#but i still think it looks ugly but i am frustrated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshifighting · 5 months ago

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— 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.”

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madridfangirl · 7 months ago

Text

Making up after a fight - Jude Bellingham blurb

A/n - fluff, angst, comfort, suggestive

900 words. Jude*female reader.

……………………………………………………………………

‘You were amazing today. Congrats on the MOTM, so well deserved!’

You hit send, hoping for a response. You were supposed to be at the match, supporting him. But the two of you had gotten into an ugly fight just this morning. Which, in hindsight, was kinda your fault. But, hindsight is a bitch and you were downright furious in the morning.

A particular reel on your insta feed, of Jude with an upcoming Spanish actress, is what you had woken up to. The woman was gorgeous, and way too obvious with Jude - the hair flicks, side eyes, giggles, touching the arm for that extra second, all straight out of the playbook.

The hug though is what enraged you the most. Coz Jude had also wrapped both arms around her, not the typical one arm shoulder hug thing he usually did with other women. That, combined with the fact that Jude liked the pics she posted of the meeting made you blow your top.

To be fair, you had tried to avoid the fight before an important CL match, the first home KO match in-fact. But Jude had gotten impatient with your radio silence, pestered you for a call and then you couldn’t hold back.

He tried to explain that she was working on a social media campaign for RM, and other players had liked the post too. But you had shot back saying that was no reason for him to let that woman feel him up.

Jude was frustrated, and lost his cool too. This was not a new fight. You two had been here way too many times. Usually he was patient, knowing that his lifestyle was not ideal for a new relationship, but the timing of it, right before one of the most crucial matches of his career, is what irked him.

So yeah, it ended up with you not attending the match. Not even sending him a good luck message before the match, something you had never missed in the last 4 months since your first date. To top it off, you even used a nuclear weapon that you knew would set him off. By mentioning a colleague of yours who Jude hated with all the bones in his body.

It was only when you saw another angle of the video (taken on phone by other attendees) that you realised you had overreacted. The woman was still pathetic but Jude did pull back immediately from the hug, and maintained his distance. But, it was too late by then and the match had already started.

‘I am so proud of you, Jude.’

You were still on texts. Fully aware that if you call and he disconnects / doesn’t pick up, it will hurt you & your ego both.

The messages were seen. No response. It was now 1.5 hours after the match. He would be home already or on the way.

‘Wish I had been there, instead of moping all day.’

‘Why? That fucker wasn’t good company?’

Well at-least that was a response. At least.

‘Jude, I didn’t go. I wouldn’t. You know that.’

‘You had no problem throwing that in my face though.’

He was right, you could see that. It really was a low & petty blow. If only you were as clear headed in the morning.

‘I am sorry, baby. For that & everything else today. For assuming all those things without hearing you out. Really, I am.’

No response for 2 minutes, which made her anxious.

‘Don’t think I am cheating, then? Don’t think I am going to her right now or went to her last night?’

He was goading her, she could tell. But he was hurting too, that also she could tell.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Why the change of heart, when you were so convinced earlier?’

He wasn’t gonna make it easy for her.

‘Is that important? Look, I know I messed up. I know I ruined what could have been a great day for us. You really should be celebrating right now instead of feeling shitty. And I really really am sorry, Jude. Pls can we just get over this?’

A pregnant pause, again.

She doubled down with another nuclear weapon in her kitty.

‘I love you. So much it hurts. Yes I do get crazy sometimes but you know, in your heart you know where it’s coming from.’

If this doesn’t work, she won’t know what else to do.

1 minute later, her phone flashed.

‘I needed you today.’

She clutched the phone to her chest, sighing deeply, sensing his resignation.

‘I know, honey. Promise I will be there for the next big game. And whenever else you need me.’

‘It was so shitty to play like this. Not knowing where we stand. Not knowing if you were anywhere near that asshole. Might have tackled some of the guys extra hard today.’

‘Again, I am so so sorry. But I am also super proud that despite all this you still came out on top. Like you always do.’

Jude read and re-read the text a few times, sat in his car. She always knew what she was doing so this couldn’t just be a coincidence.

‘Tryna tempt me?’

‘Depends - is it working?’

‘Be careful what you wish for, doll. I don’t have a handle on myself today.’

‘Wanna come here & show me what that’s like?’

‘Gonna ask one more time - are you sure?’

‘Uh-huh. I do deserve some disciplining today, don’t you think?’

‘I’ll be there in 20. And doll, you may have to take an off tmrw.’

……………………………………………

#jude bellingham #bellingham #jude #real madrid #jb5 #jb #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #Jude bellingham blurb

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 4 months ago

Text

Confessions Between the Pages

pairing: jess mariano x fem!reader

requested: yes/no (anon)

genre: fluff/neutral

el's thoughts: first time writing for jess so he's a new character for me! this could definitely be out of character, but hey, it's alriiight hahaha hope yall like it!

jess masterlist

Y/N never meant to become this person—the one who feels a burning jealousy every time Rory Gilmore walks into a room. Yet, here she is, seated at a table in Luke’s Diner, glaring into her coffee as Rory and Jess chat across the counter. There's an easy rapport between them, the kind of connection that makes her stomach twist uncomfortably. It’s the subtle way Jess glances at Rory, the half-smirk he seems to save just for her, and the way Rory effortlessly holds his attention.

Y/N has known Jess long enough to understand she shouldn’t feel this way. He’s just… Jess—the sarcastic, book-loving troublemaker who stumbled into her life, somehow carving out space in her heart without even trying. But Y/N? She’s no Rory Gilmore—no straight-A student, no golden girl with a pristine future ahead. She’s always felt like the background to Jess’s scenes with Rory.

And now, she’s watching them again, torturing herself for reasons she can’t quite explain.

“What’s wrong with you?” Suki, her close friend/mentor figure, asks, nudging her elbow. Suki’s been keeping tabs on Y/N’s sour mood for days and knows it has something to do with Jess. It always does.

“Nothing,” Y/N mutters, eyes still fixed on Jess and Rory. She can’t help the bitterness that churns inside her. “I’m fine.”

Suki follows her gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. You’re doing this again? You know Jess isn’t into Rory like that.”

Y/N scoffs, stirring her coffee with a bit too much force. “Right. They’re ‘just friends.’”

Suki rolls her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

“You are,” Suki insists, the knowing tone in her voice only annoying Y/N more. “You act like this every time Rory’s around. You’re into Jess.”

Y/N freezes at her words, her heart tightening with anxiety. She can’t deny it anymore, not to herself and not to Suki. But her jealousy makes everything worse. It twists her insecurities into something ugly—something she doesn’t want Jess to see.

“Whatever,” Y/N grumbles, standing up abruptly. “I’m out of here.”

Before Suki can say anything else, Y/N heads for the exit. But just as she’s almost out the door, Jess turns around, locking his dark eyes on hers. He says something to Rory before quickly making his way toward her, calling out her name.

“Y/N! Wait up.”

She stops, heart hammering. “What?”

Jess looks at her, concern etched in his features. “You’ve been acting weird. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she snaps, though it comes out sharper than she intended. “I’m just… tired of watching you and Rory.”

Jess frowns, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

Frustration bubbles up inside Y/N, spilling over before she can stop it. “You two are always talking, and it’s like I don’t exist when she’s around! She’s perfect, okay? She’s smart, pretty, and everyone likes her. I get it. You like her.”

Jess’s expression hardens, his usual smug attitude disappearing. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes!” The confession slips out of her mouth before she can stop it, and suddenly, everything she’s been holding back crashes down. “You like Rory, and I’m just… me. I’m not her.”

There’s a long, tense silence, and Y/N can feel her heart sinking with every passing second. She regrets saying anything at all.

“Do you really think I’m into Rory?” Jess finally asks, his voice quieter but firm. “Because if you do, then you really don’t know me at all.”

Y/N blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

Jess takes a step closer, his dark eyes searching hers. “Rory’s great, yeah, but I don’t look at her the way I look at you.”

Her breath hitches. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jess says, voice steady, “that you’ve been in my head for a long time. It’s you, Y/N. Not Rory.”

Y/N feels her pulse race, the weight of Jess’s words sinking in. She’s spent so long assuming she didn’t stand a chance against Rory. And now, hearing Jess confess his feelings, it’s like her world is shifting.

“You… like me?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jess lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you seriously that clueless? Yeah, I like you. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”

Her heart feels like it’s doing flips in her chest, but guilt creeps in, too. She’s spent so much time being bitter, letting her jealousy fester. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice small. “I didn’t mean to act like that. I just… didn’t think you could ever feel the same.”

Jess softens, his tone gentler now. “It’s okay. But next time, just talk to me instead of jumping to conclusions.”

Y/N nods, relief flooding through her. “I promise.”

For a moment, they just stand there, the tension that’s been between them for weeks finally dissolving. Jess watches her, his gaze soft and a little amused.

“So,” he says, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “What are you going to do about this thing between us?”

Y/N laughs, the sound light and free, the first real laugh she’s had in days. “I don’t know. How about we start with dinner?”

Jess’s grin widens. “Sounds good to me.”

They walk back into the diner together, side by side, and Y/N can’t help but feel lighter. The air between them is easier now, and for the first time, she feels like maybe, just maybe, things will turn out okay.

As they sit down, Suki looks between them, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Y/N rolls her eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at her lips.

Jess leans over, whispering in her ear, “You’re going to have to stop glaring at Rory now, you know.”

Y/N smirks, nudging him playfully. “No promises.”

Jess laughs, shaking his head as he picks up the menu. And for the first time, Y/N realizes that she doesn’t have to compare herself to Rory anymore. Because to Jess, she’s always been more than enough.

#jess mariano #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano imagine #ellora.writes #gilmore girls #gilmore girls x reader #gilmore girls imagines

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xmattschainx · 1 month ago

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Push and Pull

the one where you get in a fight with matt and say you hate him so he also wants to show you how much he "hates" you but only in the mirror (12.3K words)

Contains: smut, unprotected piv, fingering, self voyeurism, overstim, soft!dom! boyfriend matt x sub!fem reader

The room felt like a pressure cooker, the walls squeezing in tighter and tighter as I struggled to breathe. Every creak of the old floorboards seemed to echo in the tense, suffocating silence between Matt and I. The air was thick with everything left unsaid over days, weeks, maybe even months. Every muscle in my body was wound tight, frustration coiling up inside me like a snake ready to strike. I couldn’t stand the way he was looking at me—or not looking at me, really. Matt’s face was blank, his lips pressed into a stubborn line, his silence like a brick wall I kept slamming into. My hands were clenched at my sides before I gave in to the rush of frustration and shoved him.

And I shoved him hard, surprising myself with the amount of force that exuded from me. I wasn’t even sure what I was doing anymore. My hands were shaking, but I pushed him, needing to see some kind of reaction, needing to make him feel something. “You don’t get it, do you?” I shouted, my voice breaking around the edges and slicing through the stillness of the room. The hurt that had been simmering there for so long clawed its way up, twisting my words into ugly, desperate things. I pushed him again, harder this time, as if I could physically shake the understanding into him. “You never listen. You never even try to, Matt.”

Matt stood there with his jaw clenched, unyielding, his cold blue eyes locked onto mine. He took a small step back to steady himself, his body coiled tight, ready to break. He didn’t speak, not yet, even though I could see his composure fraying. His silence, his infuriating, maddening silence, made my chest tighten with even more anger.

I shoved him again, desperate for any kind of reaction out of him. His body barely shifted, but I felt the tension in him, like he was barely keeping himself together. The way his jaw stiffened, the way his fists curled at his sides, it was evident something dark was brewing inside of him, simmering beneath that infuriating silence.

“You think it’s okay to just shut down like this? To stand there and act like I’m the crazy one?” I screamed, my voice cracking despite my attempts to keep it steady. I felt like I was suffocating. Every time I spoke, it felt like I was throwing my voice into an empty void. His silence was a knife, cutting deeper than any words he could have said.

Matt didn’t move, didn’t say a damn thing, and something inside me snapped. I shoved him one more time, my palms pressing against the hardness of his chest. I hated how solid he felt, how immovable. “Say something, damn it!”

His nostrils flared, and for a split second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Something I couldn’t quite name. His silence wasn’t calm; I knew that. I could feel the storm he was holding back, the one that mirrored my own. But he kept swallowing his words, which kept pushing me to the edge of my own sanity.

My breath came out ragged, and I hated the way my voice trembled. The frustration clawed at me, tearing me apart. I felt like I was burning alive, and his stillness, his stubborn refusal to fight back, felt like gasoline on the flames. I stepped forward again, my voice breaking. “Do you even care?” I demanded, feeling tears sting the corners of my eyes, hot and furious. “Do you ever care, Matt, or am I just… am I just screaming into the void?”

Matt’s eyes flickered, and I saw something crack, his composure visibly crumbling. As his hands, clenched into fists at his sides, he finally spoke. His voice coming out low and rough, every syllable trembling with barely controlled anger. “You think I don’t care?”

My heart lurched at the sound of his voice, at the force of it, but I didn’t let myself falter. My heart was pounding erratically. I wanted to throw his words back at him, wanted to scream that it felt like he didn’t. But the raw anger in his voice made me freeze, just for a second, before I forced myself to stand my ground. “Yeah, maybe I do! Because all you do is—” my words cut off, caught in my throat as Matt finally, finally, moved. He stepped forward, closing the distance I had been trying so desperately to maintain.

“I’m not saying anything because if I do, it’s going to make this worse. Is that what you want?” His voice was still low, but the sharp edge was there, like a crack in the surface of something dangerous. His eyes searched mine, and for the first time, I saw how close he was to breaking, how much he was holding back.

For a moment, we just stood there, locked in that terrible, fragile tension, neither of us willing to back down. We were standing so close that I could feel the heat radiating from him. My hands hovered near his chest, fingers trembling, and I realized I wasn’t sure if I wanted to shove him again or pull him closer. The space between us was charged, full of everything we had never said, everything we had buried under fights and stubborn silences. The anger was still there, but this time it was different. It was dangerous, on the verge of tipping into something we might not come back from. It made me want to either scream until I lost my voice or pull him closer until I lost myself. The heat between us wasn’t just anger. It never had been.

But I was afraid. Because if this fight tipped over the edge, if the anger broke and gave way to whatever was underneath, there was no telling what we would become.

The silence hung thick between us, pressing down on my chest until I thought it might crush me. My hands were still shaking, hovering inches from his chest, and I could feel the tears still burning at the corners of my eyes. I was unraveling, breaking apart in front of him, and he just stood there, looking at me like he was barely holding himself together.

I hated how much I wanted to pull him closer, to make him feel everything that was tearing me apart. I hated how he could make me feel so angry and desperate all at once. The words came out before I could stop them, my voice cracking as it sliced through the silence. “I hate you sometimes.”

The second the words left my lips, his expression shifted. Matt’s eyebrow shot up, the surprise flashing in his eyes for only a moment before something more dangerous settled there. I felt my breath catch as he moved, swift and sudden, closing the space between us in a heartbeat. Before I knew what was happening, he had me pressed up against the wall, his hands braced on either side of my head.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. My back pressed against the cold wall, and the contrast made the heat between us feel even more intense. His body loomed over mine, trapping me there, and my pulse raced as I looked up at him. His face was close, so close, his blue eyes searching mine with an intensity that made me forget how to breathe.

He had me pinned, but he was careful… so careful. His hands stayed on the wall, never touching me, even though his presence was suffocating. His body was tense, muscles coiled with barely restrained energy, but I knew he’d never hurt me. That tension that had been building between us was almost suffocating now, crackling in the air, making me feel like I was balancing on the edge of a cliff.

“Sometimes, huh?” Matt’s voice was low, rough around the edges, but there was a flicker of something else there, something that made my knees weak. His eyes burned into mine, and I could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body trembled with barely controlled restraint. “You hate me sometimes?”

I swallowed, my throat dry. His face was so close that I could see the way his jaw flexed, the way his eyes grew colder. My words had pushed him to the edge, and now he was here, trapping me between him and the wall, daring me to say something else. My chest rose and fell rapidly, and I could feel the heat rising in my face.

I wanted to shove him away, to scream at him to stop driving me crazy. But I also wanted something else, something that made me feel even more out of control. The way he looked at me, the way he held himself back from touching me even though he was so close, made my skin tingle with something that wasn’t anger anymore. Or maybe it was. Maybe it was all of it, tangled together so tightly that I couldn’t tell the difference.

I bit my lip, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Yeah. Sometimes.” The words shook, but I held his gaze, even though it made my stomach twist with that same confusing, overwhelming feeling.

Matt’s eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought he might actually step back. The anger still simmered between us, a tangible heat in the air, but there was something else there, something that made my pulse quicken. His hands moved from the wall, coming down slowly to rest on either side of my waist. I could feel the tremble in his grip, the restraint that was slowly breaking.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over my ear, and his voice was rough, like he was fighting every word before letting it escape. “I hate you, too.” he said, and the confession made something clench inside my chest. But his voice softened, cracking around the edges. “I hate how you drive me insane.”

I shivered as his fingers curled around my waist, his touch careful but strong, grounding me even though I was falling apart. He pulled back just enough so he could look at me, his eyes blazing with everything he hadn’t said until now. His gaze drifted over my face, and he lifted his hand, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

“I hate how you bite your lip when you’re trying to hold back your anger.” he murmured, his voice low. His thumb tugged gently at my bottom lip, and the touch sent a thrill racing through me, even as his words made my cheeks burn. “It drives me crazy.”

My breath caught in my throat, but he wasn’t finished. His hand moved to brush a strand of hair out of my face, his fingers trailing down the side of my neck. “I hate the way you push your hair behind your ears when you’re frustrated, even though you know it’s going to fall right back in front of your face.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the spot where my neck met my shoulder, and I couldn’t stop the way my body reacted, heat blooming under my skin. “And I hate that I notice it every damn time.”

His other hand moved up to cradle the side of my face, his thumb tracing over my jawline. His eyes never left mine, and the intensity there made my knees weak. “I hate how your eyes light up when you’re angry.” he said, his voice rougher now, full of the emotions he had been holding back. “The way you look at me like I’m the only person in the world who can make you feel this much. It makes me want to kiss you and fight you all at once.”

His hand slipped down, his fingers brushing over my collarbone, making my breath hitch. “I hate how soft your skin is.” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. “How every time I touch you, it feels like it’s never enough.”

I was trembling, caught between the anger still burning in my chest and the way his touch made my head spin. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against mine, and his next words made my heart stop. “I hate how much I need you, even when you’re driving me insane.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me again, his hands still holding me, keeping me pinned between him and the wall. His eyes were full of emotions I couldn’t even begin to untangle. “I hate how beautiful you look even when you’re yelling at me.” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I hate that I can’t stop wanting you, even when I know I should just walk away.”

His hands slid back to my waist, holding me tighter now, and I could feel the way his control was slipping. “God, I hate you for making me love every single thing about you.” he whispered, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way that shattered me.

My breath was shallow, my heart pounding. His words had stripped away the anger, leaving something deeper, something more dangerous. The way he looked at me, the way his hands held me like he never wanted to let go, made me feel like I was on the edge of something I couldn’t control.

My heart was racing, every word he said sinking into me like a flame, leaving me breathless. His confession left us both raw, vulnerable, and unguarded, but the intensity in his eyes made it impossible for me to look away. I was still pinned between him and the wall, but it felt different now. The anger had morphed into something deeper, something that twisted and burned in my chest.

His hands on my waist tightened just a fraction, and the tension between us crackled, a spark threatening to ignite. My breath hitched, and I knew he could feel how my body was reacting to him. My heart was slamming against my ribcage, and the space between us felt suffocating, electric.

“I can’t stand you.” I whispered, my voice breaking, though there was no anger left in it. My hands, which had been balled into fists, unfurled and rested against his chest, feeling the steady, erratic thump of his heart beneath my fingertips. I was still shaking, but now it wasn’t from rage. It was from everything else. Everything he made me feel. “You say all that like it’s supposed to make me hate you less.”

A low laugh escaped him, though it was more of a sound caught somewhere between frustration and desire. He leaned in until his forehead pressed against mine, his lips hovering just inches from mine. I could feel his breath, warm and ragged, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “You really think I want to make you hate me less?” he asked, his voice dropping even lower, sending a thrill straight through me. “I think I’m more addicted to you when you hate me.”

His fingers moved slowly, tracing small circles over my hips, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to shove him away, but I also wanted to pull him closer, to erase the sliver of space between us. I hated the way he knew that, the way he knew me better than anyone else.

“I hate that.” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I hate that you get under my skin like this.” My hands curled into his shirt, pulling him a fraction closer, and the tension between us reached a breaking point. “You make me feel insane, Matt.”

He exhaled heavily, and his eyes locked onto mine. His lips hovered so close to mine that I felt dizzy, caught between wanting to slap him and wanting to lose myself in him. His fingers moved from my hips to my back, his touch sending heat rushing through my body. “You drive me insane, too.” he murmured, his voice rough and full of something that made me ache.

And then, all at once, he broke. His lips crashed into mine, fierce and demanding, and the fire that had been building between us exploded. I kissed him back instinctively, hard, my hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him. The anger melted into something desperate, something that had been buried under all the shouting and frustration, something that had always been there.

Matt pressed me harder against the wall, his hands gripping my hips, and I felt the heat of his body, the way he couldn’t hold back anymore. I gasped against his mouth, and he deepened the kiss, his touch consuming me. My whole body felt like it was on fire, and I realized that every push and pull, every fight, had led to this.

We were a mess, tangled together, caught up in this endless cycle of love and hate and everything in between. His hands roamed over me, careful but desperate, and I kissed him back just as fiercely, our shared frustration dissolving into something we couldn’t control.

I didn’t know where this was going, if we’d go back to fighting tomorrow, but right now, it didn’t matter. Right now, all that mattered was the way he made me feel, the way his kiss made me forget everything except for him.

Matt was panting, as his forehead pressed against mine, and I could feel the way his body trembled with the same tension that had been boiling over between us. His hands were still holding me against the wall, strong and steady, but he was careful, he always was, even when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control. His eyes searched mine, wild and full of emotions that made my pulse race.

“I hate you.” he whispered again, but his voice was breaking now, rough and full of something I could almost taste between us. His lips hovered so close to mine that it was impossible to ignore how my heart was slamming in my chest. “I hate that even when I can’t stand you, when you make me so damn furious, I still want you. So badly.”

His words sent a jolt through me, and my fingers curled tighter into his shirt, feeling the hard beat of his heart beneath my touch. He leaned in, his voice rough and low, and it made every inch of me shiver. “I hate that even when we’re at each other’s throats, I only want to touch you.” he said, his hands sliding around my waist, pulling me closer. “I hate that you’re in my head, that you’re under my skin, and I can’t get you out.”

My breath caught, and I didn’t know if I was burning with anger or desire or if there was even a difference between the two right now. His lips brushed against my ear, and I couldn’t stop the way my body reacted, a shiver running through me. “You make me so mad I can’t think straight, and yet all I want to do is kiss you until I can’t breathe.” he murmured, his voice like a confession, breaking with the frustration that had been building between us for so long.

My heart felt like it might explode. His words undid me, made me feel like I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. The tension between us was electric, our anger shifting into something that burned just as fiercely but in a completely different way. His hand slid up to cup my jaw, his thumb swiping across my parted lips, and his eyes were so full of need that it stole my breath away.

I tilted my head up, meeting his gaze, my body trembling. “Then what are you waiting for?” I whispered, my voice shaking with everything we’d been holding back. “If you want me so bad, Matt, then do something about it.”

For a moment, his eyes widened, and then the last shred of restraint shattered. He closed the distance between us, his lips crashing into mine, and it felt like the world finally fell apart in the best possible way. His kiss was fierce, desperate, and I kissed him back just as hard, my hands tangling in his hair and pulling him closer.

The anger, the frustration, the need, it all melted together, consuming us. His hands gripped my waist, his touch rough and hungry, and I felt like I was free-falling, completely lost in him. The heat between us was overwhelming, and I couldn’t get enough, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but the way he made me feel.

And in that moment, I realized that maybe we’d never make sense, but I didn’t care. Because being with him, feeling him, wanting him, and needing him, was the only thing that made me feel alive.

Matt’s hands gripped my waist tighter, and in one swift movement, he pulled me away from the wall. I gasped into his mouth, but he didn’t break the kiss. His arms wrapped around me, lifting me effortlessly, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, holding onto him as he held me against his body.

The sudden closeness made my head spin, and the way he carried me, strong and sure, sent a thrill coursing through my veins. His mouth was relentless, his kisses consuming every thought, every shred of doubt, and I clung to him, my hands still tangled in his hair. The need between us was electric, crackling through the air, making everything else melt away.

He moved through the apartment, never breaking our kiss, his lips desperate and unyielding. I felt my back press against the wall for a moment as he adjusted his grip on me, his mouth trailing hot, searing kisses down my neck, and I let out a shuddering breath, my hands sliding to his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

Somehow, Matt managed to navigate us to the bedroom, and he didn’t slow down. He carried me across the threshold of the room with the same desperate energy that had consumed us. But instead of tossing me onto the bed as I was expecting him to, he slowed his pace, his breath heavy against my neck. His grip on my waist was firm as he set me down gently in front of the full-length mirror that stood a few feet away from the bed.

His arms swiped past my waist as he walked around to stand right behind me, so we both could face the mirror standing before us. I felt the heat of his body radiating into mine, while his hands held my hips firmly. I barely had a moment to catch my breath before he leaned down, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. I met his gaze in the reflection, and the look in his eyes made my heart pound even harder. His expression was raw, full of so many emotions that it left me breathless. The anger we’d been tangled in had transformed into something almost reverent, and it was impossible to look away.

“Look.” he murmured, his voice rough, his hands sliding up my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “I want you to see what I see.” His eyes locked with mine in the mirror, and I could feel the way his body pressed against my back, strong and protective. He kept me pinned there, not with force, but with the magnetic pull between us, the connection that felt as though it was tightening, drawing us even closer.

“I hate,” he whispered, his lips grazing my neck. “The way you look at me with those eyes.” His hands slid up, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw, making me shiver. His thumb brushed over my lips, and I could barely breathe, the intensity in his voice making my knees weak. “I hate how you bite your lip like this.” he continued, his thumb tugging at my bottom lip. “Oh, the things I want to do to them.”

My breath came out shaky, my chest rising and falling rapidly as he held me there, making me face the reflection of us together. The way he looked at me made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered, like he could see right through me. His hands slid lower, tracing over my collarbone, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

“I hate how addicted I am to you.” he said, his voice low and full of longing. His hands slid down, grazing the sides of my waist, and I felt every word reverberate through my body. “How I can’t stop touching you, even when I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

He took a slow, shuddering breath, his eyes darkening as he watched me in the mirror. “And I hate how you drive me absolutely crazy, how every little thing you do makes me want you more.” he whispered, his hands tightening on my waist. “The way you make me lose all my self-control, the way I can’t think straight when I’m this close to you.”

I was trembling, caught between the heat of his body and the intensity in his gaze. He moved one hand up, tilting my head back slightly, making sure I was looking at him. “Do you see what I see?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper, full of all the things he never said out loud. “Do you understand how much you drive me insane?”

The way he held me there, made me face myself through his eyes, was more intimate than anything we had ever shared. My heart raced, and I swallowed, unable to tear my gaze away from the raw, vulnerable way he was looking at me. It wasn’t anger anymore. It was desire, devotion, and a fierce, desperate need that consumed us both.

I bit my lip, and his eyes darkened further, his hand tightening on my jaw. “You see?” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Even now, I can’t stand how much I need you.”

His hand slid from my jaw down to my throat, not to hold or restrain me, but just to feel my pulse racing under his fingertips. His touch was gentle yet commanding, and I was hyper-aware of every place our bodies pressed together. His other hand drifted lower, moving along the curve of my hip, his fingers splaying across my stomach as he held me against him.

“Look at you.” Matt whispered, his voice heavy with desire. His eyes never wavered from mine in the mirror, and I could feel the way he was fighting to keep his control, the tension coiling in every muscle of his body. “Do you see why I can’t walk away? Why I can’t get you out of my head, even when I’m so angry I can barely think?”

I swallowed hard, my breath catching as he kissed the side of my neck, lingering there, his lips brushing over my skin. The heat between us was palpable, overwhelming, and I couldn’t stop the way I leaned back into him, craving more of his touch, more of this intensity. My hands reached down, covering his where they rested on my stomach, and I felt the shiver that ran through him at my touch.

“I hate that you do this to me.” he continued, his voice rough and unsteady, full of raw honesty. “That you make me feel so out of control, like I’d do anything to have you. Even now, when I should be letting this anger go, all I can think about is you.” His eyes burned into mine in the mirror, and I felt my heart stutter in my chest.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear, and his voice dropped even lower. “I hate how perfect you feel pressed against me.” he murmured, his hand sliding back up, tracing the line of my waist, igniting every nerve he touched. “How even when I know I shouldn’t, I need you like this.”

My breath came out in a shudder, and I tilted my head to the side, giving him more access to my neck. He took advantage of it, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to my skin, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. “Matt…” I whispered, my voice breaking, and he groaned, his grip tightening on me.

“You make me lose my mind.” he confessed, his lips trailing lower, and I could feel the frustration and longing pouring out of him. “And I hate that even when we’re at each other’s throats, I still want you more than anything.”

His hands moved with more urgency now, sliding over my body like he couldn’t get enough, and the way he touched me made it feel like he was trying to claim me, to remind me that no one else could ever make him feel this way. Our reflection in the mirror was a mix of heat and tension, the line between love and hate blurred beyond recognition.

I turned my head slightly, catching his lips in a kiss that was just as desperate, just as full of everything we hadn’t been able to put into words. He kissed me back hard, like he was trying to make up for every angry, unsaid thing. His hands tangled in my hair, slightly tugging so my head could be titled higher.

Matt’s kiss was hungry, devouring, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I turned in his grip, breaking free from our mirrored reflection so I could face him directly. My fingers reached for the hem of his t-shirt and I pulled it up and over his head, discarding it onto the floor. My hands slid up his bare chest, and I felt the rapid beat of his heart underneath my palms, and it somehow made me feel grounded in the moment. He was mine and I was his. Our thundering heartbeats were the proof of that.

His hands found my waist again, gripping me tight as he pulled me flush against him. The intensity in his eyes was almost overwhelming, a storm that reflected everything he felt but couldn’t say. He kissed me again, harder this time, and I kissed him back with just as much desperation, pouring every ounce of frustration and need into it.

Our bodies pressed together, his fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt, his touch hot against my skin. I gasped at the feeling, and he swallowed the sound with a growl, his lips moving to my neck, trailing kisses and light nips that made my knees go weak. “I can’t stand how much I want you.” he whispered against my skin, his voice breaking, raw and full of longing. “Even now, after everything.”

My fingers were found in his hair again, as I tilted my head back to give him more access, and he didn’t hesitate. His hands roamed over me, igniting every inch he touched, and I felt like I was being consumed, lost in him. “Matt…” I breathed, and he lifted his head, his eyes locking onto mine.

The look we shared was a mixture of everything, anger, desire and vulnerability. It made me feel like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn’t control. “Do you understand?” he asked, his voice shaking as his hands cradled my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “Do you get how much you mean to me, even when we’re tearing each other apart?”

I nodded, too breathless to speak, and he leaned in, his forehead pressing against mine. “I hate that I can’t let you go.” he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of the confession. “That no matter how hard we fight, I’m always going to want you. Need you.”

My heart twisted at the raw honesty in his words, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a mix of overwhelming emotions flooding through me. I cupped his face, brushing my thumbs over his cheekbones, and pulled him into a kiss that was softer, more vulnerable. It was an answer, a way to show him that I felt it, too. Every burning, uncontainable emotion.

He kissed me back, his lips gentle now, as if we were both afraid of shattering this fragile moment. His hands slid down my sides, and he pulled me closer, his body relaxing into mine, though the tension was still there, simmering under the surface. “We’re a mess.” I whispered against his lips, and he let out a chuckle.

“But we’re our mess.” he replied, his voice husky. His fingers traced small circles on my lower back, and the touch made my head spin. “And I’m not going anywhere, even if you drive me insane.”

I smiled, a shaky, broken thing, and kissed him again, feeling the fire between us transform into something softer, something full of hope. The fight had stripped us bare, exposed every raw nerve, but here we were, still tangled up in each other, still holding on.

Matt’s hands moved to my waist, and he picked me up again, his eyes full of something warm and unbreakable. “We’re not done yet.” he said, his voice low and full of promise. “I’m going to show you exactly how much you mean to me.”

He carried me to the bed, never breaking eye contact, and I felt my heart race in a different way now. The anger was gone, replaced with something even more powerful, and I knew, no matter how many fights we had, we’d always find our way back to each other.

My back met the softness of the mattress, but he was right there, following me down, his body pressing against mine as he kept me pinned beneath him. His weight was a comfort and a thrill, and I couldn’t stop the way I arched into him, my lips finding his again, hungry and desperate.

My hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles tense under my touch, and the fire between us only grew. His mouth left mine, trailing down my jaw to the sensitive spot on my neck, and I couldn’t stop the small, breathless moan that escaped my lips. The sound seemed to spur him on, his hands exploring, his body pressing me into the bed with a possessive urgency that made me feel like I was on fire.

Then something shifted inside me. I could feel the heat of his body, his touch, his gaze, but now there was a different kind of pull. A daring thought that made my heart race in a way I hadn’t expected. We were both so raw, so stripped of our walls, and I knew this was the moment to push the boundaries, to ask for something more.

I ran my fingers down his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under my touch, and the way his muscles tensed in response. I could sense the hunger in him, the need for more, but there was something else, something I’d always wanted but never quite said aloud.

“Matt.” I whispered, my voice low and a little unsteady as I met his gaze, watching his eyes flicker with curiosity. “I want you to teach me a lesson.” I said, my words hanging in the air between us, daring him to challenge me.

His brow furrowed slightly, a questioning look crossing his face. “What do you mean by that?” His voice was rough, but there was an edge of caution in it, as if he wasn’t sure where this was going.

I could feel the weight of his uncertainty, and it sent a rush of excitement through me. “You know how much I like it when we’re reckless.” I continued, my words coming faster now, a mix of confidence and need. “When we’re not so… careful. When we’re not playing it safe.”

I saw his breath hitch at my words, and a slow, dangerous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The same smile I’d seen before, when we’d both let go of our inhibitions and let the passion between us burn out of control. It was a reckless thing, but it was always what pushed me, always what made me feel alive.

“I want you to take control.” I said, my voice quieter now, but full of intention. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel everything.”

His eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide. The air around us seemed to grow thick with anticipation, every nerve in my body lighting up under his gaze. He was still, but there was a storm brewing beneath the surface, and I could feel it. The tension in his muscles, the quickened breath, he was holding back just as much as I was, and I could feel it.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” Matt’s voice was low, gritty, as he hovered above me, looking down at me like I was something he couldn’t resist. “You’re asking for it.”

I shivered at his words, the rawness in his tone making my heart race even faster. My pulse was pounding in my ears, and I felt a thrill of excitement rush through me. It made me feel like I was losing control in the best possible way. I smiled up at him, my lips curling into something that was part challenge, part desire. “Then show me.” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Show me how much you really want me.”

Without a word, his lips crashed onto mine, but this time it wasn’t tender. It was demanding, hungry, filled with everything we’d both been holding back. The kiss was deep, fierce, his hands roaming over me with a hunger I hadn’t seen in him for a long time.

I could feel the way he pulled me closer, closer, until there was no space between us, and I knew this was it. There was no going back now. He wanted to teach me a lesson, and I was ready to be taught, ready to give in to everything he wanted.

Matt pulled my hands over my head and tightened his grip around my wrists as he pressed me further into the bed, his weight following down on me in one swift, controlled motion. As he topped me, I could feel the weight of his presence which was solid, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore. Every nerve in my body was lit ablaze.

His free hand moved quickly, impatient, but deliberate. He wasn’t being gentle anymore. His fingers trailed down my body, skimming over my chest, my stomach, making my skin burn with every touch. I gasped, my breath catching in my throat as he pushed me further into the mattress, his body pressing against mine with an undeniable force.

His hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him, eyes wide, heart pounding in anticipation. His expression was intense, the kind of look that made everything else fade away. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just pure need. He slid his hand down my body, taking hold of my waist, his thumb brushing over the waistband of my sweatpants, his touch sending jolts of electricity through me.

He didn’t give me a chance to think before he was tugging at my pants, pulling them down with a raw, impatient motion. I gasped as his lips moved down on my neck, his teeth scraping against my skin as his hand worked their way up my thighs. I shuddered under his touch, rough and possessive, making me feel like I was completely at his mercy.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” he whispered, but there was no softness in his voice, just a challenge, a dare. His eyes burned with a fierce desire, and I could tell he was barely holding it together. “Tell me if you don’t want this.”

I shook my head, my voice barely a breath as I answered, “Don’t stop. Please.”

A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face, and he nodded as if that was all the confirmation he needed. His hand moved closer to where I ached for him, exploring with no caution, only the promise of a wild, unfiltered kind of connection that I knew would drive me crazy. I arched into him, my body reacting before my mind could catch up, and the intensity between us grew, more electric, more desperate.

There was nothing soft about the way he began to kiss me again. His lips were bruising, his teasing fingers pulling me tighter, with an urgency that left me breathless. I felt completely consumed by him, every inch of my body aching for his touch, for the wild, reckless connection that had always been a part of us.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice dark, and there was something primal in the way he looked at me, something that made me feel both wanted and lost in the best way possible.

I managed to nod amidst the writhing from the delicious play of his fingers. “Yes.” I breathed, my voice trembling with need. “I want this. I want you.”

With that, Matt’s remaining restraint snapped. “On your knees. Now.” he demanded standing up, and I obeyed instantly as I sat up on the bed. Before I could fully adjust, Matt was already moving behind me, sliding onto the bed with a fluid, almost predatory grace. He settled himself against me, his chest pressing to my back as he let out a satisfied hum. I could feel his heat radiating off of him, and it made my body tighten in anticipation.

I finally registered what was happening, we were facing the mirror again. His hands grabbed my hips and began to draw circles onto my skin. I watched in the reflection how I was a panting mess while he looked at me with sheer determination probably coming up with ways on how to ruin me tonight in the best way possible. There was no hesitation in him now, just pure drive.

He didn’t say anything at first, but I could feel his hands moving over me. They slid up my back under the fabric of my shirt, until his fingertips found the bare skin of my stomach. I sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of his touch, and just as I thought I might lose myself in it, he spoke, his voice low and heavy with intent.

“Look at us.” he murmured, his voice gravelly with desire. “I want you to see exactly what’s happening. See how I have you, how badly I want you.” His hands shifted, moving to my waist and he tugged me back into him with a force that made my pulse spike. I could feel the press of his body against mine, the weight of him behind me. “Eyes on us only.” he commanded, his voice low and filled with an intense, possessive edge to it as his hands gripped me tighter urging me to face the reflection at all times. “I want you to see how much I fucking crave you. How much you drive me insane. I want you to see this. All of it.”

My pulse quickened at the sight of us like this. This image was not going to leave my mind anytime soon, guaranteed. I could feel his breath against my neck, as his hands slid all over my body.

Matt’s eyes watched as he held me in place, steady and determined. His fingers moved slowly and deliberately, brushing my hair aside and kissing my neck again, the sensation sending waves of heat through me. The image in front of us caused me to let out a whine. Watching the way Matt took me was enough to make me lose my mind.

I could see us in the mirror, my body pressed up against his, desperately grinding to be able to feel him in every way. His hands roamed over me as I surrendered to his touch, my eyes meeting his in the reflection. The way he touched me was nothing short of possessive, but there was a wild intensity in his gaze that made everything inside me burn hotter.

“You’re mine.” he declared, his hands tracing the line of my waist as he continued to guide me, to make me see the way he had me, the way he needed me. “And I’m not letting you forget it.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the mirror, from the sight of him behind me, his hands moving over me with such authority. It was like a constant reminder of what we had, what we shared, what drove us insane. There was no softness now, only the raw, unfiltered connection that we both craved.

Matt moved again, his lips pressing to the curve of my shoulder as he spoke, his words a dark promise. “I want you to see how fucking perfect you are for me.”

The intensity in his voice, in his touch, made my breath catch. But it was the way he made me look at us in the mirror that took me to the edge. He wanted me to witness it, to see the rawness, the passion, the hunger.

“Tell me you see it.” he demanded, his voice a low growl against my skin, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Tell me you see how much I need you. How much I fucking hate that I can’t stop wanting you, even when I should.”

I swallowed, the weight of his words hanging in the air between us, and I nodded, breathless. “I see it.” I whispered, my voice shaky, as I caught a glimpse of the reflection in the mirror again. Matt’s hands roamed over me, his eyes locked onto mine, both of us caught in the heat of the moment. “I see everything.”

Matt’s lips curled into a grin, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good.” he muttered, before pulling me closer, forcing me to feel every inch of him against me, to feel how badly he wanted me, how much he couldn’t stop.

In the mirror, we were nothing but two bodies tangled in heat, raw and real. The recklessness, the intensity, it was all laid bare for us both to see.

His hands slid lower, pushing the fabric of my shirt up, exposing more of my skin to his touch, and I couldn’t help the gasp that left my lips. He leaned in closer, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just beneath my ear as his hands continued to explore me in a way that was possessive, urgent, and relentless.

I stared at our reflection and I could barely recognize myself. My face was flushed, my body trembling under his touch, the raw hunger between us reflected in the glass. The tension in the room was thick, palpable, and as he moved against me, guiding me to a rhythm that was anything but gentle. I could feel every inch of my body burning for him, the need growing, swelling, until there was nothing else but us.

The last piece of clothing was peeled off of me and thrown off the bed. The tension, the heat, everything in the room seemed to intensify as we came together skin to skin. His hands skimmed over the newly exposed areas of my skin, touching me like he was marking his territory, claiming me in ways that made my head spin. Every movement felt like it was too much and not enough at the same time.

I felt completely exposed, held in place by his hands, his body, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me in the reflection. He was so close, the heat of him making me tremble with desire. “Fuck, just look at you.” he groaned, his lips just brushing my neck, sending a shiver down my spine as my eyes fell closed. His hands gripped my hips hard, pulling me back into him with a force that made my eyes shot open. “Eyes open, remember?” he whispered, his voice rough, demanding. “You’re going to watch me take you how I want to.”

Matt’s hands moved with intent, his fingers grazing over my skin like he was marking every inch of me, every curve, every soft, trembling part of me that responded to him. My body was completely alive under his touch, each sensation driving me wild, and I couldn’t escape it. His lips, his body, the heat between us, everything blurred into one, and the reflection in the mirror only made it more intense.

I could see in the mirror the way his eyes darkened with something darker than just lust, something deeper, something more possessive. The way his jaw clenched, how his body seemed to take on a life of its own as he held me, as if the two of us couldn’t be separated by anything now. My breath caught as he moved me again, pressing me harder against him, both of us becoming consumed by the moment.

His hands slid upward, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my bare stomach before moving higher, teasing me with soft, deliberate touches. My breath hitched as his palms cupped my breasts, his touch firm yet reverent. I tilted my head back against his shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut, but his low voice brought me back.

“Eyes open, remember?” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. His voice was rough, filled with a mix of admiration and control. “Look at yourself. Look at what I see.”

I opened my eyes reluctantly, meeting our reflection in the mirror again. The sight made my pulse quicken. His hands were moving slowly, as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of me. His gaze was fixed on mine in the mirror, which made my skin flush and my heart race.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my neck as his hands continued their maddening exploration. “God, the way you feel under my hands. Like you were made just for me.” he groaned as his hands continued to move, roaming lower and then higher again, tracing over my skin like he was sculpting me.

His fingers faintly grazed my sensitive nipples and I shivered, my head falling back against him. My breath hitched, my body arching slightly into his touch as his thumbs continued their teasing.

His hands cupped me roughly as he pulled me back into him. The way he massaged the swells of my breasts in a tantalizing way had me whimpering defeatedly, and the glass reflected every moment of it. With one hand I reached behind and held onto the nape of his neck, in an attempt to anchor myself as I slowly spiralled away, as the other held onto one of his arms that had me currently at his mercy. His touch was so consuming, it felt like he was imprinting himself on me, marking me, claiming me in ways that was far from soft and gentle.

He wasn’t holding back anymore, and neither was I. Every inch of us was a mix of hunger and heat, of something wild and unrestrained, like we were both completely untethered in this moment. The reflection showed how much he was losing himself in me and how I was losing myself in him.

I could feel myself slipping, and yet, I didn’t want to pull away. If anything, I wanted more. I needed more of him.

“Fuck…” Matt whispered, his voice trembling now with that same rawness that had been building since the moment he touched me. His hands moved lower, pressing into me with an almost desperate urgency, his chest rising against my back with every heavy breath. “I can’t get enough of you.”

His words were pushing me further to the edge, electrifying every part of me. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I could only feel him, feel the way he gripped me, the way he held me against him, the way he claimed me. And I couldn’t stop myself from giving in.

“See how much I need you? Even when I can’t stand you.” he said, his breath warm against my skin as he kissed along my shoulder. “You drive me fucking wild. You make me lose control in the best way.”

All that came out of me was a pathetic breathy cry in response to his confession, because I couldn’t form any words right now even if I tried. I could only focus on how mercilessly his fingertips were pinching and rubbing my now erect and sensitive nipples.

“You’re fucking perfect for me.” he went on, his lips close to my ear. “I hate how much I can’t stop needing you. Even when we’re tearing each other apart.”

“I- I can’t anymore.” I shook my head desperately not being able to handle it anymore. “Please… I need you so bad.” I begged him.

“I hate how perfect you are.” he said, his tone darkening as his hands slid lower, exploring every inch of me calculatively. “How every part of you drives me insane. Your body, your skin, the way you sound when you can’t take it anymore…”

“M- Matt.” I stuttered, my voice trembling as I watched him in the mirror. My hands gripped the sheets trying to steady myself as I felt him swipe against my swollen folds. But the way his hands moved, slow and teasing, never giving me enough to satisfy the ache building inside me made it impossible to hold on.

He smirked, his lips brushing against my shoulder as his hands continued their torturous path. “Look at you fall apart so beautifully.” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower as he made sure to neglect my aching bud just so he could torment me for a little longer. “Completely undone. Completely mine.”

I let out a shaky breath, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment before I forced them open again. The sight of us in the mirror, the way his hands roamed over me, the way his lips hovered over my skin, was almost too much.

“I can’t…” I gasped, my voice breaking as one finger pushed inside me, slowly pumping me, his pace steady, as if he was intent on driving me over the edge.

“Yes, you can.” he said, his tone firm but filled with dark amusement. His hands tightened slightly on my hips, pulling my legs further apart. “You can take it. Because you love this. You love what I do to you.”

I couldn’t deny it. The way he touched me and the way he looked at me. It was overwhelming, maddening, and yet I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t think I could bear it if he did.

I watched, wide-eyed, as his fingers moved expertly, almost effortlessly, sending jolts of pleasure through me that made my head spin. My body reacted to every touch, every movement, and the reflection only made it worse. I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his body clenched as he held me, the way his chest heaved with every breath. I felt like I was drowning in the heat of it all, but there was no escaping.

“Matt, please.” I pleaded, my voice trembling as I met his eyes in the mirror again. The intensity in his gaze was enough to make my breath catch, and I knew he wasn’t finished with me yet.

“Say it.” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. His hands moved slower now, teasing me with a maddening precision that made my body tremble. “Say you love how I touch you. Say you love how I make you feel.”

I let out a shaky breath, my heart pounding as I tried to form the words. “I love it.” I finally whispered, my voice barely audible.

He smirked again, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

And as another finger entered me, teasing and tormenting me, I knew he meant it. I couldn’t look away from the mirror, couldn’t escape the intensity of his gaze, the way he made me feel like I was completely his. Completely consumed. Completely undone.

Matt’s other hand caressed my curves, igniting sparks with every touch. My body was trembling under his control, caught between desperation and surrender. In the mirror, I saw the reflection of myself which was blushed and breathless, as my chest rose and fell rapidly whereas Matt looked so much more composed and steady behind me, with his eyes never leaving mine.

His hand then slid down to my thighs, his grip firm as he pulled my legs further apart so I could stop clenching them close. I could feel the strength in his hold, the tension in his body as if he was holding himself back, waiting for something. His lips brushed the curve of my shoulder, then down my spine, taking his time as if he had all the time in the world all while his fingers continued to pump me. And it only heightened the ache building inside of me.

“Matt, please.” I gasped, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I was feeling. The tension in my body was unbearable, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

He smirked against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Please, what?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. “Tell me what you want, baby. Say it.”

I met his eyes in the mirror again, my reflection a perfect picture of surrender. My parted lips trembled as I tried to find the words, but I could only focus on how his fingers felt against my walls. His calculated torture continued, and I couldn’t hold back the shaky cry that escaped me.

“Please.” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I can’t take it anymore.”

His smirk deepened, his hands tightening on my hips as he pulled me even closer. “You can.” he said, his voice firm but filled with dark amusement. “And you will.”

Probably gaining some sympathy for me, his thumb finally attended my throbbing bud, his touch sending a fresh wave of electricity through me. My body arched against him, my head falling back against his shoulder as I let out a soft, breathless moan. The tension inside me was unbearable now, a storm building with no escape.

“Look at yourself.” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper. His eyes burned into mine in the mirror, his gaze so intense it made my heart race. “Look at how beautiful you are. How perfect you are. So needy just for me.”

My breath hitched, my hands gripping the sheets below me as I tried to hold on, but the way his hands moved, it was impossible to focus on anything but him.

“Look at me.” he commanded softly, his voice low but firm. His hand slid up my back, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as he pressed gently between my shoulder blades, making me arch just enough to meet his eyes in the mirror. My breath hitched at the sight.

There we were, framed perfectly in the reflection. My hair was messy, cascading over my shoulders, my lips parted as I tried to catch my breath. Behind me, Matt’s eyes were locked on mine, intense and smoldering, his chest rising and falling with the same rapid rhythm as mine. His hand gripped my hip now, steadying me, grounding me, as if he could feel how close I was to unraveling. The reflection captured every detail of us, the way I was on my knees, my hands gripping the sheets, and Matt right behind me working through me. But all I could do was whimper at the sinful moving image in front of us.

Matt’s hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to my stomach, pulling me closer against him, while the other remained between my legs buried in me, his touch sending jolts of pleasure through me. My body trembled under his hands, as he pushed me further and further to the edge.

“Don’t look away.” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. His eyes never left mine in the mirror, and the intensity in his gaze made it impossible to do anything but obey.

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers clutching the sheets beneath me as he moved more quickly now. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to drive me to the brink and keep me there, hovering just out of reach of release. It was maddening, overwhelming, and yet, I didn’t want it to stop.

“Matt.” I gasped, my voice barely more than a whisper. My head tilted back slightly, but his hand on my stomach tightened, guiding me back into the position he wanted.

“Eyes on the mirror.” he reminded me, his tone firm but filled with dark promise. “I want you to see yourself. See what you do to me.”

My eyes flicked back to the mirror, and the sight was almost too much. His jaw was tight, his lips slightly parted as he watched me, his own desire evident in the way his breathing quickened.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intense. His fingers moved with purpose, his touch bringing me closer and closer to the edge. “So perfect. Do you feel that? Do you feel how much I want you?”

I couldn’t answer. Words failed me as the pressure inside me built, my body trembling under his touch. My reflection in the mirror told him everything he needed to know from my flushed cheeks, my half-lidded eyes, and the way my body leaned into his every move.

Suddenly I felt my chest tighten, but it wasn’t just the physical rush, instead it was the overwhelming flood of emotions, the raw intensity of it all. The hunger, the desire, the frustration, the anger, the need. It all mixed into something I couldn’t control. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Tears welled up in my eyes, emotions bubbling up from deep within me as the weight of everything we’d been through hit me harder than I expected. I was shaking now, but it wasn’t just from desire. My mascara smeared, the black streaks starting to run down my cheeks as the tears broke free. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop it. The overwhelming combination of wanting him, needing him, and everything else crashing inside me was too much.

I felt Matt’s hands on me, his touch soft but firm as he caught sight of my tears. He stopped for a moment, his eyes moving over my face with something tender in them, even though his breath was still coming hard and fast. His thumb traced the path of my tears, gently wiping away the mascara that had smeared across my cheeks. His fingers lingered, his touch almost reverent, as if trying to memorize every part of me in this moment.

“You’re so beautiful.” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something darker, something deeper. His words seemed to crack through the haze of everything, and for a second, everything felt surreal. His gaze never left mine as his hands moved to gently cup my face, his thumb wiping away the last of the tears. “You have no idea how much you drive me insane. Watching you like this… watching you fall apart… fuck, you have no idea how much I need you.”

I couldn’t respond, the words were caught in my throat. It wasn’t just the physical sensation of him from his touch, his lips, and his body which had me trembling. It was the rawness of it all. The way I felt completely exposed, vulnerable yet wanted. The way he made me feel seen, in every sense. Everything I had kept locked away, all the things I couldn’t say, couldn’t express, were being poured out in that single moment. And he wasn’t pulling back. He was letting me come undone, and I could feel him losing himself just as much in me.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Matt whispered into my ear, consoling me. His lips grazed my neck showing his devotion to me as I tried to catch my breath.

I was shaking, my body trembling from the intensity of it all. The vulnerability, the need, the rawness. The emotions, the fight, and the desire, it was all merging together in a way that felt too much, and yet, it felt right.

“You’re everything to me.” he said, voice rough as his lips brushed against my skin again, his hands moving to hold me tighter. “Everything I can’t stop wanting.”

My breath caught as he pressed into me again, his body against mine, every part of me responding to him, and all I could do was surrender to the moment. To him.

And as the tears continued to streak down my face, I felt something shift. In that moment, as Matt held me against him, his presence overwhelming and his love, despite everything, suffocating me with warmth, I knew that no matter how much we fought, no matter how much we struggled, we were made for each other.

“I can feel it.” he whispered, against my shoulder now, his voice low and filled with dark satisfaction. “You’re so close, aren’t you?”

I nodded again, my breath hitching as his movements became more insistent, more purposeful. My fingers gripped the sheets tighter, my body trembling as I felt myself nearing the point of no return.

“I got you.” Matt said, his voice rough with need. His eyes burned into mine in the mirror, and the intensity in his gaze sent me spiraling. “Let go. I want to see you fall apart.”

And I did. The moment his words hit me, the wave crashed over me, intense and all-consuming. My body tensed, then shattered into pieces, the release hitting me so hard I could barely breathe. My cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained, as Matt held me steady, his hands gripping me tightly, guiding me through the overwhelming sensation.

In the mirror, I saw it all, the way my body gave in to him, the way his eyes stayed locked on mine, watching me with a mix of pride and possessiveness that sent another shiver down my spine. He looked at me like I was his world, like he couldn’t believe I was here with him, falling apart because of him. My reflection in the mirror looked as undone as I felt, my hair wild, my lips parted, and my body trembling under his touch.

As I came down from the high, Matt leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder. Still recovering from the intensity of what we’d just shared, he wasn’t letting go of me… at least not yet.

Matt’s hands gripped my hips firmly as he spun me around, my back now meeting the mattress, causing me to shiver from detaching from his warm body to now laying on the cold bedsheet which heavily contrasted against my heated skin. His mouth crashed onto mine with a force that stole my breath away, and a spark igniting between us once again. As his weight pressed down on me and I felt our bare chests colliding, I arched into him finally getting to embrace him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

His lips moved from mine, trailing along my jaw, my neck, and lower still as he explored my naked body with an unrelenting intensity. My head tilted back, my hair spilling off the edge of the mattress, giving me a disorienting but electrifying view of the mirror.

Through the reflection, I saw him and his dark hair falling over his eyes. His body taut with control as he moved deliberately, his lips and hands worshiping every inch of me. The sight was almost too much, my chest heaving with every sharp intake of breath, my body trembling under his care and command.

“Matt…” I whispered, my voice breaking into a moan as his lips pressed to the sensitive skin below my ribs, making me arch further into him.

He looked up, his eyes catching mine in the reflection, a smirk playing at his lips. “Still watching?” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he kissed his way back up to my chest, his mouth claiming me in ways that made my head spin. “Good. I want you to see everything.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn’t stop myself from moaning softly, my hands gripping the sheets as he positioned himself above me. The weight of him was grounding, his hands guiding my thighs as he pulled me closer.

“Fuck...” he hissed, his voice raw with emotion as he hovered above me, his eyes locking with mine in the mirror again. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

“I don’t want you to.” I whispered, my voice trembling but certain.

He didn’t hesitate to strip himself of the last pieces of garments on his body. Before I could brace myself, in one swift movement he took me completely, the world seeming to come to a halt. Every nerve in my body lit up, the intensity of him overwhelming me in the best way. I gasped, my hands clutching at his shoulders as he began to move, each deliberate thrust sending shockwaves through me.

The reflection in the mirror caught my eye again, him above me, his body moving with purpose, and his jaw clenched as he fought to keep control. The sight of us together, tangled and raw, sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

His lips found my bare chest again, kissing and teasing as his hands smoothed across my body, making me moan his name. “Matt… oh God…” I cried, my voice cracking as he drove me higher and higher, each movement deliberate and unyielding.

“Hold on for me just a bit longer, sweetheart.” he murmured against my skin, his lips brushing against my stomach as he thrusted deeper, his hands tightening on my hips.

My head tilted further back, my gaze catching the reflection of my flushed face, my body trembling beneath him, the way his hands claimed me so completely. The sight was overwhelming, my breathing erratic as I felt myself falling apart under his touch.

He kissed his way back up to my neck, his lips grazing my ear as he whispered, “You’ve never looked more beautiful. Falling apart for me.”

His words sent me spiraling, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. The air became thick with the weight of everything from our desires, our frustrations, and our need for one another. I could feel Matt’s hands on me, his body pressing into mine, his movements rough and yet achingly tender. Every touch, every kiss, every whisper of his breath against my skin only drove me deeper into the madness we’d created between us.

I could feel his body press harder against me, our hips aligning, and the moment was too much. Everything inside me was about to snap. I could barely breathe, barely think as the desire for him overtook every part of me, and the desperate need for release clawing at me with each passing second.

“Matt.” I gasped, my voice broken as I moved with him, the rhythm of our bodies desperate and uncontrolled. “I can’t… I’m-”

He silenced me with a kiss, his lips crashing into mine with a ferocity that only heightened the fire between us. My body tensed beneath him, my nails digging into his back as I cried out his name, the intensity of my release crashing over me.

I felt Matt’s own release moments later, his movements slowing as he buried his face in the curve of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. His body tightened against mine, his grip on me unrelenting, like he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

For what felt like an eternity, we stayed like that, entangled, breathless, and our hearts racing in sync. I could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my chest, the warmth of his body surrounding me, as if he was holding me together, holding me whole.

And then, as the world slowly started to come back into focus, I felt him lift his head, his eyes meeting mine. The way he looked at me, so full of something raw and something deep, it made my heart flutter. He kissed me softly, his lips lingering against mine before he pulled back just enough to brush the hair from my face.

“You’re perfect.” he said, his voice soft now, almost reverent. “You’re perfect for me. I don’t care how much we fight, how much we push each other away… You’re all I want. Always.”

The tears that had fallen earlier now dried on my cheeks, and I realized they weren’t from frustration or anger. They were from everything I felt in that moment. From everything we’d been through and everything we still had to face, together.

I rested my forehead against his, breathing him in, and in the stillness that followed, I realized just how much this man and this relationship had shaped me.

“I love you.” I whispered, my voice trembling with a softness that felt so strange after everything we’d just shared. But it was true. So deeply, so undeniably true.

Matt’s hand gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek where the last remnants of my mascara still lingered. “I love you too.” he said quietly, his voice a whisper against my lips. “No matter what.”

fin.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x you #sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo imagine #why fight when you can just have angry sex instead?#mirror mirror on the wall... who's the horniest of them all?

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letaliabane · 2 months ago

Text

Trip Up - Valet!SimonRiley and Maid!Reader

The abbey was on alert today. A telegram from the Lord Price's sister stating she would be visiting along with members of the Crawley family who had moved into the village.

This included the new heir to Downton Abbey Matthew Crawley, John's third cousin, who was rumored to marry Lady Mary, John's oldest daughter.

'I can't stand the thought of my only purpose being to marry. To be thrown at every heir to Downton so that the money stays in the family,' Mary said in frustration, putting on her earrings as you did her hair, 'All I want is to be chosen for me any only that.'

You nodded, putting the last of the beaded pins in her hair. She had chosen a lavender skirt with a cream blouse for the day, finished with a simple cardigan.

'It just feels so belittling. What do you think Y/N?' She asked, looking thoughtfully at you through the mirror.

You gave her a gentle smile, 'I agree m'lady. If it were my choice, I would indeed marry for love. It's more important than most things.'

'And of course position. I could never forget that! This new heir is apparently quite middle class and I just won't have that!'

You couldn't help but sigh at her words.

Mary was a kind young and beautiful lady, but at times had a cold heart and hard exterior to protect it, which included a cruel nature to those she despised.

'How is that new valet doing? Mr Riley wasn't it?'

'Oh, he's quite settled in m'lady, now that it has been a few months,' You said as you moved around the room, clearing and folding clothes away to where they belonged, 'I think he's still shaken the staff up but much better than it was previously.'

Mary tapped her perfume to her wrists, saying, 'Thank goodness, I felt terrible for Papa. He talks about Mr Riley like a dear old friend, it would be a shame if he doesn't feel welcome here, even as a valet.'

'Agreed, now I should probably head down. Will that be all m'lady?'

'Yes, thank you Y/N.'

You made your way down to the servants hall, putting away anything that needed cleaning from the daughter's rooms. Before too long, the staff were rounded up at the stairs, Mr Garrick doing final inspections of uniforms before we went up to meet our guests.

'We should go out to greet them all, now be on your best behavior. I'll have nothing less!' Mr Garrick said, the younger staff nodding nervously while others remained silent.

'Remember to not go running off William, I'll need your help with the bags,' Graves muttered to the youngest and newest of the footmen.

Mr Riley who was standing at the base of the stairs turned to him. 'I'm happy to assist you if needed.'

'No need! Don't more mistakes do we Mr Riley?' Graves was quick to quip back. You couldn't help but shake your head, following the other maids up the stairs.

The staff were lined up at the front of the incredibly beautiful house as the cars rolled in one by one through the gates, coming to a halt just in front of the tall double doors.

Lord John pushed forward first, her Ladyship Liliana close behind him to also greet Matthew. From the look of him, he looked like a kind man. Young, blond and blue-eyed just like his mother, Isobel, who followed close behind him. Older, a little grey-haired, but back straight with a smile.

The daughters greeted their aunts happily, while awkwardly greeting the newcomers. After brief chatter was shared amongst the family, they began to move into the house slowly.

Suddenly a scuffle erupted, the maids gasping as your eyes turned to see Mr Riley crash hard onto the pebbled ground, stones flying about messily and, to your horror, his mask.

You glanced up and saw Graves, an ugly smirk on his face as he looked down on the valet, his foot strangely kicked out in place before walking towards the back entrance.

'Riley, are you alright?'

You looked to see John coming to his side, grabbing the mask from the ground and handing it to him. The rest of the family watched on in shock.

'I am my lord, my apologies,' You heard Mr Riley grumble, keeping his face down as he placed his mask back on properly.

When his lordship had turned back to usher his family inside, Johnny, who stood tall at the door awaiting their entry, gave you a nod which you returned.

As the staff quickly dispersed, you went to Mr Riley's side, gently pressing a hand to his shoulder.

'Here, let me help you, Mr Riley,' You quietly said, grabbing his arm and slowly assisting him until he was steadily back on his feet.

You shook off the pebbles and dust caught onto his suit jacket and pants. 'There, much better–'

'Don't!' He suddenly snapped, slapping your hand away.

You gasped, taking a step away. Though his face was covered, there was a deep anger in Mr Riley's eyes that you had never seen before. It almost frightened you.

Mr Riley froze, taking in your change of demeanour. With a sigh, he uttered so quietly you almost missed it, 'Please don't pity me Miss ... I don't need it.'

He pushed past you roughly, his loud footsteps quickly becoming distant against the pebbled walkway as he left you behind.

The day continued as usual except, you noticed very quickly, the distinct absence of Mr Riley for the rest of the day. You had overheard Mr Garrick say he had taken poorly and couldn't continue to work.

Like bees that had caught the honey, the staff buzzed excitedly with the sudden gossip of his possible resignation or firing. Though the staff had calmed down since his arrival, it didn't change their stance that he didn't deserve the job.

It made you furious. Why should a man who had been at the house for a few months be let go just because of a small mishap? Something that wasn't even his fault. Nothing even happened!

Soon drinks for the family were complete after their meal, and dinner was being served in the servant's hall, but there was still no sign of Mr Riley.

After nibbling at your meal and failing to work up an appetite yourself, you found a tray and dished up some stew and some hot bread that had been served.

'What are you doing love?' You looked up to see Mrs Patmore enter the kitchens, clearly having finished her dinner.

'Oh, I was just making up a plate for Mr Riley, him not being well enough to join us. You won't mind Ms Laswell?' You addressed the head housekeeper who had appeared behind Mrs Patmore.

She nodded with a smile, 'Of course, just this once. The poor man has been through enough in one day.'

With a nod, you finished piling up the tray before making your way carefully through the corridors of the attics where the servants lived in and at end of the corridor, a light shone from beneath a door.

Making your way over, you peeked into the room. Through the mirror that hung on the cupboard, you could see sitting on the bed there sat the shaking silhouette of Mr Riley, and in the quiet, the soft sobbing emitted from him.

You couldn't help but feel your heart break at the site. Taking a step back, you cleared your throat. 'Mr Riley? Are you there?'

A shuffle was heard from within the room, footsteps approaching before the door opened to reveal Mr Riley. His eyes were swollen and red, his hair dishevelled and his shoulders tense.

You gave him a reassuring smile. 'I brought some dinner up, in case you were hungry.'

Immediately he deflated at the sight of you, eyes softened as he took in the tray of food neatly placed. 'That's very kind Miss. Even after what I did to you earlier ... you are still so generous.'

'It's nothing really,' You placed the tray in his hands which he placed off to the side, looking back to you.

'But it's the very opposite of nothing. I-I really am sorry for this morning, that was very unkind of me Miss.'

'No need for apologies Mr Riley,' You said, trying to keep your voice steady, 'You've been wronged since you arrived here and I hate to see you like this. Please don't let them drag you down. You are so much stronger than they are.'

He sighed heavily, eyes shying away from yours, leaning against the door frame. 'I hate to admit it ... it's very humiliating. Couldn't stomach any more of it.'

You shook your head firmly, stepping closer to him. 'You shouldn't be made to feel that way. Be proud of being here, John–I mean ... Lord Price chose you to be here for a reason. You've earned your place and you shouldn't have to hide or be ashamed.'

Mr Riley looked down at you, his eyes finally meeting yours and scanning your face. He clearly could see the tears in your eyes and heard the tremble in your voice.

'Why do you do this Miss?'

You were stunned, almost at a loss for words. Couldn't help but get lost in the beauty of his eyes, a thousand words and emotions even in silence. So instead, stepping even closer, chest to chest with him, you carefully reached for his hand. You felt him stiffen beneath your gentle touch momentarily before he allowed you to clasp your hands with his.

'You don't deserve to be treated as such. I don't like to see it,' You said, looking up into his eyes.

Not wanting to encroach on him any longer, you slowly pulled away, unable to hold back a small smile when you felt Mr Riley hold tight to your hand just a little longer before letting it drop from his grip.

The next morning the servant's hall was busy with the staff filing in, breakfast of hot porridge with honey and buttered toast was served by Daisy and Mrs Patmore.

As Mr Garrick sat down, allowing everyone else to follow suit, Mr Riley appeared at the entrance to the hall and you couldn't help but smile, ignoring the scowl of some of the other staff.

'Ah, Mr Riley!' Ms Laswell greeted as she passed on bowls of porridge down the table, 'Good to see you up and about!'

'Indeed Ms Laswell, can't keep me down too long,' He muttered, looking straight at you as he did.

'That's good to hear, come and get yourself some breakfast we have a busy day ahead of ourselves!'

He nodded, making his way around the table and taking a seat beside you. And as a bowl of porridge was placed in front of you, you felt the fleeting caress of his gloved hand across your own beneath the table.

Call of Duty Masterlist a/n: I'm on a roll I tell you! And I love writing for these two.

@lostintransist @teapartydreams

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00valentina-writes00 · 14 days ago

Note

your blog is great! you're doing an amazing job putting out so many fics a day! don't forget to take a break if you need to.

i read your fic with abby and a shy/timid reader and it got me thinking. if you're not swamped with requests, do you mind writing abby with a calm reader. someone who is a bit unlike her in that they're never reckless, never yell, and always patient and understanding with everyone.

thank you for all that you do.

✞⛧Patience (Abby x patient reader)✞⛧

Warnings: Post-apocalyptic setting (themes of survival, danger, and tension), Mild violence (brief mention of a confrontation with infected), Fluffy moments

Words: 3.2k

The settlement bustled with life, its narrow pathways crowded with people moving purposefully. Makeshift homes, crafted from scrap metal and salvaged wood, lined the streets. The air smelled faintly of smoke from the communal fire pits, mingling with the earthy scent of freshly dug soil from the small garden plots scattered around. Abby Anderson walked through the settlement with her usual commanding stride, her broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure among the sea of worn and tired faces. She was used to the looks people gave her—half wary, half admiring. She didn’t care either way; she had a job to do.

Abby was on her way back from an early-morning patrol, her boots caked with mud and dust, when she heard the commotion near the ration station. It wasn’t uncommon for tempers to flare there—supplies were always tight, and people were always on edge—but this particular argument caught her attention.

Chris, a wiry man in his late thirties with a scruffy beard and a permanent scowl, was shouting at the top of his lungs. His voice carried through the settlement, sharp and accusatory. “This is bullshit! How am I supposed to feed my family with this? You expect us to survive on scraps?”

Abby frowned, her hand instinctively resting on the strap of her rifle slung over her shoulder. She was ready to step in and shut Chris down if he got any louder or, worse, physical. But then she noticed you standing in front of him, unarmed and unshaken, the polar opposite of his fury.

You had an air of calm about you that Abby had always found intriguing. You weren’t like most people in the settlement—no frantic gestures, no panicked outbursts. Instead, you stood with a relaxed posture, your hands loosely clasped in front of you. Your voice, soft but steady, barely rose above the din, yet it somehow commanded attention.

“Chris,” you said gently, your tone free of judgment. “I understand you’re frustrated. It’s not easy right now, and it’s not fair. But getting angry at me isn’t going to make the rations grow. Let’s talk about this, okay?”

Chris sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Talk about it? You think talking’s gonna put more food on the table?”

You didn’t flinch or snap back. Instead, you offered him a small, disarming smile. “No, it won’t. But we can figure something out. Maybe there’s a way to redistribute a little extra to your family without taking too much from others. I’m sure the council will hear you out if we bring it up calmly. What do you think?”

Abby watched, fascinated, as Chris’s aggressive posture faltered. His scowl didn’t entirely disappear, but his shoulders slumped slightly, and his voice lost some of its edge. “Fine. Whatever. You better do something about it.”

You nodded, still smiling that maddeningly serene smile. “I’ll bring it up at the next meeting. In the meantime, why don’t you take a breath? Go check on your family. I’ll be here if you need to talk more.”

Chris grumbled something under his breath but ultimately turned and stalked off, leaving you standing there in the now-quiet street. Abby shook her head in disbelief.

You dusted your hands off on your jeans and turned, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you’d just de-escalated a situation that could have easily turned ugly. When you caught sight of Abby standing a few feet away, you offered her a casual wave, as if what you’d just done was the most natural thing in the world.

“Morning, Abs,” you said warmly, your voice carrying just enough to reach her.

Abby approached you, her brows furrowed. “What the hell was that?” she asked bluntly, though there was no malice in her tone.

You tilted your head, clearly amused by her reaction. “That? Just a chat.”

“A chat?” Abby crossed her arms, her muscles flexing under her tank top. “The guy was screaming at you, and you just stood there like it was nothing.”

You shrugged. “He’s scared. People act out when they’re scared. No point in getting angry back.”

Abby’s frown deepened. “Most people would’ve told him to shut up or reported him to the guards.”

“Most people would’ve made it worse,” you countered gently. Then, with a playful glint in your eye, you added, “Anger’s exhausting, don’t you think?”

Abby snorted despite herself, a rare smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said with a grin, brushing past her with an easy wave.

Abby stood there for a moment, watching you walk away. She’d seen you around the settlement plenty of times, always helping where you could, always calm and collected no matter the situation. It was a stark contrast to her own approach to problems, which often involved force, efficiency, and little patience for nonsense.

She admired your calmness, though she’d never admit it out loud. It was a kind of strength she didn’t understand—a quiet, unshakable resilience that seemed almost unearthly in a world as broken as theirs.

——-

The forest is eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot and the distant caw of a crow. The air is damp, heavy with the scent of moss and decaying wood. You adjust the strap of your backpack, its weight pressing against your shoulders as you scan the overgrown path ahead. The sun barely filters through the dense canopy, casting everything in muted shades of green and brown. Beside you, Abby moves like a shadow, her steps deliberate and silent. She’s a towering presence, her muscular frame seeming almost out of place in the fragile stillness of the world around you.

You feel a sense of calm wash over you just by having her close—her steady presence next to you, even in the middle of all this chaos. The quiet moments like this are few and far between, but you cherish them.

Behind you, Ella stumbles over a root, muttering an apology under her breath. Her hands tremble as she grips the shotgun slung across her chest. She’s young—barely out of her teens, by the look of her—and she hasn’t yet mastered the art of hiding her fear.

“Keep up,” Abby says, her voice sharp but with a softness that only you would catch. She doesn’t turn around, but her tone leaves no room for argument.

“Sorry,” Ella mumbles, quickening her pace.

You glance back at the girl, offering her a small smile. “You’re doing fine,” you say softly, hoping to soothe the nervous energy radiating off her. Ella meets your eyes briefly before looking away, her cheeks flushing.

Abby snorts quietly, shaking her head. You don’t have to see her face to know she’s annoyed. She’d argued against bringing Ella in the first place, but resources were scarce, and new recruits had to learn sometime. Still, it’s clear that Abby regrets her decision.

But you know Abby. You know she’s always got your back, even when she’s frustrated. You brush the thought aside and focus on the path ahead.

The three of you push forward, the undergrowth thickening as the trail narrows. Abby leads the way, her broad shoulders cutting through the foliage like a battering ram. She carries herself with the confidence of someone who’s been through this a hundred times before, her movements precise and efficient. And yet, every now and then, her hand brushes against your arm as if to reassure herself you’re there.

Ella, on the other hand, is the opposite. Her breathing is too loud, her footsteps clumsy. She flinches at every snap of a twig, her eyes darting nervously from shadow to shadow.

“Stop,” Abby says suddenly, holding up a hand. You freeze, your fingers instinctively brushing the handle of the knife at your hip.

Ahead, a Runner shambles through the trees, its head twitching erratically. The creature is emaciated, its skin stretched tight over its bones, patches of fungus sprouting from its neck and arms. It hasn’t noticed you yet, but its jerky movements make it clear that it’s on edge.

Abby motions for you and Ella to stay put as she creeps forward, her rifle at the ready. You watch her, your heart pounding—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity she exudes. She’s so focused, so unshakable, that it’s easy to forget how vulnerable all of you really are. Your breath steadies as you lock eyes with her for a moment, silently communicating more than words ever could.

Then Ella lets out a soft gasp.

The Runner’s head snaps toward your group, its hollow eyes locking onto the sound. It lets out a guttural snarl, its body tensing as it prepares to charge.

“Shit,” Abby hisses, raising her rifle.

“Ella, get behind me,” you say quickly, stepping in front of her. She doesn’t move, her feet rooted to the ground as panic overtakes her.

“Move!” Abby barks, her voice harsh.

Ella freezes completely, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. The Runner lunges, but Abby fires before it can reach you, the shot echoing through the forest. The creature collapses in a heap, twitching once before going still.

Abby lowers her rifle, her jaw tight with frustration. “What the hell was that?” she snaps, glaring at Ella. “You can’t just stand there like that. You could’ve gotten us killed.”

Ella stammers, her face pale. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it out here,” Abby interrupts, her voice like steel. “If you can’t handle this, you shouldn’t have come.”

“Abby,” you say gently, stepping between them. You meet her icy blue gaze, holding it until some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Then you turn to Ella, your expression softening. “Hey,” you say quietly, placing a hand on her arm. “Take a breath. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Ella blinks at you, her eyes wide and glassy. “I—I just froze. I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s alright,” you reassure her. “It happens to everyone their first time. But next time, remember this: if you’re scared, focus on one thing. Just one. It could be taking a step back, or getting behind cover, or even just breathing. One step at a time, okay?”

Ella nods hesitantly, her breathing starting to slow. “Okay,” she whispers.

“You’ve got this,” you say with a small smile. “We’re all scared out here. The trick is not letting it stop you.”

Abby watches the exchange in silence, her jaw working as if she wants to say something but doesn’t know how. When Ella finally steadies herself and nods, you step back, giving her space.

Abby walks up to you then, her fingers brushing against yours in a rare moment of tenderness. Her expression softens for a moment, and when she speaks, there’s a quiet affection in her voice. “Let’s keep moving.”

The rest of the mission passes without incident, though the tension lingers in the air like a storm cloud. Ella stays close to you, her grip on her shotgun less shaky than before. Abby keeps to the front, her movements sharper than usual, as if she’s trying to work off her frustration.

By the time you make it back to camp, the sun is dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The settlement is a welcome sight, its walls a comforting reminder that, for now, you’re safe.

As you help Ella unload the supplies, Abby approaches you, her expression unreadable. She hesitates for a moment, her eyes flicking to Ella before settling on you.

“Thanks,” she mutters, almost too quietly to hear.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “For what?”

“For keeping it together out there,” she says, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m not good at… that kind of thing. Talking people down.”

You smile, leaning against the stack of crates. “Everyone’s got their strengths, Abby. You’re good at keeping us alive. That’s what matters.”

She huffs out a breath, her lips twitching in what might be the beginnings of a smile. “Still. I don’t think I could’ve handled her the way you did.”

“We all start somewhere,” you say, glancing over at Ella, who’s busy organizing the supplies with renewed focus. “Fear’s normal. It’s how we grow from it that counts.”

Abby nods, her blue eyes softening as she looks at you. For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from her shoulders, replaced by something quieter, something almost hopeful. She steps closer, letting her hand linger on your arm for a beat longer than necessary.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice low. “Maybe you’re right.”

And for just a moment, the chaos of the world feels far away, with only the quiet hum of her presence beside you.

—-

The night is quiet, save for the occasional groan of the old building settling under its own weight. Moonlight spills through a broken window, its silver glow painting the abandoned room in soft hues. The air smells of dust and mildew, the remnants of what this place once was long forgotten. Your group has hunkered down for the night after a long day, the tension of the mission still lingering in the air. Ella is asleep in the corner, her figure barely visible beneath a tattered blanket. The sound of her soft breathing is the only sign of peace in the otherwise somber atmosphere.

You shift slightly, nestled in the sleeping bag you share with Abby. Her arms are wrapped tightly around you, her hold protective, almost possessive. The solid warmth of her body against your back is a stark contrast to the chill of the night air. You can feel the steady rise and fall of her chest, the rhythm soothing in its constancy. She hasn’t said much since the mission, her usual stoic silence now tinged with an edge of thoughtfulness.

For a while, you both simply lie there, the world outside forgotten. Then, in the stillness, her voice breaks the quiet, low and uncharacteristically soft.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she murmurs, the words brushing against your ear like a whisper.

You blink, turning your head slightly to glance at her. “Do what?”

Abby exhales, her breath warm against the back of your neck. “The patience. With Chris earlier. With Ella. Hell, even with me sometimes.” She pauses, her grip on you tightening just a fraction. “I could never be like that.”

You shift in her arms, turning so you’re facing her. The faint moonlight illuminates her features—her strong jawline, the freckles scattered across her nose, and the vulnerability in her eyes that she rarely lets show. Reaching up, you brush a strand of her blonde hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.

“You don’t have to be like me,” you say softly, your voice steady and calm, the way it always is. “I’m not you, either. We balance each other out.”

Her eyes search yours, as if looking for reassurance, for a truth she can hold onto. “But it’s not just that,” she says after a moment. “I admire it, you know? The way you make everything seem… manageable. Even when it feels like everything’s falling apart.”

Her admission catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you smile, your thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” you tell her, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the strongest person I know—just in a different way.”

Abby’s gaze drops, her jaw tightening as she swallows hard. “I don’t feel strong,” she says, the words heavy with self-doubt. “Most of the time, I just feel… tired. Like I’m barely keeping it together.”

Your heart aches at her confession, at the weight she carries on her shoulders every single day. You lean in, pressing a light kiss to her temple, your lips lingering for a moment. “You don’t have to carry everything on your own, you know,” you say as you pull back, your hand coming to rest on her chest, just above her heart. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Her hand covers yours, her calloused fingers rough against your skin but grounding in their warmth. She looks at you then, really looks at you, as if trying to memorize every detail of your face.

“I don’t say it enough,” she begins, her voice thick with emotion, “but I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile again, a small, genuine curve of your lips that seems to soften the tension in her expression. “Good thing you don’t have to find out,” you tease lightly, your tone warm.

Abby huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh, the sound easing some of the heaviness between you. She pulls you closer, her arms enveloping you in a way that makes you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as she’s holding you.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t uncomfortable—it’s filled with the unspoken understanding that comes with being close to someone who knows you better than anyone else. You rest your head against her chest, listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat.

When she speaks again, her voice is quieter, almost hesitant. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” she admits. “Like… like I don’t have to be the strong one all the time.”

You tilt your head up to look at her, your expression soft. “You don’t,” you say simply.

Her eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, you see something other than the hardened resolve she wears like armor. You see vulnerability, trust, and a flicker of something that looks a lot like hope.

Abby lets out a slow breath, her chest rising and falling beneath your head. “You make it feel… okay,” she says, her voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “Even when everything else feels impossible.”

Your fingers trace small, absent patterns along her arm, the motion soothing. “That’s what love does,” you reply, the words as natural as breathing. “It makes the impossible seem a little less daunting.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, but the way her arms tighten around you speaks volumes. For Abby, words have always been difficult, but her actions—the way she holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world—are enough.

The two of you lie there for a while longer, the sounds of the night fading into the background. You can feel her breathing slow, her body relaxing against yours as the weight of the day finally begins to lift.

Just before sleep claims you, Abby murmurs one last thing, her voice so soft you almost miss it. “Thank you… for being you.”

A smile tugs at your lips as you press a final kiss to her jaw, your eyes drifting shut. “Always,” you whisper.

And as the night stretches on, Abby holds you close, her usually restless mind quiet for once. In your steady presence, she finds a peace she never thought she’d deserve—a peace that feels almost as strong as the love she’s too afraid to put into words. For now, it’s enough.

#abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x you #abby x reader #abby imagines #abby headcanons #abby anderson x reader #the last of us x you #the last of us fic #the last of us x reader #the last of us

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lonely-cowboy · 1 year ago

Note

hi!! how are you? i just wanted to tell you that i am obsessed with your writings omg :’((( i can’t even put into words how happy i am to find your account, the way you write connor is just <33

i was wondering if it’s okay to request something where connor is being protective over fem!reader?maybe some hurt/comfort with fluff in the end <3 I don’t have a specific scenario in my head, so it’s totally up to you, and i would love anything you decide to write for this request!!! also, you are totally free to ignore this if you don’t feel inspired enough by this request, it’s absolutely okay! ♡

thank you! have an amazing day and please sorry for my english, it’s not my first language

ugh thank you my love this is so sweet to hear!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to post, midterms have not been fun my friends. i fear this is not my best work, but i hope you can still enjoy our silly android boy <3 you have an amazing day too!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

helping hand

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: connor comes to help you when you don't need him. again.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: graphic(?) violence (connor shoots a guy oops)

author's note: i write way too many first kisses and this is no exception. prepare for silly goofy domestic married fluff in the future bc that's what i live for

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You could’ve handled it all perfectly fine on your own. You didn’t need Connor’s help, you didn’t want Connor’s help. You were entirely capable of taking down a runaway vigilante on your own.

Sure, maybe it was stupid of you to run off on your own to the crook’s last known location the second the call was made. But he had been only three blocks away from you. What were you supposed to do, wait for backup? Of course not. You had the opportunity to catch a known criminal, so you took the risk. It was all part of the job.

You found yourself at an empty construction site with your gun drawn and pointed at the runaway criminal. You inched closer to your target– some crazy, murderous, anti-android protestor, there were a lot of those these days– slowly drawing your cuffs. You reached forward to restrain his wrists, fingertips brushing against his skin.

And then you were on the ground. You had been practically tackled, your temple striking the rocky earth hard enough that it looked like the world was spinning.

You sat up uneasily as you tried to orient yourself. Who in the world would have shoved you like that? The only indicator was your attacker’s quick “Sorry, Detective.”

You grunted in frustration as your vision cleared, focusing on the one person you did not want to see: Connor.

In all the time it took you to readjust, Connor had taken the vigilante to the ground. He stood overtop the criminal who groaned between crazed laughter. Connor’s foot pressed firmly into the criminal’s chest, a gun– that certainly did not belong to the android– pointed directly at the laughing man’s face.

You moved slowly from the ground, holding your surely bruised side. Your gaze was locked on Connor’s trigger finger, anxiously anticipating gunfire. You feared what it could mean if Connor pulled the trigger.

“Connor,” you warned quietly, your voice steadier than expected.

As you approached, you noticed the twitch of his finger. His LED was cycling through every color imaginable, his brows furrowing and unfurrowing as he held the criminal’s gaze.

“Never even think about touching her again,” Connor spit, his voice so cold that it frightened even you.

The pinned criminal only laughed, an ugly wheezing sound as Connor’s foot dug deeper into his chest. “An android in love, huh? Never thought I’d see–”

Connor’s foot rose quickly, stomping hard on the crook’s face until he was knocked out cold. From the impassive look on Connor’s face, you could tell he was practically seething. But that didn’t matter. Now was not the time to comfort him because you were equally as angry.

With an agitated huff, you shoved Connor by the shoulders as hard as possible. He barely moved at all, only adding fuel to your fire.

It was then that Connor seemed to snap out of his daze and remember you were there. He turned to you abruptly and discarded the gun, his hands finding their place on your biceps with a firm grip. His eyes immediately scanned over your frame, analyzing you for any damage. The only damage he found was what he had done.

The crease between his brows returned as he reached up to touch your throbbing temple. When he pulled his hand back, his elegant fingers were tipped with your blood.

“Did he do this?” Connor questioned, an edge of doubt in his voice.

“No, Connor,” you snapped, shaking off his hands. “You did this! And it wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me do my job for once!”

His LED blinked a steady red. Funny how it matched the blood on your temple.

“Detective, I was only trying to help,” he reasoned feebly.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Connor! I was handling this just fine on my own! And then here you come to save the day yet again, all knight in shining armor! Acting like I’m your damsel in distress, in need of saving!”

“Did you know he was armed?” Connor asked dismissively, quizzically cocking his head in a way that usually enamored you but only seemed to irritate you now.

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out as you processed Connor’s words. Armed? No, you hadn’t known he was armed. But if you admitted that then you would’ve looked stupid, like you needed Connor’s help. Like you were some damsel in distress.

When you didn’t answer, Connor gestured to his forgotten gun. “That was his. He was preparing to shoot you.”

“I could’ve easily disarmed him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms arrogantly. “I’m a trained professional.”

“The probability of success was 29%,” Connor stated matter-of-factually. “A majority of outcomes would have resulted in your death, Detective. I couldn’t take that risk.”

“Then maybe you’re not cut out for this job,” you growled. “This job is all about taking risks, Connor. I knew that when I signed up, and you should too.”

Your harsh tone made Connor pause, though he was quick to recover. He was determined for you to understand.

“If I can prevent your death, then I will. I won’t let your pride stop me,” he said.

It was your turn to pause, lips pursing into a thin line at the reality of Connor’s words. You knew he was right. He was right, he was right, he was right. But you refused to acknowledge that.

When you opened your mouth to speak, nothing came out besides a yelp.

So quickly you could barely process what happened, Connor’s grip on your arms tightened as he spun you around. One arm wrapped around your shoulders to pull you into his chest protectively while his other hand moved to your holstered gun.

A single shot was fired. And an accurate shot, you guessed, by the sound of a slumping body.

Peeking past Connor, you found the body of your runaway criminal, a bullethole pierced right through his skull. You made note of the gun beside his fallen body, the same gun Connor had carelessly discarded.

You felt Connor return your gun to its holster before his hand moved to your chin. He turned your attention away from the dead body, forcing you to focus on him instead.

“I know you’re capable, Detective,” Connor murmured, his voice full of a fondness you hadn’t noticed before. “But that doesn't mean I can’t help. I feel better knowing you’re safe than assuming you are.”

You swallowed hard as you held Connor’s steady gaze. His free hand moved to brush your aching temple. His touch was so gentle you could barely feel it as he wiped away the blood with a frown.

“I only wanted to keep you safe,” Connor explained, his voice holding a tinge of– was that regret? “And I only managed to hurt you myself. Maybe you’re right, Detective. You don’t need me. I’m sorry.”

Your hand moved to tug Connor’s hand away from your temple, holding him in your warm grip. His thumb rubbed against your knuckles soothingly as if it was second nature to him.

“I do. I do need you,” you insisted suddenly, surprising even yourself. One minute, you’re practically yelling at Connor for helping. The next, you’re reassuring him that you’ll always need him. You were confusing even yourself, you couldn’t imagine how confused Connor, the poor android. “I… I do. But… not all the time.”

Again, that crease between Connor’s brows returned, your lips forming a smile at the sight.

“I don’t appreciate you enough,” you continued with a defeated sigh. “I do need you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d already be dead, you’re right. You’ve saved me twice today. But that doesn’t mean I need you to swoop in and save me every single time. I can still handle myself.”

“I know… I know…,” Connor whispered, his eyes unfocused as if lost in thought.

You let a beat of silence pass, watching Connor expectantly. There was something he wanted to say, it was on the tip of his tongue. So you patiently waited until he found the words.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

An android in love.

The criminal’s words replayed in your mind as they suddenly came back to you. At the time, you hadn’t completely processed what he said, your anger outweighing any thoughts of reason.

An android in love.

“Was he… was he right?” you asked after a beat to which Connor tilted his head with a puzzled look. Damn him for not being able to read your mind and immediately know what you were struggling to say. “The guy. What he said… He said that you…”

“Are in love,” Connor finished, his tone flat and conveying not a single sense of love.

“Yeah…,” you shrugged.

“If love can be defined by a desire to keep you safe, then yes, I would say I’m in love with you.”

With you.

He was in love with you.

You couldn’t hide your wide grin, ignoring the warmth that had suddenly spread to your cheeks. Seeing your grin, the corners of Connor’s lips quirked into a small smile too. Your faces naturally moved closer together until your noses were brushing, the warmth of each other’s breath against your lips.

Connor leaned closer. Closer, closer…

He was going to kiss you, and you were going to ruin it.

“You know,” you interrupted, pulling back no more than an inch. But it was enough to make Connor frown. “I’d rather not kiss next to the dead guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Connor’s smile returned, an affection glint in his eyes. His hand found yours, pulling you away from the scene.

“Backup is on the way,” he said. “They can handle this on their own.”

With his hand in yours, Connor led you away. He gave your hand a quick squeeze. It was a reassurance. A sign that you were safe with him, that he would do whatever it took to protect you. You returned his firm squeeze. Because you would do the same for him.

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

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annwrites · 8 months ago

Text

⸻ one in the same. part four. ⸻

· pairing: otto hightower x bastardtargfem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you & otto have a brief interaction after breaking your fast, which sends you retreating to your chambers & once again further inside yourself. he comes to you that evening when you fail to do so with him, so as to try & get you to eat. instead, the two of you have an argument & an ugly truth is shared. · word count: 2,243

You lean over his shoulder, squinting at the bit of parchment in his hand.

His rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. "Do you mind?"

You rest a forearm atop his shoulder, leaning in even closer. "Not particularly."

"Well, I do," he states, turning his head infinitesimally to the left, toward you, his hair brushing against the top of your arm.

"You're the one who insists on sharing all our meals together. It's been over a sennight, so you should be accustomed to my irritating presence by now."

"I had expected you to act with a modicum of respect toward me when we are in one another's company. You don't behave in such a manner anywhere else but when we are alone. If you do not—"

You point to a word you can't quite make out, interrupting him. "What's that?"

He bites back a groan of irritation. "I am beginning to regret this arrangement."

You glare at the back of his head. "I'm perfectly content to leave."

He nods to the chair across from him, on the opposite side of the desk. "Sit."

"You never answered."

He feels his patience growing shorter by the second. "Craghas. It is a name for one of the admirals of the Triarchy. Now, would you please—"

You swiftly walk around, seating yourself, crossing your legs and folding your hands overtop your knee while looking at him with a faux smile.

He shakes his head, setting the scroll aside, then grabbing a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill.

You watch silently as he begins to write. "Your room is a disaster."

He shakes his head slowly. "As you have informed me time and again."

You glance to his made bed. "Did you not sleep last night?"

He doesn't respond.

You frown.

You would never admit as much to him, but it saddens you to think of him staying up all night worrying, working, stressing about this important matter, or that one. You cannot explain why, however.

Mayhaps it is because, for over the last week, you've begun to see past the stony exterior he showcases to the rest of the Keep—the Seven Kingdoms as a whole—and have thus learned more of his true nature.

He cares. Deeply. About a great many things. He just...does not know how best to show it. He certainly does not talk about it: that which troubles him.

Men.

As if you are much different...

"If...you want to talk—"

He dips his quill. "I do not." Then, "You are distracting me."

You quickly crumple a sheet of parchment into a ball and toss it at his face.

He sets his materials down then, glaring at you. "You will either behave yourself, or I will instruct you how."

"I doubt it."

"Young Lady—" He begins, tone quite stern, a hand being rested flat upon the surface before him.

"Gods-forbid I show any amount of concern for you in return," you say, studying your hands in your lap.

He stills, merely staring at you across the way, before leaning back, resting his arms on either side of himself. "You needn't."

You roll your eyes.

He returns to his work, leaning forward. "We have broken our fast. You are free to leave, Y/N."

You glance up to him, suddenly feeling hurt.

You stand silently then, walking to the door of his room and he watches you go.

As you walk quietly back to your chambers, its with tears stinging your eyes, which only causes you to feel frustrated with yourself.

The truth is, that you are trying. Trying to forgive. Trying to...connect. Even if it is only through shared playful banter.

The harder truth is, is that you do not know how to be like the rest of the court. Like Rhaenyra, your father, Otto, Princess Rhaenys, Lady Alicent, and all the rest.

You have always felt as if you are on the outside looking in, merely pretending as if you belong. To think he mayhaps enjoyed you in his company even slightly... Stupid girl.

You had told yourself from that first night that his concern was not about you at all. Had told yourself he did not truly care. But, for the last sennight, you had allowed yourself to begin believing otherwise.

It's just that you are so...lonely. You've been desperate for so long to have someone to spend your time with, but you fear none will have you, so you instead sequester yourself away in your chambers, the library, down among the shoreline where he had found you that day.

And none seem to care that that is how you opt to spend your time. Then again, why should they, when their own is so much more valuable. When they are in general.

What're you in comparison? A bastard, base-born girl. The daughter of a dead prostitute.

Your chin wobbles.

You miss them both so much. Your birth mother, as well as Aemma.

You've never felt so adrift.

You do not rise for lunch. Instead, you sleep.

Nor do you get up for supper—sending your handmaid away when she attempts to rouse you—preferring the peace of slumber instead of the niceties of dining with a monster of a man who cares for naught else but himself.

A deep voice bellows through the darkness.

"Get up."

You pull the blankets tighter, squeezing your eyes shut.

There is a frustrated sigh. "Indolence is most unbecoming for a lady of your station."

"Get out," you whisper, refusing to so much as open your eyes.

"You have not eaten since this morn. So, you will either rise or—"

You begin to slowly sit up then, your hair in tangles, only dressed in your shift as you stare up at him from under your lashes with a loathsome glare.

"I'm not hungry. I want to sleep."

Just then, servants enter the room, placing cloches upon your dining table, as well as glasses, and a decanter of wine, before leaving just as quickly as they had come.

You look back to Otto, watching as he walks over to a cushioned seat which has a shawl draped across the back and he retrieves it.

He returns, wrapping it around your shoulders. "You may rest once you have supped. Come."

He offers you his hand and you glance to it momentarily before finally standing, padding across the room and seating yourself at the dining table, merely staring at the dishes set before you, wholly uninterested in even discovering what is beneath each lid.

Otto seats himself near you, lifting each of them, inviting scents wafting into the air, but you do not move.

"Eat," he commands gently.

"I don't want to." You are quickly tiring of being ordered about by him.

He grinds his jaw. "This pouting is quickly growing tiresome. Perhaps—"

You pick up a glass, standing then, and chuck it against a wall, watching as it shatters before you look back at Otto, who displays no reaction to your violent outburst.

He sighs wearily.

And then your chin wobbles.

"Now they'll have to pick it up," you say, shaking your head. You drop your shawl to the floor, walking over to the mess you've created and Otto stands then.

"My Lady, leave it for the servants."

You bend down.

"Y/N, you will cut your—"

"Ow," you mutter, dropping a shard of glass, blood now dripping from your hand.

He quickly comes over to you, kneeling with a groan.

You go to reach for it again, until his large hand firmly takes your own within it. "Stop this at once."

You look to him with tears shimmering in your eyes. "I caused this. I should be the one responsible for cleaning it."

He nods toward the table. "Sit. I will take care of it, then see to your wound."

You consider him for only a moment, then do as you're told.

Once the mess has been tended to, Otto pours water into a basin across the room, then carries it, along with a hand-towel, back to the table.

He takes your hand within his own, gingerly wiping blood from what turns out to be no more than a small cut on your palm.

Your eyes sting with tears. "I want you to leave."

It does not phase him. "I shall have a servant retrieve clean cloth for—"

You wrench your hand away from his. "Go!"

He sits straight then. "Once you have finished your supper." A pause. "That is our agreement."

You ball your hand into a fist, fresh blood seeping forth. "Yes, I am aware. Once we have finished dining, we can then be rid of one another. You have made that plain."

A muscle in his jaw feathers, his eyes slowly closing for only a brief moment before he looks at you again. He had hurt your feelings.

He is surprised in this. Had been even more-so that you had remained in his room—his company—well after the two of you had finished eating. It was beginning to become a habit of yours; staying at his side, even when not dining.

He'd thought, at first, that, perhaps, it had been your way of trying to get out of this arrangement. Thinking if you managed to vex him day after day, he would eventually give in and give up.

Instead, he now realizes you had done it simply to spend time with him.

It is not as if you have many others to do so with.

None at all, really.

One in the same, indeed.

He reaches forward, gently taking your hand again in his. "Forgive me, Y/N. It was not my intentions to—"

You interrupt him yet again. "I know very-well of your intentions, Ser," you say with vehemence. "I know you would rather see me dead. But, as I am the King's daughter, I must, instead, be kept alive in my cage, ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder when I finally come to be of use. That is my value to you. To him. To—"

He flinches at the accusation—to wish for your death—a grievous implication to make. "You have misjudged me, Y/N."

"Have I?" You say, laughing without humor. "I think I see you for exactly who you are. A man must be capable of a certain degree of...of... Manipulation and...having a silver tongue to retain such a position of authority over all the Realm. I know you once tried diligently to council him against it: having me legitimized. I am shocked you did not try to persuade him to not have me claimed at all. I know you would prefer my having never been born."

You think him a monster. He supposes, though, that is the very thing he has always been to you all your life.

From the outside, at the very least.

What if he finally told you, then? Measure after measure he has taken to ensure your safety. He then thinks of further courses of action he has performed over the years to assure your solitude as well.

He had caused this: your current state of melancholy. He has himself alone to blame for it.

"I hate you," you state, trying to pull away, but his grip remains firm.

"Y/N, that is quite enough. Let me make a few things clear to you. I have never desired to see you cold and lifeless. That is the very reason I am here now. It has nothing to do with the prospect of handing you off to a lord, so he may take you to wife and be pleased with what he is given. I do it for you. You, who has—"

"You care naught for anyone but yourself."

He raises a brow, temper nearly at its limit. "Is that what you think?"

You raise your chin in defiance. "That is what I know."

He squeezes your hand painfully. "You think you know so much, do you? Tell me then, what was the reason for the change of guard outside your door so many moons ago?"

You clench your jaw for a moment. "Another spy set in place by yourself, I'm sure."

He leans in closer. "Guess. Again."

You stare at him, brows slightly furrowing.

"I had him executed. Ser Alen. He was overheard making crude comments about the same young woman he had been sworn to protect. Mercy was not even a consideration of mine when I had his tongue cut out before then taking his head."

Your eyes grow wide. What...what had he done? He'd had him murdered, simply for a few offensive words? You are surprised he had not used the opportunity to his advantage—instead paying the young man handsomely to make vile accusations against you, or even offering you to him for a wife, since he had been so clearly interested.

You open your mouth. "I—" You shut it.

He speaks again, eyes dark. "There is no measure I will not take to ensure your well-being. My Lady."

He leans back, releasing you. "Though, I suppose I was the one who needed chastened for abhorrent behavior toward yourself for all these years. Perhaps..." He looks away then, staring into the fire.

You remain silent. Heart pounding, feeling faintly nauseous. You'd never known him at all.

He sighs. "Perhaps I saw you as mine alone to torment."

#fic: hotd (otto hightower x reader)#otto hightower x you #otto hightower x y/n #otto hightower imagine #otto hightower x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd imagine

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isadollie · 6 months ago

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photo • itoshi sae

★ gn! reader, fluff, sae being a lil meanie as always, i tried to make it as little ooc as possible, but idk if i managed to do it

★ it was a random little idea, and i really wanted to write something for sae so here we are:3 hopefully you like it!

you took out your phone and gave sae a cute smile. "come closer, let's take a photo!"

he rolled his eyes, his arms remaining crossed. "no, thank you."

you let out a huff and glared at him. he smirked in response, looking at your little pout. "what? i took you out on a date and you're still not satisfied. how demanding." he teased.

you scooted closer to his side, wrapping an arm around him. "i am happy! i would never think that you might come up with a picnic date. it's very cute, sae. and because of that i want to take a photo of us together. like a little memory, ya know?"

his gaze softened ever so slightly as you mentioned you're happy with the date. but he still wasn't sure about this whole photo taking thing.

"c'mon! you'll be able to make it your lockscreen or-" "i don't need a new lockscreen" he mumbled with another eye roll. you grimaced. "seriously? that default ugly wallpaper is what you wanna keep?"

sae sighed deeply and looked into your eyes. those little sparks he saw in them convinced him. "fine, let's take a photo."

"yay!" you exclaimed and patted his head, earning an annoyed huff from him.

you moved closer, your body leaning against his as you raised your phone enough for both of your faces to be visibile on the screen. you smiled and snapped a few pics, then quickly looking through them. your smile soon faded and you glared at your boyfriend. "seriously?"

you started to swipe through your gallery, but on all of the photos you took sae looked the same. stoic, serious, bored even. "sae! you look like you don't even want to be here with me!" you groaned as you looked at one of the pictures. you sighed and opened the camera app again. "can you just smile please? just once?"

"i don't smile." he responded immediately, your eye twitching in frustration. then, an idea popped into your head.

you positioned the phone in front of your faces again, and right before hitting the button, you quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek. and to your satisfaction, he didn't expect it at all.

"hey, delete it--" he said, his hand already reaching for your phone, but you were faster and managed to get away with a giggle.

you stared at the photo with a smile; you kissing his cheek, sae's mouth opened in surprise, eyes widened, a blush on his face. he looked so adorable.

you knew he will hate that photo with a passion, and won't make it his lockscreen. but you will.

#anime #bllk #blue lock #drabble #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #bllk sae #bllk itoshi sae #blue lock itoshi sae #blue lock sae #sae x reader #sae x y/n #sae x you #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #blue lock x gender neutral reader #blue lock x reader

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lovelywritinglady · 2 months ago

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Crocodile Tears pt.3

Sir Crocodile x fem!reader, Doflamingo x sister!reader

Angst, mentions of violence, fluff, and mentions of death.

In which you see your husband for the first time in months and it happens in an unexpected way. And you come to a realization that your brother isn’t who you thought he was.

I don’t remember everything that happened at Marine ford and I added some things to that story. Sorry this part has taken so long.

"Crocodile." You whispered my eyes wide with shock

There he stood, in all of his 8'3 glory; scowl and all. Doffy was there too adorning his annoyingly smug smile. There stood these powerful men amongst a field of dead, wounded, and fighting soldiers. It was a sight to behold for anyone watching, except for you. As all you could see was how injured Crocodile was. It made your heart ache to see him like that and for a moment you forgot your anger for him. You felt your heart soften at the sight of him.

Your brother and Crocodile seemed like they were engaged in something serious. Based on the look on Crocodiles face, he was pissed.

“What the hell could they be talking about?” You wondered to yourself eyes glued to the screen.

Crocodiles pov

This damn pink feathered bastard, why the hell did she have to be his sister. My frustration was immense and all I wanted right now was to kill whitebeard and get the hell out of this dammed war. However, his comment struck me hard and I knew once all this hell was done that I needed to find y/n and convince my wife to forgive me.

“You’re thinking of ways to make her forgive you aren’t you gator boy!” Doflamingo teased making me furious.

“Shut the hell up!” I yelled turning away from the fool

“You gotta know that no matter what you try, I won’t let you near my dear sweet sister.” He said making me stop dead in my tracks.

“Are you challenging me?” I asked coldly my back still turned

“Maybe I am! Haha! Y/n doesn’t want you why would you try so hard to win her back?” Doflamingo barked

“That my business.” I said quietly finally walking away from the conversation

Part of me is glad I walked away as I knew that fight would take up too much of my time. But another part of me wants to kill him, but considering my wife might be watching, I didn’t want to take that chance. Looking around this battlefield was hell. Everyone was killing each other left and right all to safe that Ace brat. It seemed too excessive for me personally, but I’m just glad that so many dammed marines are dying. The less there are of them the better.

Suddenly, I spotted the stupid clown,Buggy, seemingly making a fool of himself on what looked like a video transponder snail. A bright idea came to me as I walked quickly to them. The prisoners surrounding the red nose idiot all seemed scared, which gave me the confidence to do the thing I set out to do.

“Point that snail at me, if you don’t I’ll kill you.” I threatened pointing at him.

“Y-yes s-s-sir.” The fool stuttered.

“Hey you can’t do that to captain Buggy!” A few of the prisoners wined.

“Yeah, get out of her Crocodile!” Buggy proudly said making me glare at him.

“Or y-you can have it!” He said cowering with a goofy smile on his face.

The snail was pointed at me finally allowing me to say what I needed to say. I took a deep breath still trying to look as intimidating as possible. I did have a reputation to uphold after all.

Your pov

“The hell!” I exclaimed as the video transponder snail suddenly stopped showing the action. “Who’s that dumbass.” I questioned looking at the ugly man now on the screen.

He had a red nose and was wearing a marine uniform but called himself Captain Buggy. I swore I’ve heard that title before but couldn’t figure out where. However, the camera was now on him as the action was heard around him.

“Hello there I’m the famous Captain Buggy!” He exclaimed clearly full of himself.

“Yay, Captain Buggy.” The prisoners around him yelled.

“Point that snail at me, if you don’t I’ll kill you.” A familiar deep voice called out. With some protest the camera was finally pointed elsewhere.

“Crocodile.” I whispered moving closer to the screen. “What the hell are you doing?”

“G-go ahead Mr. Crocodile sir!” The camera man shakily spoke.

“I’m not sure if you’re watching this or not, but I promise that no matter what you’ll see what kind of man I am.” Crocodile spoke seriously. He seemed to pause for a moment before speaking once more. “After that, I’ll come for you…if you still want me.” He spoke saying the last line so quietly that I almost missed it. “Now, you idiots better make sure that the camera is on the action or else.” He threatened. And with that he turned into sand and was gone in an instant.

“W-what the hell!!” The idiot red nose man spoke loudly after watching what crocodile has done. “What could that have meant by that?” Buggy asked to no one in particular.

“What the hell indeed.” I said feeling my heart ache at Crocodiles little speech. What did he mean by that? I decided to continue watching hoping that I’ll get my answer soon.

Third Person Pov

Soon after news of Portgas D. Aces execution being carried out immediately made everyone at marineford fight harder than before, on both sides. The fighting grew more violent as it was seconds before Ace would die. Monkey D. Luffy in particular was fighting the hardest to save his big brother only to be stopped by not only the three admirals, but his own grandfather. Just as the blades moved to Aces neck, an unexpected phenomenon occurred making everyone watching, including you, gasp with shock. Sand came rushing towards the execution block stopping the executioners from killing Portgus D. Ace. All eyes turned to see who had saved the boy only to see none other than the ex warlord, Sir Crocodile.

“You bastard!I thought it would be advantageous to have you here for the battle, since you hold a grudge against Whitebeard. Curse you Crocodile!” Fleet Admiral Sengoku yelled with visible frustration

“I can kill that old dying buzzard whenever o feel like it, but as for right now I’m not gonna let you taste victory. You and your crooked operation!” Crocodile responded fiercely looking towards where he thought the camera might be before looking back at Sengoku.

“Well, you just had to go an screw up all the fun!” Doflamingo laughed emerging from the crowd as he approached Crocodile.

“Fuck off.” Crocodile sighed

“Nah.” Doflamingo replied using his string-string fruit power to sever Crocodiles head making it fly to the ground in a pile of sand.

As quickly as the attack came, Crocodile’s head came back like it was never detached in the first place. However, a angry glare was now evident on his face as he quickly turned around attacking Doflamingo not caring at the moment if you were upset that he was defending himself. Doflamingo blocked the attack with his massive legs. The force of their combined attacks sending anyone near flying far. Crocodile looked at him with with pure anger and disgust as he pushed him back.

“I’ll never let you get her back!” Doflamingo yelled throwing his arms in the air.

“Good things you’re not going to stop me!” Crocodile snapped back before turning into a sand cloud wanting to get the hell off this battlefield so he could begin looking for his wife.

And with that the fight began once again. However, this time around tensions were higher than ever before. And eventually Straw hat Luffy managed to save his brother and the two of them began fighting together in order to make it out alive. With the help of their friends, they made it near the edge of the battle field only to be stopped by one of the fleet admirals who spoke crude words about Whitebeard causing Ace to turn around and confront him. However, once he did so, Akainu promptly turned his attention to straw hat nearly attacking him, only for Ace to get their first.

Your Pov

“Oh god no.” I cried out as your heart broke for the boys on the screen. “This just isn’t fair.” I said feeling tears falling down my cheeks.

I watched in horror at one of the Admirals punched at hole through Portgas D. Ace as his little brother Luffy watched. It was heartbreaking to say the least. I saw other pirates face off with the Admiral as Monkey D. Luffy held his brother in his arms as he died. The poor boys screams filled my soul with dread as I watched him mourn his now dead brother.

“This isn’t fair.” I said now sobbing mourning a man that I didn’t even know.

“And to think Crocodile helped save you. Even he knew that boy should have lived.” I sobbed feeling slight discomfort about feeling proud of my ex husband.

The rest of the battle went quickly with Marshall D. Teach joining the battle and promptly helping to kill Whitebeard. Crocodile and another ex warlord helping straw hat to safety, though that’s what I heard at the video transponder snail stopped showing any action. All that was shown was the scrambling feet of pirates and soldiers alike just trying to make it out alive. At this point I had see enough carnage to last a lifetime. I felt ill, heartbroken, and even more angry at the government than I already was. The thing that I had trouble coming to terms with was how I felt about Crocodile.

On one hand he hurt me so badly that I had to leave to my brother of all people, but on the other hand I had just witnessed him saving the life of a young boy. Which, I know he would never do, so what could have changed? My mind was frantic and my body was feeling weak from all of the crying I did. My heart went out to Straw hat luffy as that boy didn’t deserve any of this. I could only pray that he finds some sort of comfort after this.

One month week later…

The vibrant colors of pink, purple, and orange filled the Dressrosa sky with warmth as the day was just starting. It had been a month since the battle at Marineford and my brother was set to return today. Dread filled me as I stood against the railing of my bedroom terrace admiring the sky. I knew my brother would tell me everything that happened in gory detail. I knew he would laugh as he did. And I knew that if I showed an ounce of disgust he would insult me for it. As much as I love him, I also hate him just as much if not more.

“So much for brotherly love. ” I whispered feeling the warm rays of sun on my tired face.

Sleep had not come easy for me recently. Everything that I saw haunted me every time I tried to sleep. Watching that poor boy die was terrifying. It not like I haven’t seen someone die before, it was just the way he died that haunted me. The screams of Straw Hat Luffy still so vivid in my mind. Even thinking about it now breaks my heart.

I felt myself slipping further into despair and decided to get out of it as fast as possible. I focused my mind on otter things such as the fact that I watched Doflamingo try to kill my ex husband even though I specifically asked him not to. I know that I still hate Crocodile for the way he hurt me, but that crossed a line. Fury now bubbles in my heart and that I felt like I would burst.

Suddenly, a knock interrupted my murderous thoughts about my big brother. I whipped my head around with anger still evident on my face. A guard walked in, bowed, and deliver the news that Doflamingo had returned and requested that I meet him and the family in the throne room. I thanked him and began looking more presentable for a big meeting like that. What the hell could they want? Are they planning something that involves me somehow? Is it just a welcome party? Are they planning on killing Crocodile? I shook my head of these thoughts as the last one make my heart hurt more than I’d ever thought it would at this point in my life.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally made it to the throne room. As soon as I entered I noticed all of the “family” was there all sat on their mini thrones. My brother sat in his huge throne looking at me with a smug expression. All eyes are on me as I sat on a chair placed next to my brother. I then crossed my legs and placed my hands in my lap staring to feel a nervous sensation that something bad was about to happen.

“Welcome back brother.” I greeted trying to keep the mood normal.

“Glad to see you dear sister. Did you miss me?” He joked “I hope you saw what happened at marineford on the video transponder snail.” He added turning his head to me.

“Yes, I watched it. Although, I wish I hadn’t.” I replied honestly meeting his gaze trying my best to remain calm.

“So then, you watched your dear husband in action. What did you think?” He asked his tone shifting to a serious one slightly.

“Is that why you all gathered me here?” I asked looking around the room with slight disgust at the “family”.

“Answer the young master!” Trebol demanded getting up from his seat. “You should know to respect your brother, your king!” He added moving straight in front of my face. His stench filled my nose making me gag.

“Back the fuck up!” I sneered scooting back in my chair.

“Do as the princess says, Trebol.” Doflamingo finally spoke sounding bored.

“Ba-ha-ha! Okay!” Trebol replied quickly going back to his assigned seat.

“You can answer that question later, there are more pressing things to talk about.” Doflamingo spoke

“Okay, thank you.” I replied feeling grateful that I didn’t have to open that can of worms yet.

“Now, onto some real business. Y/n, my dear sister. You’ve been called here because it’s time you finally joined the family and became one of us.” Doflamingo spoke energetically

I sat there stunned a little at his demand. I already assumed that because I’m his sister that I was already part of the “family”. I couldn’t form any words as a mix of fear, anger, and slight joy swirled through my mind. I almost wish I was answering the question before. Sensing that tensions were high at my non verbal state, I quickly decided to respond with the first thing that came to my mind.

“What does it mean to be part of this family?” I asked slightly cringing at the question.

“Fufufu, don’t you know. It means that you work for me my sweet sister. That you are under my protection permanently and that you can have as many riches as you desire as long as you don’t betray me.” Doflamingo happily replied grabbing my hand with his much larger one, giving it an uncomfortable squeeze.

“I thought that I was already part of the family.” I said feeling uneasy at my own words. Something wasn’t right but I couldn’t figure out what.

“You seem uneasy dear sister.” Doflamingo said with a small frown not answering my previous question.

“I’m fine I promise, Doffy, I’m just surprised that you didn’t know that my loyalty stands with you.” I reassured hoping that he’d believe me and that I could leave this shitty situation.

“Good, let’s hope it stays that way. Wouldn’t want you to end up like our dear brother.” Doflamingo spoke stopping dead in his tracks.

“What do you mean?” I said as my heart pounded at the thought of what could be wrong with Rosinante.

“Oh my dear y/n, I suppose it’s time you knew. It’s only right since you’re part of the family.” Doflamingo spoke enthusiastically. “Our dear brother betrayed me, so I had to to the hard thing…” he said

“Hard thing?” I nervously asked

Doflamingo suddenly grabbed my hand holding it close to his massive body. A wide grin covered his face as his red glasses shone an even deeper color. At this moment I felt small, like prey being cornered by a predator. My body was screaming at me to leave and run away. Run away to any place that could hide me from this monster.

“I killed him. I killed our brother and not one day goes by that I don’t regret it!” He said proudly as the “family” all erupted in laughter.

“Wha-why would you?” My voice barely above a whisper

“Huh? Are you stupid or something?” Doflamingo asked genuinely surprised I couldn’t figure it out.

“N-no, sorry my mistake.” I replied trying to calm myself as I knew one wrong thing said and I could wind up seeing Rosi.

“Good, now that you know… do you still wish to be part of the family?” He asked happily like he didn’t just tell me the most horrific thing.

“O-of course! I was just surprised a bit, my apologies dear brother.” I replied hoping that my answer would satisfy him. No way in hell did I want to join his “family” especially after what he admitted to me.

“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now you don’t resent your dear brother do you?” He asked seemingly testing my loyalty further.

“No of course not, what ever he did must have been horrible for you to need to kill him!” I replied trying my best to sound completely unbothered by the death of my brother.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He paused eying me down. “Now, on to some important business.” He stated saying looking at his “family” completely ignoring my presence.

The meeting lasted hours with them mostly taking amongst themselves with my feedback rarely needed. The whole time my body felt like it was dying. For years I wondered where my brother was, what he was doing, and when I’d see him again. Part of me knew that he was dead but I never imagined that Doflamingo would have anything to do with it. I knew he was crazy and that he was capable of killing. I wasn’t there for my fathers death either, but now I can guess that Doflamingo was the one to do that too. My heart ached so badly but I knew showing any ounce of hurt could wind me up like other members of my family.

After what felt like an eternity, the “family” finally got up from their seats. I followed them smiling at them and making small conversations trying to appear as normal as possible. Many of them congratulated me on joining them and promised to protect me. Every single promise they made felt like a sharp knife twisting in my heart. As the flooded out of the room I realized that I was now fully alone with Doflamingo. My body slightly shook at the realization as a smile crept on my face.

“Thank you for giving me this chance brother!” I said bowing slightly. When I came back to look at him, I noticed a small tear on his face.

“You’re the only blood family I have left. It would be a shame to have to kill you y/n. Don’t disappoint me.” He spoke leaving the room too.

Now that everyone, including the guards were gone I allowed myself to collapse onto the floor. My whole body shook violently. The absolute terror I felt consumed me and I felt like I would suffocate under the weight of my own fear. I tried calming myself but my normal methods only seemed to make my panic worse. Finally, after far too long I decided to think of the one person that I knew I shouldn’t.

His face appeared in my mind. His steel eyes filled with love just for me. His soft raven hair that suited him perfectly. His lips that use to capture mine every day. His scar that he hated but filled me with so much warmth for him. To me this man was perfection manifest, and once he was all mine. I remember the way he use to hold me when I needed comfort. How warm he was and the scent that he wore. How his raspy voice always made me smile and blush.

The images of my husband flashed through my mind like a peaceful dream. Somehow even though he wasn’t here, he managed to calm me. My breathing steadied and my nerves were more manageable. The realization hit me hard as tears were streaming from my face. The feeling that I buried for so long now was finally coming back. The feeling of missing someone so precious. The feeling of missing my beloved, Crocodile.

“I wish you were here to take me away.” I whispered feeling defeated and utterly hopeless.

After a few more moments, I dried my tears and began walking back to my room. My body felt completely drained of energy. My steps felt so heavy uneven that I was sure that I was going to fall. However, no such thing happened. Soon I finally made it to my room on the other side of the palace. I landed straight onto my bed and as soon as I did, I felt sleep completely consume me. Soon I allowed my body to rest getting the sleep I desperately needed not knowing when I would be able to sleep now that I’m trapped by my deranged brother.

Meanwhile…

Crocodile’s Pov

“Mr 1, have you found a good man for the job?” I asked my friend hoping that finally we’d be able to accomplish this task.

“Yes sir, I found a man named Mr. Brown whose devil fruit will be perfect for this special operation.” Mr. 1 spoke with confidence.

“Hmm, good then…” I paused looking at Mr. 1. “Let’s go get my wife back.” I said smiling with anticipation of saving my y/n from her deranged brother.

Thank you so much for reading! Sorry for the delay for part 3💜 I hope you all liked it! Stay tuned for part 4! I promise this part won’t take nearly as long! I’m going to write for more one piece characters so please feel free to request some!!

Tag list: @mit-suri @buggs-1 @carmendany2 @eyes-ofhell @emmaiscool22 @oofitty @iloved1lfs0

Please feel free to like, comment, request, reblog, and follow

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE for my master list

•I do NOT own any characters except y/n•

-L.W.L

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

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