#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

[smileysuh]

sage & stardust

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, Mingyu holds y/n down by the wrists, size kink, mentions of possible bondage kink, heavy petting, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu.  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.6k

🍭 aus. Fairy au, fantasy au, non idol. 

☀️ mlist + an. Okay, so, I’ve written sooo many fics on this blog, and lately I’ve been wanting to try things I haven’t done before. I’ve never done a legit small man fairy dude (who does become normal/large sized later) x yn in a fic before, so bare with me, because these two are such a delightfully domestic pairing. Without further adieu, I give you: blue-collar fairy Mingyu. 

Prologue

Pandora lives in a little cottage in the forest. Even though she’s young, she knows the trees and ferns, the mushrooms and flowers. Who needs mundane playthings when you have four entire acres of wilderness to keep you entertained? 

Her mother is an artist, and steady hands run in the family. Pandora spends her evenings carefully painting a dollhouse model of the cottage that her father had crafted for her in his little workshop shed outside.

All in all, it’s a peaceful existence, and things are very predictable. Mother is in the studio solarium room, fingers covered in inks and colorful spots. Father is crafting something in his shed, fixing up the house as he engages in an endless war against the elements of the forest. 

Pandora flutters around, checking in on her parents, and exploring the immediate grounds around the cottage. Today, she’s following a particularly beautiful butterfly as it glides amongst the trees down by the pond. She’s so enamored with the pretty wings, that she almost doesn’t notice the fairy ring. 

A circle of mushrooms, one she’s scouted out before, is along the bank of the murky water. Pandora has heard tales of fairies and pixies, and has been warned not to enter circles like this. She sidesteps the ring, and that’s when she notices something out of place, something that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Just outside of the little circle, is a small creature. At first glance, the glossy wings look butterfly-like, but Pandora has never seen sage green wings like these on a bug. The small child pauses, hiking up her dress and kneeling down to get a better look.

Definitely not a butterfly. Where an insect would have a thorax at the joining of wings, this creature has a tiny little man. Well, he’s bigger than a butterfly would be, but it’s clear to the young girl that she’s looking at a fairy, and as she inspects him further, she notices one of his wings is torn.

Pandora has mended butterfly wings with her father before- she knows what to do, but she’s hesitant. Should she help this small fairy, as she’s helped many bugs before him? Is he simply resting and not in immediate danger?

She looks around, noting any predators in the surrounding area. A large bird circles overhead, and Pandora decides she has to act. Reaching for a leaf, she scoops the tiny fairy's body into the greenery, carefully carrying him back toward the cottage.

As she gets there, she sees her father getting into his work truck to head to town, and Pandora knows better than to stop him. She also knows better than to go interrupt her mother, who is on a deadline for a piece and has asked not to be disturbed.

No, Pandora will have to do this rescue mission herself, and she heads into her father’s workshop to find the glue.

She does her best to be gentle, even with her pudgy fingers, as she mends the torn wing. When she’s done, Pandora finds one of the many small boxes her father has made. It’s a cedar box, with a small, iron latch.

Leaving the fairy, she goes outside, collecting a little nest of moss to put into the box.

When everything is finished, she sets the fairy into the box, carefully closing it and latching it shut. He needs some rest, and as far as the small child is concerned, he’s safer in her little box than lying in the grass where big predators might hurt him.

One:

“I’m sure it’s no surprise that your grandmother left you the cottage,” the lawyer in charge of the estate tells you as he looks over the papers on his desk. “As you are the only artist in the family, Pandora wrote that she hopes the solace will inspire, as it had inspired her, and her mother before her.”

You nod solemnly. It’s a monumental gift, one your cousins would kill you for- but alas, you’d spent the most time with your grandmother in her later days, and the solarium studio is already set up as your own. To be young, and a homeowner now- this had never been your intention in spending time with her, but perhaps it’s a happy outcome, given the dire situation of her passing.

“She also wanted me to tell you, that you can finally open the box.” The lawyer looks at you expectantly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you know what she was referring to?”

“Yes,” you respond. “She’d kept this small cedar box. Her father had made it for her when she was a child. It’s on her nightstand, but she’s never opened it.”

“Well, that’s… interesting.”

“Yeah, Pandora’s Box, I know the story,” you let out a sad chuckle. “Part of me doesn’t want to open it, she always told me not to, I guess I made it this big bad thing in my head as a kid.”

“I’m sure it’s just jewelry or something of the sort,” the lawyer assures you, and you remind yourself that men of the law are never the superstitious type.

Two:

You’re a few glasses deep into your bottle of wine, and you find yourself looking at your grandmother’s small cedar box. Curiosity is getting the better of you, and liquid courage is doing wonders to calm your superstitions. 

There can’t be anything dangerous in the box, or your grandma wouldn’t have left it for you… right?

Taking a breath, you approach the box. It’s sitting on your dining room table, you’d gingerly carried it from the bedroom earlier, with the intention of opening it, and now, you will. 

You sit, staring at it for a few moments. Your hands shake when you reach for it, but you push away your anxiety. The iron latch is old and worn, but it clicks open after a bit of work. Taking another deep breath, you lift the cedar lid. 

Nothing happens, no surge of dark spirits releasing the worst of humanity, no hurricane or pestilence-

You lean forward, looking into the box, and you’re shocked by what you find there.

Half buried in a nest of mossy greens that looked like they were only picked hours ago, is a small winged man. It’s a fairy, you realize, with glossy wings-

He stirs a little, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

How could this be? Ignoring the moss that’s apparently been preserved for over seventy years, how is this tiny creature still alive after being shut away for a lifetime?

Part of you wants to close the box, to forget about it- but then the tiny man’s eyes open, and he stares up at you. You freeze immediately, as if paralyzed, your mind going blank in the face of the supernatural.

The fairy rubs his eyes, sitting up amongst the bed of moss. His hair is all messy, but in a way that’s kind of adorable. He gazes up at you, and then, he speaks. “Hello?”

“Hi?” It comes out a question, and you’re unsure how to proceed, so you say nothing else.

“Sorry, this is embarrassing,” he laughs, and you note the way his skin has turned pink. “Did you save me?”

“As horrible as this sounds, I uh… inherited you?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” the tiny man muses. “I remember being attacked by a large bird in my realm, my wing was damaged, I made my way to a fairy ring to come to your world and recuperate, but I must have passed out.”

You consider his words for a moment. “My grandma used to fix butterfly wings, is it possible she found you and fixed yours?”

The fairy extends one of his sage appendages, inspecting it. “It definitely looks repaired… Your grandma, you said?”

“Yes.” You nod. “I was told she’d had this box since she was a girl… have you been in here for a long time?”

“I was in hibernation, the dark and the moss- it was healing, I awoke because of the light.”

“So you have been in there for years,” you conclude, shocked. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“How many years is ‘years?’ You humans have a different view of time than I do.”

“Probably seventy or eighty?” you suggest.

“It didn’t feel like that long.” He cocks his head to the side, clearly thinking, then he looks up at you again. “How long have you had me?”

“I uh…” you swallow thickly at the question. “Well, I just inherited the cottage, and my grandma left the box to me in her will too… so, only two days.”

He nods, looking down, continuing to think hard about whatever it is that fairies ponder deeply on. 

“How… how do you feel?”

“Well rested,” he smiles, breaking the look of deep concentration. “I’m ready to get back to tinkering.”

Tinkering… that definitely sounds like a fairy word, and you don’t question him further. 

“Please don’t let me stop you from getting back to your home,” you tell him. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience of my grandmother keeping you in this box all this time.”

“It’s alright,” he yawns again, then pushes himself up from the moss. He’s dressed in a little green fairy outfit, and you do your best to commit him to your memory. His wings are truly beautiful, the way they shimmer even in the electric light of your kitchen. “I remember a pond.”

“Yes, there’s one right out the back way, must be a fairy circle there,” you nod.

“Thank you for the directions,” he smiles sincerely, and then, he begins to fly. You wonder how such delicate-looking wings could carry his body weight as he heads toward your open kitchen window. He lands on the ledge there, turning to give you one final nod of farewell, and then the fairy is gone.

You sit there for a few minutes, staring after him in shock.

How much wine did you have to drink?

Three:

It’s a Thursday like any other. You’re getting used to living in this cute cottage in the woods, spending your mornings waking up with the sun, heating a kettle for tea, and letting the creative juices flow in your mind before you ease your way to the studio to paint.

It’s the end of spring, and the promise of summer warmth is looming on the horizon. 

You’re just beginning to contemplate breakfast when there’s a knock at your door, and it makes your heart freeze in your chest.

Although you might be getting somewhat accustomed to the seclusion, there are still very real dangers of being a single woman out on a large property alone in the woods, and this fact makes you hesitant as you head to your front door.

You can make out a large man through the glass, and you take a breath before peaking your head out. “Hello?”

It takes you a moment to recognize the man, as he’s substantially larger than the last time you saw him. The fairy is no longer palm-sized, instead, he’s well over six foot, and he flashes an awkward smile down at you. “Hi.”

You take in his attire, the worn jeans and the green flannel… you also note that he’s barefooted. “You’re wearing my grandpa's clothes.”

“Yeah, I uh… noticed the box in your truck, figured you might be getting rid of them anyways, so I slipped in through a crack in the window. I couldn’t just show up naked.”

Good point. “You’re big now,” you point out.

“Can I uh… can I come in?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, surveying your front porch.

You take a breath. Part of you says this is a bad idea, but part of you is also saying that this is a fairy the size of a human man, and if you don’t hear him out, you’ll be wondering what could have been for the rest of your life.

You push your door open for him. “I just made some tea, follow me.”

The fairy’s footsteps are loud on your wooden floors as he shadows you to the kitchen. You give him your cup, pouring a second one for yourself before leaning back against your sink. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” the fairy sighs, taking a seat at your small dining table. He cups his large hands around the mug of tea, as if warming himself.

“Well, I’m y/n,” you tell him.

He smiles thankfully. “Mingyu.”

“Nice to meet you again, Mingyu, how about you tell me how you’re human-sized and your wings are gone?”

“Fairies can transform. In my own realm, keeping my smaller shape is easier, but here- it takes less energy to just… blend in. It’s a sort of, um, adaptation, for survival, I guess.” 

“It doesn’t make sense how you can go from tiny to massive,” you point out.

“Well, you see, I’m big for a fairy,” Mingyu laughs nervously. “It’s part of the reason I never fit in that well with others of my kind.”

You frown at his words, giving him the space to continue.

“Yeah, so anyways, I went back home, and I had been gone a while, and it just felt weird. I hadn’t fit in before, and I didn’t fit in when I got back, and I guess I just figured… you’re a girl, and you’re here alone, in the forest- I mentioned I’m a tinkerer right? I fix things? Was thinking maybe I could help fix up your place.”

Is he seriously offering to fix your house? You stare at him in shock. “I’ve never really thought about fairies being blue-collared.”

“Blue-collared?” he looks down at his flannel in confusion.

“Never mind, it’s uh, it’s a phrase, it means you’re a worker, you do building and stuff.”

“I’m really good at building and fixing things,” he nods solemnly. 

“So… you want to stay here with me? Room, board, food… in return, you’ll fix up the cottage?” you clarify.

“I guess.”

You study him. “I’ve heard about pixies and fairies who try to lure people into fairy rings-”

“It’s not like that, I promise.” He meets your gaze. “Look, what if I fix your little shed workshop thing, show you what I can do, and you can decide later?”

You consider it for a moment. “I guess that could work, but first, you’ll need some workboots.”

“If you think that’s best.”

God, he probably does most of his tinkering while fairy-sized and barely wearing clothes… which isn’t something you want to think about.

Setting your tea down, you head to one of the back closets, where you’d stashed away a few of your grandfather’s possessions, the important things, unlike the donation box currently in your truck.

You find Mingyu some shoes, and when you go give them to him, he flashes you a smile and heads outside to get to work. 

Four:

You’re doing your best to focus on painting, but your solarium gives you a perfect view of your grandfather's old work shed, where Mingyu is currently tinkering around. 

He’s fast, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing.

Your grandfather’s shed has a whole stash of tools, shingles, and wood, and Mingyu has already redone the roof, ripped a few worn boards off to replace them along the sides, and completed general tidying work.

He’s even weed-whacked the tall grass around the workstation, and as lunch turns into evening, he comes back from the woods with a small tree on his shoulder, which he then begins to chop for firewood.

You can definitely see how he’d be helpful to have around… and you can afford to feed him if he’s going to fix up your home. He’s probably already done a couple hundred dollars of work, maybe even a thousand- work that you’d been meaning to hire someone to deal with once you’d settled in a little more. 

You get started on dinner. You’d planned on rice bowls, and it’s easy enough to make a plate for him. Then, you go outside, calling him toward you.

Mingyu’s sweaty, and he’s got some sawdust on his jeans- but God, does he look handsome and chipper.

“I made dinner,” you tell him.

He nods, smiling before following you inside. You note the way he takes off his boots at your door, brushing off his pants, careful not to bring any dirt into your otherwise tidy house.

The two of you sit down to eat, and he’s extremely verbal about how thankful he is for the food, and how good it tastes-

You come up with an avenue of discussion to distract him from his praises. “What would you living here entail?”

He pauses. “I hadn’t thought too hard about it.”

“I feed you, you do work, you live here?”

“Something like that.”

“How long do you keep your human shape?”

Mingyu takes a breath, setting down his spoon. “I’ll be honest with you, whether you see it this way or not, your grandmother saved me. I was wounded, I came to your realm, anything could have gotten me, but your grandma saved me, glued my wing, and kept me safe so I could hibernate and heal. I owe your family. My home isn’t my home anymore, please let me help you make this cottage your home.”

“No, I-” you release the tension in your shoulders, “you can stay, but, seriously, how long do you keep your human shape?”

“Is it a space thing?” Mingyu looks around. “I can be small when I sleep if it’s a space thing-”

“I mean, my grandma has a replica doll house of the cottage that her dad made for her, was going to offer that up for you.” It’s meant to be a joke, but Mingyu takes it completely seriously, nodding diligently. 

“That works, I just have to go collect some moss to make a bed-”

“Are you being for real?” you ask, blinking at him.

“I should probably go back to my normal size when I sleep, it makes sense and takes up less space,” Mingyu nods.

“If you change your mind, I do have a spare bedroom.” 

“Nope,” the man-sized fairy shakes his head, “the doll house works.”

“Well… if you want to go get some moss, I can grab the box of clothes from my truck,” you suggest.

“Let’s do it.” Mingyu is so easy, he just agrees to everything. 

Soon the two of you are reconvening at your front door, you with a box, him with a palm full of moss. “The doll house is in the studio, I was planning to paint it.” Mingyu follows you to the solarium. In the dark of the evening, you have to turn on the fairy lights you’d strung up, and Mingyu lets out a breath.

Even you have to admit the space has ambiance. The solarium studio is a lovely part of the house, your favorite in fact, although, tonight, you’re feeling a little shy about your art strewn about.

“Did you paint all of these?” Mingyu asks, approaching your most recent work.

“Yeah, they’re uh, abstracts,” you explain. “I mean, I gather a lot of inspiration from nature, but it’s more a feeling than a specific thing that I like to paint, if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Mingyu nods, leaning down to get a better look at your art. 

“My grandma, she uh, she was an artist too, and so was her mother, and she gave me the house because she knew I needed inspiration-”

“Maybe that’s why she gave you me too.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you blink up at the tall man. “Uh… maybe.”

“So this cottage has a long line of artists and tinkerers,” Mingyu concludes.

“The line ended in my mother’s generation,” you sigh.

“That’s not true.” Mingyu looks down at you. “We’re here now.”

Five:

You wake up feeling as refreshed and well-rested as ever. It’s odd how much of a difference having a male presence in the house can make, even if he was the size of your palm while you were sleeping. 

You’ve been here over a month, but you’ve not yet gotten used to the seclusion, the feeling of being alone. Mingyu is an unexpected comfort, and you quietly tiptoe to your solarium to see if he’s awake.

The nest of moss in the dollhouse is empty, and you move to your kitchen, getting a kettle started before looking out the window. Mingyu’s lumbering around in the tree line. He’s dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans, and damn does it look good.

You turn on some music, quietly making breakfast for two while trying to fight the urge to watch the beautiful man.

You’d slept in more than normal, another byproduct of feeling safe, and due to that, by the time you’re taking two plates of food outside, the temperature of the late spring air is already warming with the noon sun.

“Mingyu,” you call, finding him by the workshed, “breakfast!”

He bounds over like a puppy, and you set the plates down on a small circular table. The metal lawn set can be a bit rough, and you’ve tried to soften it with comfy pillows. Mingyu doesn’t seem to mind as he plops down, grabbing the bacon sandwich you’d prepared.

“Smells delicious,” he tells you, taking the largest bite of food you’ve ever seen.

You watch him, amused. “Did you get up early?”

“Yeah, I don’t need much sleep. Just spent eighty years sleeping, or so you tell me.” Mingyu smiles at you, a tight-lipped smile to hide the food in his mouth, you’re sure. 

“It’s a nice day,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair and looking at the world around you.

The sun is out, it’s a little cold, but the sky is clear. Dew drops are in the last stages of evaporation, clinging to the green strands of grass along the hillside area that leads down to the pond.

“Every day is a good day for tinkering,” Mingyu agrees. “Which, I meant to ask- is there anything you wanted me to do?” 

“Uh… like what?”

“I’ll finish the shed soon,” Mingyu promises. “I already have ideas about extending it, but, if you wanted me to paint the house, fix anything inside that’s a little wonky and in need of tinkering-”

“I think you should focus on the shed, if you want to extend it, you should.” For some reason, you’re apprehensive about him coming into the house just yet- you need to… acclimatize to his presence, and right now, having a wall of glass between the two of you is keeping your heart from exploding every time you look at him. “Do you uh… do you need anything to build your addition?”

“Your grandfather kept a lot of tools, nails, screws- and we’re surrounded by trees. He had loads of extra shingles, enough for years of repairs to the cottage and the shed.” Mingyu smiles at you. “I think I’ll manage… but, when it comes time to paint it, maybe we could paint it together?”

“Maybe.” You can feel your skin heating at the idea. “Anyways, I wanted to bring you some food, now I’ve gotta go inside my studio and get to work.”

“Sounds good, tinkering calls, thanks for breakfast.” Mingyu pushes the last massive bite of his sandwich into his mouth before standing up.

He nods to you and then you watch him go, sneaking a look at his butt before you tear your eyes away.

This could either be the best idea of your life, or the worst. 

Six:

Mingyu had taken his time with the shed. He’d made it twice the size, and added more windows that your grandfather had left sitting around in the original structure- it’s crazy how much he’s accomplished using only the things that are left over and semi discarded.

Then, Mingyu had taken to restoring the inside. He’d spent two days just moving stuff around, tidying and dusting- and another day just cutting wood to fill up his firewood stash. 

Now, a week after showing up at your door, he’s finally come inside to begin tinkering with old hinges and loose screws. He’s going over every inch of your cottage to make sure it’s up to his fairy standards, and you’re extremely aware of him, especially when he makes it to the solarium to begin to work.

The french doors have been a little off for years, one hinge is a little wonky- and it’s hard to focus on your painting while Mingyu’s standing there and fiddling- or, scratch that, tinkering. 

“Watcha working on?” Mingyu asks, and you suppose he must have caught you staring.

“Oh, uh… it’s a new project, and starting is always the hardest part.”

Mingyu comes around your easel, looking at the new blank canvas you had pulled out just an hour ago.

“Do you have any ideas?” he questions.

“I mean… one or two.”

Mingyu cocks his head at you. “Tell me.”

You release a deep sigh. “I guess… I was wondering if maybe… maybe I could paint your wings sometime, in an abstract sort of way.”

Mingyu is quiet for a few moments, and you immediately try to backpedal, but he stops you. “No, it’s okay, sorry, I was just- I’ve never been someone’s muse before.”

“You haven’t?”

He shakes his head. “In uh… where I come from, my wings aren’t exactly that extraordinary.” 

“Really?” you ask in shock.

“Yeah, they’re just green. I know a lot of fairies with all sorts of colored wings, pinks, purples- every color of the rainbow. Green is… well, it’s bland, it’s like everything else in the forest.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You seem to forget that I came to the forest for inspiration- the greens here are beautiful. If I remember correctly, your wings are like… sage and stardust.”

“Sage and stardust,” Mingyu repeats, his voice like a whisper. He cracks a smile. “I like that.”

“So you’ll let me paint them?”

“If it would make you happy.”

“It would.”

“Then yes, you can paint by wings.”

Seven:

Mingyu’s continued his daily tinkerings, but now, your evenings are spent in your solarium. You’d found one of your grandmother’s magnifying glasses, the type she used for butterfly wing repair, and Mingyu is the perfect muse, sitting patiently and letting you inspect him.

You’d spent half an hour just trying to get the color of his wings right, and now, you’re doing long brush strokes against the cream canvas. You’d found some glitter too, and while Mingyu spends most of the time sitting on your shoulder while you’re painting, he also offers to douse his hands in sparkles and do the small details for you.

It’s odd, thirsting for this large, beefy man during the day, only for him to downsize and nuzzle into your hair at night- he’s still so cute as a fairy, and his wings are truly beautiful.

“You see me like this?” Mingyu asks, fluttering off your shoulder to gaze at the painting. He’s so small in comparison to the large canvas. “These are really my wings?” 

“They’re beautiful, Gyu,” you tell him, giving him a nickname without a second thought.

“Gyu,” Mingyu repeats, turning to look at you. “I like that.”

You hold out your paint brush, and he flutters over to it, balancing on the wooden handle.

It’s crazy how you’re already getting used to him- to the little things, Mingyu included. 

Eight:

It’s gotten to the point where Mingyu wants to paint the shed, so the two of you decide to head into town together. It’s a small population, and you know that the sight of the two of you is raising a few eyebrows as you enter the paint store.

Mingyu sticks out, not only for his size, but his beauty as well. He truly is stunning, and you notice multiple women staring as the two of you wander around the store.

“So what coloring are you thinking?” Mingyu asks, heading to a wall of paint swatches. 

“I mean… I just sort of figured we’d repaint it to match the house again?” you suggest.

“Well… it’s your house now,” Mingyu points out. “What are your dream colors?”

“My dream colors?”

“Yeah, I promised you I’d help you make it your dream home, didn’t I?” 

Your heart melts as you stare up at this gorgeous man. He has such a soft heart, you can’t believe how much you care for him after only two weeks, how much he clearly cares for you- but you try not to read into it too deeply. 

You turn to look at the paint swatches, truly considering what your dream home would look like.

You choose a pallet, showing it to Mingyu, and he nods. “This will be great.”

The two of you go to get the paint, and soon, you’re back in your truck. You try to play the radio, but it doesn’t drown out your thoughts, so you turn the music down.

“Did you notice how many people were looking at you today?” you ask.

“Hmm?” Mingyu tears his gaze from the trees moving by.

“Girls, a lot were staring.”

“Were you staring?” 

You flash a glimpse at Mingyu and find him grinning at you… is there a mutual attraction here? Does he like you the way you like him?

Things are just so easy. Choosing paint with him for your house, letting him make your house your dream house- it all just feels so domestic, not to mention the fact that you generally don’t like people watching you work on your art, but you feel comfortable with him.

“I, uh… yeah, I look at you, we’re friends.” You cough, forcing your eyes back to the road.

“Close friends,” Mingyu confirms.

You turn the radio back up, and Mingyu looks out at the trees again, but he doesn’t stop smiling, and your heart doesn’t stop racing either.

Nine:

It’s hard to sleep. You can’t help but think about the car ride with Mingyu earlier. 

He has to be attracted to you… right?

He’s been more touchy during your late-night painting sessions, and less afraid to cuddle up in your hair. You’ve noticed him watching you too… often when you look at him, you catch his gaze already on you.

Cohabitation with a man as fine as he is- well, you know where it leads, and you’re a little shocked you’ve gotten this far without breaking first.

You toss and turn in your bed, groaning.

God, when was the last time you were this horny?

Can you… can you touch yourself with him right downstairs? Is that weird? What if he catches you? Mingyu said it himself, he doesn’t sleep much- and… is his hearing better as a fairy? You don’t actually know much about his abilities when he has wings… maybe these are things you should ask.

You let out a sigh, bringing your hand to your breast through your sleeping shirt. In no time at all, your nipple is pebbled against your touch. You release another breath, closing your eyes and thinking about Mingyu. 

You search through your memories, deciding to focus on the thought of him chopping wood. God, in his little tank top, his muscles all bulging and glorious- the way his sweat begins to drip, making the fabric stick to his skin, showing off his abdominal muscles-

You can feel your pussy getting wet, and you begin to glide a hand down between your legs-

You stop, opening your eyes. Fuck, you can’t do this. It feels dirty, sinful- and not in a fun flirty way. 

This isn’t something that you can continue with- you can’t keep feeling this way. You have to tell Mingyu how you feel. If it ruins everything then it ruins everything, but you can’t keep this cohabitation agreement up if you’re falling in love with the man- or, should you say, fairy.

God, maybe you should have never opened Pandora’s Box. It wasn’t a flurry of chaos, not one you could see anyway, but you’re beginning to feel chaotic inside, and coming clean to Mingyu is the only way to get it settled. 

Ten:

When you wake up the next morning, you move slowly. You have a shower, make some tea, and then, after going through an internal script numerous times, you decide to go outside to tell Mingyu how you feel. 

He’s been painting the shed all morning, that much is obvious from how much he’s completed- and to make matters worse for yourself, he’s shirtless.

You almost turn and go right back inside, but instead, you pull up your big girl panties, taking a few deep breaths.

You have to do this, you’ll regret it if you don’t- just as you knew you’d regret it if you hadn’t let Mingyu inside a few weeks ago to hear him out.

“Gyu?” you call.

“Oh, hi!” he waves, and you watch paint splatter everywhere from the brush in his hand. “Oops!” 

God, he’s so- he’s so- he’s a big dork, in the best way possible.

You watch Mingyu wipe his hand across his abdomen, clearing the splatter stain there. “Had to take my shirt off, painting isn’t my strong suit sometimes,” he explains, putting the brush back into the can before he approaches you. “What’s up?”

Suddenly, everything you’d planned to say to him just disappears from your mind.

“Are you thirsty?” you ask, voice cracking.

“Could use some water,” he nods.

“Come inside,” you instruct, tearing your gaze away from Mingyu’s perfect body to lead him back into your cottage.

He follows you like a good boy, taking his boots off on your deck before joining you in the kitchen where you have a cup of water waiting for him. 

Your hand is practically shaking as you give him the cup, and he looks you up and down, an expression of concern appearing on his face. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly, shaking your head. “Just… a little jittery.”

“Is there something on your mind?” Mingyu questions, taking a sip of his water.

God, he’s still shirtless, and it’s as if he doesn’t even realize it! It’s as if being half naked in your kitchen is the most normal thing in the world to him!

You take a deep breath, doing your best to hype yourself up. “I like you,” you say finally.

“I like you too,” Mingyu grins.

“No, I… I like like you.” 

“Like like?” he repeats, cocking his head to the side in confusion. 

“As in… I think you’re really amazing and good with your hands, and you’re handsome, and I enjoy spending time with you,” you blurt. 

“I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. 

You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?

“Mingyu,” you take another very deep breath, stepping closer to him. “I feel for you, in here.” You put your hand over his heart, looking up at him, searching his brown eyes for some form of recognition, of understanding. 

Mingyu’s lips part, and his gaze shifts to your hand, then, he slowly places his own over yours. His palm is warm, and he squeezes you gently. “Are you saying you love me?” he asks.

You blink… it feels like he’s skipping a few steps here. You love him as a friend, and you’re attracted to him, but you’re not… in love with him, not yet anyway. 

“I-” You swallow thickly and decide to just be honest. “I think… things could be heading that way, with some more time.”

“More time?” Mingyu frowns a little. “Humans can be weird.”

“We can?” you laugh. “What’s love like for you?”

“Fairies don’t do anything halfway. We feel intensely, more so than humans I think.”

“Have you…” you cough. “Have you ever been in love before?”

“No.”

“So… how do you know what you’re feeling right now is love?”

“I know it because I would do anything for you. Just being near you makes me happy. I want to protect you, and provide for you- I’d give up my wings for you. I choose you over any of my own kind, because you understand me and accept me better than my own kind. I don’t need anyone else but you.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you choose not to say anything. Instead, you get on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his own.

Mingyu freezes for a moment, but then he reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your body to pull you tight to his chest. 

It’s a slow kiss, an exploratory one. It’s soft and gentle and every good thing, but you get the sense you’re going to have to lead the build-up of this. After a few kisses, you lick at his lower lip, and Mingyu responds by opening his mouth, allowing you to deepen the experience. 

His hands grab your hips, and Mingyu pushes you backward until your bum hits the counter, then he lifts you onto it, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. 

As you kiss him, there’s a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that this is a fairy. His original form is small… but as he grinds against you, you realize that what’s inside his pants right now is anything but tiny. 

God, he feels so good- and he’s already shirtless, which gives you the perfect opportunity to graze your hands along his body, teasing the muscle you find there. Mingyu shivers from the contact, breaking the kiss.

He presses his forehead against yours, breathing deeply, and you can feel his heart racing under your palm. 

“Do you want to do this? Even though you don’t love me the way I love you?” He asks.

“I want this, and I do love you Mingyu, I just…”

“You need more time,” he sighs.

“I think… do you remember how you said eighty years felt fast in the box for you? I feel like, you just move faster than I do, and that’s not a bad thing, it’s just… something we have to adjust for.”

“Adjust how?” Mingyu questions, looking down at you as his hands grip your hips harder.

You shrug. “Maybe you’ll just have to be patient with me.”

“Do I have to wait to say ‘I love you’ since you’re waiting?”

You smile up at him. “You can do anything that feels right, Mingyu.”

“This feels right,” Mingyu muses, pulling you closer to the edge of the table so he can grind his denim-clad cock against your core.

“Then do this,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and drawing his lips back to yours. 

Mingyu doesn’t fight it, in fact, he melts into the kiss, and then, his hands are grabbing your thighs and he’s lifting you up.

You grip his strong shoulders, releasing a small squeal of shock- but you refuse to break the kiss as he begins to carry you through your cottage. He knows where your bedroom is, and it’s sweet that he wants your first time to be on an actual mattress- you’d half expected him to bend you over in your kitchen and have his way with you right there, but you suppose that’s not really his style.

You still have so much more to learn about Mingyu, and you’re excited to take your time learning it. 

Mingyu lays you down gently on your bed, and his lips move to your throat. His hands find yours, and your fingers intertwine as he sucks on your sweet spot, making you moan and writhe against the bed beneath him. 

“Fuck,” you groan, brows furrowing from the pleasure already coursing through you. 

Mingyu grins against your throat, and then he begins to descend.

You’re wearing a sleeping shirt and boxers, and Mingyu’s hand is sneaking up the oversized fabric. “Can I take this off you?” he asks, pulling away and swallowing thickly, his gaze fixed on your covered chest.

You nod, but instead of forcing him to do it, you push on your wrist confines, prompting Mingyu to let you go so you can sit up, tearing the shirt off. You’re not wearing a bra, and Mingyu’s pupils blow at the sight.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours again as he helps you back down to the bed. You relax against the duvet, enjoying the sensation of your bare chests rubbing against each other. Your nipples are pebbled from interest, and each brush of him against you feels like magic, especially when he begins to swivel his hips, grinding down against your pussy.

His mouth begins to move down again, and this time, there’s no fabric to stop him in his tracks. Mingyu’s lips wrap around your nipple, your fingers threading through his hair as you fight the urge to arch your back and moan like a whore in heat.

“Feels good,” you tell him, earning a groan from the large man who sucks on your pebbled bud even harder.

His free hand is on your hip, but soon, it’s rising to massage your neglected breast. His warm palm feels so good- your eyes close in pleasure, your body reacting to Mingyu and the foreplay he’s providing.

You thread your fingers deeper into his curls, gently massaging his scalp while he works you up, teasing you in the best possible way.

He’s clearly solely focused on you, you don’t think there’s an ulterior motive, a motive of getting you to beg or forcing you to wait, you think he’s simply enjoying you, and you love the feeling of being enjoyed in this way.

Even so- now it’s your patience that’s running thin, and you tug at his curls, forcing his mouth away from your breast. He looks up at you with confusion, lips parting in a silent question.

“I need you,” you tell him, swallowing thickly. 

“You have me,” he assures you with a laugh. 

“I mean-”

His hand slips between your thighs, rubbing your pussy through your boxers. “You mean, you need me here,” Mingyu finishes for you.

Fuck, he’s so hot- part of you had expected him to be a virgin fairy who’s never been in love, but it’s clear from his dirty talk that he’s no virgin. 

Your pussy is wet, and you can feel a wet spot to match in your shorts, you’re sure Mingyu can feel it too.

“Since…” Mingyu takes a breath, and you can see his skin beginning to flush a pretty shade of pink, “since I’m the one who likes you more, maybe you’ll let me take my time and do what I want to do? Out of… pity?”

You laugh. “Pity? I don’t pity you- I kind of love you, Gyu, I said that-”

“Just kind of, though,” he points out, leaning down to bite your nipple gently.

You groan, arching your back and taking a deep breath. “Fine. Do whatever you want to me. Take your time. Worship me. Make me fall in love with you.”

Mingyu smiles, and then he whispers a soft, “Thank you,” before diving back toward your chest.

It’s clear that now that you’ve given him permission, he’s in no rush.

He worships your breasts, just like you’d told him to, taking all the time he wants to massage and lick and kiss and bite- and then, one of his hands returns between your legs, pushing your boxers to the side so he can access your dripping pussy.

He’s gentle at first, circling your sensitive clit and teasing your slit up and down. Then, after too much teasing for your tastes, he eases his finger into your tight hole. He’s gentle as he begins to finger fuck you, working you open at a snail's pace-

You think, as someone who time moves fast for, he really must be savoring every long moment of this. He wants to take his time with you, and for a fairy, that means something.

Mingyu’s lips are still wrapped around your nipple, and as he adds a second digit to your core, you think you might just combust.

“Gyu,” you whimper.

He hums in response.

“I’m close,” you tell him, beginning to wiggle your hips against his hand. “I’m so close-”

Mingyu’s palm finds your clit, and he finger fucks you harder, crooking his digits to reach a spot that has your toes curling.

“Oh my god-” you groan, closing your eyes and latching onto Mingyu’s hair as an anchor, keeping his face buried in your tits as he works you closer and closer to the edge-

One graze of his teeth across your nipple has you cumming on his fingers, and Mingyu releases his own sound of pleasure to echo the whimpers escaping your lips.

He’s got you pinned to the bed, there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do except take what he’s giving you.

He works you through your high, allowing you to feel every lick of pleasure as it courses through your entire body-

You’re a gasping mess at the end of it, and Mingyu gingerly removes his fingers from your pussy, pulling away from your chest to sit up on his knees, licking his digits clean as he inspects you carefully.

“Are you okay, my star?” 

You shiver at the nickname, a whispered echo of your pleasure running through you.

“Yeah,” you nod, still trying to catch your breath.

“Was that good for you?” he asks, teasing his wet finger across your nipple and making you shiver again. “It was good for me.”

“It was so good,” you groan, shifting against the bed.

“Good.” Mingyu hooks his fingers in your boxers, tearing them down your legs. 

You’re now completely bare for him, and you expect Mingyu to work on his jeans next, but he doesn’t. He lays down between your thighs, looking up at you as he peppers your skin with chaste kisses.

“Ready for more?” he questions.

You groan, and the groan turns into a laugh. “I guess I told you to do whatever you want to me,” you sigh, adjusting your legs so your feet are flat and your knees are bent, giving him better access to your pussy for what you know is about to come next. 

“You did.” Mingyu’s breath is hot against your still pulsing core, and you grab at the duvet in preparation, knowing he’s about to completely rock your world for a second time. 

Mingyu doesn’t say anything else, he continues to kiss up your thigh, and he doesn’t stop. When he reaches your core, he licks your clit gently, circling it.

You open your eyes, looking down at him to find his own lids are closed. He’s completely focused on pleasuring you, and as he pushes his tongue into your core, lapping at your slit- well, fuck, no thoughts are going through your mind.

You can only whimper, grabbing the duvet tighter, your toes curling deliciously as this man eats you out in a way that no man ever has.

He really is taking his time. It’s clear this isn’t just a duty or a ‘task’ he has to complete in order to fuck you, no, eating you out is as much his pleasure as it is yours, and somehow, that knowledge makes it even better.

You give yourself to the pleasure. There’s no anxiety, no racing thoughts, or pressures you’re imposing on yourself.

You know there’s not a time limit. Mingyu’s not eager to make you cum so he can fuck you, he’s simply enjoying the act of licking your pussy- so you simply enjoy it too.

You’re not keeping track of time, your focus is solely on the pleasure running through you, and the way it’s building.

Soon, you’re at the edge again, and you warn Mingyu, your thighs twitching around his head.

Mingyu groans in response, lips wrapping around your clit. A squeal escapes you, your chest heaving, back arching off the bed as your second orgasm slams into you.

This one is even more electric than the first, and it almost feels like you’re floating off the mattress- like you’re truly ascending to cloud nine, as if you - like Mingyu - have wings.

God, there’s not a feeling like it in the world, especially as Mingyu continues to suck your clit, working you through the most intense high of your entire life. Your legs are fully quaking around him now, your grip like a vice on the duvet.

Thank God you live in the middle of nowhere because you’re aware that you’re being loud. 

Mingyu’s groaning too, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you pinned and in place for him to eat you through the pussy contracting pleasure convulsions that are threatening to overtake your entire body in an ecstasy you’ve never, ever experienced before. 

The large man finally lets up, and you gasp, flopping back down against the bed. There are aftershocks of pleasure, and you jolt a little, goosebumps erupting on your flesh from the sensation. 

You feel the bed shift, and you look from under heavy lids to see Mingyu standing at the foot of the mattress, finally taking off his jeans.

Fuck, he’s huge- maybe foreplay wasn’t so much of a want, as a necessity. 

“You still want me?” Mingyu asks, joining you on the bed again, his breath hot against your throat as he grinds down against you, teasing his cock against your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, I need you,” you tell him.

Mingyu kisses you then, grabbing your hands and putting them above your head. He collects your wrists in one grip, and with his free hand, he grabs his cock, lining it up with your core.

“If it hurts-”

“You’ve made me cum twice,” you tell him, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.”

“Whatever you say, my star,” he grins, pressing his lips to yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your tight, wet hole.

You groan desperately, struggling against his grip on your wrists, but Mingyu doesn’t let up. In fact, he tightens his hold on you, pushing his cock even deeper into your core.

The sounds you’re making are feral as he kisses you, his lips and tongue are hot against your own in the most delicious way.

You can feel your pussy stretching to accommodate for his girth, and when his hips are finally flush against your own, you think this might just be the most full you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

Mingyu breaks the kiss, panting and looking down at you. “You feel perfect,” he whispers.

“You feel perfect,” you counter, feeling a little dim with your repetition of his own works back to him, but also too fucked out to think of anything better. 

He only grins, drawing his lips to yours. It’s a gentler kiss as he begins to fuck you, his motions slow so you can acclimatize to the massive cock that’s already rearranging your guts. 

You get lost in him, and there’s a kind of safety in having your hands pinned down above your head. You can’t quite explain it- maybe it’s just a size kink? You can’t have a bondage kink, can you? Does Mingyu even know what bondage is? Do fairies watch porn?

You push the thoughts from your head, focusing on the cock that’s dragging against your sensitive inner walls.

Soon, you’re moaning loudly again, and Mingyu finally lets up on your wrists. “I kind of…” he swallows thickly, thrusts faltering, “I kind of want you to ride me when you cum.”

“You do?”

“I’ve… well, I know I’ve been a little rough-”

“You haven’t been rough,” you assure him.

“I just mean, the first two times you came, I did what I wanted, and I want you to be in control for this last one, don’t want to overstimulate you.” 

It’s a soft idea, and you nod up at him. “I’ll ride you.”

“Good.” Mingyu kisses you gently, and then the two of you are adjusting.

He lays flat as you swing your leg over his hip, grabbing his cock to line it up with your core so you can slowly sink down on him.

Mingyu groans, his hands settling on your hips to help you be gentle as you come to a fully seated position on his cock.

“You look so perfect like this, my star,” he tells you, one free hand moving up to grab your breast, massaging it gently and pinching at your nipple.

“Think you can cum with me, Gyu?” you ask, beginning to bounce.

You watch Mingyu’s lips part in concentration, his gaze fixed on your chest. He’s clearly in a daze, and it’s adorable. “I’ll cum with you,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re quite handsome yourself,” you smile.

Mingyu’s ears turn pink first, and it’s so endearing to watch the massive man flush from a compliment as you’re riding his cock.

God, he is a perfect man, isn’t he?

“I think… I think I was made to be found by you,” Mingyu says, looking up at you with eyes full of adoration. “I don’t know what I’d do If I never met you.”

“Gyu,” you coo, slowing your thrusts. Mingyu sits up, allowing you to pull him to your chest, cradling him to your breast as your fingers stroke through his hair. 

“I do love you,” he continues. “And… it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way yet. I know it’s fast, even for me, but… yeah.”

“It’s fast, but that’s okay. You don’t have to hide yourself from me,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“You don’t have to hide from me either,” Mingyu promises.

He lays back down flat, and you move with him, your chests pressed together as you ride his cock, groaning into his ear.

Mingyu’s hands are warm on your hips, and he steadies you, beginning to thrust up to meet your movements.

You both release sounds of pleasure, and you can feel your hearts racing together in your chests as they remain pressed to each other.

You’re tired, but you’re also eager to cum again, so you push through, closing your eyes and focusing on the pleasure instead of the increasing burn in your thighs.

“Are you close?” Mingyu pants in your ear. “I’m close.”

His sounds are like magic, and they help drag you to join Mingyu on the edge. “I’m close,” you confirm, swallowing thickly.

“Can we cum together?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, muscles clenching in preparation. 

Mingyu fucks up into you even harder, and you put all of your energy into carrying this out, into riding this man until you pass out from how good everything is about to feel.

He releases another grunt, and you press your lips to his own, which is all it takes for you to both fall over the edge together.

You feel like you’re flying again, it’s almost an out-of-body pleasure-fueled experience, but this time, Mingyu’s with you, and you know you’ll be safe with the man who knows how to navigate the skies.

He cradles you to his chest, keeping his cock buried as deep as it can go in your core. You’re both kissing each other desperately, shaking and contracting from orgasms that continue to surge through you. Your hearts are racing together, and you’re both trying to catch your breaths even in the midst of a passionate kiss.

Everything just feels so right, and natural.

It’s as if your body was made to do this, with Mingyu especially.

Soon, your orgasms are subsiding, and you’re simply kissing now. 

Mingyu holds you close, not letting you go until he’s good and satisfied.

You take a deep breath, breaking the kiss to look down at him. “So…”

“So,” he grins.

“So… I guess this changes our arrangement a little?”

Mingyu laughs, holding you tighter. “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep in the dollhouse anymore?”

You find yourself chuckling too, and the contraction it causes of your pussy around Mingyu’s cock makes him groan desperately, his hand pushing on the small of your back. 

“You don’t have to sleep in the dollhouse.”

“I meant it when I said I’d give up my wings for you,” Mingyu muses, turning serious as he looks up at you.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“The future-”

“Is something we can talk about later,” you assure him. “Right now, I just want to enjoy you.”

“I guess… I guess we can do that,” Mingyu concedes. His arms wrap tighter around you, securing you down against his chest. He tucks you under his chin, releasing a deep breath, and that’s where you fall asleep, completely content with your blue-collared, human-sized, fairy lover.

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🔮 preview. “I’m happy where I am… but, when you cum, I’ll let you warm up while I fuck you stupid.” Mingyu never used to swear. He used to call sex ‘making love’ and something about it had made you uncomfortable in some weird way- so your soft lover has taken to using profanity for your own benefit, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to the term ‘fuck you stupid.’

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, size kink, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple play, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, hand job, shower sex, praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 175

🌙 starring. Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s summer, and you’re more in love than ever. Mingyu’s made you rethink what it is to live in your cottage. He’s done everything in his power to make it your dream home, and his latest upgrade is a small rowboat that he’d handcrafted with the purpose of meandering around your pond.

You can’t stop smiling and giggling as Mingyu rows you around, the sunlight kissing his skin in the most beautiful way. He’s so gorgeous, and his soul is just as stunning.

Every day is a dream with him… but there are still things on your mind, things you need to discuss. 

“Mingyu?” you ask, drawing his attention away from his haphazard rowing.

“Yes, my star?” he pauses to look at you, setting down the oars to give you his complete, and undivided attention.

“I’m just… I’m thinking.”

“That’s not always the best sign,” Mingyu teases. “Thinking about what?”

“Just… we’ve been together a while now, and, I guess I’m starting to look at the future more, and I’m not really sure how to envision it.” 

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[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.”

[theonottsbxtch]

HONEST | LN4

an: this is dedicated to the anon who noticed my bio and saw i loved honest by the nbhd, it inspired me to write something based off of it <3

wc: 3.5k

summary: lando and his girlfriend keep going back to each other despite her numerous attempts to get him to open up, what happens when she finally has enough.

The night was alive with the hum of possibility, the city draped in neon light and the buzz of distant traffic. She sat cross-legged on the floor of her cramped university apartment, a half-finished canvas propped up against the wall, colors bleeding together in a way that made her frown. Her fingers were smudged with paint, her hair twisted into a loose knot that threatened to unravel with every frustrated exhale.

Her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a notification: “Lando Norris finishes P2 at Hungary Grand Prix.”

She hesitated before swiping it away. The world might have celebrated second place, but she knew him better. For Lando, second was nothing more than a public failure.

The knock at her door came minutes later, sharp and deliberate, like him. She didn’t need to check who it was.

When she opened it, there he stood, still in the McLaren jacket with the logo stitched across his chest. His dark hair clung to his forehead, and his jaw was set in that stubborn line she knew too well. He smelled like engine oil and exhaustion, and she couldn’t decide if the ache in her chest was for him or the weight he always carried.

“You’re here,” she said, the words soft, more observation than greeting.

“I needed to see you.” His voice was low, barely audible over the sound of her radiator ticking in the background.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating? Champagne showers and all that?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in.

“I didn’t win.”

She closed the door behind him, watching as he moved to her window, his silhouette framed by the city lights outside. He didn’t sit, didn’t even take off his jacket. He just stood there, the tension radiating from him like heat from a burning track.

“You came in second,” she said carefully, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door. “That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not first,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he meant. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I just—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she interrupted, her tone softer now. She was getting used to this.

But he shook his head, turning to face her. “I do. You don’t get it. The team made me and I know I shouldn’t have kicked up a fuss but I’ve been working my ass off. Oscar doesn’t deserve this bullshit but I’m so close—”

“Lando,” she said, cutting him off again. “You’ve done this before. You’ll do it again. But it’s never about the race, is it?”

He stared at her, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to find the words.

“It’s not enough,” he finally said. “No matter what I do, I’m never enough.”

Her throat tightened at the familiar refrain. She’d heard it before—in the way he avoided eye contact when he talked about his expectations, in the way he deflected her compliments like they were a nuisance. She stepped closer, her arms unfolding as she reached for his hand.

“It’s enough for me,” she said softly.

For a moment, she thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. His hand was cold, trembling slightly against hers. He looked at her like he wanted to believe her, like he wanted her words to be true.

“You don’t get it,” he said again, quieter this time. “I don’t know how to be okay with less. I don’t know how to stop chasing.”

“Then stop chasing,” she said, her voice firm. “Just… stay. For once, just stay.”

He closed his eyes, the weight of the words hanging between them. When he opened them again, she saw the cracks in his armour, the vulnerability he fought so hard to hide.

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

The words stung, but she didn’t let go of his hand. “Then figure it out. I can’t do it for you, Lando. I can’t keep filling in the spaces you leave blank.”

The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain, until he finally nodded, a small, reluctant gesture.

She didn’t know if it meant he would stay, or if it was just another moment in the long cycle of him crashing into her life and pulling away again. But for now, it was enough.

“Come on,” she said, leading him to the couch. “Sit down. I’ll make tea.”

And as she moved to the kitchen, he sank into the cushions, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He watched her from across the room, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to breathe.

The tea kettle whistled, a sharp note cutting through the quiet tension. She poured the hot water into two mismatched mugs, her movements slow, deliberate. Every sound—the clink of the spoon, the soft rush of liquid—felt amplified in the silence that stretched between them.

Lando sat hunched forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. His head was bowed like he was waiting for something to break, or maybe trying to hold it all together.

When she placed a mug in front of him, he looked up, offering her the smallest nod of thanks. She sat beside him, tucking her legs beneath her. The couch was old, the cushions sagging, forcing them closer than either might have chosen in that moment.

“I used to think art was about perfection,” she said, staring into her tea. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge of vulnerability, like she wasn’t sure where the words would take her.

He turned his head toward her, waiting.

“When I started studying, I wanted to control every detail, every brushstroke,” she continued. “I thought if I just worked hard enough, it would all come together the way I imagined. But no matter how much I tried, it always felt… wrong. Like something was missing.”

He didn’t reply, but his gaze stayed on her, heavy with unspoken questions.

“I realised it wasn’t about getting it perfect. It was about letting the imperfections in, letting the chaos fill the spaces. That’s what makes it real. That’s what makes it art.”

Lando exhaled, a slow, almost shaky breath. “You think I should just let chaos into my life?”

“I think it’s already there,” she said gently. “You’re just pretending it isn’t.”

He laughed, a short, bitter sound. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not. But what you’re doing isn’t easy either, is it? Beating yourself up every time you don’t hit perfection? Trying to control everything, even things you can’t?”

Lando stared into his tea, the steam curling upward like a ghost of his thoughts. “When you’re on the track,” he began, his voice low, “everything depends on precision. One mistake, one miscalculation, and it’s over. You don’t just lose the race—you crash. You burn.”

She didn’t interrupt, letting him work through the words that seemed to take more effort than any lap he’d ever driven.

“That’s what my life is. Corners and braking zones and split-second decisions. If I let chaos in…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You’re not on the track right now,” she said softly.

His head turned sharply toward her, his expression unreadable.

“I know you don’t think you can stop,” she continued, her eyes meeting his. “But you’re not just a driver, Lando. You’re a person. And people aren’t built to live like that all the time.”

He looked at her for a long moment, the walls in his eyes flickering, wavering. Then he leaned back against the couch, his shoulders slumping as if he’d finally allowed himself to feel the weight of it all.

“You make it sound like I have a choice,” he murmured.

“You do,” she said. “But you have to be brave enough to take it.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Bravery. That’s funny, coming from you.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the one who made us go on break last time,” he said, the words sharper than he intended. “You couldn’t stick around when things got hard.”

She flinched, the accusation landing like a slap. But she didn’t look away. “I didn’t leave because it was hard. I left because you wouldn’t let me in. You let me see pieces of you, but never the whole thing. And I can’t keep guessing at who you are.”

The air between them felt thick, charged with everything they’d never said.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly.

She reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his knuckles. “Then try. That’s all I’ve ever asked.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hand turned, his fingers intertwining with hers.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it.

Her lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “You never lost me, Lando. But I can’t be the one holding us together anymore.”

He nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible motion. It wasn’t a promise, not yet. But it was something.

The next race that went to shit for him was Baku.

The door to her London apartment creaked open, and Lando stepped inside, his bag slung over one shoulder. His face was a map of exhaustion—dark circles under his eyes, his jawline shadowed with stubble. The scent of jet fuel and rubber seemed to cling to him, a remnant of the race he’d just returned from.

She was sitting at her desk, the glow of her laptop illuminating her face as she worked on an assignment. The sound of the door closing made her glance over her shoulder. Her expression softened for a moment, then grew guarded, like she was bracing for impact.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice neutral.

“I’m back,” he echoed. He dropped his bag in the corner and rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers lingering at his temples. “How’s your week been?”

“Fine,” she said, turning back to her screen. “Yours?”

He let out a dry laugh as he collapsed onto the couch. “Do you want the press-conference version or the real one?”

She swiveled her chair to face him fully, her arms crossed. “The real one, obviously.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as if the words were caught in his throat. Finally, he shrugged. “It was fine. Finished P4. Made a stupid mistake in qualifying, couldn’t recover. Typical.”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

She stood, crossing the room to sit on the armchair across from him. “I don’t know, Lando. Maybe something real? Maybe talk to me like I’m more than just an audience for your race recap?”

He looked at her, startled by the sharpness in her tone. “I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “You’re telling me what you think I want to hear. You’ve been doing that since the moment we got back together.”

He sat up straighter, his brows furrowing. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair?” she repeated, incredulous. “Lando, we’ve been stuck in the same pattern for months. You come back, you barely say anything real, and then you leave again. We took a break because you said you’d try, and nothing has changed.”

“That’s not true,” he argued, his voice rising defensively.

“Then tell me what’s true,” she countered. “Tell me what’s actually going on in your head, because I don’t know anymore.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

“See?” she said, throwing her hands up. “This is what I mean. I’m sitting here, begging you to let me in, and you’re just… shutting down. Again.”

“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes, it is,” she said, her frustration boiling over. “It’s as simple as you deciding whether or not you actually want me in your life. Because I can’t keep sacrificing myself for you if you’re not willing to meet me halfway.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, daring him to respond. But he didn’t. He just stared at the floor, his hands clasped tightly together.

Her voice softened, trembling slightly. “We need to break up. For real this time.”

His head snapped up, panic flashing across his face. “No. Please, don’t do this. I can do better, I promise. Just—”

“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I’ve heard that before. I can’t keep waiting for you to figure this out while I’m breaking myself apart trying to hold us together.”

“Please,” he said again, his voice desperate.

But then something shifted. His shoulders sagged, the fight leaving him all at once. He let out a long, shaky breath and finally met her eyes.

“Okay,” he said, the word soft but resolute.

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. She had expected resistance, pleading, anger—but not this.

“Okay?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re right. I don’t know how to give you what you need. And I don’t think I ever will.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words cutting deeper than any argument ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he added, standing and grabbing his bag. He hesitated at the door, his hand on the knob. “I hope… I hope you find someone who can.”

And just like that, he was gone.

She sat there for a long time, staring at the closed door, the echo of his and her words ringing in her ears. She had gotten what she’d asked for, but it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like the quiet hollow left after something breaks.

The weeks after he walked out passed in a blur of quiet moments and restless nights. Her apartment felt bigger, somehow emptier, though his presence had always been fleeting. At first, she moved through the days mechanically: attending lectures, working on assignments, and scrolling mindlessly through her phone when she couldn’t concentrate.

That was how she saw the first video.

It popped up on her social media feed one evening—a clip of Lando during a post-race interview. He stood with the same calm precision he always carried, his dark eyes serious as he talked about tire degradation and strategy.

But she noticed the way his jaw tightened when the reporter mentioned the championship battle. The way he rubbed the back of his neck when he thought no one was watching. The things only she would have picked up on.

She swiped away from the video quickly, her heart hammering in her chest.

For days after, more videos surfaced. Clips of him on the podium, the national anthem playing in the background. Snippets of races where he pushed through the pack with surgical precision. Even candid moments, fans catching him as he signed autographs with a tight, practiced smile.

She didn’t go looking for them, but they seemed to find her anyway.

Part of her wanted to stop watching. Every video felt like a small knife twisting in her chest. But another part of her—the part that still woke up some mornings thinking about the weight of his hand in hers—couldn’t look away.

And then there was the guilt. The nagging voice in her head that whispered she could have done more, been more, stayed longer. That maybe if she’d held on just a little tighter, he wouldn’t have slipped away.

But the rational part of her knew better. She couldn’t keep sacrificing herself for someone who wouldn’t let her in. She couldn’t keep living in the spaces he refused to fill.

Throwing herself into her work became her salvation. She spent hours in her studio, her fingers smudged with paint and charcoal, her mind racing with ideas.

Her project started as a simple concept: inner thoughts, the things we hide from the world. But the more she worked, the more it grew, expanding into something bigger than anything she’d ever created.

The centerpiece was a massive installation—an abstract figure built from fragmented mirrors, wires, and twisted metal. Each shard reflected something different: colors that didn’t match, faces distorted in impossible ways. Surrounding the figure were interactive panels where viewers could write their own hidden thoughts, projected onto the walls in real-time.

It wasn’t just art; it was a conversation. A reflection of the unspoken truths that lived in everyone.

Her professor was floored when she presented it during a critique. “This is… remarkable,” he said, circling the model she’d built as he spoke. “It’s raw, vulnerable. It demands engagement.”

She flushed under the praise but nodded, unsure what to say.

“You need to exhibit this,” the professor continued. “There’s an upcoming gallery in Monte Carlo—prestigious, international attendance. I’ll submit your work.”

Monte Carlo.

Her stomach tightened at the name. She thought of glitzy hotels, sharp corners, and the sound of engines echoing through narrow streets. Of Lando, and the apartment she’d only been to a few times.

But she nodded again. “Okay,” she said.

And that was how she found herself in Monaco.

The gallery hummed with conversation, the din blending with the soft background music that played over hidden speakers. She was standing near the wine table, engaged in a lively discussion with an older couple who were gushing about her work.

“It’s so… visceral,” the woman said, gesturing animatedly with her glass of champagne. “It feels like you’ve captured something universal but deeply personal at the same time. Like it’s speaking directly to me.”

Her lips curved into a polite smile. “That’s exactly what I hoped for,” she said.

As she explained the inspiration behind the installation, the doors to the gallery opened again, and Lando walked in.

He wore a crisp suit, his usual casual edge replaced by something sharper, more formal. The team required his attendance. His hair was nicely curled, and his presence was magnetic, commanding subtle glances from attendees who didn’t recognise him but knew he must be someone important.

Lando’s gaze swept the room, searching, but her back was to him. She was too engrossed in her conversation to notice the way his shoulders stiffened when he saw the installation—or the way his expression softened when he realised it was hers.

He approached the centerpiece quietly, his hands in his pockets as he took it all in. The mirrored figure seemed to hold his gaze, fragments of his reflection staring back at him. His attention moved to the interactive panels, where dozens of anonymous confessions lit up the walls.

“I’m afraid of being alone forever.”“I miss the person I was before them.”“I don’t know how to move on.”

Lando stood there for a long moment, his chest tightening as he read the words. Finally, he stepped closer to one of the blank panels and picked up the stylus.

He hesitated, the pen hovering just above the screen, before he began to write:

"I wish I could have been honest.”

He paused, then added something small, something only she would understand:

4♡

It was the way he’d signed every note he’d left for her. Scrawled on Post-its stuck to the bathroom mirror. On napkins tucked into her lunch bag. On the inside cover of a sketchbook he’d bought her. It had always been their little secret, a shorthand for everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Lando stepped back, his throat tight. He cast one last glance around the room, his eyes lingering on her as she laughed softly at something the older man said. Then he turned and walked out, unnoticed.

The crowd thinned as the night wore on, and the gallery grew quieter. She stood alone now, gazing at her installation with a mixture of pride and exhaustion. The panels were almost completely filled with confessions, their glowing words painting the walls in a kaleidoscope of emotion.

She walked up to the nearest panel, scrolling through the entries. Some were poignant, others painfully raw. But one stopped her in her tracks.

"I wish I could have been honest.”

Her breath hitched as her eyes darted to the small signature below it.

4♡

Her hand flew to her mouth, a tremor running through her as she stared at the words. For a moment, she thought she might have imagined it. But no—there it was, unmistakable.

A wave of emotions crashed over her: shock, sadness, and a deep, aching tenderness that she had tried so hard to bury.

She sank onto a nearby bench, tears slipping down her cheeks.

She thought of him standing here, reading her work, writing those words. The quiet acknowledgment of everything left unsaid between them. And the small, stubborn piece of him that still lingered in her world, no matter how far apart they were.

She wiped her tears, but they kept coming, her chest heaving as the weight of it all settled over her.

For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to feel the full depth of her loss. But alongside the grief was something else—a fragile, flickering sense of closure.

He had been here. He had seen her, her work, her heart laid bare. And he had left her a piece of himself, as he always had.

It wasn’t enough to fix what had broken. But maybe, just maybe, it was enough to let her begin to heal.

the end.

[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 >>

[o0sleepingdead0o]

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

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

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader, whole bunch of fluff honestly.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ; 1.3k .ᐟ

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ; not 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.

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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@bellabadacadabra

[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.

[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

[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.

[konfeitos]

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.

[smileysuh]

sage & stardust - TEASER

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, Mingyu holds y/n down by the wrists, size kink, mentions of possible bondage kink, heavy petting, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu.  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.6k

🍭 aus. Fairy au, fantasy au, non idol. 

☀️ mlist + an. Okay, so, I’ve written sooo many fics on this blog, and lately I’ve been wanting to try things I haven’t done before. I’ve never done a legit small man fairy dude (who does become normal/large sized later) x yn in a fic before, so bare with me, because these two are such a delightfully domestic pairing. Without further adieu, I give you: blue-collar fairy Mingyu. 

Even you have to admit the space has ambiance. The solarium studio is a lovely part of the house, your favorite in fact, although, tonight, you’re feeling a little shy about your art strewn about.

“Did you paint all of these?” Mingyu asks, approaching your most recent work.

“Yeah, they’re uh, abstracts,” you explain. “I mean, I gather a lot of inspiration from nature, but it’s more a feeling than a specific thing that I like to paint, if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Mingyu nods, leaning down to get a better look at your art. 

“My grandma, she uh, she was an artist too, and so was her mother, and she gave me the house because she knew I needed inspiration-”

“Maybe that’s why she gave you me too.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you blink up at the tall man. “Uh… maybe.”

“So this cottage has a long line of artists and tinkerers,” Mingyu concludes.

“The line ended in my mother’s generation,” you sigh.

“That’s not true.” Mingyu looks down at you. “We’re here now.”

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[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

[obito-in-disguise]

| Arranged marriage! Itachi x reader |

-Will Itachi live or die?

Part 4 to this

This was ridiculous. Itachi was a fearsome warrior, people declined missions at the mention of his name in the brief. Yet here he was, sitting before her in fear, like a child who had broken something valuable. He couldn’t even make eye contact with her. Every time he looked up, he was met with her menacing scowl.

He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it, though. He purposefully kept his illness hidden, only because he was worried. At first, he hadn’t told her because he didn’t think the marriage would even work out. Then, when it did, he became worried that she wouldn’t want to be with him after finding out he was terminally ill.

After his episode in the bathroom, he’d passed out, collapsing headfirst into the puddle of blood he coughed up. He slipped in and out of consciousness, briefly finding her crying hysterically over his body, shaking him awake. Her hands were stained with his blood before he fell back into unconsciousness. The next time he opened his eyes, he was in their bedroom, his clothes changed, the blood cleaned, and his wife standing over him, angry, heartbroken.

He really wished she would stop looking at him like that. He hated seeing her pretty face painted with such an angry expression.

"I'm sor—"

"Shut it."

Where would she even begin to wrap her head around this situation? Y/n couldn’t believe the nerve of the man sitting in front of her. What had he been thinking? That this would all somehow have a happy ending? Now that she thought about it, so many pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. The long hours he spent locked up in the bathroom, the overcompensating when the weather got even slightly cold, and the way he was always changing outfits, even when it didn’t make sense.

Before she knew it, she began pacing. Itachi watched her worriedly, his heart wracked with guilt. This was precisely why he hadn’t wanted to tell her, she couldn’t handle it, and he couldn’t handle seeing her so distressed.

"I’ve had it for as long as I can remember… this disease," he murmured, his voice distant. "It started out as a dull ache, then grew into something I couldn’t control." He paused, staring off, his eyes flashing with the ghost of painful memories. "I found out it was an autoimmune disease, my own body attacking itself. Quite ironic, isn't it?" He mused, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "At the end of the day, my greatest enemy was myself."

He rose from his seat and walked toward her, gently cupping her face in his hand. "Flower… I don’t have much time left. I’ve spent most of my life in pain. There were times I wondered if it was worth it to keep going…" His other hand rested on her cheek as he stepped closer. "But maybe it was, because it led me to you."

His expression was serious, his gaze unwavering, as if to leave no room for doubt. His thumbs brushed against her cheek, softly wiping away the tears she refused to shed.

"Am I supposed to thank you…" Itachi's eyes widen, his hands nearly falling away in shock. "Am I supposed to give you a medal for suffering because of me?" She rips his hands from her face, as though his touch had burned her. "What are you even saying, Itachi? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?"

Itachi stood frozen, utterly disarmed. His usual composure was shattered. He had no words, no defense. He had underestimated how much this would hurt her, how deeply she would feel his actions. His hands fell limply to his sides.

Y/n's eyes burned with unshed tears, her fists clenched at her sides. "You think this is love?" She laughed, the sound bitter, as though the concept itself had been warped. "You think making me watch you suffer in silence is some kind of noble act? I would’ve shared the burden, Itachi. But you kept it from me, you kept me in the dark, and now you’re asking me to be grateful for what, your self-perceived sacrifice?"

"That’s not what I’m saying!" Itachi’s voice trembled, but she was right. He had spent so much time wrapped up in the idea that he was protecting her, that he convinced himself it was for the best. Now, seeing her pain laid bare, he realized how deeply wrong he had been.

"I thought I was protecting you," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "I thought… it would hurt you too much. I thought…" He couldn’t even finish his sentence. The weight of the realization crashing down on him like a ton of bricks, he was no hero. He had spent so much time wrapped in the idea that he was sparing her, that he had convinced himself it was for the best. They both stood there in silence, chests heaving, fists clenched, their gazes full of sorrow.

"I don’t know how to fix this," he admits softly, his voice quiet, almost defeated. His eyes met hers, desperate for some kind of answer. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Her mind raced as she registered the desperation in his eyes. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that they’d figure it out, fix him somehow, but deep down, she didn’t know if she believed that. Her chest constricted painfully. She's angry, not just with him but with the whole situation, how helpless she feels, how unfair it is, and how much she wanted to be there for him but couldn't because he didn't let her.

"I… I don’t know either," she whispers. His shoulders slumped, and though he hadn’t expected her to offer reassurances, the emptiness in her response hit him harder than he thought it would.

"You’ve kept me at arm’s length for so long," she continued, her voice trembling, "and now… now I don’t even know where to begin."

Itachi opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, he was stopped, his chest tightening, the familiar burning sensation spreading through his airways. He gasped, his breath quickening as the hemoptysis episode started.

Desperately, he tried to turn away, to leave the room before she could see him cough up his entire bloodstream, but his body betrayed him. He stumbled forward, collapsing to his knees, clutching his chest as violent, painful coughs wracked his body. Blood spilled from his lips in thick clumps, staining the floor beneath him.

Y/n froze, her heart hammering in her chest as she watched him crumple to the ground. A scream caught in her throat. Her hands shook as she rushed to him, desperate, frantic. "Tachi!" she cried, her voice cutting through the room like a knife.

He didn’t respond. His breaths were ragged and shallow. His face was pale, contorted in pain. His eyes were wide and panicked, but there was something else in them, a look of resignation. It was as if he had already given up.

The man she loved, so strong, so composed, so untouchable, looked broken, fragile, and small. Her heart shattered at the sight of him, the last person she ever wanted to see like this.

Without thinking, she knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms. "Please, please… just breathe, Tachi," she whispered, her voice barely above a tremble. Her fingers pressed against his chest, trying to steady his erratic heartbeat, but it was like trying to hold back a storm. Her eyes blurred with tears as she struggled to keep him from slipping away.

Itachi, struggling for air, managed to rasp, "I… I didn’t want you to see this. I didn’t want you to… suffer." His body shook with each spasm of blood. "I wanted to protect you…"

Her lips parted to yell at him, to tell him to stop with this twisted ideology of his, but she couldn’t. Instead, she bit her lip to stop it from quivering. What if these were his last moments? The last time she would hear his voice? The last time she would hold him in her arms?

She mustered all her strength, pulling him closer, cradling his trembling body to her chest. She screamed for help, her voice growing louder, more desperate when he slipped into unconsciousness.

Concerned neighbors arrived, one of them calling the medic nins. Everyone stared with pity as Itachi was carried away, unconscious and too weak to even register what was happening. Y/n followed closely behind, refusing to leave his side for even a second.

At the hospital, the doctors were at a loss for words. His condition had deteriorated so far that they didn’t even know how to treat him. Just like Y/n, they were all angry at Itachi for keeping this from everyone for so long. But as per his request, his treatment trials were carried out at home, where he could spend what might be his last days with his wife.

Those nights, nights filled with shared silences, tight hugs, and whispered promises, were some of the only peaceful moments they had. Y/n held him as he lay on her chest, her fingers gently brushing through his long hair. Tonight, like many others, he let it down.

He glanced up at her, noticing the distant expression on her face. "Flower… is it me, or do you look extra beautiful tonight?"

She snorts, looking down at him and flicking his nose gently. "Ow! What? I was only complimenting you."

"Are you saying I look ugly every other night?"

She laughed softly, and he chuckled, tightening his arms around her. "Of course not. You’re always beautiful. You should teach me your secrets."

Y/n laughed again, the movement causing him to shift in her arms. "Look who’s talking, Mr. Lashes-for-Days."

Itachi snickered, his hand reaching up to tug at his long lashes before they both fell into comfortable silence.

In that moment, in each other's arms, everything felt okay. Tomorrow was uncertain and as much as it pained Y/n to think about it, she didn’t know if she’d get to hold him again, to joke about how he was always prettier than her. But right now, in this moment, he was in her arms. She flexed her fingers, feeling his flesh in her grip. He was here.

The future was uncertain but he was here, and right now that was enough.

Omggggg the end of this series. I'm emotional right now, I was going to abandon it but your lovely comments kept me going so thank you all for going with Itachi and y/n on their tumultuous journey. Hugs and kisses xoxoxo

Enjoyed the story? check out more of my other Naruto fics and more stories! Requests are open! and don't forget to reblog, like or leave a comment pookie♡

[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.