dance once from beginning until end, miming a dance partner in his arms, before he walks you through his choreography step by step. Tongue caught between your teeth, you follow him painful step by painful step, over and over again, until you’ve gotten the movements down. 

“Now we try it all together?” 

“That wasn’t all together?” 

At first it’s stumbling and awkward, but it doesn’t take too long for you to catch the gist and begin moving in tandem with him. As your hips roll, so do his. A perfect mirror. As you turn, he’s ready to catch you and pull you into him. As you step towards him, he steps back. 

Your bodies move as one and it feels so easy, too easy with him. The movement of the dance feels so natural that you find yourself blurting out: “You’re easy.” 

“Excuse me?” He stops moving, an incredulous laugh breaking free from him. 

“Shit, no sorry—I mean. You feel easy.” 

He tilts his head, still not understanding. 

“These past couple of days. Everything has felt so nice with you. So simple.” 

He nods slowly, finally unraveling what you’re getting at. “Yes, I, well, I agree.” He steps away to turn off the music and all at once, as the gargantuan room around you settles into silence, you’re struck by the profound quiet. Although it’s frequently quiet in the house, you usually have at least a passing awareness of the other people in it, a shuffle from the hallway, a cough from the room next to you. Now, all you hear is your breath, and his. Now, it’s just you and Hoseok. 

You nod. You’re not really sure where you’re going, what thread you’re trying to pull at. You follow him across the dance floor. 

“I’m confused that it’s so easy.” 

“You’re confused?” He turns back to you. “Aren’t these kinds of things supposed to be easy?” 

“Yes—I mean, gosh.” You run a weary hand over your face. “It was so hard. After we fucked the first time. Not hard. It was so goddamn awkward. And in all honesty, painful too.” 

Hoseok grimaces. “Yeah, I—Even though I was shitting on everyone else and, you know, the whole ass dynamic, I don’t even know how to put into words how uncomfortable it was for me too. Even though it was my own fault, I hated it. I hated every moment of it.” 

You nod and squeeze his hand. 

He continues. “It feels so stupid because I can’t even remember what was holding me back from you,” he clears his throat. “From you all, I mean, when right now it feels so easy. It makes me think that I was a complete and entire dummy.” 

You chuckle. “You were a complete and entire dummy. But then again we both were.” 

You want to say that you’ve been holding back too, but you swallow the words down. This moment, everything, him, it feels like it’s drawing short. Like it’s so fragile that at the arrival of the wrong word or touch it would shatter around you, leaving you too, broken into a million pieces. 

“We work well together, you know,” Hoseok says. “We’re good partners.” 

“It is really easy dancing with you!” 

“I don’t just mean dancing.” 

You stop. “What do you mean then?” You ask tentatively.

He pulls you close, runs his nose against your neck, nips against your ear. “I mean, I think you and I work really well together. It’s so natural it makes me wonder.” 

“Wonder what?” 

He laughs. “What it would be like to lean in—to explore this connection. To keep making it work.” 

“Well, of course–” you stop yourself. Well, of course we can keep exploring and making it work. You swallow the words, swallow the promise of offering him something more than what you can give. “Well, of course there are the others too. It feels so wonderful to be connected to you as well as to the others. Like it feels like it’s not supposed to work? But it totally does.” 

“Yeah, uh.” Hoseok steps back, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “The others. Totally.” 

You notice the tension but you’re too worried to step into it and interrogate it, lest you upset the precarious balance you and Hoseok hold these days, the tightrope between past and present that it feels like you’re constantly walking. 

“I mean it, Hoseok. It feels like this should all be a disaster but—it’s been the best part of my year.” 

You get him to smile at that. “I know. It’s been really special for me too.” The two of you grin at each other for a long moment, and then Hoseok is blinking and stepping away, moving towards the speaker to flip it on again. “Again? I think we can really get that final move down.” 

“Alright,” you sigh. “Again.” 

This time, when you go through the steps, you really feel the core of them. You understand the story behind it. You keep catching Hoseok’s eye in the mirror, and find his gaze glimmering and full of admiration. Sweat beads on your forehead with the effort of it all, but you’re exhilarated. In glances and glimpses in the expansive mirrors, you watch two bodies—bodies so familiar you might mistake them for those of a pair of old lovers—glide across the floors. Behind your figures, the valleys stretch, cavernous and deep. The mountains radiate with the kind of sun that only spills right as the seasons are in shift.

And then, you are back in the moment, trying to remember the next move, and the next, and the next. 

When he pulls you against him, he slips his leg between yours and raises an eyebrow, pausing longer than the dance calls for. The command is clear: Grind on me. 

You give a tentative swivel of your hips against him, gaze stuck to him, his form. 

“That’s all you got?” His hand on your hip presses against you, showing you the way. Showing you how to move your hips. You lean forward, so your lips are at his ear. Your breath ghosts over him, and you can feel him shudder beneath you, before his strength returns and he continues guiding you. 

“Like this,” he says. 

Sure, the move is part of the dance, but not quite like this. 

“Again,” he breathes. 

This time you shift your energy, bringing your focus to your hips. With careful deliberation, you grind your hips forward, pushing your pelvis to his, letting his thigh press up to your core. It’s the perfect amount of pressure to have you shuddering against him. 

“Fuck,” you groan. 

“I love when you have that filthy mouth on you.” 

You smile into his shoulder. His hand continues to roll your hips against him, matching the beat of the music. 

And then he shifts, his weight pulling away, pulling you with him, resuming the dance. But this is different. As you move, your bodies are pressed together without air, your lips ghost over one another’s, your fingers dig into each other’s flesh, desperate for more. When the dance dictates that he’s at your back, he presses his pelvis to you and you feel him against you. In the mirror you catch his gaze and he smirks. 

“This okay?” he whispers against your neck. 

“More than okay,” you reply. 

There’s a darkness swirling in his gaze, a contradiction to the usually sunny disposition you’re so used to. It’s a warm darkness, one that beckons you near, one that sings sweet promises of drowning oh-so gently. 

Do you want to drown?

In the next step you’re spinning back into him, and all choreography forgotten, you kiss him, hands flying to his face, pulling him down to you. He seems surprised at first, but soon relaxes into you, his arms wrapping around you, hands splayed across your lower back. Your kisses are hungry, needy. 

It’s like you’re making up for lost time. You devour each other, lips mashing together messily, hands wandering, clutching, gripping. Time slips past you like a stream. 

He begins to walk you backwards, until your back hits the cold surface of the mirror. You gasp at the cool sensation, your body split between the heat of exertion and the livening shock of the glass. His lips devour yours, his tongue scraping against the roof of your mouth. You pull him as close to you as possible and whisper in his ear: 

“I want you.” 

“Fuck. Forget the dance. Bed. Now.” 

— 

You sprint through the halls and up the stairs, laughing, giggling, Hoseok pulling you forward, forward. When he kisses you against the wall of your bedroom, you melt. When he slips under the covers with you, ignoring the knocking on the door and the sound of one of your friends calling your name, you turn into liquid in his hands. As he fucks you with his fingers, while you take him into your mouth, you hum with pleasure. 

Still at the back of your mind, the knot of a question sings: Why don’t we ever talk about what happened that night, all those months ago? It’s repeating like a chant, in tune with the sounds of pleasure that he pulls from your body over and over and over again.

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