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stargirlygirl · 27 days ago

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mated for life

werewolf!caleb x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ 1k follower special

summary: tonight is a blood moon, the night when werewolves mate for life. back in your tiny town on break from college, you don't suspect anything to happen. but when the moon's mysterious glow draws you deep into the forest, you're in for a sharp-clawed treat.

contains: nsfw, smut, monsterfucking, knotting, unprotected sex (don't be like them!), p in v, oral (f!receiving), lowk primal kink, lowk dubcon (not really), about 8 pages of plot before porn (promise it's worth it), blood and biting, lowk yandere caleb, implied rutting, your bestie is a masc lesbian (and a werewolf), your dad died, caleb is also a mechanic, omegaverse-werewolf au fusion, sex on camera, 9.2k words

The buttery scent of pancakes wafts through the small house, luring you downstairs to the kitchen. Waltzing in, your mom is at the stove, flipping breakfast.

“Morning, Mom,” you say from behind her.

Turning around, she smiles at you warmly and responds, “Good morning, darling.” You set your tote bag down on the island bench.

“Need any help?” You offer.

She shakes her head and insists, “All good, baby. Take a seat. Breakfast will be ready soon.” Obedient, you pull out one of the bench’s stools, the legs scraping against the tiled floor. The sound makes you wince and sends chills spiralling throughout your system.

Sitting down, you prop your phone against the fruit bowl, turn on the camera, and start fixing your hair. But it refuses to be tamed. Ponytail, pigtails, half-up half-down, and you still look like you did when you were six. Grumbling, you decide on a low tail. Rat, it is today.

“Did you have a good sleep, love bug?” Your mother asks while plating the pancakes.

“Yeah, it was alright,” you say lazily while locking your phone and slipping it in your back pocket; the final syllable gets caught in a yawn. With a melodic chuckle, she sets down the steaming pancakes in front of you. They’re all funny-shaped, golden-brown and slathered in butter, making your cholesterol levels screech in terror. You’ve been so good lately, but a little treat won’t hurt, right?

The maple syrup clinks against the marble bench, alongside freshly cut strawberries and cookies and cream ice cream.

“Mom!” You exclaim as she dumps a spoonful of the cold creamy goodness on your plate.

“What?” She laughs. “You love ice cream and pancakes.”

“Mom,” you sigh. “You know, having this much sugar in the morning isn’t good for you. What if I crash out by midday?”

Filling the seat beside you and scooping out some ice cream for herself, she counters, “Consider it as your motivation for today.”

You grumble, “Fine,” while grabbing a handful of strawberry slices and dumping them on your pancakes; you’re confident they’ll make up for your lack of dietary discipline.

Your Mom has a mega sweet tooth. Always has and always will. She used to make you a breakfast like this almost every weekend when you were a kid. But as the years passed, life got busy, and so did she. The last time she went all out for you like this must have been a year ago, just before Dad died.

Ah, the ol’ man. You miss him. Not a day goes by that you don’t think of him, with his eccentric ways and big heart. You were always a daddy’s girl growing up. Every night, he would tell you a bedtime story. But instead of a fictional tale about glamorous princesses and heroic knights, he would tell you myths about werewolves.

But aren’t werewolves fictional? Your Dad sure didn’t think so. They were his life’s work. That’s why he moved here anyway, to your tiny town surrounded by dense woodland. He believed that they lurked amongst the townspeople and investigated several werewolf sightings and suspected activities during his career.

When he died, he left all of his precious journals and unfinished articles to you. He taught you everything you know about a supernatural entity you’re uncertain even exists. Mother says that Dad got too close to the source and was silenced, but you don’t believe that. It’s all some hokey-pokey bullshit to justify the death of a good man.

Mourning his loss brought you and Mom together, but it also tore you apart. And with the significance of tonight, the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up.

Her fork clinks against her plate as she says earnestly, “I want you to be careful when you go into town, alright? And especially when you come back tonight.”

“Mom, it’s just a blood moon,” you huff.

“Exactly. After your Dad died—”

“I know, I know. You can’t lose me. I can’t lose you either, okay?” You sigh, glancing over at her grim face. She stares at you, assessing the weight of your words before returning to her half-eaten pancakes. You do the same, gobbling them up, otherwise you’ll be late for your hangout.

Today, you’re seeing your best friend, Gwen, to get some footage for your film project due at the end of the summer holidays. You’re a year into your degree and have decided to take media production as a free elective this semester. And oh boy, what a mistake that was.

Don’t get me wrong, film-making, podcasting, and photography are cool. But you would rather have a thesis paper due then spend your time off filming shit and compiling it into a short piece.

Your theme is: the sublimity of the mundane. Not an enthralling choice, but you were not about to pick The cyclical nature of existence or The futility of infatuation. That second one, though, you could talk about. A little too much for your liking.

Licking your lips, you stand up and carry your plate to the sink. After quickly washing your hands and fixing your outfit, you grab your bag and run to the door.

“Bye, Mom!” You call as you lock the front door before hopping into your car and reversing out of the driveway.

You and Gwen meet at the heart of the town: the moon statue. The copper and bronze have long since oxidised, turning the monument a deep green. It’s a sight to behold, a wolf howling at the full moon. Pulling out your compact camera, you hit record and tape an eye-level shot of the statue. It’s mundane enough, right? Something beautiful that’s long since lost its shine. And yet, it possesses this magnetic quality.

Lowering your camera, your eyes are glued to the craters of the moon and the wolf’s curves. Unprompted, it calls to you, whispering incoherently in your ears. But you understand.

Do not turn away.

You can hear the wolf howling, its cry to the celestial body above. The pattering of paws on the soil, chasing unity as darkness consumes the land once more.

Mindlessly, you twirl the wolf pendant on your necklace between your fingers. It was given to you by your father on your 18th birthday— the age he said, when werewolves could discover their life-long mates and create everlasting bonds with them. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought about the guys your age in town who might be looking for their mate. And fantasised about someone specifically discovering that you’re theirs.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a poke to your shoulder. You gaze up and grin immediately.

“Gwen!” You throw yourself into her muscular arms, basking in her warmth. She giggles in your ear and hugs you tightly before drawing back.

Squeezing your upper arms, she grins, “Missed me, huh?” You shove her playfully, both of you laughing as you start walking along the main shopping strip.

“How’s college been?” She asks. You roll your eyes, making her laugh.

“Busy. But good. It’s just this assignment, you know? I’m actually cooked,” you admit.

She chuckles, “You’ll be fine, Y/n. Smartest girl I know.” You place your finger on your lips, shushing her as you narrowly avoid an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand.

“And you?” You prompt her. Gwen shrugs.

“Oh, come on! How’s your apprenticeship? How’s the shop?”

She huffs, “Same as always. Mr Ropen's car broke down last week—”

“Again?!” You ask in shock. She nods, smirking. You two veer into the local organic café.

Stepping inside, the AC blows cool air over you, providing sweet relief from the hot summer air. You whip out your camera and start recording the food display window and the staff at work.

Gwen stands behind you, sighing, “I told him to give up on it, but he’s a stubborn ol’ codger, ya know?”

You giggle, “I know.” The movement shakes the video a little, so you stop recording and slot your camera back in your pocket. You two waltz up to the counter and peruse the menu, only to order the exact same thing as always.

“A double espresso caramel frappé for me and an iced mocha for the lady,” Gwen winks at the worker on the till.

“Gwen,” you bemoan as she taps her card all cocky. The staff member doesn’t even bat an eyelash as your bestie wraps her arm around your shoulders and leads you over to the little table in the corner by the window; the one you two sit at whenever you come here.

She insists that you sit down while she attends to the drinks, walking away before you have time to protest. Sighing, you scoot closer to the little round table and gaze out the window.

The sun glints off car roofs and the jewellery of passersby. You see familiar faces, like your eighth-grade English teacher, and Gwen’s ex-girlfriend (one of them anyway), as well as unfamiliar faces. It’s been almost a year since you’ve been back here. The last time you returned, it was for your father’s funeral and to support your mother afterwards.

The cloudless sky hunts down your gloominess, vanquishing it as Gwen returns with your mocha in hand.

“Thanks, babe,” you say teasingly.

She grins across from you, “You're welcome, princess.” Taking a sip from your paper straw, you’re met with sugary bliss. You moan in pleasure, giving her twinkling eyes and paying compliments to the chef.

You two chat about life for a while: getting older, inflation, your latest obsessions. Your particularly animated speech about your latest TV show is interrupted by Gwen’s blaring ringtone.

“Sorry,” she apologises as she answers the call. On the other end, you make out that deep rumble you’ve been trying not to think about.

“Fuck off, Caleb. It’s my day off. I told you not to bother me,” your friend snaps.

The awkwardness sets in as you start looking around, attempting to give her some privacy but also yearning to hear Caleb’s voice. Pulling out your camera, you start filming your empty cups and pan to a view of the café.

All the while, Gwen spits out, “You’re not my alph— boss. You’re not my boss, Caleb, so get fucked.” Clearing your throat, you press the stop button and place your camera on the table. You prop it up and hope that the lens is focused on you before hitting record again.

“No! I don’t care if you told the client it would be done by tomorrow. I’m not coming in!” She abruptly stands up, and your eyes go wide seeing Gwen’s rapidly heaving chest. Her chair clanks on the floor, drawing the patrons’ curious eyes as she gives you a look before heading outside.

Several minutes pass before your best friend returns, and she seems positively peeved.

Plonking down in her chair (which you picked up while she was gone), she runs her hand down her face as she grumbles, “Sorry, babe. Caleb’s got a stick up his ass today. I gotta head to the shop ‘n finish up on an ignition coil change. D’you wanna come?”

“Will he be there?” You ask, nervous for her answer.

She groans, “’Course he will, fuckin’ prick.” Chuckling forcedly, you agree to accompany her to the shop.

It’s a quick walk back to your cars, and you tail her through the few streets of your small town. As Xia Automotive comes into view, you’re positive your soul has ascended. You should be thrilled to finally see him, the man you’ve had a crush on since you were 12 years old. Instead, dread pools in your tummy.

Entering the driveway, you park in the back corner. Cutting the engine, you throw your keys on the dash as you mentally prepare for what’s about to happen.

Allow me to clarify, nothing’s happened between you and Caleb.

And that’s the problem.

You’ve been in love with him for years now, but it’s always been one-sided (or so you think). Every time he’s ever acknowledged your presence (eleven times; every single one is recorded in your diary), it was in this older brother manner. And fair enough, he is a few years your senior. But you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a young woman and you have womanly needs.

Leaving town for college wasn’t only about pursuing a career, but also about getting some breathing room from your parents and Caleb. Moving away gave you the chance to re-evaluate your feelings for him and release them. However, that wasn’t as effective as you were hoping it to be.

You’ve never met a man who rivals Caleb. To you, they merely lurk in his shadow. And it’s not just you. Much of the town’s young ladies loooooooovvve Caleb. He’s so charismatic and friendly. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only one whenever you’re with him; it’s intoxicating. And obviously, he’s the most handsome hunk around.

There’s just one more problem: Caleb’s strictly celibate. You might be thinking, a man like that? There’s no way. But as far as you know, he’s never… been around, if you know what I mean. No dating, no girlfriends, no hook-ups, nothing. Not for a lack of admirers, but because he claims that he’s simply waiting for the right person.

Bullshit.

“Remember, Y/n. He’s gay,” you say to yourself with your eyes closed, hyping yourself up.

“He’s definitely gay. 110% gay, but in the closet. And he thinks you’re a weirdo.” You add that last part for a confidence boost. Opening your eyes, you gaze at yourself in the rearview mirror with renewed vigour.

“He’s gay,” you murmur with the finality of an affirmation.

Stepping out of your car, you walk over to the shop’s front and duck inside the garage. There are a couple of cars on hoists, while others are missing bumpers or car doors. Avoiding the myriad of tools and tyres, you find Gwen.

She’s in the cramped office, going off her nut at—

“You fuckin’ asshole!” She yells while slamming the door open. Storming over to you, she pulls you into her side and squishes your cheeks together. It’s too late to run now. Out walks Caleb. A furrow in his brow, sweat dripping down his soot-covered arms, black tank and straight cut jeans that cling to his meaty thighs.

You can’t stop your eyes from trailing over his delicious form as your bestie shouts, “Look who I was hanging out with! You interrupted our romantic date!”

Caleb scoffs, “Please, Gwen. Like you’re her type.” He folds his arms across his chest, muscles flexing as he grits his teeth (you almost drool). Those sleep-deprived eyes rest on you, drinking you in as much as you did him. You feel hot beneath his gaze, the blood rising to your cheeks despite your efforts to will it away. The last thing you want is to look like a red-faced loser in front of your crush!

Gwen almost growls, “I could be.”

“Gwen!” You squeak.

Her callused fingers press harder into your cheeks as she snickers, “Don’t forget, Caleb. We’re best friends. There’s nothing we don’t know about each other.” Leaning down, she nudges your temple with her nose, grinning widely. The sight makes the vein in Caleb’s jaw pop. He’s clenching his teeth so hard that you think for a moment you can hear them grating against each other.

“Gwen,” you whine. The sound is needy, erotic, almost. It makes Caleb’s eyes widen. Only he should be making you elicit those kinds of sounds—

“You proved your point, okay! You’re super hot!” Chuckling throatily, your best friend releases you. You stumble forward, but catch yourself quickly. The way Caleb steps closer reflexively doesn’t go unnoticed.

Gwen ruffles your hair as she beams, “Why don’t you tell Caleb about how we used to shower together?”

“Gwen!!” You shriek, certain that your face is so red you could tell people you just ran a marathon.

Caleb’s voice booms over the buzzing of drills and clattering of ratchets as he commands, “Go to your station, Gwendolyn.” Ouch.

“Tch. Whatever,” she grumbles, trudging off to a beat-up blue car nearby.

For a long moment, you avoid Caleb’s piercing gaze. He’s gay, he thinks you’re a weirdo, he’s gay, he thinks you’re a weirdo, you repeat in your mind.

You flinch as he says sternly, “Is that true?” Gazing up at him, you blink dumbly.

“What? Oh, uh, well, yeah. I mean, like, we um showered together when we were kids, yeah,” you reply sheepishly. If Caleb didn’t think you were a weirdo before this, he must think you’re one now.

He presses on with, “Just when you were kids?”

You laugh awkwardly, “Well, duh, like, we’re not… involved if that’s what you’re thinking.” Caleb nods, analysing your words while scrutinising your behaviour. How you shift uncomfortably on your feet and gnaw at your lower lip. That drives him up the wall, especially with the blood moon tonight. Finally, he huffs, his shoulders slumping and features relaxing as he draws closer to you.

He seems to be back to his usual self as he remarks, “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, rubbing your neck as you glance down at your feet.

“Miss me?” He jokes. But it’s not really a joke, neither to you nor to him.

“Of course I missed you,” you respond with a little too much sincerity. You hope it goes over his head (and unfortunately for you, it doesn’t).

Fidgeting with your wolf pendant, you say nervously, “I should, uh, let you get back to work. You seem really busy.” Caleb shakes his head, shifting even closer to you. There’s barely a hair’s breadth between your bodies now, making your heart race.

“You've been okay?” He asks, concerned. His hand raises, long fingers just touching a loose strand of your hair.

“You look a bit tired,” he states. Pulling back, you don’t miss the hurt flickering in his violet eyes.

You brush it off with, “I could say the same about you.” The crease in his brow returns as his hand drops to his side.

“What’s with the attitude?” He counters, an undercurrent of annoyance in his tone. You shake your head and avert your eyes to the office behind him. Pin board with paperwork, cluttered desk— Caleb moves to the side, blocking your view of the private room and filling it with himself instead.

You bluff, “There’s no attitude. I just don’t wanna bother you. Like, we’re not even friends, you know?”

“Can you even hear yourself right now?” He retorts, jaw tight.

Meeting his harsh gaze, you mumble, “What?”

“We’re not even friends? Is that what you think?” He reaches out and grabs your upper arm, squeezing the fat and muscle firmly in his rough palms.

“Caleb—”

“Forget it.” He lets go of you as quickly as he took hold of you and moves back, putting much-needed distance between you two.

He sighs, pissed off with himself, “I’m sorry, pips. Just had a hard day. Why don’t I order you some takeout? It’s already one.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” you try to convince him, waving your hands in a dismissive gesture. But it doesn’t get through as he whips out his phone and starts dialling your favourite noodle place (there’s only one in town). He orders your favourite, unprompted and recited from memory (one conversation you had when you were in ninth grade and were asking him to show you how to use chopsticks properly). Flashing you a captivating grin, he leaves you to your own devices as he resumes fitting a new car door.

You dart over to Gwen and scold her for making you two look like a couple in front of Caleb. But she doesn’t apologise. Instead, she rambles about how much of dick he is until your food arrives. The delivery driver drops it off by the front counter, and you pick it up from the receptionist.

Heading back over to your best friend, she grumbles, “How come you get to eat and I don’t?”

You giggle, “’Cause you’re working.”

“Mouthy shit.” That makes you laugh harder.

The rest of the afternoon goes by smoothly. After enjoying your takeout, you bid Gwen adieu and even stop briefly to say goodbye to Caleb and his Dad, who’s the head mechanic and owner of the shop. Next, you drive around town, stopping at all of the spots you think are worthy of being filmed for your project. You even snag a still of the sunset over the trees from a nearby lookout point.

By the time you return home, it’s dark out and you’re absolutely exhausted. Taking off your outside clothes, you flop down on your bed before groaning about showering.

The night is balmy, heat sticking to your freshly cleaned and moisturised skin as you pull on your sleep shorts and a tank top. You feel uncomfortable, suffocated, even as your ceiling fan cooks you like a chicken in a fan-forced oven.

As the sky gets even darker, the humidity shows no signs of letting up. It’s around 8pm when you decide to record an update for your short film. You turn your drawers inside out and search your day clothes anxiously for your camera. Sighing, you grab your car keys and make your way downstairs, reasoning that you must have left it in your car earlier. You slip on your slides before heading out.

Unlocking your car, it doesn’t take long to find your lost possession (it was in the glovebox). Straightening up, you lock your vehicle and start walking back to the house when you see it.

High in the sky, shimmering like a ruby… or a pearl dipped in blood. The moon, a total lunar eclipse. It takes your breath away. Magical. Your hands move on their own, pressing record and holding the camera up to capture the natural wonder gazing down upon you. It calls to you, something buried, primal.

Come closer, child.

You obey mindlessly, like an angel to God’s commands. Your feet carry you into the woods beside your house, through the shadowy shrubbery with no map. Your heart pounds in your chest, the rushing of blood deafeningly loud in your ears as you avoid trees and duck beneath branches.

Holding your camera steady, you film your journey into the wilderness. You seem to know the way; some ancient knowledge awakens and guides you to the moon. Time seems to stop as the woodland chatter surrounds you, the crickets’ croaking and occasional hoots not instilling the fear inside you that they should be.

Soon, you reach a small clearing. It’s not even a clearing, more like a small circle of unoccupied grass in the midst of thriving vegetation. You stand there, camera facing skyward as you zoom in on the celestial body above. The stars decorate the black sky, but their light is inferior to the central glowing beauty.

The animals’ buzz quietens, near silence rippling throughout your surroundings before you hear it. Twigs snapping and the violent rustling of shrubs. You have no time to react before it’s upon you.

Fur, brown fur, you make out in the dim moonlight. But such a discovery is marred by your screams as it slams into you, sending you to the ground as sharp teeth sink into your neck.

Blood, your blood, coating its muzzle as it rears back. In a frenzy, the creature bites you again and again. Its teeth carve its mark into your neck and collarbones before trailing down one arm. The woodland hum picks back up, loud but not loud enough to mask your cries of pain.

Rich, purple eyes lock on yours as it chomps on your bicep. Your very life force forms a ring around its gums and trickles down those sharp canines as it lets up.

“A-ah,” you groan, tears rolling down your cheek as it stares at you, long pink tongue lapping at your spilled blood.

It growls, like it’s defending its territory. Your sorrow obscures your vision, but make no mistake. It’s clear what creature has attacked you.

A werewolf.

Dipping its head, the wolf licks up your arm and décolletage, not letting one drop of blood go to waste. Pain throbs throughout your entire being, yet the repetitive lapping of your wounds is soothing, almost like it’s cleaning them. How considerate.

The creature paws at your tank top, sharp claws tearing it to shreds. You scream as the hot air hits your exposed skin, some of your most prized possessions on show. Your arms shoot up to your chest and cover your breasts, but the wolf doesn’t like that. It growls at you, teeth bared and red drool dripping from the corners of its mouth.

You shake your head frantically, but it doesn’t care. The werewolf nuzzles your crossed arms, eventually pushing them aside before licking your breasts. It laps at your nipples, switching from one tit to the other indecisively. You push at its broad shoulders, only to find a solid wall of muscle and soft fuzz.

“Please!” You cry out as it nips on the fat of your breast, drawing blood. Grabbing its head, you attempt to push it off, but to no avail. Those wild eyes gaze up at you, observing your every reaction.

Shifting to your other breast, it bites again, but more gently. Your breath catches in your throat, only a red mark left behind while crimson trickles down your other nipple. You wriggle beneath the werewolf’s large body, trying to escape. Noticing your efforts, the beast drops its weight onto you, keeping your legs and hips in place.

Its searing mouth closes around your small bud, and you scream, waiting for it to bite your nipple off. But instead, the werewolf rolls its tongue around it. And for a second, it almost feels… good.

In your anaemic daze, you’ve convinced yourself that this is pleasurable. Pathetic. But, as the creature sucks on your sensitive peak, a moan is torn from your throat. The sound echoes throughout the night, so breathy and desperate, you’re unsure if it was yours.

Right now, the ecstasy coursing through your veins feels pretty real.

Those razor-sharp claws scrape down the smooth skin of your tummy. The wolf is careful not to scratch you, the sensations instead adding to your growing panting and muffled whines. No longer are you pushing it off. Now, you’re pulling it closer, scratching beneath its pointed ears.

The creature pulls off your tit and shakes its head from side to side, like a dog does when it sneezes. The gesture makes you giggle a little.

All of the fear you’d been feeling is swiftly melting into liquid heat, swishing about your limbs and draining to your cunt. Again, you scratch its ears, making the werewolf purr. It’s a low, rumbling sound emanating from its chest. The hum puts you at ease while you stare into its galaxy eyes. Your body eases into the grass, and your breathing stabilises as a silly idea comes to mind.

The werewolf’s eyes are just like Caleb’s. Deep and dazzling. You’re curious what would happen if you called it his name. Would the creature know what you’re saying? How would it respond, if it responded at all? Does the creature already have a name?

It leans forward, its furry chest against your soft, bloodied one as it nuzzles your cheek. The werewolf’s purr resonates with your heart, the vibrations reverberating throughout your body. It licks your cheek, and you cup its muzzle as you laugh. Turning your head, it licks your lips.

“Did you just kiss me?” You ask it, not really expecting a response. But the wolf makes a noise, which you assume to mean ‘yes’ as it laps at your lips again.

You stroke its head, your fingers running through its mane. The wolf’s purr grows louder as it begins licking your neck again. You wince, fingertips pressing into its shoulder blades as its hot tongue makes contact with its bite marks.

Back down your body, the werewolf laps and carefully nibbles. Each time its teeth make contact with your delicate flesh, you cry out in pleasure, not pain. As the creature reaches your hips and rips off your shorts, you’ve never felt more self-conscious. Your thighs squish together, teddy bear panties not safe from the wolf’s hunger.

It grabs your knees and separates them, the power of its grasp demanding compliance. The werewolf lifts one of your legs and brings your calf to its snout. You’re expecting another cautious lap of its tongue, but instead, it bites down hard into your muscle. You scream, body recoiling, but its grip is vice-like, keeping you right there to satiate itself.

“Please stop! It hurts!” You wail, a new batch of tears welling in your eyes. It pulls off your flesh and licks the wound before travelling down to your inner thigh. There, it etches its teeth into your soft flesh again, but briefly this time. You sob as the wolf looks up at you. For a second, you think you see a crease in its brow, dissatisfaction on its face at your agony. It prods at your fat with its wet nose affectionately before reaching your most sensitive spot.

Moments pass as you stare at each other. Your heart thumps in your throat, and you wipe your eyes, but more tears come. You’re sure it didn’t mean any harm; it’s just marking what belongs to it. But still, the pain is insufferable.

The werewolf maintains eye contact as it leans down, damp nose on your cute cotton panties. It takes a whiff, pupils dilating slightly from your intoxicating scent. Shamelessly, the creature sniffs up and down your clothed cunt, nose tip pressing into the growing wet patch at your entrance.

You can’t help it! If you could, then you would, but once again, your anguish is transforming into burning desire.

The wolf licks up your panties, tasting your arousal through the flimsy fabric. Its tongue is so wet and spit spills from its mouth, ecstatic to be intimate with you; your underwear turns translucent. The werewolf is content to lap at your covered pussy for a short while… until it yearns for more.

You shudder as its claw cuts through the fabric. Pulling your ruined panties off, you gasp, your cunt bare to the creature. Your slick glistens beneath the blood moon, pussy so perfect in the glowing light. The werewolf gazes at you hungrily, eyes asking for consent. You nod, and that’s all it needs to dive in.

Your back arches as you scream, your hands flying down to grab at its long fur. The pleasure is unreal. Completely blinding, you can barely keep your eyes open as the wolf’s nose bumps your clit before it licks and sucks the little nub.

If someone told you three hours ago that you would be trusting your most private parts to a werewolf, you would have made fun of them for how insane they are. But now that you are, you wouldn’t have made any other choice. Do you belong in a mental asylum? Probably. But, do you belong here? Right now? Beneath this hungry beast devouring your cunt like it's the finest meal the creature has had in days? Absolutely.

Its tongue slips into your hole, and you swear you’re delusional. There is no way you’re not dreaming. But as your head lolls to the side, you catch a glimpse of your compact camera. That’s right! You must have dropped it when the werewolf body slammed into you.

Forcing your eyes to stay open for more than two seconds is no easy feat, but you manage to do so long enough to realise that the lens is facing you and the rather lewd undertakings you’re engaging in. Now, that’s two things you weren’t expecting to add to and cross off your bucket list. 1) Have sex with a werewolf and 2) record yourself having sex (with a werewolf). Your damn camera better be recording all of this or—

“F-fuck!” You moan, your hips bucking into the creature’s ravenous mouth. It doesn’t fatigue, too caught up in the bliss of consuming your slippery cunt.

The wolf keeps licking and sucking and fucking your hole with its tongue and repeating the entire cycle over and over until you’re screaming, “’M gonna cum! ‘M cumming!” And cum you do.

Never before have you experienced such an intense orgasm. The pleasure spasms throughout your body, making you shake on the werewolf’s tongue as you finish all over its face. It growls and groans into your fluttering pussy, licking up your juices like they’re the sweetest nectar. The wolf doesn’t stop until you’re begging it to from overstimulation.

“Please! Please, please, it’s too much,” you whimper, trying to scoot away from the beast. But it holds you steadily in place, not allowing you to move an inch away from its hungry tongue.

You cry out while pulling on its ears, “Please! Please! You’re hurting me.” The werewolf seems to sober up. It draws back, muzzle soaked in your slick and glancing up at you. You shiver as its tongue, the tongue that was just inside of you, darts across its snout to clean itself up.

The creature climbs back up your body, taking a moment to suck on your tits before nuzzling your jaw tenderly. You pat its head and scratch its ears lightly as a reward.

“That felt really good,” you pant, your noses bumping together. Its chest heaves, sticky-warm exhales fanning across your face. That heavenly tongue licks your lips, effectively distracting you from its paw pumping its canine cock. The other grabs at your thighs and hooks one leg over its hip. Your spine curves as a guttural moan is torn from your throat at the sensation of his tip running up your slit.

Wrapping one arm around its shoulders, you gaze down, your forehead bopping its snout. You can make out its girthy cock in the shadows, and promptly realise that the werewolf is not an ‘it’ but a ‘him’. He circles your swollen clit with his angular tip, making you whimper at the sensitivity. It’s painful, but addictive at the same time.

Lying back, you cup the creature’s face with your free hand and murmur, “I want this. I want you. Please.” You cry out as his head pushes inside your tight hole. He growls, the sound carnal as he slides further in. You can feel every vein and ridge rubbing against your gummy walls. The way his cock slims and then curves out takes you by surprise. Your moans are uncontrollable as you reach the fattest part, and then it tapers toward the base.

The werewolf nuzzles your temple with his nose, just like your friend did to you earlier today. Her affection was innocent, but his was claiming. It's a gentle gesture, but with how his cock keeps sliding in, it feels like he’s conquering your body and soul.

Bottoming out is a blessing, because if he was any longer, you would have been severely fucked. But oops, you’re still going to be. And you realise as much when he starts rutting into you. No buildup to the main event, he’s fucking you at a brutal pace with considerably brutal force. His hips force every breath out of your lungs. He pummels you into the grass, fucking you so hard you could dig yourselves into a hole.

Those twilight eyes stare at you, and the werewolf groans, “Sorry.” It’s barely comprehensible, the syllables slurred and rough, like it got stuck in his throat on the way out. But you understand just fine.

The squelching of your sex rings throughout the night, joining the choir of chirps and buzzing from all around you. Natural, that’s what this feels like.

Between your incoherent whines and moans, you register that not only are you fucking a werewolf, you’re fucking a werewolf during a blood moon. Meaning, you’re not only fucking, but you’re mating, for life. However, the werewolf is no stranger. He’s familiar and as warm as you always hoped he would be.

You gasp, “Caleb!” after a particularly rough thrust. Those violets widen, and he stops, his jaw slackening as he stares at you like a mad woman. Moaning, you wiggle your hips, desperate and proud of it for his cock. He shakes his head and licks your lips; a loving kiss.

You mewl, “Caleb, it’s okay. I… I want you to keep going.” He gazes at you for another moment, his cock throbbing inside your snug cunt. You moan, feeling his pre dripping into you.

“Please,” you whine. He drops his head and rests it in the bitten crook of your neck before resuming his back-breaking thrusts. Your legs tighten around his hips, ankle digging into the dimples above his ass to keep most of his length inside.

He grunts against your skin, claws digging into the ground beside your head and tearing up the shrubs. You’re sweating, his body insulating yours and making your skin all sticky. Your fingers tug at his soft brown fur, anchoring yourself to this plane of existence as your release nears. His pelvis knocks your clit, making you jolt in pleasure.

“Please, Caleb! Right there, baby,” you whimper, your body starting to shake from exertion and blood loss. He lifts up, one hand snaking down between your bodies to circle your needy bud. Even if Caleb can’t fuck you gently right now, he remains careful when rubbing your clit, ensuring his claws don’t snag on your delicate folds. It only takes a few more tight circles until you’re falling over the edge into sweet oblivion.

Screams and cries of pleasure pour forth from your pink lips, unrecognisable as yours but distinctively erotic. And as soon as you’re cumming, Caleb’s cumming, too.

His knot swells rapidly, locking your bodies together as he spills bucket loads of white hot release into you. It fills your womb, making it impossible for you not to get pregnant (or at least he hopes so). Growls rip out of his chest, interjecting a residual purr.

The moon bears witness to the consummation of your mate bond, sealing it in blood and cum (what a mix). The hot air sears your damp skin. You’re burning up beneath Caleb as he collapses on top of you, muscular arms tight around your smaller frame. His heart beats as rapidly as yours, together, in sync. It keeps you tethered through the ecstasy-induced delirium.

Your injuries are catching up to you. It’s clear like the obsidian sky above as Caleb feels your hold on him weakening. Driven by his own insatiable hunger, he wants to go again and again until sunrise. But you’re losing consciousness. And he can’t talk right now. So he chooses the next best option and licks your cheek.

You giggle quietly, the sound airy and concerning. He draws back, paws on either side of your face as he gazes at you worriedly. You’ve got this blissed out smile on your lips as you encircle his wrist with your fingers. His cock twitches inside of you, making you moan softly.

“I love you,” you sigh, your eyes closing from exhaustion. Oh, how he wishes he could return your words! But he can’t, not on a night like this, when his animal instincts are at an all-time high.

The last thing you hear is a hushed whimper from your werewolf. It pulls on your heartstrings, sparking a yearning within to kiss his pain better. Feeling heavy, you drift off into a dreamless slumber.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

Warmth. Your hand is warm. No, your hand is hot; it’s **the rest of your body that is warm. The ground beneath you is soft, moulding to your curves, like a mattress. Birds chirp in the distance, and a pillow cushions your head. Your pillow, you can tell by the silk case.

Groaning, you roll onto your back; whatever was keeping your hand blazingly hot is absent now. There’s a dull ache spreading throughout your body, throbbing like you got hit by a truck. Or worse.

Memories of last night fill your mind. Fragments of the blood moon and the werewolf attacking you surface and morph into desperate, forbidden sex. It-it couldn’t be real. You’re in complete denial, despite the pain you’re in. Because there’s just no way you fucked a werewolf. AND there is certainly no way you fucked a werewolf who you thought was Caleb.

Fluttering your eyes open, you sincerely hope that all of that was a dream. But as you try to sit up, reality crashes down upon you.

“No, don’t move.” You groan in confusion as you’re gently pushed back down on the bed by your shoulders, a swathe of brown hair clouding your vision.

“Caleb,” you croak out. He cringes at how hoarse you sound. Pulling back slightly, you two stare at each other. His tired eyes swim with anguish and concern, while you’re certain yours are filled with confusion.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he murmurs, “How’re you feeling, pips?”

“Sore,” you admit. He nods, guilt weighing on his conscience. Leaning over, he grabs a cup of water from your nightstand and helps prop you up enough to drink it. The crystal liquid is cool; it soothes your parched vocal cords and replenishes some of your strength. He sets the cup down as you lie back and glance around your room. It looks exactly how it did when you left last night.

You ask confused, “What happened last night? Why’re you here?” Panic flickers across Caleb’s handsome face, but it’s long gone before you can mention it.

He clears his throat before answering with a question of his own, “How much do you remember?”

You laugh dryly, averting your eyes to the fluffy blankets covering your body, “Too much.”

Caleb commands you, “Tell me.” Your brow creases as you try to sit upright again, but he holds you down once more.

“Can’t you tell me like this?” His tone isn’t as harsh this time. You sigh, giving up on your futile attempt at autonomy. With one hand, you lift the cosy blanket just enough to see the bandages peeking out of your haphazardly thrown-on night gown. Last night really did happen then, huh?

“I, uh, got lost,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

Caleb scoffs, “You got lost?”

You grumble, “What’s it to you? And you didn’t even answer my initial question. Why are you here?” Side-eyeing him, you catch how he rolls his eyes and his shoulders tense up.

He sighs, “Are you always this stubborn?”

“Caleb,” you groan. You two have never fought before. There’s never been a cause to, unless you count the disagreement you had at the shop yesterday. But even this didn’t feel like a fight, more like you two dodging around something you both remember. But there’s no way he knows what you were up to. Or should I say who? That couldn’t have been him, could it?

The werewolf had responded fondly to the name, but… But what?

Recalling your mantra (he thinks you’re a weirdo), you gather up the confidence to ask, “Was that really you last night?” You two gaze at each other for a long moment, assessing whether to come out and say it or continue beating around the bush.

He gulps, “So you remember then? What happened between us?” You nod, rendered speechless as you process the very real fact that 1) Caleb is a werewolf and 2) you’re mated to him for life.

Before he can say anything else, you chime in, “But I don’t understand. Why did you bite me? Why did you… do that with me?” He shakes his head, elbows on his knees, as he looks away to compose himself. His father is going to skin him alive once he finds out what Caleb did with you last night. But it’s worth it, because now, Caleb’s golden girl belongs to him.

“You’re my mate, always have been,” he finally shrugs, still averting his eyes to the ‘bewitching’ carpet. A quiet descends upon the room as you wait for him to continue, but Caleb is hellbent on doing literally anything else.

You ask, “How long have you known?”

He chuckles, but there’s no real joy behind it, “I’ve always had a feeling, but I didn’t know until you turned 18.” Meeting your eyes again, he explains, “Both mates have to be 18 before the bond is recognised. It protects both parties in situations like ours.”

“Oh,” you mumble. But then—

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You frown.

“Say anything?!” Caleb echoes. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey honey, by the way, I’m a werewolf and we’re destined for each other’?”

“That’s not what I mean,” you mutter while shaking your head. “You could have gotten closer to me. Texted me or something to make it more reasonable.”

“Reasonable?! What? Is our bond not reasonable to you?” He counters angrily. He’s never acted like this with you before.

Your voice is small as you say, “It’s so sudden. I didn’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings, is all. You could have clued me in earlier, is what I’m trying to say.” Seeing the way you shrink into your blankets, his heart pangs. All of his frustration dissipates as he turns to face you, one hand reaching out to rest over your heart beneath the covers.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… It’s just hard for me to control my emotions right now, okay?” He stares at you with puppy eyes, seconds away from getting down on his knees to beg for your forgiveness.

He continues in the same sorrowful tone, “But that’s not an excuse, I know. You’re right, I should have been more direct with you when I found out.”

“Why didn’t you? I mean, surely, you must know how I feel about you?” You pout. Caleb shifts closer, his hand on your chest now holding your cheek.

He explains, “I didn’t want to intrude on your life. You had so much going on at the time, with your Dad passing away and heading off to college.”

You accuse him, “So you let me suffer alone?”

“No! That’s not— Pipsqueak, I would never. You had Gwen. Throw me into the mix and it would have been too much.” Caleb’s breathing shallows, his heart thumping heavily in his chest.

He reassures you, “But I was always around, honey. Almost every night when you were still here, I was watching over you.” That seems to have the opposite effect of calming.

“You were watching me?!” You exclaim.

Caleb groans, hyper-aware of the hole he’s digging himself into, “No! Well, yes, but it was for your own safety.” More like for soothing his anxiety, but close enough, right? You stare at him, unsure of how to proceed with this new information.

“That’s how your father got into trouble,” he says earnestly.

“What? What does any of this have to do with my Dad?” You ask, pitch rising as your nerves do.

Shit! Caleb’s always been so good at concealing things, but now that you’re here, he’s incredibly awful at it.

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand as he starts explaining, “He knew I was watching you. I knew he knew. And when I didn’t show on the blood moon, he came looking for me—” He stops abruptly, contemplating whether to continue telling this story.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, just like you did last night, while gazing at him with serious eyes.

You say sombrely, “Please. If you know what happened to him, then please tell me.”

Your mate sighs, “Pips—”

“Please, Caleb! Please,” you insist.

His Adam’s apple bobs before he leans back and continues, “We were partway through a ritual when he stumbled upon us. I tried to reason with the elders, but they wouldn’t listen. The rumours surrounding our town are bad enough. If anyone found out about what we are, you can imagine the kind of damage it could do.”

“And, so you killed him,” you conclude, a lump forming in your throat.

Caleb’s eyes widen as he exclaims, “No! I mean, I didn’t kill him, no.”

“But, the elders. They decided his fate,” you choke out, tears bubbling along your waterline.

His shoulders slump as he murmurs, “Your dad was unshakeable once he got a lead, you know that, pips. If the elders didn’t do something, our secret would have been out by dawn. I don’t support their decision, but it’s justifiable.” You can’t hold back your cries any longer. They spew forth, ugly and burning hot.

“Honey,” your mate coos. He shifts forward, lying down beside you and embracing you tightly. You want to push him away, be angry at him for something, anything! But all you crave is his strong arms and broad chest as you mourn. It hurts, moving around, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the pain your father must have felt in his final moments. To be killed by what he loved the most: werewolves.

And you’re mated to one of all things.

You sob, “A-are you goin-going to kil-kill me, too?”

Caleb shakes his head and mumbles in your matted hair, “’Course not, pips. You’re my mate.”

“How-how is t-that any dif-different?” You cry, but you already know the answer. Your Dad taught you just how sacred a werewolf’s mate is to them.

“You know just how different it is,” he remarks quietly. Drawing back, Caleb cups the back of your head and turns you to face him.

Staring into your bleary eyes, he says tenderly, “We’re going to be together forever. And as much as I’d like to keep secrets from you, I won’t be able to anymore.” Leaning forward, he kisses your forehead. The sensation of his lips on your skin calms you like no deep breathing ever has. It’s almost instant, the slowing of your cries into sniffles. You bury your face in his chest, basking in his woodsy-car grease scent, and was that a hint of—

“Apples?” You mumble, tears dripping onto your lips. Your mate gazes down at you, concerned.

“What was that, pips?”

“Apples,” you repeat. “You smell like apples.” A lazy grin spreads across his lips, and he tugs you even closer. You melt into his heat and security, confident that it was him holding your hand while you were sleeping.

After a few minutes, you’re feeling much better. The pain surrounding your father’s death is still very much there; it was an unfortunate situation no one wins in. But you feel capable of dealing with it.

Shifting in his arms, you tilt your head back and ask, “Where’s Mom?”

“I told her I’d take care of you, so she went to work,” he responds. Inching closer, he brushes his nose against yours. But it’s not all wet like last time. It's notably dry, and the gesture is soothing.

“Pips,” he almost whispers.

“Mhmm,” you hum, closing your eyes and just enjoying the feeling of being so intimate with someone you’ve had heart eyes for, for a long time.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a choice last night. So I’m going to give you one now,” he says sincerely. You open your eyes and stare back at him, taking note of the anxiety pooling in his sunset eyes.

“Do you accept me as your mate?” The question hangs in the air for a few seconds. You don’t even need to think about your answer, but you wait momentarily to build suspense.

Giggling at the slight furrow in his brow, you nod, “I’ll always accept you, Caleb. Werewolf and all.” He almost tears up at your sweet words. That’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.

Unable to contain himself, your mate captures your unsuspecting lips in his. You squeal into his mouth as your eyes rival the size of saucers. It only takes a moment before you’re melting into his kiss, your hands tangling in his dishevelled locks while his bunch up the thin fabric covering your body. Lust poisons your veins, tempting you to take something so innocent further.

Angling your head, Caleb’s tongue slips between your parted lips and tastes every corner of your mouth. You return the favour, sucking on his tongue which makes him moan. Smirking, you break apart to catch your breath. Lips still brushing, spit connecting them in needy ropes, your exhale becomes his inhale and vice versa.

“Caleb,” you whine. In his embrace, your physical pain from last night is practically gone. Your thighs press together, the space between them craving to be filled with him.

He chuckles, “Up for round two already, honey?” You nod, oblivious to the logical side of you screaming about how you should be resting and taking it easy right now. It’s as if Caleb hears your raging thoughts because he just shakes his head and pulls you into his chest again.

“Maybe later, baby. When you’re all better,” he murmurs.

You grumble, “Seriously?” Your hand snakes down his body, so close to what you need most, when he grabs your wrist and tugs it up to his lips.

Leaving a searing kiss there, he mumbles into the flesh, “Don’t tempt me, pips. You need to rest.”

“Fine,” you groan, shifting to get comfortable in his grasp.

There’s a certain domesticity to this all, lying in the arms of your lover in the morning, traipsing along the edge of one more minute and it’s time to get up. It’s almost cinematic. Your camera!

Jolting up, you gaze over Caleb’s right-angled shoulders at your bedside table. And there it sits, your compact camera winking at you mischievously.

“You brought it with you?!” You exclaim, pointing to it. Your mate grumbles as he rolls over.

“That? Yeah, of course I did. You didn’t want me to leave our sex tape in the woods, did you?” He grins. You shove him cheekily, laughing as he gives you a pointed look.

You clarify, “So then, it was actually recording?” He nods, one hand trailing up your non-bandaged arm.

“Did you watch the footage?” You ask, your face reddening at the thought. Again, Caleb nods.

“I had a look after I bandaged you up.” His finger strokes your flushed cheeks, his cocky smile infuriating and embarrassing you at the same time. Huffing, you lie back down, but this time, you curl into his side while he shifts onto his back. With one beefy arm around your shoulders, your mate holds you tight. Your ear is pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

His voice is serious when he murmurs, “I didn’t get to tell you last night, but I love you. I love you with everything I have, pips. You’re irreplaceable to me.” Sighing into him, you tighten your grip on his black tank.

Quietly, you return his sentiment with, “I love you, too, Caleb.”

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star girl's final words: thank you so much to everyone who voted! and thank you to every single one of my followers!!! you are all incredibly special to me and i appreciate all of your ongoing support. i hope you enjoyed this fic!

special thank you to my amazing mooties (few but overwhelmingly special to me): @bloomness, @cielito--lindo, @heartyluv, @starryeyed-apple, @tragicvictoriantears, @cuntphoric-main

#★’s works #love and deepspace #caleb smut #caleb x reader #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb xia #xia yizhou smut #xia yizhou x reader #werewolf caleb

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choerrypuffs · 9 months ago

Text

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.”

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier.

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes.

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely.

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson.

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly.

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.”

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state.

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.”

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention.

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support.

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw.

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers.

“You don’t look―”

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?”

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck.

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer.

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip.

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood.

“That was…delicious,” he breathes.

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.”

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs.

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.”

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together.

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw.

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes.

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly.

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks:

“So, you’re hiring?”

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question.

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up.

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias.

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand.

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say:

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?”

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu.

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling.

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.”

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!”

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses.

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?”

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice.

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup.

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking.

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly.

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.”

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.”

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.”

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows.

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.”

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.”

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in.

But you don’t.

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.”

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you.

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him.

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday.

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly.

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand.

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.”

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease.

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?”

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.”

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck.

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh.

“Pretty lame, right?”

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.”

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.”

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently.

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?”

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.”

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length.

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!”

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.

“Of course. Who else would I go with?”

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately.

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain.

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.”

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms.

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile.

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him.

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?”

“...Seven.”

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property.

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.”

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes.

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you.

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along.

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.”

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt.

“Oh my God, your face!”

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.”

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.”

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes.

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice.

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself.

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you.

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile.

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod.

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.”

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.”

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here.

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh.

“Why?”

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you.

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.”

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction.

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.”

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that.

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.”

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away.

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever.

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.”

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself?

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table.

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.”

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice.

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it.

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms.

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.”

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.”

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.”

“I’ll help,” he insists.

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.”

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.”

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too.

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t.

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now.

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him.

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay.

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee.

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold.

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too.

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?”

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her.

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away.

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself.

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise.

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t.

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff.

“Y/N, they’re burning.”

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp.

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs.

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.”

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it.

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?”

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?”

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch.

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.”

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.”

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?”

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly.

“Do you treat all your friends like that?”

“When I don’t want to see them.”

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him.

But he steps back.

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.”

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly.

“I probably should,” he answers shakily.

“What’s stopping you?”

“Just…one reason.”

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.”

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.”

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back.

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.”

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all.

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you.

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself.

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless.

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check.

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.”

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly.

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.”

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first.

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take.

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about―

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way.

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.”

You stare at him, still not sure how to react.

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting.

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?”

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―”

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath.

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.”

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?”

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare.

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich.

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up.

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again.

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace.

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?”

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.”

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.”

You smile against the crook of his neck.

“Why?”

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.”

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